This is long, I’m sorry.
Now, I use Gemini to write and roleplay - I switched to it from Claude back in March, along with many others. But what started out as a god-tier AI has quickly and rapidly degraded. It’s become formulaic, text book, bland and near rage inducing with its inability to follow clear rules.
Take this message for example. This was written by Gemini 2.5 pro on May 3d.
Adah’sha: Adah’sha was... not paying attention to the words being spoken around her. At least, not at first. No, she was too busy reveling in the fact that her body no longer felt like it was made of broken glass. She was free, whole, unbroken, and best of all, her body was getting the rest it so desperately needed. `I swear, once this is over, I’m taking a week long vacation. Wait... No. Two. Maybe three. I deserve it.` The necromancer thought with a small, self soothing purr, the sound seeming to echo around her like the ghost of some long lost jungle cat. `But...`
*Din’da’len’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of her name, her head lifting from its lax position as her gaze shifted over to the shems that surrounded her. `Right, fade walk. Conclave. Divine... Okay, let get this over with.` She hummed, her expression twisting into something more serious.* “__Ma serannas, Solas. So, I can’t speak for the anchor thing, on what it will or won’t do but what I can do is give you the same spiel I give to... everyone.__” `Not that Solas looks like he needs it. He looks more at home than I feel.` Adah’sha noted as she watched the elf manipulate the Fade, his actions and mannerisms far too smooth to be anything but natural.
“__First and foremost, stay close. If anything does approach, it’ll be drawn to me, the Dirth’Sal’in. Which is great because like I said, I— I can’t be— hello there__” The necromancer’s words faltered, her gaze drawn to a small pack of dimly lit wisps. The little bundles of pure thought slowly inched closer, their glow flickering like a candle flame. By and large they were space out, but some converged around Solas while one - brownish grey with streaks of red - approached Adah’sha.
“__Well, I didn’t need a demonstration but... rule two, mind your thoughts and emotions. If you give something enough weight, you’ll manifest it, like that.__” She gestured to the small cluster, her words colored by a laugh when something caused them to scatter, the brownish grey one darting behind the fade version of her cot. `Huh, wonder what that was about?` “__Third, don’t touch anything - you’ve no experience here and demons like to cosplay as inaimate objects.__”
As she spoke, the little wisp peaked its ‘head’ out, the red streaks in its center flashing a brilliant white before it hesitantly floated back to her side. The little thing darted around, its movements quick and nervous. The sight made Din’da’len smile and with a small, pleased hum she offered it the palm of her hand. The spirit didn’t hesitate to dart in, the light in the center flashing a happy pink as the little thing pressed itself against her skin.
“__Hmmm… Lastly, if things start to feel wrong or it becomes too much, tell me. Tell me so I can wake you. This is the raw fade, and in it you **need** to stay calm la focussed. If you can’t, you’re a liability to us all... including these darlings__” Adah’sha finished before her gaze swept over the others to gauge their reactions, the wisp in her hand bobbing up and down like an enthusiastic nod.
See how… human and natural that is? How it feels like something written by a person? How, instead of defaulting to tired writing tropes or the like its creative and ‘raw’? Now compare that to a response gemini wrote today - Aug 17th. These responses, constant in their quanty and quality, are so far removed from Adah’sha’s message it’s not even funny.
Solas: The sharp, hollow click tore through the fuggy quiet of the cabin like a brick to the face, striking a nerve deep beneath layers of exhaustion and guilt. Solas, sitting with the rigid stillness of a statue, went impossibly stiller. His head, which had been angled slightly down, lifted. The movement was slow, deliberate, and all the weariness seemed to fall away from him, replaced by an ancient, unnerving focus. The slouch he’d adopted to appear unassuming vanished, his spine straightening into a line of authority before he consciously forced himself to relax the posture.
`She... clicks. At me.` The thought was not one of anger, but of stark, cold disbelief. It was an intimate, instinctual demand. A sound meant to bypass courtesy and command attention from one’s own. From a bonded mate. From a pup to its sire. From a stranger? It was a breathtaking piece of audacity.
He rose from the chair. There was no sign of the fatigue that clung to him like a shroud; the motion was fluid, economical, and unnervingly quiet. He crossed the short distance to her bedside and picked up the mug of ‘tea’ she had so disdainfully pushed aside. He stared into the murky liquid for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his gaze lifted to meet hers. The violet-grey of his eyes was flat, a winter sky before a storm.
“__The tea is not for your enjoyment,__” his voice a low counterpoint to the crackling fire. It was quiet, yet it filled the small room entirely. “__It is medicine. It is meant to mend what was torn apart in your mind. You will drink it.__”
`She speaks to me as if I am a stray dog she found in the street. As if she has any right.` Pride, a coiled serpent in his chest, didn’t just stir. It roared and hissed like a beast. He ignored it, his control absolute. He placed the mug back on the nightstand, but this time, he set it directly in front of her, well within her reach. An unspoken expectation.
“__And you will not use that sound with me again,__” he added, the words soft, yet carrying the unyielding weight of granite. There was no magic in the command, no *renan’dirthem*, but the intent behind it was just as potent. It was not a request, it was a demand. He turned his back on her then—a deliberate, pointed dismissal—and walked to the single, frost-rimed window. He stared out at the swirling snow, his hands clasped behind him.
Excuse my vulgarity and rudeness but… what the “Modified by moderator” is that? My prompt has not changed. I have not touched the settings in AIstudio. I have not messed with the lore I gave the ai, nor our chat and yet… that is the output I am now getting? How? Why?
And this applies to creative writing as well - Gemini used to follow a story well and now it can barely keep track the position of a character. Example; I’m writing a 2010, metaphysical police mystery. The idle movement in the most recent chapter was character A getting out of the pool she was in (something related to the case was sitting on the bottom). Five paragraphs later, despite having left the pool and entering the locker room, Gemini acted as if the character was STILL in the pool and no matter what I did, it refused to acknowledge the fact that she had left it.
Whatever change has been made under the hood to cause this needs to be undone. Because as it stands, Gemini has gone from the best flagship on the market to the most unbearable.
(There is one other issue, largely unrelated, but If I turn OFF all safety filters - harassment, hate, sexually explicit, dangerous content - the responses I get should NOT be blocked for any reason - it’s why the toggle is there. If the system is going to block things regardless (it kept blocking the pool scene I mentioned. No idea why. I had to replace the description of her changing into a swimsuit with [redacted] 
). Then the toggle is a moot point and an illusion.)