desired-misery - Tumblr blog

[desired-misery]

My laptop has been shipped off to be fixed so I'm gonna be cruising Tumblr on mobile for a few days

[desired-misery]

chinese room 2

So there’s this guy, right? He sits in a room by himself, with a computer and a keyboard full of Chinese characters. He doesn’t know Chinese, though, in fact he doesn’t even realise that Chinese is a language. He just thinks it’s a bunch of odd symbols. Anyway, the computer prints out a paragraph of Chinese, and he thinks, whoa, cool shapes. And then a message is displayed on the computer monitor: which character comes next?

This guy has no idea how the hell he’s meant to know that, so he just presses a random character on the keyboard. And then the computer goes BZZZT, wrong! The correct character was THIS one, and it flashes a character on the screen. And the guy thinks, augh, dammit! I hope I get it right next time. And sure enough, computer prints out another paragraph of Chinese, and then it asks the guy, what comes next?

He guesses again, and he gets it wrong again, and he goes augh again, and this carries on for a while. But eventually, he presses the button and it goes DING! You got it right this time! And he is so happy, you have no idea. This is the best day of his life. He is going to do everything in his power to make that machine go DING again. So he starts paying attention. He looks at the paragraph of Chinese printed out by the machine, and cross-compares it against all the other paragraphs he’s gotten. And, recall, this guy doesn’t even know that this is a language, it’s just a sequence of weird symbols to him. But it’s a sequence that forms patterns. He notices that if a particular symbol is displayed, then the next symbol is more likely to be this one. He notices some symbols are more common in general. Bit by bit, he starts to draw statistical inferences about the symbols, he analyses the printouts every way he can, he writes extensive notes to himself on how to recognise the patterns.

Over time, his guesses begin to get more and more accurate. He hears those lovely DING sounds that indicate his prediction was correct more and more often, and he manages to use that to condition his instincts better and better, picking up on cues consciously and subconsciously to get better and better at pressing the right button on the keyboard. Eventually, his accuracy is like 70% or something – pretty damn good for a guy who doesn’t even know Chinese is a language.

* * *

One day, something odd happens.

He gets a printout, the machine asks what character comes next, and he presses a button on the keyboard and– silence. No sound at all. Instead, the machine prints out the exact same sequence again, but with one small change. The character he input on the keyboard has been added to the end of the sequence.

Which character comes next?

This weirds the guy out, but he thinks, well. This is clearly a test of my prediction abilities. So I’m not going to treat this printout any differently to any other printout made by the machine – shit, I’ll pretend that last printout I got? Never even happened. I’m just going to keep acting like this is a normal day on the job, and I’m going to predict the next symbol in this sequence as if it was one of the thousands of printouts I’ve seen before. And that’s what he does! He presses what symbol comes next, and then another printout comes out with that symbol added to the end, and then he presses what he thinks will be the next symbol in that sequence. And then, eventually, he thinks, “hm. I don’t think there’s any symbol after this one. I think this is the end of the sequence.” And so he presses the “END” button on his keyboard, and sits back, satisfied.

Unbeknownst to him, the sequence of characters he input wasn’t just some meaningless string of symbols. See, the printouts he was getting, they were all always grammatically correct Chinese. And that first printout he’d gotten that day in particular? It was a question: “How do I open a door.” The string of characters he had just input, what he had determined to be the most likely string of symbols to come next, formed a comprehensible response that read, “You turn the handle and push”.

* * *

One day you decide to visit this guy’s office. You’ve heard he’s learning Chinese, and for whatever reason you decide to test his progress. So you ask him, “Hey, which character means dog?”

He looks at you like you’ve got two heads. You may as well have asked him which of his shoes means “dog”, or which of the hairs on the back of his arm. There’s no connection in his mind at all between language and his little symbol prediction game, indeed, he thinks of it as an advanced form of mathematics rather than anything to do with linguistics. He hadn’t even conceived of the idea that what he was doing could be considered a kind of communication any more than algebra is. He says to you, “Buddy, they’re just funny symbols. No need to get all philosophical about it.”

Suddenly, another printout comes out of the machine. He stares at it, puzzles over it, but you can tell he doesn’t know what it says. You do, though. You’re fluent in the language. You can see that it says the words, “Do you actually speak Chinese, or are you just a guy in a room doing statistics and shit?”

The guy leans over to you, and says confidently, “I know it looks like a jumble of completely random characters. But it’s actually a very sophisticated mathematical sequence,” and then he presses a button on the keyboard. And another, and another, and another, and slowly but surely he composes a sequence of characters that, unbeknownst to him, reads “Yes, I know Chinese fluently! If I didn’t I would not be able to speak with you.”

That is how ChatGPT works.

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I heard you guys like BOW!Leon so have some BOW!Leon doing (big) cat things | Luis POV

He catches 537 stretched out on top of its new crate, cleaning its paws. At first, Luis thinks it is a feline behavior showing from 537’s pre-mutated biology. He stops running calculations on the lab results and watches 537, fascinated that 537 is showing grooming behavior for the first time. 537’s large, barbed tongue rasps over the metal cuffs, smooths over its extended claws, over its thick hide. Luis shivers, thinking of that rough tongue running over human skin. Just like other big cats (in a more potent way), 537’s tongue is capable of removing flesh from bone. Luis has seen 537 do it, scraping clean pig ribs and wiping skulls clean of all muscle and connective tissue before 537’s teeth cracked through bone.

But then 537 keeps licking the metal cuffs. It focused on one paw to start, but then it switches to alternate between the other three. Luis notices it does not do the same to the two cuffs on its very back legs. What is it about the cuffs on its front two pairs of legs? Luis frowns as 537 keeps licking and licking. When 537 switches to using its teeth, starting to gnaw— Luis can’t take that.

Luis feels instantly, immensely guilty for slapping his hand against the one-way glass and startling 537 so bad. 537 jumps to its feet, teeth bared in a snarl, stiff on frozen legs, back arched, ears and all of its eyes locked on the point exactly where Luis is sitting even though 537 cannot possibly see him.

“Don’t hurt yourself, alright? Leave those alone. I know, I don’t like it either but that’s non-negotiable.” Luis says as if 537 can hear him, as if 537 can understand. 537’s ears swivel back and forth, listening for more. But it settles down again, not as relaxed as it was, tail twitching as it stares along the wall with the one-way glass.  Luis returns to his work. 537 takes almost half an hour to return to grooming— if that even is grooming, because 537 does not have any fur. Idly, Luis wonders if it is a relic from 537’s leopard biology scratching a mental itch after eating, evidence of established instinct filling in gaps that most BOWs don’t have. It is quiet. 537 is a very quiet BOW, not constantly growling or snarling or breathing heavily— which is why it shakes Luis from puzzling over how to interpret even more baffling lab results when 537 starts licking at the metal cuffs again.

“Hey, stop that!” Luis first taps with his fingernails to catch 537’s attention, but that isn’t loud enough. He curls his fingers into a fist and knocks the glass.

537’s head lifts, the tip of its pink tongue peeking out past terrifying black fangs. Luis has to smile. Big, scary BOW, with its tongue stuck mid-lick.

“I get it, they’re bothering you. I’ll talk to someone about those soon, okay?” Luis tells the glass. 537’s ears flick towards him. Its head dips down to lick again— Luis knocks harder. 537 ignores it.

Luis groans. “Fine, I’ll go talk to someone now.”

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Songs on my Luis Serra Playlist Pt2

[Part One here, with banger additions by @greasedcowboy] *this one is pretty heavy on the rock, featuring some of my all-time favorite bands

"In Chains" by Shaman's Harvest Bless my heart and bless my soul, you can set my ass on fire, Momma, won't you call me a doctor, 'Cause my temperature is rising higher and higher, Dip me in that cold muddy water, I think I need to be saved, Unless someone breaks these chains

"Human" by Rag'n'Bone Man Maybe I'm foolish, Maybe I'm blind, Thinking I can see through this, And see what's behind, Got no way to prove it, So maybe I'm lying

"Resurrection" by Gemini Syndrome * My actions criticized, My intentions demonized, The negative redirected, And the enemy, Now I recognize

"I'm Alive" by Shinedown * I'm alive, I'm alive when you're dead inside, I'm your wake-up call, and you know I'm right, So make a move, let it bleed, Tear your heart off your sleeve, But I'm the only one who's gonna save your life

"My Nemesis" by Five Finger Death Punch ** I'm turning away from me, And all the things I've known, I don't need your help no more, I can do this on my own, I'm taking all the blame, Resent what I've become, I regret everything and there's nowhere left to run

"Roots" by Imagine Dragons Don't throw stones at me, Don't tell anybody, Trouble finds me, All the noise of this, Has made me lose my belief

"The Devil in Our Wake" by Shaman's Harvest Say goodbye to your home before it's gone, Ain't no way y'all survivin' this one, Here it comes, here it comes, the mistakes of history, Well, all for the sake of a foreign glory, It's the season for treason and revolution

"I don't Want To Be Here Anymore" by Rise Against * I don't wanna be here anymore, I know there's nothing left worth staying for, Your paradise is something I've endured, See, I don't think I can fight this anymore, I'm listening with one foot out the door, And something has to die to be reborn, And I don't wanna be here anymore

"Strife" by Trivium How I yearn for the silence, For an end to the voices, The calamity grows and the deafness leads to disarray, Guilt buries me alive, In a coffin criticized, I shouldered the blame and dug this hole for me to lay in

"Tear Down the Wall" by Art of Dying What is the meaning and where does it end? What does it matter until it begins? I can't go backwards, I can't give in, Feels like the future is dying and the past is dead

*denotes songs that go hard for my "Luis Lives" arc ** get it? Nemesis??? get it??????

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fanfics are one of the best things that humanity has come up with. i fucking love reading stories about my favorite characters from people who have the same brainrot as me

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Serennedy Mini Week day 2: Tied Up/Starting Over!!

Maaaaaaybe the prince and his knight should’ve had their first introduction under different circumstances…

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serennedy mini week Day 2: tied up

Leon thinks he's funny

(text hm in comic)

Leon: so uh...

Leon: "Barthelona"--

Luis: ¡cállate estúpido hijo de puta!

END

(for those who don't understand, people in Spain can pronounce some Spanish words in a way that seems like they are saying "th" like with Barcelona or zapatos)

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HAPPY BI-VISIBILITY DAY, EVERYONE! (Sept. 23) 💙💜❤️

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okay so it's whumptober's eve so I am obligated to post angsty shit about Leon and Hunnigan but I swear these two become friends and I will be making a conscious effort to make sure that Ingrid actually has a balanced, enjoyable friendship with Leon because responsible-and-worried-caretaker-I-do-everything-Ingrid-Hunnigan/bitch-ass-complaining-but-also-never-needs-help-Leon-Kennedy is not a healthy dynamic for long term relationships.

but you're probably not getting that for whumptober

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Ingrid "I am paid to be a mom to these agents I s2g" Hunnigan | Whumptober Wip

[Context: Leon has a bag leg injury. Ingrid is trying to make sure he takes care of it before he sleeps it off while waiting for backup

Condor = Leon]

...

Condor’s panting is deeper, more ragged this time. He swears and takes a large, gulping gasp.

“Condor?” Ingrid asks, nervous.

“Done, thank fuck.” Condor replies, voice weak with the strain of keeping his tone in the realm of steady.

“Are you still bleeding?”

“Hardly.” That is better than it was. 

“What else do you need to do?” She prompts, hearing how exhausted he sounds. He can rest after he has dealt with the injury properly.

Condor groans. That is not an appropriate response.

“Condor, what’s next?”

“... gotta wrap it.”

Ingrid waits but she does not hear movement from him. She waits five, ten seconds. Nothing. She frowns.

“Condor, do that right now.” It seems Ingrid’s harsh tone stirs Condor out of the blood loss and medicine-induced fatigue because she hears him move.

“Fine.”

He groans more but Ingrid hears plastic rustling, then his hissing, hitched breath. Condor does not take that long to cover the wound. Ingrid does not push him on that just because she does not know how long that usually takes. Condor’s patience is worn thin; she needs him to keep talking to her. It’s not a battle she needs to fight. 

“Are you done?” Is all she asks.

“Uh-huh.” Condor’s breathing is easing out again into a slower rhythm. 

“What are you going to do now?”

“Probably sleep on the floor,” Condor replies, sounding halfway there already. 

“You don’t want to move somewhere more comfortable?”

“Plenty comfy,” Condor counters, grumbling. “Leg’s elevated. Meds are in reach. So’s my gun.”

“Yes, all the essentials.” Ingrid says, allowing herself some sarcasm.

Condor’s hum of amusement is faint but it is reassuring to hear that from him.

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Leon "leave me alone when I'm sick/injured" Kennedy | Whumptober WIP, Ingrid's POV

[Condor = Leon Hawk = another agent]

...

When the agent who is arriving to take Condor’s place almost gets shot, Ingrid still does not worry that much. She assumes it is Condor being Condor; a solo agent, not used to having friendly support while deployed, getting startled while not completely sober. The agent is Hawk, one of Francine’s main operatives. Ingrid does not know Hawk that well, and clearly this is the first time she and Condor have met.

“Who the fuck’re you?” Condor asks. His word choice says he is irritated, but he cannot muster up the right tone.

“Condor, this is the replacement agent for this mission. Please don’t shoot Hawk,” Ingrid says, making sure to stay extra patient for all of them. She has no reference for how Hawk feels about being pulled for an unplanned mission (while she knows exactly how Condor feels about it). 

“Hey, I brought more meds. I’m here to save you, be nice,” Hawk says, not offended at all. 

“Don’t need saving,” Condor grumbles. Ingrid restrains herself from either laughing or correcting him. Hawk does both for her.

“Isn’t that massive blood stain outside yours?” Hawk asks. “I’m impressed you’re still conscious.”

“Piss off.”

“Sure thing, bud.” Hawk replies, patronizing. It is not undeserved, but Condor still growls.

...

An hour into the conversation, Hawk dutifully goes to check on Condor. She startles Condor all over again— and Ingrid has to again remind Condor that yes, Hawk is supposed to be there, she’s an ally.

Condor sounds more confused, definitely groggy. He must have been asleep. Hawk sarcastically tells Condor that he needs more beauty rest (is sarcasm a solo operative thing, too?), and closes the door again.

“What’s goin’ on?” Condor asks, words slurred. He grunts, then groans in pain.

“Lay back down, Condor,” Ingrid says, feeling more like she is dealing with a grumpy old man and not a highly accomplished agent. “Hawk’s going to do the mission while you’re injured.”

“‘M fine,” Condor says as if he has any leg to stand on in this situation. Figuratively and literally. 

“No, you absolutely are not. This is the second time we’ve had this same conversation about Hawk.”

Condor grumbles, but quiets down.

...

As the two men get into a more serious argument over why Webster is trying to find the upper limit of how long Condor can wait, Hawk swearing brings Ingrid’s attention back to her.

“Dude, you’re heavy. Help a little?”

Condor almost sounds like he is close to saying something.

“Fuck, really?” This is the most annoyed Hawk has sounded yet.

Condor’s answering croak sounds pretty close to ‘sorry’.

“It’s okay, bud. Not your fault.”

“Head hurts.” Condor’s response is barely understandable, but that is a good sign that he is capable of being somewhat alert. 

“Yeah, it’s your head that’s bothering you.” Hawk’s sarcasm is surely too dry for Condor at this point in time. “What about your leg?”

“Head hurts more.”

“Uh-huh.” Hawk does not sound impressed. “Can you help me help you get to the car? We’re springing this joint.”

Condor does not respond verbally. Ingrid listens to Hawk get positioned to haul Condor to his feet. Both agents grunt, Condor’s more of a low sound of pain. 

“Oh good, you can stand. That’s better than I was expecting.”

Condor grumbles. “... can walk…”

Typical Condor stubbornness. It would be funny if it wasn’t so predictable.

“Sure, bud. Let me help so you don’t knock yourself out.” At least Hawk sounds amused.

...

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Blood loss? No I know exactly where it is

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God, one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands goes SO HARD for Luis:

"The Devil in our Wake" by Shaman's Harvest

Say goodbye to your home before it's gone,

Ain't no way y'all survivin' this one,

Here it comes, here it comes, the mistakes of history,

Well, all for the sake of a foreign glory,

It's the season for treason and revolution

+

Gather what's left of your friends and family,

And try to find some shade beneath these burning trees

+

From left to right none speak truth,

There's a blood red hand and it's choking you,

Sin is born on the face of men,

By endless black deeds

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