User f3b779af1005... - AI Fiction in the Wild

IP #136

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1 fiction conversations over 5 days (Sep 26, 2023 – Oct 2, 2023) 43% prompt uniqueness Moscow, Russia

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These IP addresses have similar average prompt embeddings (cosine similarity ≥ 0.85, same state). View as estimated user →

152370a3ffed... (255 conv., Moscow) 25b33c59d23e... (71 conv., Moscow) 2c0166f8daba... (343 conv., Moscow) 3186fcd1d6f7... (23 conv., Moscow) 41d90f3a9058... (6 conv., Moscow) 44580e65692b... (156 conv., Moscow) 4d2f2088e5a5... (53 conv., Moscow) 5c1d26e80570... (16 conv., Moscow) 68cd1231e329... (32 conv., Moscow) 7ffd82a431cb... (144 conv., Moscow) 80d33ea7c851... (5 conv., Moscow) 96d1c18c6bb8... (21 conv., Moscow) 9b7ebf049e11... (137 conv., Moscow) 9fb2aad693b3... (130 conv., Moscow) a2da078fff98... (28 conv., Moscow) b44db035ff1d... (192 conv., Moscow) b7ae3e566839... (26 conv., Moscow) c1f49ec710a9... (424 conv., Moscow) c65480c19768... (44 conv., Moscow) db3f4c72ca00... (31 conv., Moscow) f7aa19059ef5... (73 conv., Moscow) fbbe4466ea19... (24 conv., Moscow) fe5166559b27... (53 conv., Moscow)

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Sep 26, 2023

Oct 2, 2023

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Conversation Clusters (88)

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1 conversation in cluster Cluster 81× “I want you to act as a writer. This is a bizarre and slightl...” over less than a minute (Oct 1, 2023 – Oct 1, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Oct 1, 2023 at 10:37 AM MSK — 1 turn Russia, Moscow fiction explicit View full conversation

USER: I want you to act as a writer. This is a bizarre and slightly surrealist romantic comedy, set in an idyllic-looking, yet haunting European setting,. Celestine Weeks is a beautiful, elegant, self-assured and serenely calm young woman who is a wheelchair-bound paraplegic after a hit-and-run accident. Write long, original, interesting, unusual, artistic chapter, narrated by Celestine from first person perspective, conveying the unsettling nature of this environment. It features Celestine and Jake, a handyman who helps Celestine with various tasks around her apartment. He is a ruggedly handsome man with a mysterious past. Celestine catches him staring at her occasionally, but he quickly looks away. Jake has a crush on Celestine, but he doesn't know how to express his feelings. Celestine decides to test Jake, several times finding excuses to ask him to help her by carrying her in his arms. She then decides to step up her game. Claiming to be feeling weak, Celestine nonchalantly, in a matter-of-fact manner, asks to help her to undress.

CHATBOT: Chapter 6: The Dance of Vulnerability The sun began its slow descent behind the jagged peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, casting a golden haze over the idyllic European countryside. The quaint village where I resided appeared frozen in time, its cobblestone streets and vine-covered cottages holding secrets whispered through the ages. Nestled on the outskirts, atop a hill, stood my own little sanctuary--an old mansion, its ethereal facade embracing the haunting beauty of a bygone era. As the soft breeze rustled the leaves of towering oak trees, I sat in my wheelchair by the open window, watching the world pass by like a distant dream. Shadows stretched and playfully danced along the walls, painting intricate patterns that mirrored the enigmatic nature of my surroundings. It was within this eerie stillness that Jake, the ruggedly handsome handyman, entered my life--an unpredictable force stirring the equilibrium of my sanctuary. Jake, with his piercing eyes and a turbulent past lingering beneath his tattooed skin, exuded an aura both daunting and irresistible. I often caught his gaze fixed upon me when he thought I wasn't looking, his features betraying a mixture of awe and hesitation. It was in those stolen glances that I sensed his admiration, a glimmer of desire hidden within the intricate folds of his guarded persona. With each visit, Jake became a staple in my life--a constant presence in my world of stillness. He became my hands, my feet, and, unexpectedly, the guardian of my heart. But despite our entwined lives, his adoration remained buried deep, locked away in the recesses of his soul. It was as if a discordant dance had begun, where I silently beckoned and he fumbled to follow, unsure of his steps. It was during one particular afternoon, as these intricate connections started to entangle us further, that I devised a plan to unravel his emotions. I concocted excuses--minor tasks requiring his assistance--hoping to provoke a spark, urging him to breach the fortress he'd built around his heart. But I treaded carefully, always mindful of the boundaries defined by my wheelchair-bound existence. One afternoon, as he rearranged the books on my shelves--a chore that could easily be done by my own hands--I asked him to carry me from my chair to the plush carpet next to the fireplace. His strong arms encircled me, a cloak of warmth and unspoken longing enveloping us both. For a fleeting moment, his gaze met mine, an unspoken question lingering in the air. ...

Cluster 81