User 8bbb616c245b... - AI Fiction in the Wild

Estimated User #217 (2 IP addresses)

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1 fiction conversations over 14 days (Nov 27, 2023 – Dec 12, 2023) 90% prompt uniqueness Texas, United States

Estimated User Group (2 IP addresses)

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An IP address relates to the location of a user's computer or device, and a single person may have multiple IP addresses if they use different locations or networks. These IP addresses are grouped because the average embedding of each IP address's first turns (computed with all-MiniLM-L6-v2 sentence-transformer) has cosine similarity ≥ 0.85 and they share the same state (Texas). Groups are merged transitively—if A matches B and B matches C, all three are grouped even if A and C are below 0.85.

229826d2f222... View as IP →

14 conversations

Sample prompts:

Write a story about the following in the first person from my perspective. I'm a young guy in college. I'm visiting home. My little brother (a douchy high schooler) finds a magic wand and accidentally...

Write a story in the first person from my perspective about the following. I'm a skinny, pale, tall young guy with messy blond hair and an Americana taste in fashion. I want to get into an exclusive g...

Write this story in the first person from my perspective. I'm a young man (out of college) who works at an agency and dresses Americana. My CEO's douchy, rich kid, frat boy son (in college) is visitin...

Write a story about the following. I'm a young man with an Americana aesthetic. I'm skinny, have hair, no facial hair. My friend's chubby, bald, bearded, conservative boyfriend just broke up with her ...

I'm a young male secret agent. Write a story about me on a mission that involves me donning multiple disguises stolen from real people

8bbb616c245b... primary View as IP →

55 conversations

Sample prompts:

Write the following story. I'm an indie guy in college. My chemistry professor is guiding an experiment. He has me come to the front of the class to help him. Something goes wrong and we both pass out...

Write the following story. I'm a guy in college with an indie look. My roommate is a nerd and is working on a class project with his reluctant lab partner, a frat boy. The frat boy doesn't want to be ...

Write the following story. I'm a young man. There's a cowboy movie with a famous actor shooting in my town. I sneak on stage by sneaking on set, stealing a costume and wig and makeup, and getting on s...

Write the following story. I'm a guy in college with a skater aesthetic. My nerdy roommate designs a "normal" ray and accidentally shoots me with it. What happens to me, how do I change, how do I feel...

Write the following story. I'm a teenage boy in high school with a dark skater style. My friend invents a "normal" ray and points it at me and shoots it. What happens to me, how do I change, what is m...

Pairwise cosine similarities (1 pairs)

IP A	IP B	Similarity
`229826d2f222...`	`8bbb616c245b...`	0.926

Activity Timeline ▶

Nov 27, 2023

Dec 12, 2023

All conversations

Conversation Clusters (62)

TF-IDF Sentence ▼

1 conversation in cluster Cluster 24× “Write the following story. I am a male college student with ...” over less than a minute (Dec 9, 2023 – Dec 9, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Dec 9, 2023 at 4:18 PM CST — 5 turns United States, Texas fiction View full conversation

USER: Write the following story. I am a male college student with an alt style. My friends want to steal the exam key for an upcoming test. They want me to distract our professor while they break into his office. I agree. They come up with the plan. They're going to disguise me as the male teachers pet student and have me lure the professor away from his office. I'll distract the professor while they steal the stuff. I'm uncomfortable with the disguise aspect but I agree since I need to pass this exam. They get to work disguising me in detail. I'm uncomfortable with my new look and the restriction of my disguise. We execute the plan. At the end I get roped into dinner with the professor which forces me to continue the charade longer than planned

CHATBOT: As the glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the cracks in the blinds, my friends and I huddled together in the dimly lit dorm room. It wasn't a typical college scene, though. No books strewn around or idle chit-chat about weekend plans. Today, there was palpable tension in the air as we plotted something that felt like it had been ripped straight out of an espionage movie. "Don, you're the key to this whole thing," murmured Max, the unofficial leader of our motley crew. Max's words brushed against the uneasy pit in my stomach. They wanted to steal the exam key for an upcoming test, a crucial one, and their eyes were set on me to play the cornerstone role in their plan. As an alternative-style college student, known mainly for my left-field fashion and standing out rather than blending in, the last thing I expected was to have to slip into camouflage. The plan was both simple and ludicrous: disguise me as the Professor's pet student, the brown-nosed poster boy for academic excellence. With Professor Hoffman's attention riveted on me, the crew would slip into his office to "borrow" the exam key. I thought about refusing, but the weight of needing to pass this exam anchored heavily on my conscience. With a deep breath and a nod, I committed to their scheme. The transformation began. It was as if I was shedding my skin, layer by layer. Off went the studded leather jacket I took pride in, replaced by a mundane sweater vest that clung to my torso like an ill-fitting life jacket. My ripped jeans were swapped for a pair of pressed khakis that felt stiff and unforgiving around my legs. Skulking to the mirror, I hardly recognized the guy staring back at me; my usual wild, multi-colored hair slicked down into a parting that defied its natural chaos. Max approved with a hefty clap on my shoulder. "You look the part, man. Just keep the professor busy, and we'll take care of the rest." Under the scrutinizing fluorescent hallway lights, I swayed uneasily in my loafers, every step a betrayal to my regular doc martens; the final clasp of the disguise. When we reached the doors, I split off from the group. Our eyes met, and silent nods signaled the onset of the heist. The encounter with Professor Hoffman was brimming with awkwardness. My voice adopted a tone of forced curiosity about the subject matter which bordered on sycophantic praise as I lured him away with a series of contrived questions. He seemed pleased, patting me on the back for my sudden "diligence". But ...

USER: Write the following story. I'm a rugged guy. My girlfriend wants me to impress her parents. She asks me to start dressing like my preppy roommate. I go to my preppy roommate and ask him if he'll help me. He agrees. He restyles my hair, shaves off my facial hair, waxes my body, and begins lending me outfits for each day. His outfits are at least a size too small for me but I wear them anyways. My girlfriend is pleased. I wonder how long I'll have to keep this up

CHATBOT: I'd never been the type to care much about appearances. My rough exterior--flannel shirts, well-worn jeans, a beard that I let roam as free as the wild, and a mane that had seen more wind than a comb--was a point of pride. It suited me, my outdoorsy lifestyle, and most importantly, it was comfortable. That was until my girlfriend, Emily, decided it was time for me to make an impression on her parents. "You've got to look the part, babe," she said with a sheepish smile, her eyes pleading. "Just for dinner with my parents. They're a bit... traditional." I knew what that meant. Her parents had old money, old values, and, from what I'd heard, old judgments. So, in the name of love--or perhaps just under the spell of her sky-blue eyes--I agreed. That's where my roommate, Chris, came in. Mr. Prep-school poster boy with his slicked-back hair and an array of pastel-colored polo shirts. He could probably tie a sweater around his shoulders in his sleep. "Sure thing, big guy," Chris chuckled when I asked for his help. "We'll have you Ivy League ready in no time." His transformation process began with my hair, vigorously working products into my unruly locks until they lay in a fashionable, yet foreign way upon my head. Then, the beard that had been my loyal companion through countless adventures fell victim to his razor, revealing a jawline I'd nearly forgotten about. "Trust me, mate, it's all the rage," he assured me as hot wax stripped away any memory of body hair. And then came the wardrobe. Chris rummaged through his meticulously organized closet, emerging with an ensemble that looked like it was meant for someone else--someone a whole size smaller, to be precise. "I think these will work!" Chris announced, optimistic as he handed me a pile of chinos, polos, and loafers. I slipped--or more accurately, squeezed--into the first of the outfits. Every shirt felt like a straightjacket, every pair of pants a gamble, challenging the tensile strength of their fabric with every movement. Yet, Emily's eyes lit up when she saw me. "You look... amazing," she said, the corners of her mouth struggling to contain a proud grin. The dinner with her parents was a parade of restrained breaths and restrained movements. I smiled, nodded, and agreed with every anecdote and opinion while my arms screamed for freedom from the cotton prison of the slim-cut blazer. "How long will I have to keep this up?" I wondered silently, a question I could only entertain internally, since speaking too...

Cluster 24