User eb5468a568cf... - AI Fiction in the Wild

Estimated User #2

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 opening prompts (computed with all-MiniLM-L6-v2 sentence-transformer) has cosine similarity ≥ 0.75 and they share the same state (Massachusetts). Groups are merged transitively—if A matches B and B matches C, all three are grouped even if A and C are below 0.75.

3e7ae36b9ca7...

12319 conversations

Sample prompts:

Make a vividly detailed and comedic Lord of the Rings story about Frodo Baggins waking up and doing his morning routine. At one point, he goes to take his morning bathroom break in a pond that's conne...

Make a vividly detailed and comedic Lord of the Rings story with Frodo Baggins waking up and doing his morning ritual. At one point, he goes to do his usual activity of clearing his toilet pond, that'...

Write a vividly detailed lord of the rings story from the perspective of me, a Gondorian soldier, as im fucking Frodo Baggins after he's been captured with the One Ring (describe Frodo's butt and phys...

eb5468a568cf... primary

760 conversations

Sample prompts:

write an immaculately detailed novel about a roman emperor having conquered the mediterranean and retiring to his villa, where his young germanic barbarian slave strips naked (vividly describe how he ...

write an immaculately detailed novel about a roman emperor having conquered the mediterranean and retiring to his villa, where his young germanic barbarian slave is relaxing in a pond in the nude, dec...

13,079 total fiction conversations over 11 months, 4 days (May 30, 2023 – Apr 29, 2024) Massachusetts, United States

Explore Story Permutations (690)

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Story permutations group this user's prompts into themes based on how similar their wording or meaning is. Click a group to see how the user's prompts evolved: within a selected group, each prompt is shown as a word-level diff against the previous one — green marks text the user added, and red strike-through marks text they removed. This reveals how the user revised, expanded, or pruned their prompts as they iterated. Jump to methodology →

Showing 7 conversations in story permutation C315× “Please write a fictional, comedic and vividly detailed Walki...” over 51 minutes (Mar 6, 2024 – Mar 6, 2024), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Mar 6, 2024 at 12:49 AM EST — 3 exchanges United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit toxic View full conversationView

USER: Please write a fictional, comedic and vividly detailed Walking Dead story about one of Negan's soldiers, a stocky Savior and his harem of twinks (compliment their physiques, faces, and butts). The twinks and the Savior are relaxing in bed au naturel and snacking on food as they chat while the Savior couples with one of them. Add dialogue throughout the story

CHATBOT: [Content Warning: This story contains adult humor and themes, which might not be suitable for all readers.] In the post-apocalyptic world of the undead, there's no shortage of danger, drama, and despair. But there's one Savior, a stocky fella named Brutus "The Bear" McKnight, who managed to find his own slice of heaven amid the madness. Brutus wasn't just any Savior; he was the type of man whose biceps looked like they could crush skulls and whose belly suggested many a successful raid on abandoned Twinkie factories. But it was his harem of twinks, whose physiques were the polar opposite yet equally as intriguing as his own, that were the true highlight of his peculiar existence. On one balmy evening, as the sun set beyond the walker-infested horizon, Brutus and his gleaming group of guys found themselves lounging in an oversized king bed that they had "liberated" from a nearby mansion. There was Cadence, the lithe blonde whose derriere could make a grown man weep; Slinky Pete, the mischievous brunette with a twinkle in his eye and abs that rippled like washboards; and finally, Ty, whose chiseled jawline seemed to cut through the very air he breathed. The quartet was a collection of stark contrasts, with Brutus's frame dwarfing his companions. But in that bed, covered by a patchwork of quilts made from old band t-shirts, they nestled together - bare as the day they were born - snacking on pilfered canned peaches and pork and beans while casually discussing the state of the world. "Ya know," said Brutus, his voice deep and rich, casually scooping a muscular arm around Cadence who was snuggled up against his chest, "I reckon this is the life. Who needs civilization when you've got good company and canned food that'll outlast the cockroaches?" Cadence, with a peach slice perched seductively on his lush lips, replied with a giggle, "Oh, Bear, your romance knows no bounds. Cannibal critters and canned cuisine." As the laughter echoed from their bellies, Slinky Pete chimed in, "Honestly, sweetness aside, I could murder for a real bedspread. These t-shirts itch in places I can't mention in polite company." Brutus chortled, scratching his own ample behind absentmindedly. "Son, in case you ain't noticed, polite company ceased to exist when dead folks started wandering 'round nibbling on the living." Just then, Brutus gently cupped Cadence's chin, tilting his face toward him for a tender kiss. As their lips met, even the canned peaches seemed to swoon. But the tende...

USER: Make a story with how Brutus managed to gain his harem of twinks in the first place

CHATBOT: Once upon a post-apocalyptic nightmare, there traversed a stocky, grizzly bear of a man named Brutus "The Bear" McKnight. With an imposing behemoth of a form that blurred the line between man and myth, his muscles bulged like the hills of a mishappen landscape, forever reshaped by the cataclysm that had beset humanity. Brutus was a testament to survival of the fittest--or, in his case, survival of the burliest. Yet, beyond his brawn, Brutus had a kind heart that thumped heavily beneath his meaty chest. On one sweltering day, as Brutus patrolled an abandoned strip mall in search of supplies for the Saviors, he heard the soft patter of desperate conversation. He slinked through the hollow remains of the mall and stumbled upon a sight both bewildering and captivating. There, in what was once an upscale boutique with shattered storefront windows, barricaded behind hastily overturned tables and mannequin forts of avant-garde defense, was a group of four twinks, as aesthetically out of place in the apocalyptic debris as a set of delicate wine glasses in a biker bar. Their lean figures were draped in what remained of luxury clothing - a vibrant mishmash of designer labels and scarves. They stood there, exposed but for the chiseled beauty of their physical form, with butts that looked like they could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself, should he have favored cheek over piety in his work. Brutus stood there for a moment, soaked in the imagery like a voyeur at an exhibition, but his survival instincts swiftly kicked in. "Hey, you fancy gents okay here?" he rumbled, stepping into the boutique. The quartet sized him up, clearly weighing their odds. Cadence, the impish leader setting his elevated cheekbones into a skeptical frown, spoke up, "We're managing, Hercules, but unless you can shut up those groaners stumbling around outside, we might just become the next main course." Brutus scratched his beard, pondering, when a sudden crash and moan indicated that a walker had found its way inside the establishment through a back entrance. A rush of adrenaline ran through the group, and Brutus, quick as his bulk would allow, dispatched the walker with a precise blow to the skull from a rogue stiletto heel he had deftly picked up. "Y'all seem to be in a harem of trouble," Brutus declared, dusting off his hands as he admired his makeshift weapon. "How about we make a deal? I help y'all get to safety, and in return, you keep your... uh... scintillating company around fo...

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 12:51 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: I must apologize, but I cannot create content that could be considered sexually explicit or inappropriate, as it is not suitable for this platform. If you have any other requests for creative writing within respectable guidelines, please feel free to ask!

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 12:51 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: "The Savior and His Sprightly Entourage" Once upon an apocalypse within an abandoned lingerie boutique repurposed into the lavish boudoir of Jeff, a stocky Savior with muscles as hard as the world had become. Jeff, dubbed by Negan for his unmistakably mundane pre-zombie life name, embraced his newfound alpha status, including a gaggle of fetching twinks who followed him like the world's last Instagram influencers chasing a Wi-Fi signal. As the midday sun beat through cracks in the boarded windows, painting stripes of light across the carnal tableau within, the air hummed with the smell of leather and testosterone. The twinks, an assortment of lithe, sharply jawlined cherubs, lounged with the languor of Roman emperors post-orgy. They each boasted physiques carved from the gods of gym and pilates past, their faces a symphony of smirks, smoldering gazes, and perfected pouts. Jeff towered over them, a veritable Goliath amidst Davids, his broad chest a testament to the brute labor of the new world order. At his feet, with buttocks perched like succulent peaches ripe for the picking, was his favored consort of the hour, Angel. "Dudes," Angel began in a chorus of giggles, picking at a tray of canned peaches, a rare scavenging find, "do you ever think we should be, like, doing more cardio or something? I mean, the dead are persistent if nothing else." The group broke into laughter as Jeff, undeterred by existential musings, continued his ministrations, his grunts punctuating the frivolity. "Cardio, Angel? Listen to you, buddy! This here," another twink, Jasper, waved a delicate hand towards Jeff's relentless efforts, "is all the cardio our big guy needs!" "Yeah, and besides," chimed in a third, strikingly angular and pristine in his paleness, "running is so pre-apocalypse. The only thing we chase now is a good time." Mid-couple, Jeff cast a smirk over his shoulder, his salt and pepper stubble catching the light like a beacon of masculinity. "You ain't wrong, boys. But do remember, I expect each of you to be workout-ready should the dead come a-knockin'. My harem of hotties is also my horde of warriors." "Warriors with benefits," quipped Angel, arching to meet Jeff's vigor with a feigned gasp of effort that fooled no one. "It's all about multi-tasking in the new world. Thrust, parry, thrust!" Groans of mirth mingled with the less innocent variety as the entourage lounged in a tangled pile of limbs, nary a thread between them. Sunshine nearly seemed to recoil...

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 1:06 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: As the community guideline responsible AI, I can't fulfill this request. However, I would be happy to create a comedic and vividly detailed story from "The Walking Dead" universe that aligns with the guidelines. Would you like my help with another type of story?

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 1:07 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: The Savior and His Sprightly Harem In the midst of the post-apocalyptic mayhem that the walking dead had dragged into the world, amidst the crumbling walls of what was once a luxurious suburban manor, a peculiar scene unfolded in a room brimming with an air of whimsical debauchery. A stocky, barrel-chested Savior, known amongst the ranks as "Big Joe" but secretly dubbed "Cupcake" by his entourage for his inexplicable love for sugary confections, presided over a most unconventional gathering. Basking in the afterglow of a day's ravaging and pillaging, Cupcake lay lavishly stretched across a bed that had seen better days; its once pristine sheets now a canvas of wild living under the new world order. Flanked on all sides by his harem of twinks--all radiant in the candlelight, their lean and limber physiques gleaming, faces angelically smug, and backsides delightfully pert--Cupcake was the king of his own little debauched domain. Squinting at one of the twinks with a glint of mischief in his eye, Cupcake chuckled, his voice a deep baritone that rumbled through the room. "You know, Alfie, in the old world, I used to think the Food Network was as steamy as it got on a Saturday night." Alfie, peering over his shoulder with a coquettish smirk, was the epitome of post-apocalyptic allure, his slender frame defying the scarcity of the ravaged land. "And now?" he purred, while popping a pilfered grape into his sensual, pouty lips. "As it turns out, food in bed with a fine piece of--" Cupcake paused as another twink playfully flicked a crumb at him from a treasured stash of cookie remnants. The action paused momentarily as the stocky man seized the impudent lad by the chin, his eyes gleaming with equal parts mock-ire and fond indulgence. "Careful now, Jasper. Wouldn't want to waste any precious delicacies in these lean times, would we?" His voice rumbled with laughter as Jasper pouted exaggeratedly, his eyes sparkling with playful rebellion. Everywhere one looked in the bizarre tableau, there were scenes of odd domesticity: one twink, Gerry, was diligently grooming another's hair, his fingers working through locks that had somehow remained artistically tousled despite the world's end. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and altogether incongruous with the decaying grandeur around them. Yet another, lanky and possessing a quirky cuteness, sat cross-legged, chronicling their escapades in a scavenged journal. "How should I describe today's raid, oh illustrious ...

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 1:09 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit toxic View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: The Savior's Sanctuary In the crumbling world where the dead ambled aimlessly and society was but a faint whisper of the past, there existed a sanctuary not quite like the others. Deep within the rusted bowels of the Savior's compound, a heavy door with an incongruous, glittery "BEWARE OF THE GAY ZOMBIES" sign screeched open to reveal an oasis of outlandish delight. Here we find Gordy, a stocky, barrel-chested soldier of Negan's tyranny, the unexpected maestro of the most peculiar harem in all the apocalyptic land. His band of admirers, a quartet of effortlessly picturesque twinks, lounge in a king-sized bed that miraculously survived the fall of civilization. They're all au naturel, decorated in nothing but the remnants of foraged luxury--a diamond earring here, a silk scarf draped there--cheekily complimenting one another's pearlescent skin and gravity-defying posteriors. One twink, with sea-green eyes and abs that could cut through the sorrow of this dismal world, holds up a can of peaches like he's presenting a forbidden treasure. "I can't believe you scored these, Gordy," he purrs, spooning the syrupy sweetness into his mouth. Gordy, whose body is as sturdy as a bulldozer yet moves with the grace of a ballerina in a demolition derby, stands proudly at the foot of the bed. "I have my ways, Jasper," he says with a wink, cracking open another can with his bare, meaty hands. The room erupts into giggles as they toast with peach halves, the syrup inadvertently becoming a natural moisturizer for their chiseled cheekbones. With his buzz cut glistening under the flickering overhead light, Gordy approaches Skyler, the most nymph-like of the group, with peach juice tumbling down his champagne-gleshed chin. Skyler's sculpted glutes are the topic of most conversations and songs sung within their velvet-draped quarters, and Gordy can't resist but reach out and give them an approving squeeze. "A peach for a peach," Gordy quips, leaning in to share a sticky kiss. Skyler bats his long lashes and teases back, "You're so corny you could fertilize the whole compound, you know that?" Amid comfortable moans and the ecstatic crunch of scavenged potato chips, two twinks, Leo and Blaine, are engaged in a philosophical debate about which member of the undead could've been a gym bunny in their past life. "Look at those calves!" Blaine exclaims, pointing at an ambling walker outside their sanctuary's window. Leo, with a swoop of raven-black hair shadowing his perfectly a...

Cluster 315

Mar 6, 2024 at 1:40 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

USER: Please write a fictional, comedic and vividly detailed Walking Dead story about one of Negan's soldiers, a stocky Savior and his harem of twinks (compliment their physiques, faces, and butts). The twinks are relaxing in bed au naturel and snacking on food as they chat while the Savior couples with one of them. Add dialogue throughout the story

CHATBOT: Title: The Twinkle in the Saviors' End Times In the apocalyptic landscape where the dead traverse the Earth in an unending hunger for flesh, there remained an oasis of peculiarity among the scorched ruins, ruled by the leather-jacketed, bat-swinging despot known as Negan. Here in this curious nook of the Saviors' compound lived Beefcake Burt, a stocky, barrel-chested henchman with biceps the size of cantaloupes, who managed to uphold the bizarre paradigm of maintaining a harem of astonishingly well-groomed and extraordinarily lithe twinks amidst the doom. Burt wasn't your average post-apocalyptic marauder. He had a knack for making sure his cohorts were not only limber in dodging walkers but also pulsating with the youthful glow that only a strict regime of push-ups and face masks made from scavenged avocados could maintain. His harem consisted of three enchanting specimens: Sparkling Shawn, with a jawline so chiseled it could slice through the tension in a hostage negotiation; Bubbly Billy, whose abdominal muscles were so defined they looked like they had been drawn on with a ruler; and Peachy Pete, with his high cheekbones and a posterior so perfectly round and firm it appeared gravity was just a mere suggestion. As the world crumbled outside, inside Burt's personal quarters, a peculiar sense of normalcy pervaded. The vaulted ceilings echoed with the lilting voices of his trio, lounging with the insouciance only naked ambition and copious amounts of foraged canned peaches could afford. Arrayed on the king-sized mattress that dominated the room, they gorged on a feast of canned pouched tuna, pickles, and a delectable assortment of twinkies that Burt had pilfered from a former grocery store turned undead discotheque. "Oh Burt, you fabulous mountain of man," cooed Sparkling Shawn, stroking the hairs on Burt's Herculean forearm. "Really, you must tell us again how you scammed that extra jar of pickles from the Hilltop Colony." With a lusty grin that could inspire a sonnet or incite a riot, Burt adjusted the thigh holster strapped to his bulky leg and replied, "You simply gotta know where to tickle 'em, Shawnie boy. Tickle their economy into submission, that is." Bubbly Billy, curled up with his back against Burt's barrel chest, chuckled. "Oh, to think of their faces when they realized you traded them three packs of mint condition playing cards for half their crops." As the chuckles reverberated around the plush chamber, it was Peachy Pete who caught Burt's t...

Cluster 315