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) 88% 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 (61)

TF-IDF Sentence ▼

1 conversation in cluster Cluster 44× “Write a story about the following from my perspective. I'm a...” over less than a minute (Nov 30, 2023 – Nov 30, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Nov 30, 2023 at 6:57 PM CST — 4 turns United States, Texas fiction View full conversation

USER: Write a story about the following from my perspective. I'm a HS teacher in my 30s. It's the weekend. My friend is messing around with magic. I don't believe magic is real. My friend accidentally casts a spell on me that makes me look like a tik tok boy to prove a point. Describe my appearance and outfit in excruciating detail before and after the transformation

CHATBOT: Before the Spell: As a high school teacher in my thirties, I always prided myself on maintaining a professional, if uninspired, style that reflected my respect for education and its solemn traditions. My wardrobe was a series of calculated choices meant to inspire confidence and demand respect from my students and colleagues alike. On that fateful Saturday morning, with no workplace dress code to adhere to, I lounged in my generic, albeit comfortable, weekend uniform. My ensemble consisted of a plain, perfectly worn-in gray cotton t-shirt that had softened to a gentle caress against my skin over countless cycles through the wash. The shirt bore no logos or designs; landmarks of my utilitarian fashion sense. Paired with it were khaki cargo shorts -- those venerable repositories for a teacher's spectrum of necessities -- worn just enough to have frayed at the edges, hinting at a semblance of a life outside meticulously graded papers and lecture plans. My feet found solace in a pair of practical, cushioned sneakers, white with a navy-blue swoosh, laces neatly tied in a standard bow. Their soles were designed more for comfort than aesthetics, cushioning the many hours I spent pacing before my students. Topping the whole outfit was a conservative, sensible wristwatch with a leather strap, its face home to a clear, no-nonsense clock face -- a functional tribute to punctuality. My hair, an unremarkable brown flecked with the first hints of distinguished gray, was cropped into a neat, easy to manage style, each strand obedient to a routine pass of comb and hair product every morning. My clean-shaven face, a canvas of my dedication to maintaining a classic, if somewhat predictable, form of professionalism, looked much the same on weekends as it did during my weekday role. After the Spell: The air crackled with a peculiar energy, and in a flash, my sell of disbelief in magic shattered as I found myself gazing into a mirror at what seemed to be a stranger. Though my features remained intact, the transformation was radical -- jarring, even. I was no longer the beacon of practicality. Instead, my transformed reflection showed coiffed locks now dyed a platinum blonde, with perfectly messy, textured waves that fell around my forehead, styled as if by a wind machine rather than a comb. The sides were shaved into a meticulous fade that spoke of countless hours in a barber's chair. Earrings, previously absent from my conservative persona, now adorned my ears -- simple silve...

USER: I ask them to change me back. They try to but the spell gets worse. I transform into a teenager who's look reflects a desire to look just like Dillon Latham

CHATBOT: As my friend stood there, the smirk of triumph still playing on their lips, I pleaded with a mix of urgency and annoyance. "This isn't funny anymore. Change me back, now!" They nodded, biting their lip in concentration and gesturing once again with flourish. But as the words of reversal spilled from their mouth, the air turned thick with a palpable, tingling static, and I felt a sudden, disorienting lurch within me. My limbs seemed to shrink and tighten in on themselves, my clothes suddenly way too large for the frame they now hung off. I watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as my hands became smoother, my skin tauter, as years seemed to peel away from me in the reflection of the mirror. The realization hit me like a bolt as I recognized the dramatic shift--not only was I still far from my original self, but I had now regressed into teenage-dom. Staring back at me was a kid whose face was mine yet not mine, fresh with the dewy bloom of youth. My 'new' hair styled in a swishing mop-top, reminiscent of Dillon Latham's iconic look, complete with a deep side sweep that obscurely grazed one eye. The clothing, once seemingly shrunk, now fit snugly against a more slender, less-lived-in frame. The high-top sneakers dangled off my feet, and I shimmied my way out of them, only to notice the black and white checkerboard slip-on Vans that replaced them, archetypal of the easygoing, skate-inspired fashion. My hoodie and jeans slid off easily, now several sizes too large, and I found myself in a familiar combo: a band t-shirt, fitting close to my less-defined chest, and tight skinny jeans adorned with a chain wallet that dangled rebelliously from a belt loop. The newfound smoothness of my face was accentuated by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, which sat defiantly upon my nose, suggesting both a youthful naivety and a striving for vintage intellectualism. My adolescent wrists were now covered in assorted wristbands and bracelets, and my digits boasted an array of chunky rings, each one unique and yet collectively radiating nonchalant coolness. "Don't panic," my friend said, though I could see the anxiety brewing in their eyes as they realized the gravity of their misstep. "I'll fix this. Just... just give me a moment to figure it out!" As they scrambled through pages of their spellbook, I sat on my couch, my teenage knees awkwardly angled and feet not quite touching the ground, feeling the weight of the situation. Here I was, a respected high school teacher m...

Cluster 44