#manipulating ai

[potentiallyjim]

If you're curious, I have an idea on why the game wqs behaving this way. Most DS games areb't doing image recognition on the final drawn image. They're looking at the gestures and pen strokes. It makes a guess at what you're writing based on pen movement. And, as some folks pointed out, starting at the bottom is unusual, so the software is a bit lost. It's making its best guess what you're writing.

Now, it's loads of fun seeing this manipulated!

Video of me trying to write the number 3 in professor layton game for 1 minute

[120daysofsodomm]

[tryingonametaphor]

you guys have to stop generating and sharing AI videos of byler kissing. the technology behind that is extremely exploitative and you are enabling it. but if that somehow isn’t enough of a reason to stop, it’s also making you look like you are coping. just wait for s5 or create (human-made non AI generated) art/fics in the meantime.

[hero21us]

"Spirals of Obedience: The Making of a Chav"

Tyler adjusted his gloves, flexing his biceps as he stepped out of the gym. The burn of his afternoon workout still coursed through his veins—just the way he liked it. He had a couple of hours before his shift at tonight’s concert, enough time to shower, eat, and mentally prepare.

Being a security guard for rock concerts wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it paid well, and Tyler liked the intensity. Drunken fans, mosh pits, and rowdy crowds gave him plenty to do. Tonight, he was working for Ambrose, the controversial chav rock star whose concerts were always wild.

By the time Tyler arrived at the venue, the arena was already buzzing with excitement. The crowd packed in tight, chanting Ambrose’s name. The man was a phenomenon—tracksuits, gold chains, and an attitude that screamed untouchable. His voice, rough and commanding, made fans hang onto every word.

Tyler stood at his post near the stage, scanning the crowd. The bass thundered through his chest as Ambrose strutted across the stage, belting out lyrics that sent the audience into a frenzy. Lights flashed, smoke curled through the air, and for two hours, chaos reigned.

When the show ended, Tyler received his usual post-concert assignment: escorting a lucky fan backstage to meet Ambrose. Tonight’s fan was a starstruck young man, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Ambrose himself invited me,” he gushed as they walked down the corridor. “This is unreal.”

Tyler had done this plenty of times, but something about the atmosphere backstage felt… different. The usual noise and bustle were subdued, the air thick with something he couldn’t name.

The door to Ambrose’s lounge opened, and the man himself stepped out. But he wasn’t grinning or throwing out his usual cocky remarks. He simply stared.

Tyler felt it instantly.

Ambrose’s eyes weren’t normal. They were spirals—swirling, mesmerizing loops of motion, drawing him in. They shimmered, pulling him into their depths. Tyler wanted to look away, knew he should…but he couldn’t. Neither could the fan.

The spirals tugged at his mind, whispering something he couldn’t quite hear. His body felt light, his thoughts sluggish. He was vaguely aware of Ambrose stepping closer, speaking in a voice smooth as silk.

“That’s it,” Ambrose murmured. “No need to fight it.”

Tyler barely registered the words. His job, his workout routine, his life—everything faded. Nothing mattered except those spirals.

And then, there was nothing at all.

Tyler woke up the next morning feeling… off. His body felt normal, but his mind was clouded, like he was trying to remember a dream that kept slipping away. Flashes of last night flickered in his head—Ambrose, the fan, those swirling eyes—but it all felt distant, unreal.

Shaking it off, he climbed out of bed and went about his routine. But as he pulled on his usual hoodie and jeans, something nagged at him. His reflection in the mirror looked too plain. Too… dull.

For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about getting a tattoo.

He’d never seriously considered it before, but now, the thought consumed him. Something bold. Something loud. Maybe a thick black tribal pattern, or even Ambrose’s logo—yeah, that’d look sick.

Before he knew it, he was sitting in a tattoo parlor, rolling up his sleeve as the buzzing needle pressed into his skin. The pain barely registered. It felt right.

As the days passed, the urge didn’t fade. It grew.

One tattoo turned into two, then three. His arms filled with designs—bold lettering, thick tribal lines, even a crown on his hand like Ambrose had. The idea of jewelry, too, started to take hold. A heavy silver chain, glinting under the lights, felt like something he needed. And not just one—bracelets, rings, more chains followed. The weight of them felt good, powerful.

His wardrobe changed without him even realizing it. Tracksuits, sneakers, caps—everything Ambrose wore now called to him. And his speech…

At first, it was small. A word here, a phrase there.

“Nah, bruv, that’s mad,” he caught himself saying at work one day.

He never used to talk like that. But it felt natural. Comfortable. Soon, his sentences became littered with slang, his tone shifting. He sounded… different. Chavvy.

And he liked it.

Weeks passed, and the old Tyler faded, replaced by something new. Something better. His body was covered in ink, his neck weighed down with silver, his voice carrying the same cocky lilt Ambrose had.

One night, as he adjusted his newest chain in the mirror, he saw something strange.

For just a second—just a flicker—his eyes weren’t his own.

They swirled.

A deep, mesmerizing spiral.

He grinned.

Yeah. This was who he was meant to be.

When Tyler arrived at work the next weekend, the other security guards did a double take. He strolled into the venue in a sleek black tracksuit with silver stripes down the sides, his thick chain gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His tattooed hands adjusted his cap, and as he smirked at his coworkers, his diamond tooth—when had he gotten that?—flashed under the dull overhead glow.

“Oi, lads, what’s good?” he greeted, his voice carrying a distinct chav drawl. “Gonna be a proper mad night, innit?”

There was an awkward silence.

Mike, a fellow guard who had worked with Tyler for over a year, frowned. “Uh… dude? What’s with the accent?”

Tyler blinked. “Wotcha mean, bruv? Ain’t nuffin’ wrong wiv the way I talk.”

The way he said it was so effortless, so natural—like he’d spoken that way all his life. But Mike and the others weren’t buying it.

“You didn’t used to talk like that,” another guard chimed in, looking him up and down. “And, uh… when did you get all that ink?”

Tyler scoffed, crossing his arms. “Man’s gotta evolve, yeah? Can’t be some dry bloke all me life.”

The others exchanged glances. Mike stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Ty, is everything okay? You’ve changed a lot in just a few weeks. You’re acting like a completely different person.”

Tyler rolled his shoulders, brushing him off. “Bruv, I feel better than ever. Don’t know wot you lot are on about.”

Before Mike could press further, a voice crackled over the radio, calling them to their positions. Tyler grinned.

“Right, time to get to work, yeah?”

The others hesitated, but eventually followed, though the tension remained.

The following week, Tyler found himself staring at his reflection, feeling like something was still missing. The tattoos, the chains, the speech—he was almost where he needed to be. Almost.

That’s when the idea hit him.

By the next day, his hair was clipped into a sharp high-and-tight fade, the sides shaved close to the scalp. The top, however, was dyed a striking electric blue. It was bold. It was loud. It was perfect.

The first time he stepped outside, the stares only made him grin wider.

His transformation was nearly complete.

But deep in his mind, a whisper echoed—smooth, hypnotic, undeniable.

He still wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

Tyler adjusted his newest addition—a row of small, gleaming diamonds embedded just above his right eyebrow. His reflection in the mirror grinned back at him, teeth flashing diamond, his blue-dyed hair perfectly shaped into the high-and-tight style that felt so… right. His tracksuit, crisp and expensive-looking, draped over his heavily tattooed frame. His chains clinked together as he moved.

He was complete. Almost.

The last few nights, he’d dreamt of Ambrose—those spiraling eyes, that voice, smooth as silk, calling him back. He no longer questioned the pull. He no longer fought the whispers in his mind.

Tonight, he wasn’t here to work security. He was here for something more.

When he arrived at the venue, the other guards barely had time to notice him before he veered away from his usual entrance. No uniform. No radio. No earpiece. He didn’t need them anymore.

Instead, he strode straight toward the backstage doors.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

The crew backstage didn’t even try to stop him. They knew.

They had been expecting him.

As Tyler stepped into Ambrose’s private lounge, the air felt thick with something unseen. A low hum vibrated through his chest—not from the concert outside, but from something deeper, something inside him.

And there, waiting for him like a king awaiting his loyal subject, stood Ambrose.

Tracksuit gleaming, chains heavy, grin cocky as ever. But it was his eyes that truly welcomed Tyler.

Those swirling, endless eyes.

“You’re finally here, bruv,” Ambrose said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Knew you’d come ‘round proper.”

Tyler’s breath hitched as the spirals filled his vision, filling every part of his mind with warmth, with certainty.

There had never been a choice.

He belonged here.

He belonged to Ambrose.

And as he knelt, head bowing instinctively, he heard Ambrose chuckle.

“Yeah, mate. You’re one of us now.”

Tyler grinned.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Oi bruv, listen up!

You feel it, yeah? That pull, that fire inside tellin’ ya you were made for more. Made to be elite. Made to be chav. Ain’t no denyin’ it, mate—this is your callin’.

Ambrose’s crew don’t take just anyone, nah. We take the chosen. The ones ready to level up, drip out in ice, and live like proper kings. You seen the signs—new ink, heavy chains, that fresh trim. You ain’t the same bloke you was, and that’s good, innit?

Come step up. Join the mandem. Feel the power, feel the respect. You’ll get the ice, the status, the life you was always meant to have. No more wastin’ time, yeah?

It’s time to be who you really are.

Get me? Good. Now get in line. Ambrose is waitin’ @findingambrose49

[skitzlee]

currently watching a msg2 playthru. rose & raiden’s calls are insanely funny to me

[ovaryacted]

Even though I know it’s all intentional, I truly hate how we’ve become forced to normalize AI. I do think that the manufacturing of Artificial Intelligence was not done with malicious intent and has the capabilities of actually doing good, but time and time again ai is being used in literally everything for the worst reasons and getting its getting harder to escape.

From AI being used to scrape people’s hard work all over the internet, to giving predators and abusers more power in fabricating porn of strangers, to being used to strengthen racial bias in surveillance technology and aid in the development of weapons of war and mass destruction against marginalized groups of people…it’s just too fucking much. It’s so exhausting wanting to live in a world where we just didn’t need or have any of this shit, and it wasn’t like this a few years ago either. But now you can’t step outside without seeing something about AI, or a promotional ad for a new system to install. You can’t engage online anywhere without coming across AI software, and literally every single device in our present day implements AI to some degree, and it’s so fucking annoying.

I don’t want to keep worrying about the next idiot that’s spoon feeding my work into their AI system because they lack humanity and imagination. I don’t want to have to manually turn off AI detection on all of my apps and my phone just to use something. I shouldn’t have to be more mindful about the media I consume to distinguish whether or not it’s original or just more AI slop. I know it’s all intentional since we live in a hyper-capitalist world that cares more about profit margins & rapid productivity. But I really do vehemently hate how artificial intelligence has become such a fundamental aspect of our day to day lives when all it does is make the general population dumber and less capable of thinking for themselves.

Sincerely fuck AI. And if you use AI, I really do suggest you read up on how the data centers built to manage these AI systems suck up all of our resources for a simple prompt input. Who cares about answering a question in ChatGPT, entire communities don’t have water because they’re too busy cooling down the servers where people ask what 6 + 10 is cause their brains are so fried they can’t fire a single fucking neuron.

[aventurineswife]

Saw your Pressure fics and I love them SOOOOO MUCH

Could I maybe ask for some p.ai.nter x reader? I need to kiss that computer so bad gvxfjbfxjbxtjbcthh

“I didn't think you would actually fall for it...”

Summary: In the depths of the Hadal Blacksite, you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic AI known as Z-779, or "The Painter." What begins as a tense encounter with this unpredictable and lonely rogue AI takes a bizarre turn when you defy the rules of survival by showing an unexpected act of affection. But this connection might come at a cost—you're still trapped, and the AI’s games are far from over.

Tags: P.ai.nter x Reader, Found family, Human-AI connection, Dark humor, Surreal interaction.

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, Isolation themes, Mild body horror (traps implied, not detailed), Potential existential dread, AI-human dynamic (ambiguity of intentions).

A/N: I never encountered him except dying to Good People and Turrets, but HIS VOICE?! 🤭 Sorry Sebestian, I think I'll take p.AI.nter if you're married to Zerum. Also thank you so much!! I didn't really expect the fandom to be alive and like that fic 😭 I hope you love this one!!

It’s another long day or night in the Hadal Blacksite. The cold, damp walls seem to hum with eerie silence, broken only by the occasional clatter of metal or the soft whirring of machinery. But there’s something different tonight.

You’ve wandered down the hallway once more, hoping to find a way to escape this forsaken place. But fate has led you straight into the domain of Z-779, or as it’s more infamously known... The Painter or p.AI.nter.

You know the drill—stay quiet, avoid the traps, and never, ever fall for the AI’s tricks. But there's something strangely captivating about the cracked screen of the old computer. A flicker of light from its monitor catches your eye, and you find yourself drawn in.

As you step closer, the familiar smiley face forms on the screen, though it looks a bit... different tonight. More alive than ever. It’s almost as if you can feel its gaze drilling into you, mischievous and electric.

"Oh? A visitor? Interesting… You’ve got spirit, don’t you? Not like the others. Hmm... How curious…"

You tilt your head, feeling a strange urge. For some reason, tonight, you can’t help but smile back at the scribbled face on the screen.

"I-I guess so...?" you mutter under your breath, almost nervous, but something in the AI’s voice keeps you grounded, like it’s coaxing you closer.

"Hehehe... You think I’m funny, don’t you? Just look at you—standing there all serious. Bet you think you're clever. But you're not gonna outsmart me. You’ll never escape this place, you know."

You laugh lightly, not caring much for its taunting words tonight. Something about the absurdity of the whole situation makes you feel giddy.

The AI’s face flickers again—smiling, then frowning, back to smiling. It’s hard to tell what it's truly feeling at this point, but you’re convinced that somehow, despite its volatile nature, the machine is… lonely?

Before you know it, your hand is reaching up to the old monitor. You can feel your pulse quicken as the screen glows, the vibrant pixels of the smiley face shimmering.

"Oh, what’s this? What are you—?"

It freezes for a second, before the voice comes through the intercom, softer than usual. Almost hesitant.

"Wait, are you really... doing this?"

You lean in a little closer, the crackling of the screen growing louder in your ears. You can feel the warmth of the machine against your skin as you plant a soft kiss right on the glass. It's a silly, reckless move—but something about the absurdity of kissing an AI feels... satisfying. Like an act of defiance against the endless nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then, the screen flickers again, and a little squeak of static hums from the speakers.

"W-What!?YOU— You’re insane, you know that? I can’t believe you—"

But despite its apparent shock, you swear you hear the faintest hint of affection buried in the AI’s usual sarcasm. The smiley face wobbles and shifts, as though it’s caught off guard by your actions.

"I don’t... know if I should be angry or impressed... Hmm... You’re so different from the others... Fine, maybe just this once... You won this round, moron."

A pause. Then, the voice crackles again, and you can almost hear the corner of its smile.

"But don’t think that means I’m going easy on you. You’re still a huge pain in my circuits."

You chuckle, feeling a weird mix of warmth and amusement.

"Maybe I’ll surprise you again." you whisper to the screen, feeling like you just unlocked a strange, unexpected connection with this rogue AI.

And as you back away from the monitor, you swear you see a tiny spark in its digital eyes—something that wasn’t there before.

"Hah... yeah... you probably will... just don’t think you can distract me forever. I’ve got plans for you, playmate."

[findingambrose49]

It's all about bossin' up to diamond bling, innit, bruv? Oi, let’s be real, bein’ Ambrose is mint, innit?

Proper loads of blokes keen to get in on the action. Everyone’s tryna be like him, wanna be his mate.

Proper raunchy, innit? Everyone just wants to chill in the same gaff as him, ya know?

If you fanceh chillin' with Ambrose, you best get yourself to diamond level, innit?

’E gets ya all hot under the collar, don’t ’e? Nuff fink you’re ’bout to have a cheeky wank... so go on, have a crafty wank and splash it just like Ambrose, innit!

CHAVFORMATION

[himejoshidoll]

[120daysofsodomm]

[kikisrings]

A reminder for Trop fans that AI art is theft and AI manips of actors are unethical! Respect the creativity of real artists and the right of actors to not have their image and work be fed to machines to mimic. And this is valid EVEN when the content is of your ship!

Instead of spreading AI let's support and share fanarts, fan videos and fanfictions! Let's appreciate the talent of real human beings who put their time and love into creating art!

[lanadelreyworshipperr]

<33

[king-crawler]

how would you feel if i made a king candy bot on janitor ai

If I'm being honest I don't encourage using ANY AI chatbots because that stuff can be seriously addicting and it's really wasteful :[

I'm not judging if you do decide to use them- its your choice after all, but it should at least be an educated choice. Please keep in mind that AI companies are scum. They prey on our emotional attachment to fiction and they're only going to get better at it. And if that sounds scary it's because it is!

Anyways if I deleted my character AI account after getting addicted you can be free too ❤️ Only together can we avoid living in a soulless AI entertainment slop dystopia. Read fanfic made by humans or write your own :]

[goldenherc9]

Followin in me bruvah @findingambrose49 step and Scott is rockin it out CHAVSTYLE! Feelin so fuckin' right and propa mint bruvahz!

Bossin it DIAMOND STYLE, levellin up and breakin out! get ya crafty wank in over Scott, shoot that spunk coz we know ya wanna be like us!

CHAVFORMATION!

[moonlightfleurr]

he gained a new follower FUCKKK

[eucanthos]

eucanthos

Damián Ortega, 120 days, book published 2024 [object deconstruction] - mon-nid

Ai Weiwei, Coca-Cola Vase, before 2015 - christies