Adult content. My fic can be found on AO3 and in my fic tag. Interests include podcasts, video games, Critical Role, and a variety of Asian dramas. Married to marsastronomica. Icon by iconseriezs.
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Just watched Adam Conover (of Adam Ruins Everything) make such a solid point that I think we should spread far and wide. Yes, having AI write your emails is lazy, sure, but people love being lazy. We need to really emphasize that sending AI emails (or using AI responses on social media, or publishing AI flyers, or or or) is rude.
It's rude. You're making someone take their time to read something you couldn't bother to write. You're telling them they were so unimportant you couldn't be bothered to actually take the time to say something yourself. And frankly, you're lying about it while you're at it.
The above is doubly true if the content of the email is something that will be important to the person receiving - especially something that affects them negatively. They see that this thing that affected them so much didn't matter enough to you to write it yourself. I was a bystander to such a thing not long ago and it was just awful.
If I may offer the lecturer's perspective on this idea:
Currently, it's marking season for us in the UK. I have an exam board in four hours, in fact, which is where we all go over every profile of every student on our courses, see what results they've achieved, and work out their "decision" - if all is well, the decision is to let them continue the course, or the final degree grade calculated if they're in final year. If it hasn't gone well, the decision is about whether they get to rework the pieces that failed, resit exams, repeat the whole year, or be required to withdraw.
And, as has been the case for the last two years, the profiles are now littered with plagiarism investigations. Every one of those - every single one - will have come in as an assignment that the lecturer received, and started reading, and then with a sinking feeling thought "This isn't your work." Every one had to go to an academic misconduct hearing. Every one is an enormous draw on time and resources, including the emotional reserves of the lecturer.
And I know that's not the main issue! I know in the grand scheme of things, our feelings aren't the most important part of this equation! But as we're talking about rudeness, let me explain:
Firstly, the work itself. You begin reading, you see it's AI. Contractually, we have to read it anyway, and give feedback on why it's shit, and what makes it bad, and that is absolutely fucking soul destroying. Most students who use AI are doing so because they've managed to train their brains to find reading something boring abhorrent, and they want to skip that part; but a ChatGPT-generated report is bland, vague, and utterly devoid of any passion, insight or personality. In short, it's boring. You simply passed your boredom on to us.
Secondly, regardless of your personal feelings about the assignment, it at least had a purpose. It was there to stretch you, and make you think about the topic so you could learn about it, and to test that learning so we can all make sure you have actually learned what you need to. But the slop you handed in, that I now have to mark? What's the point? Literally what is the fucking point of me marking it? You didn't even write it. None of the feedback I'm obligated to give means anything to you. I'm marking ChatGPT, and it can't read.
Which means, not only is it fucking boring, it's actively pointless. Ask anyone in the world what a boring but pointless obligatory task does to your mood. Imagine that.
Thirdly, the misconduct hearing. Because listen, again, the lecturer's feelings here are, once again, not the main point. Students who cheat like this aren't doing so because life is hunky dory. They're stressed and overwhelmed and struggling, and they think they've found a magic way out, and so being pulled into a misconduct hearing - where the best they can hope for is to have to redo the whole piece for a capped mark, on top of all the rest of the work they have (functionally, a bonus assignment), and the worst is expulsion - is a mental breakdown-inducing experience. That, obviously, is the biggest issue.
But, the lecturers know all that, which means we know what we're triggering if we do report it. I cannot tell you how upsetting it is to receive a slop assignment, realise what it is, and then have to make the call to report it. I know damn well how upsetting that's going to be for you. I know how stressful and painful that's going to be. I know this might mean you're going to be thrown out of university. In some cases, I know it means you will be.
I know I could look the other way to spare you that
And oh, that gets tempting. When things are really bad for you, and I see you struggling, and this is your third strike; fuck me but it's tempting to pretend that I can't tell.
I cannot do that.
Which brings me to number four: the soul-bleachingly fucking horrible ordeal that is the misconduct hearing itself. Most people are non-confrontational; I'm no exception. I also simply do not enjoy a sobbing, panicking student sitting in front of me, telling me about how stressed and scared they are and how they're terrified they're going to fail. But that's how these things go.
Our most recent example is an international Masters student. I don't know the particulars for him; but I do know it's not uncommon in his part of the world for families to go into obscene debt, often to loan sharks, to send their kids to UK universities. Failure means more than just academia for him. Having to sit through him turning white and quietly begging us to give him another chance before he left in tears he tried to hide from us was, obviously, much worse for him than us; but it was honestly traumatic. Even now, two weeks later, I can't get it out of my head. There's nothing we can do; but, I feel guilty anyway. I could have looked the other way.
(It wouldn't have passed anyway. It was terrible. But at least he'd probably be allowed a resit - we're still waiting on the outcome of this one, but he may well be withdrawn)
To bring this back to the point of the post:
I know my feelings aren't really the ones that matter here. I do know that. But, every time a student chooses to use AI to write an assignment, all that is what happens behind the scenes. My job nosedives into being shit. Whether it's reading the boring slop, having to write pointless feedback, or making the upsetting decisions to report it when I know what the consequences will be and then having to deal with the guilt, my job that I love suddenly becomes shit. And that, actually, among the many other things it is, is fucking rude.
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It was still dark when Atsushi rolled over and found the bed empty. He thumped a hand around the other side of the bed with his eyes still closed—still mostly in his dream about the marshmallow car—but when no smack or Rashomon retaliation came in response he, unfortunately, woke fully and could see that he was alone in the bed.
Continue on ao3 or:
Atsushi sat up and yawned hugely, staring at the covers and then looking around the room. No light spilled from around the corner where the bathroom was, and the lights in the main room downstairs were clearly off as well. Akutagawa’s side of the bed wasn’t warm, either, and they had definitely gone to sleep together. He staggered out of bed and wandered over to the loft’s railing.
The cabin was quiet save for the regular background hum of the appliances downstairs. No light from the television, no raucous sex noises from the master bedroom, just the soft, comfortable blanket of night. Atsushi caught some movement out of the corner of his eye and finally saw a figure standing on the covered back porch, by the dormant hot tub. There he was.
Akutagawa was standing, leaning against the railing and just looking out into the night quietly. He didn’t jump when Atsushi opened the door, although he did shift his head just enough to verify that it was Atsushi before looking back out into the night. “Everything okay?” Atsushi asked, coming to stand beside him at the railing.
The air outside was cool but not cold; the end of the season was imminent. Atsushi rubbed his arms as he leaned them on the railing, and Akutagawa sighed out a soft noise of amusement. “Go back to bed, weretiger. Dawn is a few hours off, yet.”
“Then come back to bed with me. I’ll sleep better with you there.”
This seemed to startle Akutagawa just slightly, and he looked sidelong at Atsushi as if expecting his face would share a different sentiment. When he clearly saw no difference, he sighed again and rubbed his hand over the bottom of his face but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. “Do you even know what a remarkable creature you are?”
Atsushi was still paddling around in a barely awake fugue. “I’m not remarkable,” he said and yawned. Then he gave Akutagawa a sleepy smirk. “But you’re lucky to have me.”
Akutagawa touched his face, and Atsushi tilted his cheek into Akutagawa’s hand. “Eternally lucky,” Akutagawa said softly and brushed his thumb over Atsushi’s bottom lip. “Go back to sleep, Atsushi.”
“Not without you,” Atsushi said stubbornly, covering Akutagawa’s hand with his own.
“If I go back to bed with you right now there won’t be much sleeping to be had,” Akutagawa said, still smirking, but with a hungry edge to his voice he didn’t bother trying to hide. Atsushi mouthed his thumb. “You don’t want to miss your morning run again today, do you?”
“I’d much rather have your cock inside me,” Atsushi said, eyes glittering in the darkness, and Akutagawa leaned in to kiss him.
~*~
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Atsushi moaned, rolling his face against the mattress, and clawing the fitted sheet up off the corner of the bed. Akutagawa’s hand landed heavy on the back of his neck and kept him pressed down, and he panted, shivering at Akutagawa’s touch. His cock felt so good it was unfair, and Atsushi rolled his weight up onto his shoulder so that he could sneak his hand down between his legs.
Heat blossomed where Akutagawa struck his ass and Atsushi whined. “No touching,” Akutagawa reminded him, and Atsushi begrudgingly pulled his hand free so that Akutagawa could see it again.
He was moving at a languid pace, which was great except the angle they were at wasn’t hitting him in the way he needed, and while Akutagawa’s cock filled him up just right, he wanted a hint of something more. Atsushi swallowed, elbows under his chest and head hanging, considering this. He felt Akutagawa slow, hand still holding tight to the back of his neck. “Something’s wrong.”
“No,” Atsushi said hoarsely, and decided to go for it, “can you just…can you use Rashomon, too?”
Now Akutagawa did stop, and Atsushi’s heart rose in his throat, afraid he’d crossed a line. He swallowed, panting aloud, and dared a glance back over his shoulder to see that Akutagawa was just staring at him, bewildered. “Is…is that okay?” Atsushi asked tentatively, because of the reactions he’d expected, this wasn’t really one of them.
“You want me to use my ability on you?”
“You’ve done it so fuckin’ much already,” Atsushi said, surprised that Akutagawa was surprised. “Can you…” fuck, he couldn’t believe he was about to say this out loud, “can you fuck me with it too, like you did that one time?”
His voice twisted weirdly. “You prefer her to my cock?”
“No, no, no—" Atsushi inhaled because he was going to fuck this up, sleepy-drunk already on the feeling of Akutagawa around him, inside him. “Not like, instead of your cock, but,” he flushed red and made himself maintain eye contact. “In addition. To it.”
Akutagawa kept staring at him for a long, long moment—and then the smirk that spread across his face let Atsushi know he was never going to live this down, but that was okay because he really wanted to get plowed right this second. Akutagawa tugged at the covers that had been haphazardly forced down the bed, pulling the top sheet around his shoulders and immediately Rashomon rippled from it, the grey sheets rimmed in red.
Atsushi rolled over, onto his back, legs cocked wide as Rashomon slid over his skin. Akutagawa sat on his knees for a moment, one hand braced on Atsushi’s knee as he puzzled out what he was going to do. A Rashomon tendril slid inside, curled in on itself, about as thick as his finger—and Atsushi squirmed as it pressed deeper than Akutagawa’s cock could reach.
His decision made, Atsushi hummed in satisfaction when Akutagawa sank his cock back in as well, the Rashomon tendril curling around him inside Atsushi. Atsushi had a hand on his cock and was stroking it, before Rashomon grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him back. “No touching,” Akutagawa reminded him crossly.
“More…?” Atsushi asked hopefully even as he felt Rashomon plunge deep, and maintained eye contact as more tendrils, each as thick as the first, squeezed in around Akutagawa’s cock. They all pressed on his inner walls, each in a different direction, and it was like being fingered but so much more, deeper, and with Akutagawa’s cock nestled up against his prostate.
Atsushi breathed out through his nose, fingers scrabbling against Akutagawa’s thigh. Akutagawa twisted his head, he’d stopped thrusting in as the tendrils were introduced, and now was just holding tight, enjoying the way everything was squeezing around his dick. “More,” Atsushi begged, and Akutagawa wet his lips and considered this.
He pulled Rashomon back, and Atsushi whined, upset at the feeling of emptiness, and that whine turned full-blown when Akutagawa pulled out as well. He was using himself to eyeball it, though, and the Rashomon tendrils that wrapped together formed something akin to a cock, if slightly bigger—and definitely longer—than Akutagawa’s own.
Atsushi moaned when the Rashomon-dick plunged into him, filling him up immediately. His cock bobbed against his belly, leaving slick trails where the head kissed skin, and Akutagawa enjoyed watching Atsushi take every bit of it, panting and gasping. Once it was entirely in, he pushed his own cock in alongside, and it was tighter than anything he’d tried so far. Atsushi keened, and Rashomon fucked in deep; Akutagawa was startled to realize that he could see it move, a small bulge forming above Atsushi’s cock.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Atsushi was changing, head dug all the way back into the mattress and eyes squeezed shut. Akutagawa grabbed his wrist with one hand and Atsushi whined, trying to twist it free. “I haven’t touched, I haven’t,” he panted, but Akutagawa grabbed his hand and pushed it against his skin, and held it there as Rashomon rammed in again.
Atsushi’s mouth opened but no sound emerged that Akutagawa could hear for a solid thirty seconds. Then he twisted, hand still pressed to the bulge, and grabbed at the sheet Akutagawa had wrapped himself in. “More,” Atsushi gasped, gone mad with it. “Harder—!”
Too much more of this and he’d split clear in two, so Akutagawa regretfully only added one or two more tendrils to the creation pounding away at Atsushi’s insides; and watched with great satisfaction as Atsushi pressed both his hands to the spot where they could both see Rashomon move when she bottomed out.
Atsushi’s back arched and his hips started to rise off the bed. Rashomon kept him down even as his cock spurted hot, white trails over his hands and stomach. As soon as his cock stopped pulsing, Rashomon slammed into his walls again and Atsushi wailed, bouncing the headboard against the wall and coming apart all over again, the climax clearly painful. Akutagawa fucked him through it, shallow thrusts of his cock hitting Atsushi’s prostate directly, and then some of Rashomon squeezing him tight while still inside Atsushi, until he came as well.
Akutagawa remained between his legs, though he had slipped out when he came. Rashomon, however, remained inside, keeping Atsushi in place, filled completely; he was breathing in great gulping sobs, somehow still on the edge of coherent.
He looked up at Akutagawa with wide, glittering eyes, tears tracked down his face and immediately Akutagawa’s gut twisted with worry…at least until Atsushi blindly grabbed at his hand, pulling him in, and gasped, “again!”
~*~
“Is it still called caterwauling when it’s a tiger?” Dazai asked reflectively, hands folded over his stomach.
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya said, head buried underneath all the pillows and half under Dazai as well. “Just shut up.”
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