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queengiuliettafirstlady · 19 days

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how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

youtube

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

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queengiuliettafirstlady · 1 month

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Wow ❤💌

It Gorgeous exactly like this man is 💌

I loved everything of it 😍

He was so in character and gosh the ending washeartmelting I adored it 🥰

Thank you so much for joining in 🤗

Worthy (Jean x reader)

Summary: Jean never felt this way before. He never thought he deserved love — or to be alive again to begin with. That’s what his brain tells him; that’s what seems more logical to do. But his heart grows more stubborn every day.

Words: 2418

Tags: sfw; fluffy; angst with a happy ending; not-so-unrequited love; confessions; first kiss; female reader (Jean calls you mademoiselle and you’re wearing a dress).

Notes: it took me so long, but I finally finished iiit! This is my entry for the lovely challenge “Love Booth for Underrated Characters” hosted by @queengiuliettafirstlady! The prompts for Jean were “Monster — I am not worthy of love.”

He seriously considers not attending this party. He’s never had any problems just staying in his room before. Why doesn’t he do just that now?

The sound of your laugh reverberates throughout the room, piercing straight into the core of his heart — make it twist, stop, hurt.

Oh… Right.

And now he doesn’t know whether it would be better to enter this hellish party or to run back to his bedroom.

Jean never felt this way before. He never thought he deserved love — or to be alive again to begin with. So, having such a bright soul near him is a little scary. It makes him want to hide in his room and never leave again, or perhaps go to his weapon shop and not come back. That’s what his brain tells him; that’s what seems more logical to do.

But his heart grows more stubborn every day.

He sees you as soon as he steps into the grand party hall. You’re chatting with Isaac while he’s a shy mess, blushing and stuttering. Jean isn’t good with body language or understanding people, but he can tell the physicist likes you. To be fair, he can tell everyone in the mansion likes you — and that probably says more about how they all make no effort to disguise their feelings than Jean starting to be less oblivious.

And the worst part is that he can include himself in that count.

He is better at concealing his feelings though. It’s easy when he thinks he’s a horrible monster that doesn’t deserve happiness. But it’s hard when you look at him from the other corner of the room with those doe-like eyes. When you smile widely and wave at him. When you interrupt your conversation with Isaac to walk up to him, to welcome him to this party that Comte insisted on throwing to celebrate your one-year anniversary living in the mansion with them — something that Comte, once again, went overboard with, renting out an entire party hall and throwing a fancy celebration.

“Jean! You’re here!” you say in a cheery tone. You almost reach out to hug him but think better of it and clasp your hands together. Sometimes you forget Jean is not a fan of hugs; you’re used to all these needy vampires wanting your attention and affection 24/7.

“I am,” he replies in what he thinks is his usual stoic voice, but if someone else were close enough to hear him, they’d notice it’s a little softer.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you smile widely. It reaches your eyes in the most beautiful and radiant way he’s ever seen; it almost blinds him. He just averts his gaze and hums in agreement. He fails to see your smile wavering at his lack of a better response. “Do you... Do you want to eat something? The buffet is incredible!”

He glances back at you. “Alright,” he replies simply, and your face brightens up again.

You practically don’t leave his side from that point on. You guide him to the buffet, tell him about some food he’s never seen before, and keep chatting with him for a good while. He can’t understand what’s happening. Why are you still giving him all this attention? Shouldn’t you be talking to the others?

However, he doesn’t have the heart to dismiss you, and it only makes things worse.

So when Arthur calls you for a dance, he seizes the opportunity to escape. It’s stupid, he knows it, but it’s the only way he can think of distancing himself from you. Jean considers going back home; someone like him shouldn’t be there, enjoying all the attention you were giving to him. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re basically an angel in his eyes, with a natural light, a bright smile, and a pure heart, and he’s not worthy of any of that.

Why does it become harder and harder to keep believing that?

He goes to the balcony and sits down on a bench in the corner. He sighs and gazes at the moon in the dark sky, while his mind wanders. The sounds from the party are a little quieter there, but he can still hear the music and the laughter. He can imagine you dancing with Arthur, the way you’d spin around in his arms while giving him your beautiful smile, how your sweet voice would chat with him while dancing... How you’d do everything he wants, but he knows he’s not worthy of having.

Why does the thought bring him pain? He should be happy if you end up choosing anyone else, even if it’s Arthur. They’re all more deserving of your affection than he will ever be.

He hears footsteps slowly approaching the balcony, and only then does he realize he must’ve been lost in his own thoughts for a while because the song has changed. His gaze flicks down from the moon to whoever is coming out into the chilly night, and he stops breathing when he sees you approaching him.

“There you are!” you smile, sitting down beside him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says simply.

“Oh! I think I need some air too, so I’ll stay here for a while… is that okay?”

His head nods before his lips can give you a verbal answer, and you smile shyly. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, with only the faint music from inside the hall serving as background noise.

A soft song starts to play, and he can see from the corner of his eye you fidgeting with your fingers, then with the skirt of your dress, then fiddling with your hair. He turns his head slightly, silently watching your face change into a million different expressions in a short span of time. It’s both impressive and endearing to him.

“Jean?” you call in a soft voice, and he hums in acknowledgment. You finally look directly at his face, biting your lip nervously. “Do you dance?”

“Pardon?” His eye widen as he looks at you funny, as if you’ve suddenly grown a second head.

“I want to dance,” you explain slowly and softly. “And I’d like to dance with you.”

“Mademoiselle, I don’t think I’m the most appropriate partner for this,” he says, frowning. “Have you considered asking Mozart?”

“No, because I don’t want to dance with him,” you pout. “I want to dance with you. If you’re not comfortable, then we can just stay as we are now, keeping each other company.”

“Not uncomfortable…” he starts, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve never danced before. I don’t know how to.”

“Oh! Then it’s easily fixed!” You jolt up and look expectantly at him. “Come on, let’s dance. We can do it here, so no one will see us while we practice.”

Jean considers denying you, but he realizes how difficult it actually is. Slowly, almost suspiciously, and very awkwardly, he stands up in front of you. You beam at him, your neck craning a little backward so you can properly look at him from such a short distance, since he is taller than you.

“How... do we do it?” he asks, trying to ignore his heart beating faster.

“It’s quite simple. One of your hands will hold mine, and the other goes to my waist.”

You don’t move or try to catch his hands; you just stay there with one hand extended for him to grab, waiting for him to approach you when he’s ready. With a mental deep breath, he brings himself to touch you. The hand on your waist pulls you a little closer without him really noticing what he’s doing, and the other proceeds to hold yours.

“And now?” he asks in a low voice.

“Now we sway,” you reply, placing your other hand on his shoulder and gently nudging him to move. “One step to the right, one step to the left.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, a little insecure. He looks down at both your feet, trying hard not to step on you, but ends up doing so. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes. His cheeks flush, his brow furrows, and you think it’s the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t worry about my feet, Jean,” you kindly say. “And try not to look down while dancing.”

The soldier nods, briefly glancing at your face before averting his gaze to something above your head. He can feel you intently looking up at his face while slowly guiding him, and he makes a huge effort not to look directly into your curious eyes. He fails. He never thought it was possible, but here, underneath the starry sky and the moonlight, you’re even more beautiful.

He can feel his heart beating inside his ribcage. Is this normal? Is he dying again? He thought vampires were supposed to be stronger. You lick your lips, and his gaze drops to follow the motion, being rewarded with a shy smile in return. Now his knees are weak and his head feels light, and he’s sure he’s about to pass out.

“Jean…” you call his name oh so softly.

He turns his amethyst eye back to yours, and you both stay silent for a few seconds, lost in each other’s gaze.

“... Yes?” He tries to encourage you, but he isn’t sure if it’s effective.

Unaware that it makes you more nervous, he intently watches as you bite your lip and furrow your brow. You keep staring at him for a whole minute, and Jean considers asking if you’re feeling unwell too. But then you intertwine your fingers more with his, and bring your linked hands close to your lips and place a soft peck.

“I like you,” you whisper, the hands still close to your lips, your breath warming them.

He stops dead in his tracks, causing you to stop swaying too.

He blinks.

“What…?” His voice is so hoarse and low, you can barely hear him.

“No, that’s not right,” you pout. “I’m in love with you.”

Oh, he’s definitely dying again. Or maybe he’s already dead and this is Heaven?

“Mademoiselle, what are you saying…”

“I’m saying I love you,” you speak with more confidence now.

He wants to push you away. He wants to tell you that you shouldn’t say this to him. He wants to warn you about his true self. He wants to make you realize the monster he really is, the one that doesn’t deserve love, especially yours.

However…

The hand holding yours squeezes tightly, and he brings it to his chest, while the one around your waist clenches the fabric of your dress between his fingers. The motion brings you closer, and you squeeze his shoulder, beaming at him in such a way that he feels something melting inside him.

“I’m not… appropriate. I’m not worthy… You—”

“I don’t want to tell this to anyone else,” you practically read his thoughts, based on the previous answer when you asked him to dance with you. “And don’t talk like that about yourself. I love you. You’re worthy of love, and every good thing this life gives you. I can tell you the whole list of why, if it helps you see what a wonderful man you really are.”

Jean is confused. He’s never been called a “wonderful man” before, not in this soft way you just did — he was a wonderful soldier, but that had a whole different meaning back then. It’s unusual, but he notices it isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

He leans down, leveling his gaze with yours. Your expectant gaze flits from his eye to his lips and back again. Perhaps he can allow himself to pull out those feelings from his chest too.

“That’s not necessary,” Jean whispers, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen. You even dare to say he is smiling, but it’s timid, almost only a tiny curve at the corner of his lips. “My heart is stubborn. Even though I keep thinking that I don’t deserve you, I can’t bring myself to stop loving you.”

“You… love me too?” Your eyes widen for a moment.

“I love you too,” he states simply and directly. Your gaze softens, and you break into a big smile. He’s mesmerized by every little change in your features, as always, but there’s something more enticing tonight. Something that compels him to bring his face closer. “... Am I allowed to kiss you?”

“Yes,” you reply in a whisper. “Always.”

He closes the gap between your lips in one soft peck that ends too soon for your liking. When he pulls away to look at you, you hold his hand more firmly, using it as support to keep him close and bring your face towards his. You don’t waste time, and tilting your head for a better angle, you request passage with your tongue to deepen the kiss.

And it’s everything he’s ever heard of and more — almost too much.

Your tongue flicks against his, making his head spin and his body crave more. Without thinking, his hand squeezes your waist and slides up your back, meeting your nape, as he tries to bring you closer, wanting to keep it going forever. The grip you have on his shoulder tightens, and a low, satisfied sound ripples from your throat.

When the kiss ends, you both maintain your foreheads together, pausing to catch your breath as you gaze into each other’s eyes. Jean smiles, boldly bringing his hand to your face, his fingertips caressing under your eyes, your cheeks, your lips… He wishes to commit every little detail of you to memory, even though he knows you two have all the time in the world now.

You do the same to him, sliding your hand from his shoulder to his neck, to his jawline, up his cheeks, until you reach his eyepatch. He tenses up, but doesn’t retreat; he trusts you, and he knows you won’t do anything without asking. You simply trace the line between his eyepatch and his skin, and continue your path sliding your hand behind his head. Your fingers delicately tangle in his dark locks, and before you can complete your intention of pulling him in for another kiss, Jean kisses you.

You stay there for God knows how long, lost in yourselves.

Neither of you notices footsteps approaching the balcony door and instantly turn back inside, while Arthur shouts to the others that he found you and you’re more than fine.

Taglist: @bicayaya @silverbladexyz @koco-coko @yamarireads @judejazza @echoes-in-the-forest @chandeliermichel @fang-and-feather @sh0jun

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