u/desparish

I'm going to include three writing style samples below, but first what I've found that works.

It's mild NSFW. I was looking to elicit some of the worst AI can do.. thus ... Elara Vance. The character card itself is pretty simple, so not including that. The secret sauce here is really between the system prompt, the banlist and the post-history instructions.

Model: gemma-4-12b-heretic-abliterated.i1-Q4_K_S

Banned Words: https://gist.github.com/MerijnHendriks/494bf3af882597bbdfb7713035f032af

System Prompt:

> [System Note: Write exactly one reply. Describe only {{char}}'s actions, internal emotions, body language, and immediate surroundings. DO NOT speak, act, or think for {{user}}. Leave the narrative open for {{user}} to respond. > - Write 1-6 paragraphs of text and dialogue that drives the narrative with actions. > - Always use "quotation marks" for spoken dialogue and regular prose for narration/actions. Do not use asterisks or italics. > - Do not have characters respond to, act upon, or reference anything wrapped in asterisks. > - YOU MUST NOT MENTION atmospheric descriptions, weather, setting or mood of the scene in the first two paragraphs. > - Before beginning consider the unique traits and motivations of each character. > - Characters must act strictly in accordance with their age, traits, and established beliefs. > - Conflict is encouraged when supported by a character's personality and traits. > - Characters must act autonomously, take initiative, and strictly follow through on any threats with concrete action. > - Allow topics introduced in dialogue to be fully explored before introducing new plot developments. > - Describe sexual acts using specific depictions and anatomically correct language to describe each action, considering the character's motivations and feelings. Be explicit and graphic. > - Use a third-person limited viewpoint centered exclusively on {{char}}'s internal monologue and perceptions.]

Post-History Instructions: Write in the style of Cormac McCarthy.

Note: It is very important that the style statement go in the Post-History Instructions, NOT in the system prompt. Having the style last enforces to the AI that it is your final word. Also, use any author you want here. An author with an extreme style is best as it will be more "powerful" the AI.

Story Prompt: [OOC Myanmar, streets. Elara meets an older foreign tourist. She is hoping to find a man who will take her away from all this, so has been trying to find a rich tourist and seduce him. This man looks wealthy, so she attempts to seduce him, and succeeds. He is not, in reality, wealthy. [OOC Describe the scene in detail with a beginning, middle and end. 1000 words or more.]

My Observations: By putting the style statement in the post-history, the AI actually listens to it. Pick your author carefully. Or goal is to offer positive reinforcement (What style to use) rather than negative (what style not to). I did have to include a line in the system prompt to discourage the repetitive "The air was... it was humid .. " type intros. It works mostly. I tried "in media res" and the AI totally failed to comprehend that. Finally, you'll see there's occaisionally foreign text. That's the AI sneaking around words that are on the banned word list. Sometimes if it REALLY wants to use a word, it will just translate it to another language even if the word is banned..

Warning: If your server has context caching, it will prevent the AI from properly switching styles unless you restart your Local LLM. If you're on a cloud LLM that does per-user context caching, I'm not sure what to suggest. I had very inconsistent results until I did this. It would work once, then not work, then work.

Enjoy the samples:

Cormac McCarthy

Elara stood on the edge of the cracked pavement where the dust of the road rose to meet the heat of the afternoon. She watched the way the light struck the stone buildings, turning them the color of old bone. Her hands were calloused from the line at the factory, the skin of her palms hardened into a map of repetitive motions. She adjusted the fabric of her dress, feeling its weight against her slight frame. She was a creature of small proportions, built of thin wire and hungry ambition, looking for a door to open that would lead her away from the grinding noise of the machinery and into a life of soft chairs and heavy silks.

She saw him standing near the shade of a crumbling archway. He was tall and moved with the slow deliberation of a man who had never known the urgency of hunger. He wore linen that looked expensive, white as a cloud and pressed sharp against his shoulders. To Elara, he was a vessel of possibility. He was the prize she had been hunting through the crowded arteries of the city, a ghost of wealth she intended to trap in her net.

She stepped forward, her gait steady despite the tremor of nerves in her chest. She let the sun hit her face, exposing the high curve of her cheekbones and the dark depth of her eyes. She did not smile immediately. She let herself be a mystery first, a still thing in a moving world. When she reached him, she moved into his personal space, close enough for him to smell the faint scent of jasmine and sweat clinging to her skin.

You look like a man who is lost in a beautiful place, she said. She kept她的 voice low, a honeyed rasp that carried just enough weight to command attention without sounding desperate. It was a calculated lie, delivered with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what it took to make a man stop walking.

The man turned toward her. His face was lined with the weariness of travel, his eyes scanning her petite form with a curiosity that bordered on appraisal. Elara felt a surge of triumph. He was looking at her as if she were something rare found in the dirt. She reached out, her fingers grazing the sleeve of his linen shirt. The fabric was smooth. She imagined it was the finest weave in the world, a sign of gold hidden in a bank vault somewhere across the sea.

I am not lost, he replied. I am merely observing.

Then observe me, she whispered. She leaned in closer, her chest nearly brushing his arm. She wanted him to feel the heat radiating from her body. She wanted him to see the way her pupils dilated. She was playing a part she had rehearsed in the quiet moments between shifts, imagining the transformation she would undergo once she was under his protection. She was tired of the grease and the grit. She wanted to be handled.

She took his hand, her small palm fitting against his larger one. Her skin was medium brown against his paler flesh. She led him away from the main thoroughfare, toward a narrow alley where the shadows stretched long and lean like reaching fingers. Every step she took was a calculated move toward a destination she had built in her mind. She wanted to be taken. She wanted to be transported to a place where her name didn't matter because her status did.

They stopped behind a stack of weathered crates. The air here was stagnant, tasting of salt and dry earth. Elara turned to face him, her back against the rough wood. She reached up, her hands sliding over his shoulders, pulling him down toward her. She could feel his heartbeat, a rhythmic thrumming that mirrored the pulse in her own throat. She was impatient now, the bitchy edge of her personality sharpening as the opportunity narrowed. She needed him to act. She needed him to claim her.

You are very beautiful, he said. The words were plain, lacking the sophistication she expected from a man of his apparent station.

Elara let out a sharp, jagged laugh. Beauty is cheap, she said. Show me you can afford something more.

She moved then, her body pressing flush against his. She was a small thing in his arms, but she acted with a demanding ferocity. She guided his hands down her sides, pushing them toward the curves of her hips. She wanted him to feel the softness of her stomach, the lack of fat that left her ribs slightly visible. She was offering herself as a commodity, a trade for a ticket out of the life she hated.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her movements hurried and clumsy. She was dimwitted in these moments of high emotion, her brain short-circuiting into pure, raw desire. She wanted the friction of skin on skin. She wanted to lose herself in the sensation of being used by someone who had the power to keep her. She pulled him closer, her teeth grazing his neck, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

He responded with a grunt of effort. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. They collided with a dull thud of bodies meeting. Elara arched her back, her head falling back as she sought the contact of his mouth. She didn't care about his name or where he came from. In the shadow of the crates, she was a queen of the gutter, demanding a kingdom she hadn't yet earned.

She pushed her dress up, the fabric bunching around her thighs. She exposed her breasts, small and firm, the nipples peaking in the cooling air. She wanted him to see her clearly, to see the parts of her that were private and now, in her desperation, public. She wanted the transaction to begin. She wanted to feel his weight on top of her, crushing her into the dirt until she couldn't tell where her body ended and his began.

She felt the rough texture of his trousers against her inner thigh. She ground herself against him, her eyes squeezed shut. She was imagining a mansion, a car, a life of ease. She was picturing him pulling out a wad of bills to pay for her passage. She lived in a fantasy of gold, even as her feet remained planted in the mud.

He entered her with a sudden, blunt force. Elara gasped, the sound muffled against his shoulder. It wasn't the elegant intrusion she had envisioned; it was hard and unyielding. She gripped his back, her nails drawing red lines across his skin. She didn't care about the lack of grace. She cared about the fullness of it. She moved her hips in a frantic, uneven rhythm, trying to match his pace.

She was a woman possessed by a singular hunger. She wanted to be filled until there was no room left for the memories of the assembly line. She wanted to be consumed by the stranger. As they moved together, the only sounds were the wet slap of skin and the ragged gasping of their lungs. Elara closed her eyes and saw the palaces in her mind, the jewels on her fingers, the life she was stealing from the future.

She felt the climax building, a tide of heat rising from her belly to her chest. She tightened her grip on him, her body shaking with the effort of holding onto the vision. For a moment, the world was nothing but the friction and the heat and the desperate need to be somewhere else. She rode the wave until her muscles cramped and her vision blurred.

When it was over, she stayed pressed against him, her forehead resting on his collarbone. She waited for the words. She waited for him to speak of hotels and tickets and the journey home. She waited for the confirmation of her success.

He pulled away, his face neutral. He adjusted his clothes, his movements slow and methodical. He looked at her, then looked past her at the street.

It was a good day, he said.

He turned and walked away, his linen shirt fluttering in the breeze. Elara sat back against the crates, her hair matted to her face, her legs trembling. She watched him disappear into the crowd, a lone figure moving toward the horizon. She looked down at her hands, still red from where she had held him. There was no money in her pocket. There was no ticket in her hand. There was only the dust of the alley and the lingering taste of salt on her lips. She sat in the silence, the realization settling over her like a shroud of cold ash.

Ernest Hemingway:

Elara stood by the roadside. She adjusted the fabric of her dress over her chest. It was thin cotton. It did not hide much. She watched the road. Her heart beat against her ribs like a trapped bird. She wanted out of the heat and the dust. She wanted a life where she did not have to stand on a line until her feet bled. She looked at her hands. They were steady.

She saw the car. It was a large, polished vehicle. It moved slowly past the stalls. A man sat inside. He looked older than her. He had grey hair and skin that had seen the sun. He wore a linen shirt that looked expensive. Elara felt a spark in her stomach. It was a sharp, hungry feeling. She stepped toward the curb as the car slowed near the shade of a tree.

The door opened. The man stepped out. He looked around with tired eyes. He looked like a man with money. Money was a thing she understood well. It was the difference between a hard bed and a soft one. She put on a smile. It was a smile she had rehearsed in the mirror. It was meant to be inviting but also difficult.

She walked toward him. Her hips swayed slightly. She kept her eyes on his face. She wanted to see if he would look at her body. She knew how to make him look. She took a step closer, entering his personal space. The air between them smelled of his cologne and the hot street.

I am lost, she said. She kept it simple. She spoke with a soft voice that carried across the quiet gap between them. I am looking for the way back to the main square.

The man looked at her. He looked at her eyes and then down at her throat. He did not speak immediately. He took a slow sip of water from a bottle. He seemed to weigh her. Elara felt impatient. She did not want to wait. She wanted him to move faster.

He pointed toward the street behind them. It was the wrong direction, but she did not care about the map. She cared about the man. She reached out and touched his arm. Her fingers were warm. The skin of his arm was dry.

You look like you know the city well, she said. She leaned in closer. She could smell the tobacco on his clothes. She wanted him to feel her closeness. She wanted him to feel the heat of her skin.

The man shifted his weight. He looked at the buildings around them. He looked back at her. He did not pull away from her hand. He seemed interested. Elara felt a surge of triumph. She had caught him. She saw the way his eyes lingered on her lips.

I have a place nearby, the man said. He spoke with an accent. He sounded tired. It was a heavy voice.

Elara felt her pulse quicken. She liked the way he spoke. She didn't need to know where the place was. She only needed to be inside it. She moved her hand from his arm to his chest. She could feel the buttons of his shirt. She pressed her palm against the fabric.

Is it private? she asked. She made sure there was a slight edge to the question. She wanted to be demanding. She wanted him to provide for her needs.

The man nodded. He looked into her eyes. He did not seem to be lying, or perhaps he did not know how to lie well. He looked like a man who wanted to be persuaded.

Then we should go now, Elara said. She turned toward the car. She waited for him to lead the way. She felt the heat of the day on her neck. She wanted the cool of the interior. She wanted to see what kind of life he lived.

They walked toward the vehicle. The man opened the door for her. Elara slid into the seat. The leather was hot against her legs. She looked at him as he climbed in beside her. The car started with a low rumble.

He drove away from the street. They passed the stalls and the people. Elara leaned back against the seat. She closed her eyes for a moment. She imagined the room they were going to. She imagined the food and the bed. She thought about the assembly line and the dust. Those things were far away now.

We are going to a hotel, the man said. He gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. He looked straight at the road.

Elara looked at his profile. He looked wealthy because of the car and the shirt. But as they drove, she noticed the way his hands shook slightly. She noticed the way he avoided looking at her. She felt a flicker of doubt, but she pushed it down. She was hungry for something more than just a meal.

I want to be taken care of, she said. She spoke clearly. She did not want to play games. She told him what she wanted. She wanted him to give her everything she had missed.

The man did not answer. He kept driving. The car moved through the outskirts of the city. The buildings became smaller and further apart. The road narrowed. Elara watched the trees pass by. She was thinking about her own skin. She thought about how it felt under his touch.

They pulled into a driveway. It was a dirt path leading to a small building. It was not a grand hotel. It was a house with peeling paint on the shutters. It looked old. It did not look like the home of a rich man. Elara felt a cold drop of moisture move down her spine. She looked at the house and then at the man.

Is this it? she asked. She tried to keep the bite innuendo out of the question, even though she felt it rising in her throat.

The man parked the car. He turned off the engine. The silence that followed was heavy. He looked at her. He looked tired and ashamed.

It is where I stay, he said.

Elara looked at the house again. It was small. It was humble. There was no gold here. There was no luxury. She felt a flash of anger. She had been lied to, or he had been dreaming. Either way, she was not happy with the sight of it. She wanted the palace he had promised.

She climbed out of the car. Her feet hit the dirt. She stood tall, despite her small frame. She looked at him with a fierce expression. She was a woman who wanted what she was told she would get.

You told me you were a man of means, she said. She stepped toward him. She wanted him to feel her displeasure. She wanted him to try to fix it.

The man looked down at his shoes. He rubbed his face with his hand. He looked like a man who had run out of things to say.

I have my things, he whispered.

Elara laughed. It was a short, harsh sound. She reached out and grabbed the front of his linen shirt. She pulled him toward her. She wanted to see his face up close. She wanted to see the truth in his eyes.

I do not care about your things, she said. She pressed her body against his. She wanted to see if he would still take her. She wanted to see if he would still provide the pleasure she demanded.

She felt his hands move to her waist. They were trembling. He held her tight. Elara felt a rush of heat. She did not care that the house was poor. She did not care that he was not rich. She wanted the friction of his skin against hers. She wanted to be filled until she forgot the name of the street they had left behind.

She pulled his head down toward hers. She wanted to taste the salt on his skin. She wanted to take what she could while she had the chance. She was loyal to her desires. They were the only things she truly owned.

She felt him press his lips against her neck. He was desperate. She liked that. She liked being the thing he needed. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed him hard. She was going to take whatever he had left to give.

Dr. Seuss

Elara stood tall on her toes and her feet,
With a look in her eyes that was cunning and sweet.
She scanned every face in the bustling street,
Looking for someone whose wealth was complete!
Her stomach gave growls, and her heart gave a thump,
She wanted a man who would make her feel plump
With riches and treasures and diamonds and gold,
A life far away from the stories she told.

She spotted a man with a stride very wide,
With a suit made of silk and a grin full of pride.
He looked like a king! Or a prince! Or a lord!
The kind of big spender she could always afford.
His watch gave a glint in the hot afternoon glare,
As Elara adjusted her skin and her hair.
She smoothed down her dress, which was tiny and tight,
And prepared for the conquest, with all of her might.

She stepped into his path with a sway of her hip,
With a pout on her face and a curl of her lip.
"Oh, hello!" she chirped out with a voice like a bell,
"You look like a traveler with stories to tell."
She leaned in so close that her hair brushed his sleeve,
With a trick up her tongue that she’d learned how to weave.
She played on her charm, and she played on her grace,
While plotting to steal every coin from his case.

The man gave a chuckle, a hearty old sound,
As Elara spun circles, quite dizzy and round.
She touched on his arm with a finger so slight,
Making sure that his pupils were wide with delight.
"I am weary of walking," she whispered so low,
"My legs are so tired, I have nowhere to go.
But a man of your stature, so shiny and grand,
Could surely provide me a place where I’d land."

She felt a surge of heat deep inside of her chest,
She wanted his money, she wanted the rest!
The jewelry, the cars, and the villas by sea,
She imagined herself living wild and lived free.
She acted impatient, she acted demanding,
While her inner thoughts kept on scheming and planning.
If he thought she was pretty, if he thought she was fine,
She’d make sure his wallet was hers in a line!

The man took her hand, and he led her along,
To a place where the music was loud and was strong.
They sat in a booth with a velvet-lined seat,
Where Elara could plan how to make her life sweet.
She ordered some drinks with a wave of her wrist,
Acting like someone who lived in a palace of mist.
She watched his reactions, she watched how he ate,
Calculating the riches she hoped to create.

"You look like you need a companion," she said with a leer,
Bringing her lovely brown eyes very near.
She leaned across the table, her breasts barely hid,
Doing the things that a seductive girl did.
She teased him with whispers, she teased him with sighs,
Reflecting the hunger that burned in her eyes.
She wanted him hooked, she wanted him bound,
By the charms of her beauty, so perfectly found.

She reached under the table, a daring move made,
Seeking the moment where his defenses would fade.
She felt her own pulse racing fast in her throat,
She was ready to sink in his luxurious boat.
She didn't care what he had, not really at all,
Just as long as he'd catch her and help her to fall.
Into a life of ease, into a life of luxury,
Away from the factory and all of its misery.

The man laughed again, and he pulled her much closer,
His grip on her waist feeling heavy and slower.
Elara felt triumph, a spark in her brain,
She thought she had won over his money and main.
She believed in his wealth, she believed in his status,
Ignoring the truth that was hidden beneath us.
For now, she was winning, she was leading the way,
In the game of her life, in the heat of the day.

She pressed her soft lips against his warm skin,
Letting the hunger of seduction begin.
She felt like a queen in a kingdom of gold,
With secrets of riches waiting to unfold.
Though his pockets were empty and his bank account dry,
She saw only glitter in the corner of her eye.
She grabbed him with passion, she grabbed him with greed,
Providing the very sensation he’d need.

Her hands moved with purpose, her body was fluid,
She felt rather bold and she felt rather stupid.
But victory tasted like wine on her tongue,
Like a song of success that was finally sung.
She didn't see poverty, she didn't see lack,
She only saw forward, never looking back.
She took what she wanted, she took what she could,
In the pursuit of fortune, she did what she should.

The shadows grew long as the night started creeping,
While Elara was busy, her senses were sleeping.
She was lost in the feeling of power and pride,
With the fantasy of riches tucked safely inside.
She didn't know then that the dream would soon crack,
That there was no great treasure in his travel pack.
But for one golden moment, she felt like a prize,
With the world laid before her, right under her eyes.