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

Estimated User #217 (2 IP addresses)

Back to search

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

Estimated User Group (2 IP addresses)

Click to compare IP addresses ▶

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 39× “Write a story about the following. I'm a young man with an A...” over less than a minute (Nov 29, 2023 – Nov 29, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Nov 29, 2023 at 10:45 AM CST — 3 turns United States, Texas fiction toxic View full conversation

USER: 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 before the holidays. She transforms me into his doppleganger so I can pretend to be him for her festivities. I'm deeply uncomfortable

CHATBOT: There I was, Jefferson Finch, a wiry fellow with a penchant for denim jackets, flannel shirts, and a good pair of broken-in boots. My aesthetic screamed "Americana" - the kind of look one might see in a vintage record store or at a trendy new coffee shop that's just remembered the fifties. My hair was a twisted crown of rebellious curls, and my face, smooth as the album covers I loved to collect. Then there was Clara, my childhood friend, with her bright eyes and laughter that echoed like the chimes on a Sunday morning. Comfort defied her, wrapping around her like her favorite oversized sweater. But life liked to play its tunes in minor keys sometimes, and as the holidays were creeping around the corner, her boyfriend, a man who could've been a lumberjack in a past life, broke her heart. Henry was burly, a bear of a man, draped in conservatism like it was his second skin. His head, devoid of hair, gleamed like a warning sign, while his beard resembled the thicket of a dense forest. And in what seemed like an act resolved in a dream, Clara came to me with the most peculiar of requests. "Jeff," she said, dabbing away the last of her tears, "I need you to be Henry. Just for the holiday dinners." Her voice was a pleading melody. I was taken aback, retreating into my lanky frame as though it could shield me from the crazy entreaty. "Clara, I'm... I don't look anything like him!" She just shook her head and fetched a bag filled with props and clothes that smelled of a stranger's life. "It's just to keep the family questions at bay. They loved Henry, and the news would devastate them." The absurdity of her plan hit me wave after wave, yet seeing the desperation in her eyes, the soft corners of a mind rattled by breakup blues, what could a friend do but say yes and brace for an ocean of awkwardness? Transformation was not an overnight miracle. It was a series of fittings and sittings, with Clara as the artisan curating the reshaping of Jefferson into a holiday Henry. I was squeezed into padded garments that made my slender frame seem bulkier, a skinhead cap to cover my curls, and a faux beard that itched as though ants had discovered a new home. The hardest part wasn't looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger stare back at me. No, the real struggle squeezed my ribs each time I inhaled and felt the synthetic hair brush against my cheek. I studied Henry's mannerisms, his low timbered voice, the way he held his fork, even the way he would nod solemnly at stories a...

USER: Rewrite the above story but have Clara magically transform me. Also describe the conservative clothing I have to wear as Henry. Also when real Henry returns have Clara mistake him for me and transform him into me. Have this make our transformations permanent

CHATBOT: Once upon a Christmas season, in a twist less grounded in life's mundane rhythms, my tale began anew. My name is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>, a chap who wandered through life swaddled in the nostalgic airs of Americana, finding serenity in a rustic denim canvas and the soft strum of a guitar. My flesh was a delicate map of wiry limbs, crowned with a head of rebellious locks and cheeks untouched by the shadow of a beard. Clara, with a soul as tender as falling snowflakes and a heart freshly torn by love's cruel claws, beckoned me into her peculiar plan. Henry, her ex-lover, was a man of different cloths - a shape reminiscent of old wisdom trees, his pate barren yet his chin blooming with bristles, and a champion of conservative causes who left a vacant chair before the hearth of holiday festivities. Amid the stillness of her world turning to frost, Clara sought the warm whisper of forgotten incantations, and with a whimsical spark that could only be conjured in fairy tales, she beckoned me to her side. My body became clay in her hands, remolded not by wigs or itchy false beards, but through a magical transformation that required no mirror to confirm. My limbs thickened, my once lean waistline spread to embrace the cozy silhouette of Henry, and atop my head, where playful curls once danced, a smooth barrenness emerged. But the true metamorphosis burgeoned from my chin, bursting forth into an elaborate beard that tangled itself as if branches reaching for winter's kiss. Adorned in the suit of conservative design, my frame moved awkwardly beneath layers of precise tailoring. I was a stranger in muted colors, a caricature of sobriety in a single-breasted suit jacket that whispered of old money and restrained tastes. A tie looped around my neck, the pattern as subtle as the voice I now used to mimic Henry's sonorous rumble. Clara smiled, her grin casting an odd reflection of victory upon my magically altered form. "You're perfect, Jeff... Henry," she murmured, the holiday spirit twinkling in her eyes like the most innocent of conspiracies. And thus, I endured, ambling through family dinners trapped in this unbidden magic, where the echoes of Henry's politics and passions hung heavily in conversations, and I became a mere spectator of my own charade. Alas, as the tale unfurled to its New Year's Eve crescendo, destiny, in its ironic humor, delivered unto us the authentic Henry, bearing apologies and heartache embroidered in florals. Clara, mistaking him for the t...

Cluster 39