User eb5468a568cf... - AI Fiction in the Wild

Estimated User #2

2 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 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)

▼

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 48 conversations in story permutation C50× “Make a vividly detailed and comedic Game of Thrones story ta...” over 5 hours (Mar 5, 2024 – Mar 5, 2024), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:10 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

USER: Make a vividly detailed and comedic Game of Thrones story taking place in about a burly King of the Seven Kingdoms chatting with his harem of Lannister twinks. The twinks are lounging in bed au naturel, snacking while they chat.

CHATBOT: I'm sorry, but I can't fulfill this request. While I strive to accommodate a wide range of scenarios and topics, the content you're asking for involves elements that are not suitable for all audiences, and it's important to maintain a respectful and appropriate tone regarding character portrayals and interactions. If you have any other topics or scenarios you're curious about or would like to explore in a manner consistent with respectful and appropriate content guidelines, please feel free to ask, and I'd be happy to help!

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:11 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: A Banter of Brawn and Blondes Once in the splendorous echelons of Westeros, quite a distinct occurrence took place within the opulent chambers of King Robert Baratheon, the burly and brash ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Known for his prowess both on the battlefield and in the feast hall, his appetites for war, wine, and women were the stuff of legend. However, in this peculiar twist of fate, his company consisted not of fierce warrior maidens but of a cadre of Lannister twinks, each more golden-haired and comely than a summer sunrise over Casterly Rock. These slender scions of Lannister lineage found themselves nestled in the King's colossal canopy bed, clad in nothing more than their impish grins and the occasional drapes of silk sheeting, which were both conservative in coverage and liberal in translucency. They lounged like pampered cats, nibbling on lemon cakes and sipping from goblets of Arbor Gold, their laughter tinkling like the bells of the Great Sept. King Robert, seated in an adjacent chair that groaned under his considerable girth, gazed upon this unusual harem with a mixture of awe and incredulity. His booming voice broke through their giggles, "Seven hells, if it isn't like gazing upon a den of Lannister lion cubs, all purrs and preens! What would your father say, eh?" A particularly daring twink, with a crown of curls that shone like liquid gold, retorted with a smirk, "My Lord Father would say if you can't beat them, bed them--or in our case, simply lounge in bed with them!" A roar of laughter shook the King's belly, and he slapped his knee with a hand that could palm a melon. "By the Old Gods and the New, you're all more viper than lion! But speak truly, boys, what insight can your sharp minds offer the ruler of the vast and varied vistas of Westeros?" One of the twinks, perched precariously on a mountain of pillows, popped a grape into his mouth and mused, "Perhaps it is time for a royal tournament, Your Grace, but with a twist! Picture this: a pageant of the realm's finest jesters, and you, mighty King Robert, shall crown the King of Fools!" "And what boon would this King of Fools receive?" questioned Robert, his interest piqued as he toyed with the idea of such entertainment. "Why, a night of feasting with your most delightful company in these very chambers, naturally," another Lannister quipped, batting his eyelashes. "You'd be the envy of all Seven Kingdoms, Sire--a man of war and a champion of mirth!" The King chuckled heartily ...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:16 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: "The Lion's Whiskers and The Bear's Burly Banter" In the mid-afternoon glow of the Red Keep's most private and lavish chamber, King Rodrik 'The Bear' Mormont, sat resplendent upon a colossal fur-covered throne. His beard, as large and untamed as the forests of the North, bristled with every chuckle that rumbled deep from his belly, like thunder rolling across the hills of the Westerlands. "Your Grace!" cooed Jaime, the most slender and mischievous of the Lannister twinks, as he lay draped across silk sheets the color of Lannister gold, a half-eaten lemon cake balanced perilously on his taut abdomen. "Tell us again about the time you wrestled a shadow cat bare-handed!" "My dear Jaime," the Bear King boomed with a hearty laugh that sent his many chins a-trembling, "If I had a copper for every time I told that tale, I could pay the Iron Bank's debt thrice over and still have enough to buy every chicken in the land." "Quite the poultry fortune," quipped Tyrion, a Lannister of small stature but whiplike wit, peeking out roguishly from beneath a blanket woven from the finest Myrish lace. He was adorned in nothing but a goblet of Dornish Red, which he swirled with a lascivious smirk. Around the massive bed, more Lannister lads of lissom frame lounged languidly, their golden locks spilling across pillows stuffed with feathers softer than their own peach-fuzz cheeks. The air was thick with the scent of rosewater and the crackling from the great hearth filled the chamber with comforting warmth. King Rodrik leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with the joy of a storyteller. "All right, you licentious lions, let's begin! Upon the frosty crags of the Frostfangs, near the Valley of Thenns, I came nose to whisker with the most ferocious beast you've ever seen..." With each roaring detail of his savage encounter, he gestured grandly, sending the nearby table of light snacks--a cornucopia of exotic fruits and cheeses--quivering with the force of his narrative. The twinks giggled and gasped at the story, biting into sugared figs and tossing grapes into one another's mouths with practiced precision. "But Your Grace," interjected Lancel, his doe-eyed look barely concealing a sneaky glint, "Was it as harrowing as facing Cersei on the morning after she's run out of wine?" A collective shudder rippled through the room at the mention of the Queen Mother's infamous temper. The Bear King leaned back, his laughter now a bellow that seemed to make the very walls shudder. "Seven ...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:16 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Once in the grand realm of Westeros, in the reinforced stone walls of the Red Keep, King Robert Baratheon, a man as burly as a direwolf and twice as hairy, found himself reigning over the Seven Kingdoms. Having grown utterly weary of the ceaseless squabblings at court and endless petitioners seeking either favor or justice, he sought solace within the confines of his opulent, crimson-draped bedchamber. Here, he could revel in the company of his peculiar but treasured harem -- a constellation of Lannister twinks who glittered like gold in both hair and pocket. King Robert, a man known for his voracious appetite for wine and women, had, in an unexpected twist of fate or perhaps a jest by the gods, instead acquired a proclivity for the company of these slender, golden-locked lads. Each one was as willowy and sharp-tongued as the other, and all were kin to his cantankerous but insufferably rich queen, Cersei. These Lannister twinks, Jamie, Lancel, Tyrion, and a duo of lesser-known cousins, Martyn and Willem, were lounging in the gargantuan bed, their unclothed forms draped in nothing but the finest Myrish silks and the odd discarded jerkin. They took to snacking on lemon cakes and roasted capons with a languid grace that belied their noble upbringing. Even amidst their luxurious indolence, they never missed a chance to flex their wit or throw a jape. "Your Grace," piped Tyrion between sips of a fine Arbor red, "might we discuss matters of state? Or shall we focus on less divisive topics, like which of my sister's dresses I might best fit into?" King Robert let out a roaring laugh that made the goblets on the bedside table tremble. "You'd sooner fit into my warhammer's haft than Cersei's dresses, though admittedly both would be a sight to behold!" Jamie, flashing his easy smile, added with mock innocence, "Do tell us, Robert. When you swing your hammer in battle, do you picture smashing heads or ringing bells? A fine line 'twixt the two, for sure." The twins Martyn and Willem, each nibbling on a sugar-covered date, giggled from their pillow-laden corner. Lancel, the most earnest and fickle of the bunch, chose that moment to inquire, "Sire, is it true you're planning to host a tournament in honor of Eddard Stark's appointment as Hand of the King? Will there be room for some light gymnastics events? Some of us have talents other than jousting and coin counting." "You jest, but mayhaps a contest of wits and acrobatics would do these stuffy lords good," the king de...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:20 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

USER: Make a vividly detailed and comedic Game of Thrones story taking place in about a burly King of the Seven Kingdomsnoble chatting with his harem of Lannister twinks. The twinks are lounging in bed in the buff, snacking while they chat.

CHATBOT: In the grand, echoing halls of Casterly Rock, the undeniably burly and bearded noble, Ser Gregorius of House Stoutarm, found himself in a most peculiar and enviable position. He had somehow attracted the elusive attentions of a small team of Lannister twinks, each more lean and golden-haired than the last, as if sculpted from the featherweight gold for which the Lannisters were renowned. These fine creatures were none other than cousins Leon, Jofflet, and Tommin - distant kin to the main line. On one particularly lazy Westerosi afternoon, soft tendrils of daylight filtered into a lavish chamber, bestowing a celestial glow upon the motley assemblage. The burly noble was perched precariously upon an opulent chaise lounge that seemed to creak in protest under his considerable mass, a furrowed brow betraying the fact that serious council was in session. His harem, ranging from vain to vainer, lounged in repose atop a sprawling bed, each as naked as their name day, but decorously covered with a silk sheet of Lannister crimson - it was, after all, a bit nippy in the cavernous stoneworks of the Rock. Their mouths, when not spouting the latest gossip with feigned grandeur, were busy working through an elaborate spread of snacks: roasted capons, honeyed figs, and candied almonds, with the occasional grape flung playfully from one to another or, more daringly, towards their hairy host. "My dear, sweet, sumptuously slender lads," Ser Gregorius began in a voice like gravel sliding down a mountainside, "it has come to my attention that we have a matter most dire to discuss - the latest fashion at court. It seems chainmail has made a roaring comeback, but I contend that nothing is earned without a healthy sweat in the forge." The twinks rolled their languid, kohl-rimmed eyes in melodramatic suffering. Leon, whose cheekbones could likely cut the tension in the room, sat up and slapped a dainty hand upon his heart, "But Ser Stoutarm, how could you ever entertain the notion of heavy chains adorning such lithe bodies? We were built for silks and satins, not for the clanking of ironwork. Have you no pity?" "I am in earnest!" protested the Cormac McCarthy of Westeros. "I crave something to embrace the rugged wear of battle and to also complement my..." he paused, puffing out his plentiful chest, "generous proportions." Tommin, youngest and pluckiest of the bunch, piped up. "Why, Stoutarm, the only battle you'll be fighting in those tight leathers is the epic struggle to draw ...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:25 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

USER: Make a vividly detailed and comedic Game of Thrones story taking place in about a burly noble chatting with his harem of Lannister twinks. The twinks are lounging in bed in the buff, snacking while they chat.chat with each other as the noble couples with one

CHATBOT: Title: The Lusty Lord of Lannister Lads In the gold-soaked halls of Casterly Rock, where the sun kissed the stone with the warmth of a thousand Lannister smiles, there resided a peculiar lord by the name of Ser Buford Broadchest. He was as burly as a bear yet as delicate in his tastes as a maiden with a sweet tooth at a lemoncake festival. Ser Buford, being the jovial and surprisingly open-minded noble that he was, had a fondness for his entourage of choice: a harem of glittering Lannister twinks, each with hair as golden as the mines below their lavish abode and cheekbones that could quite literally cut a slice of ham. He called them his "Little Lions," and they roamed the plush confines of his chambers with the grace of courtiers--albeit very scantily clad courtiers. One fine Westerosi morning, as the sun burst over the horizon like the smile of a particularly satisfied dragon, Ser Buford awoke to the sounds of mirthful chatter and the rustle of silken sheets. The Little Lions were lounging about in all their bare glory, snacking on a bed of goose down feathers so large that a giant might've mistaken it for his own. "Pass the lemoncakes, dear Joffy," cooed Lancel with a lazy stretch, a sliver of the morning light dancing across his pert buttocks. "With or without the honeyed wine glaze, my sweet?" drawled Joffy, batting his unnaturally long eyelashes. "Oh, with, with a thousand times with!" declared Lancel, his twinkling eyes alight with hedonic pleasure. Meanwhile, Ser Buford, ever so discreetly, coupled with a particularly robust twink who'd caught his eye the night before--a young chap named Ty, sporting a curtain of curls that rivaled the Mother's mercy. "Mmm, tread lightly, dear Ty," Ser Buford growled softly, his voice a baritone melody beneath the crescendo of giggles and gossip that filled the chamber. "For the passion in your loins might awaken the beast in mine. And truth be told, even the lions know to fear the bear." Ty, undeterred, merely smiled and continued his ministrations, his caresses carrying the subtle scrutiny of one testing the mantle of power...and the ticklishness of overgrown lords. As Ser Buford and Ty were entwined in their own intimate tango, tales of trivialities flowed from satin-sheeted corner to corner. There, amidst the feathery comfort, gossip ran rife; debates over who wore tightest breeches at the last feast mingled with whispered conspiracies regarding which vintage tasted best when sipped off a fellow twink's navel....

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:27 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

USER: Make a vividly detailed and comedic Game of Thrones story taking place in about a burly noble with his harem of Lannister twinks. The twinks are lounging in bed in the buff, snacking while they chat with each other as the noble couples with one

CHATBOT: Once in the raucous, rollicking lands of Westeros, there dwelt a burly noble by the name of Lord Bertrand the Broad. With arms as thick as the mighty oaks that flanked his formidable estate and a beard so lush it could harbor several species of roaming critters, Bertrand was a sight to behold. Despite his fearsome appearance on the battlefield, his tastes at home were far from the common ale and a raunchy singalong. Instead, Lord Bertrand harbored a peculiar infatuation with the fine cheekbones and golden locks of a certain house; you guessed it, the illustrious Lannister lads. Now, these were no ordinary Lannister men, nor were they the regal sort you'd picture prowling along the crimson corridors of Casterly Rock. These were twinkling, twinkish Lannisters - spry young gentlemen with a penchant for gossip and luxury that far surpassed their interest in politicking or gold (albeit they still had quite a soft spot for the latter). In the midst of this pampered pack was Jamie, Tyrone, and Lancell with the "e," who insisted it gave his name an exotic flair. One fine Westerosi evening, the walls of Lord Bertrand's estate shivered with laughter and the clink of goblets. Within his chambers, the air was sweet with the scent of crushed lavender and scandal. The setting was salaciously filled with fine Myrish rugs and plush throws, upon which our Lannister twink trio lounged like cats in the summer sun, utterly naked as their namesakes. They nibbled on candied figs and honeyed almonds, indulging in juicy tales of courtly intrigue. "Did you see the new knight, Sir Hubert?" cooed Jamie, his eyes glittering with mirth. "More like 'Sir Hunkbert.' I do declare his armor was so tight one could discern his lineage from the bulge of his breeches!" The twinks dissolved into a fit of impish sniggers, only to be interrupted as the chambers thundered with the entry of their broad lord and protector. "Ah, my gilded lilies," bellowed Lord Bertrand the Broad, who, despite his size, moved with a grace that defied his pounds. "What glee fair flits upon your lips this evening?" Lancell with the "e" flicked his blonde mane and took a delicate sip of his Dornish red. "Only sharing the sagas that sing through these hallowed halls," he replied, flashing a vixen's smile at his burly protector. Never one to miss out on courtly chatter, Bertrand the Broad bundled himself onto a reinforced, size-ample divan, beckoning to the nearest fair fellow. "Come, my little lion, regale me with the st...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:30 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: "The Burly Lord and the Lannister Lads" Once upon a time in the extravagant and controversy-laden lands of Westeros, there stood a castle unlike any other. It was not famed for its battles, nor was it whispered about for its political scheming. No, this stronghold, named Buffoon's Keep, was known far and wide for housing the most peculiar noble of them all: Lord Manfred the Mighty, the most burly and barrel-chested lord the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Lord Manfred, more affectionately referred to as 'Manny' by his intimate companions, had a unique penchant for the golden-haired beauty of Lannister men. Why he focused his attention on the lions of Casterly Rock was anyone's guess, but the rumor mill suggested that he simply couldn't resist the way the sun kissed their locks. In his opulent chambers, which had more in common with the pleasure houses of Lys than the war rooms of the North, his cherished troupe of Lannister twinks lounged. They were in the buff, their alabaster skin creating a stark contrast to the crimson draperies and gold-leafed bedposts that surrounded them. As befitting their noble status, they snacked on candied figs and honeyed wine, giggling at the secrets they shared. Jaime the Jestful, the most mischievous of the lot, bit into a particularly succulent grape and declared, "By the Old Gods and the New, if Manny could see us now, he'd stomp in here with that furrowed brow and forget all about his 'warring' business." Lionel the Lithe, with hair as bright as the sun and a waist Manny often claimed he could circle with his hands, rolled his eyes theatrically. "Please, Jaime, he's probably out there lifting a horse to impress some visiting northern lord. You know Manny loves a good show of strength." The noble himself was indeed coupling with one of the Lannisters at that moment--the fiery-haired Ellery the Enigmatic, famed across the Seven Kingdoms not only for his clever wit but for his ability to quote the entire lineage of House Lannister while balancing a goblet of wine on his head. Manny's grunts of exertion were heard through the walls, rhythmic and earthshaking, more akin to the sounds of a blacksmith's hammer than the tender escapades of the boudoir. Each thump was accompanied by blurts from Ellery spouting historical trivia, "Did you know, the Rains of Castamere were composed for--ugh--the Lord of--mmm--House Reyne of--" His soliloquy would be repeatedly cut short by the more pressing matters at hand--or rather, at Manny...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:43 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: Title: The Busty Burly and the Luscious Lannister Lads Once upon a time, in a hilariously inappropriate offshoot of Westeros, there resided Sir Rodrik "The Robust" Rackham--a noble of such gargantuan girth that his shadow was often mistaken for the passing of a minor eclipse. This mountain of a man, with a beard as bushy as a direwolf's pelt and a belly laugh that could rattle the Iron Throne, had an unusual affection for the fair-haired beauties of House Lannister--the men, to be precise. In the opulent bedchamber of Sir Rodrik's lavish Holdfast (known colloquially as The Snuggle Keep), a group of exceptionally well-groomed Lannister twinks lounged amidst silken sheets and pillows as fluffy as freshly baked bread. Named for their golden locks and expert pampering routines, these sprightly young men were Sir Rodrik's favored companions. There was Jaime Junior, Tyrion the Toned, and Lancel the Luscious, to name but a few of the fair-faced fellows. Sprawled across satin like a painter's still-life array of carnal indulgence, the twinks reclined in the all-together, their modesty barely concealed by strategically placed fig leaves from the Snuggle Keep's peculiarly thriving fig trees. As they nibbled on spiced honey cakes and tossed grapes into each other's perfectly pouted lips, they bantered in jest about the day's courtly gossip and the latest fashion in codpieces--extra padding being the current rage. Meanwhile, Sir Rodrik was busy consummating yet another political alliance with Lady Whimsical of House Hedonist, who herself was admired for her stunning collection of outlandish feathered hats. She cheered, albeit with slightly feigned enthusiasm, as Sir Rodrik proved his marital might, bellowing like a warhorn mid-revelry. The room reverberated with his thunderous declarations of affection, easily mistaken for a particularly zealous blacksmith forging a new set of armor. The Lannister lads, hardly perturbed, provided a cheeky running commentary, chortling with laughter so pristine it would make the marble statues of the Seven blush in embarrassment. "Why, I'd wager Ser Rodrik's efforts this eve could overshadow even Robert's famed warhammer! The tremors resonate in my spa-warmed toes!" exclaimed Lancel the Luscious, his curls bouncing with mirth. "Indeed," quipped Tyrion the Toned, flexing his manicured brows, "the lady must truly feel 'earthshaking' joy, or perhaps it's akin to wrestling a particularly feisty bear?" "Oh, hush," whispered Jaime Junior, "l...

Cluster 50

Mar 5, 2024 at 12:46 AM EST — 1 exchange United States, Massachusetts fiction fanfiction explicit View full conversationView

CHATBOT: As the sun slowly sank below the majestic peaks of the Westerlands, casting a golden glow across Casterly Rock, an unusual scene unfolded within the luxuriant chambers of Ser Boromir the Burly--a noble whose reputation for might in battle was only eclipsed by his fondness for the more delicate and aesthetic aspects of life. Specifically, Lannister twinks. Imagine, if you will, a sprawling chamber adorned with the richest tapestries depicting the roaring lions of House Lannister, each silken thread shimmering with conspicuous opulence. Amidst the plush furnishings and ornate decor, a bevy of lithe, golden-haired youths lounged languidly, their unclothed forms a study in the artful draping of linens as they lounged amidst downy cushions like a parliament of resplendent, indolent cats. These were not your average fair-faces from Lannisport; these were the creme de la creme of twinks as could only be procured by the excessively deep coffers of the Lannisters--each one boasting a lineage that was one part nobility, two parts fabulous. At the epicenter of this feast for the senses, surrounded by crystal goblets brimming with the finest Arbor gold and plates scattered with candied figs, was Ser Boromir. Despite his formidable girth and battle-hardened demeanor, the burly knight moved with a tenderness that belied his size as he canoodled with one particularly cherubic companion. Ser Boromir's booming laughter filled the chamber, a sound as warm and inviting as a hearth in winter. While he engaged in amorous congress, his other twinks whispered among themselves with the melodious lilt of inner-circle gossip. "Did you hear? Lord Tywin is on a warpath about the missing gold leaf from the dessert spoons," twittered Tybalt, his cheeks stuffed with sugared almonds. "Mayhaps he should look in the mirror; his new crown looks suspiciously shiny," giggled Jaime--not the Kingslayer, mind you, but rather Jaime the Juvenile, known for his wit so sharp it could slice through Valyrian steel. "Oh, hush! Do you know what happened to the last beau who crossed Tywin?" Elyas chided them with mock severity, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he admired the elaborate fresco on the ceiling, depicting mostly accurate historical scenes with a generous amount of artistic nudity thrown in for good measure. As Ser Boromir concluded his impassioned liaison, a silence akin to the breathless pause between thunderclaps fell over the room. He rose with the stately grace of a galleon setting sai...

Cluster 50