No, this is not my real name. :) This is my second blog, for other things besides Johnlock... like photography, writing, (fan)art, creativity, Sherlock and gay/trans issues. Plus the state of the world generally. To see my Johnlock blog, go to prettyrealisticjohnlockfanart.tumblr.com
I saw this on insta and someone commented asking her how she knew they were in there and she said that she saw the mama duck with only one duckling and thought it was suspicious so she stopped to check and hear them quacking down there... :') <3
For when you need a reminder that there really is goodness in the world
And for whenever someone mistakenly tells you that humans can only hurt nature -
We are part of nature. And we are uniquely equipped, in many ways, to help heal the planet we are part of - so long as we keep choosing to help, and to heal, this planet of which we are a part
We sharing anaesthetic stories?? I had to have dental surgery when i was in middle school.
According to my mom and sister the very first thing i did upon waking up was BOLT upright and proceed to try and shove my ENTIRE fist in my mouth as fast as possible.
I had to be physically stopped, and i proceeded to sob my eyes out for the next 20 minutes. Somehow, i didnt damage anything 🤣
Generative AI Bad etc etc but I am constantly blown away by the fact that Digital Humanists developed a (non-generative) artificial intelligence program that can read 14th and 15th documents written in a truly incomprehensible Latin script and actually transcribe them into plain text with a shockingly low error rate. Saving quite literally thousands of hours of work for historians studying local records and documents.
Like guys THIS is what we should be using the computer water resources on, not writing a stupid email in the language you already speak what the fuck
1. The court holds Google responsible for statements made by its AI, considering them Google's statements (search engines have limited liability for results in their engine as they're the words of other sites/companies/people), meaning when their AI lies/hallucinates they're liable for the defamation/harm resulting from those statements.
2. Google's defense that customers are generally aware of the lack of reliability and are responsible for fact checking was dismissed. As the court pointed out, that would "significantly diminish" AI Search's stated purpose and it can't be distinguished from Google's business practices/statements as a search tool.
3. Studies have found about 91% of Google's everyday AI responses are accurate, leaving millions of searches per HOUR with potential liability for falsehoods. 56% of correct responses weren't supported by the sources the AI listed. Both of which mean Google is now liable for a LOT more AI "errors."
4. Google was held liable for 80% of court costs in this case and this precedent is expected to reverberate around the world. This is a massive shift from the 3rd-party search provider role Google has previously played and it comes right as they've tied ALL searches to their AI search.
An important part of fighting against AI is to engage with artwork that can't be made by AI. Sing with friends, go to live concerts, make handcrafts, see a live theater show. It sucks that there are certain artforms--digital art, writing, recorded music--that can be easily faked by a machine, but there are still artforms that you can know aren't from a machine because the people are right there in the room with you. It's imperfect, it's amateur, it'll never get a huge audience, but it's also local and personal, and that's something beautiful that's much harder to corrupt with machines.
Sherlock fandom. TW: canonical suicide, blood, depression.
It Was My Fault
Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that I was to blame for Sherlock’s suicide. I should have observed more carefully. When I think about our last encounter – before the roof incident – God, I was so angry with him! But now, I’m able to peel away his obnoxious behaviour and to see how anxious he was. He already knew what he was about to do next - once he got me to leave - and it must have terrified him. Even the great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t have been indifferent to jumping from a building to his inevitable death.
“You have blood on your hands, Watson. His blood.”
This is a mantra I tend to torment myself with when I wake from a nightmare; a horrible dream where I see him fall in slow motion to prolong my agony. When I finally reach him - no one stops me this time - I place my palms on his beautiful face, wipes away the blood, closes his eyes, and pecks his lips.
“Sleep tight, Sherlock. I love you. I’m sorry.” I whisper in his ear.
The dream always ends with people appearing to take him away. I fight them like a tiger, but to no avail.
I wake with his name on my lips, tears streaming down my cheeks, and my heart shatters once more.
***
He looked like twelve that day – his last day on Earth. Just like he did the first time I met him. Seen in hindsight, something was different, though.
There was a bone deep sadness in his features when he played with the stress ball as if he’d realised how I and his other friends would react once they realised that he was dead. And yes, he did have more than one friend; I was just one of many.
Mrs Hudson, for starters. In fact, she was more like a mother to him. She grieves as if she were, for sure.
Then there’s Greg, Molly, Angelo, Wiggins, Mike; his entire homeless network, for goodness’ sake! Not to mention everyone who owed him a favour; there must be dozens, if not hundreds.
And still, he was dead (pardon the pun) serious when he declared that I was his only friend after we’d solved the Baskerville case. I could tell that he wasn’t shamming; trying to get into my good grazes again. It was pure honesty. By then, I had learned to discern the difference.
I can’t spend too much time thinking about that, or I’ll break down.
Why did he feel the need to take his own life when…
***
I’ve stopped bringing Mrs Hudson when I visit his grave. She’s so fragile. It’s as if her sassy personality died that day too.
In the beginning, I always stood in front of his elegant gravestone like a soldier keeping watch, but now – if the weather allows it – I sit cross-legged on the grass instead. It’s oddly comforting to talk to the black stone as if it is actually him.
“Hi, Sherlock. I miss you. The flat is so quiet. Even when you were lying supine on the sofa, lost in your head, you filled the room with life. You were the most animated person I’ve ever known, even when you barely moved a muscle. I’m considering moving out, finding my own place. Too many memories and ghosts in 221B nowadays.
“There’s a new nurse at work. Mary. She tries to flirt with me. It doesn’t work, but she’s quite persistent, I’ll give her that. Soon enough, she’ll realise that it’s a futile endeavour. I’ve even said so, but she just shrugged and winked at me. It was unsettling. Nobody has winked at me since you did it before you walked out of the lab that January day in 2010. I guess I should be flattered. Once, I would have been. Not after meeting you, though.”
***
My nightmares are always worse after I’ve visited his grave. In this particular dream, I have blood smeared on my palms. I realise this too late.
Like I usually do, I place my hands on his cheeks, but instead of wiping bloody off his face, I add more. In desperation, I try do clean my hands by rubbing them on my jeans, but it keeps pouring out of my palms like small fountains. We both drown in it.
When I finally wake, the bed is damp. My t-shirt and pants are soaked. For one horrible moment, I thought I’d peed myself, but it is only malodorous sweat.
***
“It was my fault,” I tell Mrs Hudson when we have tea together the day after I thought I’d drowned in my own and Sherlock’s blood.
“Nonsense, dear. You know there was no stopping him when he had made up his mind. Silly boy.”
She cries a little and I hold her gently until she manages to gather herself.
We watch the last Bond film, which she takes great delight in. Strangely enough, this makes me miss Sherlock even more.
Despite that I chided him for ridiculing the plot and the insane stunts, I secretly loved it. I guess he knew that, because he never stopped commenting, and he had this smug expression on his face while doing it.
If I concentrate, I can hear his voiceover.
“That stunt is impossible to survive, John. He doesn’t even have a scratch, for God’s sake! This inanity kills your brain cells, you know.”
I smile when Daniel Craig – against all odds - survives yet again, regardless of Sherlock predictions.
***
To my surprise, I sleep well that night, and I wake more rested than I have in a long time. Perhaps this is a sign that things are about to change for the better.
Since it is still David Tennant, this b&w turtleneck photo, which was his author’s photo on the inside of the text book Anthony wrote, still kind of does it for me.
the horrors persist but so do books, art, hot chocolate, winter nights, the moon, the sea, the stars, sunsets, literature, libraries, cats, flowers, stories, love and the wistful feeling you get when you finally return home
