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spinchip · 9 months ago

Note

Concept: the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu doesn't whisper to Zane. Instead, its "whispers" take the form of popups along his HUD disguised as alerts or warnings. Things like "If you put me down now, your friends will never find you. [OK]” or “Killing these prisoners villagers will increase Vex’s approval and reinforce your reign. Proceed? [Y/N]”

(I like this particular flavor because it really leans into Zane's robotic nature: he can ignore whispers by turning off his auditory sensors or filtering noise, but he can't ignore system alerts.)

Also, the following scene has lived rent-free in my brain ever since I came up with the concept. (Italics are Zane's default OS. Everything else is the Staff.)

>IF YOU ARE GOING TO DESTROY ME, "ZANE" -Move File:"NeverrealmMemories" to Core Memory Functions-WARNING: Attempting to delete, move, or suppress File"NeverrealmMemories" after moving will cause total system failure. Proceed with move anyway? >[YES] -File transferred. -Permanently remove fatal combat safeguards? >[YES] -Safeguards removed. >THEN I WILL MAKE SURE YOU CAN NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU DID, SYSID:ICEEMPEROR

-Connection Terminated.

(I have a few more Ideas for the "Scroll Corruption looks like Computer Alert messages to Zane" idea-ones that really lean into Zanes Nindroid nature, as well as the tech-y appearance of the Dark Ice.) -The Staff did a lot more than just send alert messages: it slowly wormed its way into Zane's code like a computer virus, tweaking a few things. It took great care to remove Zane's combat safeguards, eventually deleting them entirely and ensuing he defaulted to lethal force. It never removed his core directive of "Protecting those who cannot protect themselves" since that was vital to his systems running, but it did reinterpret said directive as "Protect Dark Ice Network and everything connected to it, for it is fragile and cannot protect itself from outsiders". (It also couldn't delete his morality subroutines without causing a crash, so it instead made them a much lower priority and shoved them to the back of his digital mind.) -After 60+ years of being in the grasp of a mechanical being, the Staff now exclusively speaks in the manner of a computer, and cannot adapt to organic minds the way it used to. (The other Staff is not like this, as it's still attuned to organic brains.) -You know those Sci-Fi stories where people are plugged into computers and know every part of the ship/city simultaneously, and can send most of their awareness into certain parts of the network while still being aware of other locations? That's what's going on with the Never Realm during the Ice Emperor's Reign, with the Ice Emperor as the central guiding consciousness/core CPU of the Dark Ice Network. As such, he's not actually sleeping-rather, the Ice Emperor is always monitoring his domain through his Ice and leaving just enough of his consciousness in his body to be able to call the rest of himself back in case he's threatened. (The Staff is a combination of a computer virus and a wireless modem: it is corrupting, but it's also the main point of connection for the Dark Ice Network.) -Since the Ice Emperor can't recharge his power on his own in his current state, the Staff had to step in, tweaking the Dark Ice to drain the vitality of those imprisoned within. (You know wireless phone chargers, or Nikolai Tesla's idea to get electric power from the atmosphere? Similar concept, except with the power source being frozen people and the transmitter being Evil Magic Ice.) -Boreal is the Titanium Dragon, corrupted by the Staff's presence. It too is part of the Dark Ice Network, and serves as Ice Emperor's eyes and ears whenever the Dark Ice can't reach. (If the Ice network used computer program language, Boreal would be known as "Obj_DarkIceTitaniumDrake".) Killing Boreal caused a massive jolt to the Dark Ice Network that destabilized the Scroll's influence, and allowed an opening for Zane's Memory Defragmentation program to kick in. (It had started when Lloyd arrived in the throne room, but the Scroll had diverted that to a minor priority and was actively hiding that set of files until the word "Protect" slipped through, forcing Zane's systems to call up what had been defragmented.) -As a final act of spite for being broken, the Staff encoded Zane's memories of the Never realm to his Core Processing systems, meaning he cannot forget the Never Realm without completely frying his systems and rendering him a lifeless shell. (It might've also made a backup of itself amidst his various repressed memory files, but he doesn't need to know that. It's just sitting there, disguised as a normal .zip file, biding its time.) (I really like genre-blending Sci-Fi and Fantasy, and I thought the idea of "Magic Ice Computer Network" is rad as hell.)

(This song is a big part the inspiration for part of the "Dark Ice Network" idea, by the way. Granted, the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu doesn't assimilate Zane's psyche like Star Dream assimilates Haltmann's, but a lot of the ideas are still there-and the Staff does still integrate itself pretty deeply into the Nindroid's code as it slowly actualizes.)

I have no words for how absolutely awesome this is in every way. i just keep rereading this and being amazed. the "Dark Ice Network" idea is literally so cool, I particularly love the Ice Emperor being able to monitor the entire land while his body/the staff is the main 'hub' he has to protect. this is aweosme.

everyone look now please

#ninjago #zane julien #ns11 #ninjago ice chapter #ninjago ice emperor #spinchip posts #<just so i can find it later

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griefabyss69 · 11 months ago

Text

Component Malfunction

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'PLUG' wc: 437 | rated: G | cw: N/A Steve finds that he is very happy when Eddie engages with his sensors. It elicits various human emotions in him.

"Steve," Eddie says, holding onto the cord that connects Steve to the source of his initializing program. "Can you understand me?"

Steve opens his eyes and uses the mechanism in his face to smile, as he was programmed to when he is Pleased. Eddie is beautiful and he takes care of him. Eddie gave him human emotions so they can bond in the same language.

"Yes Eddie, I understand you," he replies.

"Good, how do you feel? B.O.D.Y. Protocol please," Eddie says, carefully putting the cord down. "Then H.E.A.R.T. Protocol."

Steve stops admiring him and runs the requested scans.

"Body is rested at 98% energy: Leg appendages due for inspection in 37 hours, newly installed software is operational, no known errors." he says.

Eddie's hand touches his face. It is soft compared to his own metal skin but Eddie has told that him he likes it that way.

"Heart malfunction: There are three errors; there is one update." Steve reports.

Eddie looks sad whenever he gives him the H.E.A.R.T. report, but Steve does not know why.

"I promise I'll fix it," he says, leaning in to press his lips against Steve's other cheek.

One of the errors disappears, but Eddie hasn't asked for another report or for updates on them, so Steve is unable to tell him at this moment. Instead he smiles because he is Pleased.

"Thank you Eddie," he says.

"You're so welcome," Eddie replies, brushing their noses together.

Steve's Pleased mood changes to Happy.

"I am happy," he says, because Eddie wants updates on the status of that. It would be logical for Eddie to pair that with the status of his H.E.A.R.T., but at this time he is unable to offer him ideas on his operation.

Steve is a work in progress.

Eddie smiles and expresses affection at his statement; he kisses Steve's mouth and the second error is fixed. His mood status changes again.

"I am elated," he reports.

"Yeah? Does it feel good when I kiss you?" Eddie asks, pulling away which does not feel good.

He looks at Steve and he has eyes that remind Steve of when Eddie added Category: Nature to his internal visual memory. They are as beautiful as the soil that hides the layers of Earth that many of Steve's components come from. Eddie's eyes hide Steve as well, and he feels safe.

"It feels good when you kiss me," he answers.

"I'm glad your sensors are working," Eddie says, expressing relief by lowering his shoulders and sighing. "I'll get your H.E.A.R.T. working too."

He leans in and kisses Steve again, and the last error resolves.

#griefabyss69 writing #steddiemicroficaugust #steddie fanfic #steddiefanfiction #steddiemicrofic #a G rated fic with THIS prompt? from me? growth. or whatever

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mikotos-nape-nibbler · 2 months ago

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if i'm being honest i don't really give a shit about the discourse of whether 09 is good or bad DID rep nor do i give a shit about how his DID manifests. i find that what makes him interesting isn't a label for a set of symptoms but rather his expression of those symptoms cultivated by the world he was raised in and how he responds or continues those behaviours. it's honestly more interesting to analyze the overarching systems in society that assisted in developing Mikoto Kayano into a murderer.

how different would he be if Japanese society were more open about emotions and struggles? how different would he be if he were receiving mental health treatment? would he still become a murderer and, if so, what made those mental health treatments ineffective? if he had been hired at another japanese company that didn't follow black company practices, would he still have become a murderer? if so, why? what were the factors that made an average, young adult become a murderer? so on so forth.

honestly the fetish this fandom has on his dissociated self that gives the illusion of multiplicity — when, in reality, he's a singular whole that is fragmented; cracks lined with dissociative barriers, chiseled by continuous stress — detracts from the complexity of his character and writing, flanderizing him into a prop of DID that the fandom puppets into theatrics of stigmatization that same fans claim to "educate" against when, in truth, spout blasé hearsays encrypted with a DIDcore-lese that does nothing for communicating information about the disorder and, instead, excludes and dissuades the general population that that supposed "education" is directed towards.

"Mikoto's a system from the interactive music project MILGRAM. His alter, 'John', murdered a bunch of people on the train."

so there's a program called "Mikoto" and you named the SQL table "John" with the ALTER command that somehow murdered a bunch of people. did the train running the Mikoto program malfunction because of some zero day error with the John table?

"'He has Dissociative Identity Disorder. John's a protector and Mikoto's the host."

so is this Mikoto guy some vessel or something for some supernatural ouija board summon and the John guy is like the familiar or bodyguard summoned? is their character just that? a job and occupation? that sounds boring. and what do those jobs have to do with a disorder on dissociation? are you talking about something like "occupation disorder" or "stuck-in-their-work-self disorder"? or is this some DnD homebrew class type?

what purpose does inaccessible language have if you're trying to educate the average person who isn't familiar with those online community terms that aren't even universal terms in literature nor research? and how are these terms even relevant to discussing Mikoto's character when the concepts it supposedly encompasses aren't universal nor applicable to all possible subjective presentations that a human brain can develop? and yet the fandom, and much of the online mental disorder community, treats those sociolect terms as an axiom — a universal truth, universal terms — and the lack of adherence to that speech is seen as wrong or sin.

"[insert link to some website claiming to have info on DID] is a good website if you wanna read up on what DID is!!"

and then that supposed resource uses highly specialized, nonuniversal, sociolect terms that is jargon to those who are only familiar with layman terms which makes the "information" — if it even is faithfully derived from research — seem like further jargon rather than a comprehensible source for educating.

applying this to Mikoto's character, those who aren't already acquainted with how he's spoken about likely view discussions or comments on him as indecipherable jargon thus it must mean Mikoto's character is just jargon thus not well-written or boring because according to the bubble of jargon people describe this guy with: Mikoto Kayano = computer program system + dnd classes or some chuunibyou alter ego personality savior complex + party hoster or vessel for some supernatural thing + mechanical switch that states 0 or 1 + going through some mitosis split

how does any of that relate to dissociation? people have made DID symptoms so convoluted, yet structured that convolutedness through terms and expressions that sound like some Gary Sue Ebony Dementia Darkness Raven trope that completely detracts from the fact that it's a dissociation disorder rather than a roleplay character form.

have people even considered the fact that if Mikoto had never been imprisoned, he, nor anyone, would even know he has DID— if he even counts as having DID? if how his brain works regarding how he handles stress doesn't impact his life negatively- even if he has all the symptoms of DID if how his brain works regarding how he handles stress doesn't cause disorder for him, he wouldn't have dissociative identity disorder.

the less people view Mikoto as the "alters guy", the more complex understandings can be gathered and discussed within the fandom. the more people view Mikoto as the "average, normal guy who committed a murder, but why? what caused an average, hardworking guy to commit the most grievous sin of murder?", the better the range of insight and curiosity into what shapes a person and the factors in their world — a reflection of our present reality — at play which interact and weave with one another to shape and respond to its members; the opposite of cutting off the fluidity and interwovenness Mikoto has with people and environments outside of his self that people constrain him to, that prison cell of a single label characteristic: "DID".

conclusion: for the love of torch novelgram, let's talk about Mikoto Kayano like the multifaceted, complex, shaped-by-the-socioeconomic-stratae-of-the-world-he-is-part-of-and-interacts-with well-written character he is.

#mikoto kayano #milgram #milgram 09 #milgram mikoto #idk just a tired yap bc srsly does anyone actually have something to say about 09 that isn't just some theatrical fixation on his disorder #./009/concat

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

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From the Slang Dictionary

part 2

Algospeak - coded language that people use (“speak”) to avoid being censored or moderated by AI algorithms. It combines algo- from the word "algorithm" with the word speak. The word was used as early as 2016 on social media. Many websites, especially social media sites, use AI algorithms to moderate the large amount of content posted on their platforms. These algorithms often automatically flag or delete content that contains or mentions words or phrases that the algorithm has been programmed to recognize as being unacceptable. However, this often causes algorithms to flag or remove permitted content that discusses sensitive issues or content that uses the “unacceptable” words without breaking any rules. Being aware of this, many communities on social media use coded language, emoji, or euphemisms to avoid having their content removed by algorithms. The term algospeak refers to this language. For example, people used terms like panoramic, panini, and panda express to refer to the COVID-19 pandemic after platforms began removing content that mentioned the pandemic to attempt to halt the spread of misinformation. Some other examples of algospeak include using the word seggs instead of sex, the word accountants to refer to sex workers, the word unalive to refer to death or suicide, the corn emoji to refer to pornography, and the phrase leg booty to refer to the LGBTQ+ community.

Birb - also spelled as berb, is a deliberate misspelling of bird used in internet slang such as DoggoLingo. It’s used as a playful way to refer to cute birds, particularly pet birds.

Bye Felicia - a slang way of dismissing someone. Sometimes formatted as bye, Felicia and based on a movie character whose name is spelled Felisha, it often appears in memes, GIFs, and hashtags online to express disregard or indifference to someone. The term has been popular in Black culture since the 1990s when the film was released, although the original spelling of the name “Felisha” has changed to the more common (and, some would point out, more “white”) spelling, Felicia. Bye Felicia is considered by some to be an example of white culture appropriating Black culture, often with little knowledge of the original source material. The phrase enjoyed renewed popularity around 2009 thanks to its frequent use on the reality TV show RuPaul’s Drag Race. It got another bump in December 2018, when former First Lady of the United States, Michelle Obama, used it as a guest on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon to describe what was going through her head as she and President Obama waved goodbye to the White House at the end of Obama’s presidency in January 2017. Bye Felicia is most often used humorously or as a way to throw shade at someone, suggesting the speaker couldn’t be bothered with another person’s presence or is surprised they haven’t left yet. While humor is almost always part of the intention in using the term, the tone in which it is said has changed somewhat over time. Initially, bye Felicia was said coolly or nonchalantly, as in the movie Friday; now, it’s just as often used in a more aggressive or melodramatic way.

Doggo - this and pupper are affectionate terms for dog and puppy used in the internet slang called DoggoLingo. This emerged in the 2010s and drew on existing online culture, such as lolspeak, the snek meme, and Doge.

Left on read - in internet slang, a person is left on read when a recipient has read, but not responded to, a sender’s message. The expression is often used to express feeling ignored. A read receipt lets the sender know a digital message has been opened or seen (i.e., read) by the recipient. Microsoft Outlook, for instance, allows read receipts for email. Apple has enabled read receipts for text messages since 2011.

Receipts - slang for “proof” or “evidence,” often used to call out someone for lying or to show someone is being genuine. In popular culture, such receipts may come in the form of screenshots, images, or videos. They also often concern things done by famous people. One of the first prominent uses of receipts came in a 2002 interview of singer Whitney Houston by Diane Sawyer for ABC. Sawyer brought up the topic of recent tabloid headlines that accused Houston of buying large amounts of crack cocaine. Houston denied these accusations and demanded proof: “I want to see the receipts.”

Shelfie - a picture of a shelf, especially a bookshelf that shows off someone’s books, movies, art, collectibles, special belongings, etc. It can also be a proper selfie if you are in the picture with the shelves. On social media, the hashtag #shelfie is often posted alongside pictures of various shelves where a person lives or works.

Snacc - internet slang for an extremely attractive or sexy person (i.e., you want to gobble them up like a snack). It’s also internet slang used when cute animals are seeking or enjoying a snack. Snacc, with two Cs, emerges on Black Twitter in 2009, the deliberate misspelling is consistent with other black slang terms, such as phat, thicc, and succ. Early uses of this term refer to actual snacks. Sexual senses of snacc do begin to appear around this time in wordplay, but it doesn’t take off in earnest until around 2017.

Spirit animal - In certain spiritual traditions or cultures, this refers to a spirit which helps guide or protect a person on a journey and whose characteristics that person shares or embodies. It is also metaphor, often humorous, for someone or something a person relates to or admires. The ancient concept of animal guides, particularly prominent in some indigenous, especially Native American, religions and cultures, was adopted in Pagan and Wiccan spirituality in the 1990s. In these contexts, spirit animals are meant literally, referring to spiritual guides or totems that take the form of animals. Earnest quizzes began to emerge in the mid-2000s to help you find your spirit animal. Spirit animal has increasingly been used to indicate, ironically, a strong appreciation or identification for someone or something.

Tea - best served piping hot, tea is slang for “gossip,” a juicy scoop, or other personal information. As far as we can tell, it was steeped in black drag culture. One theory connects tea to the celebrated drag performer The Lady Chablis, who is quoted in the 1994 bestseller Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: “Yeah, my T. My thing, my business, what’s goin’ on in my life.” T, here, is short for truth.

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Part 1

#requested #slang #writeblr #writing reference #langblr #word list #writing prompt #spilled ink #dark academia #writers on tumblr #literature #linguistics #language #internet #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #dialogue #writing resources

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mapsthewanderer · 3 months ago

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The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 3800ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Colonel Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. 18+ due to psychological thriller/drama/angst galore. Sexual tension. Explicit language. You are warned.

Chapters: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter seven, chapter eight (final chapter)

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290 @justpassingdontworry

Absence | Chapter six

The Maze, the bedroom, you

The first thing you register is warmth.

Not the lingering heat of sleep, nor the artificial temperature control of the Maze. This is different.

Fingers.

Threading through your hair.

A whisper of pressure, just enough to stir the loose strands at your temple, to send a faint shiver down your spine. It’s careful—not possessive, not forceful, just there. A presence that shouldn’t be.

Warm. Familiar.

Your body jerks upright, lungs dragging in a sharp breath, the sheets slipping from your shoulders in a tangle of fabric. The cool air licks at your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been there only a second ago, leaving you prickling.

But there’s no one there.

The air is still—too still—hanging thick and heavy, pressing in on you. Not even the usual soft hum of the Maze, the quiet, rhythmic pulse of the walls shifting in the distance. No movement, no mechanical murmur.

Just a perfect, suffocating silence.

Your fingers lift, hesitating for just a breath before threading through your hair, tracing the spot where you swore you felt him. The sensation lingers, phantom-like, a ghost of warmth still pressed into your scalp, a memory without a source.

Like something imagined.

But you know that feeling. You know it down to your bones.

It aches.

——————————————————————————

A game has started.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

A way to pass the time, to fill the aching quiet that’s settled into the Maze like a thick, unmoving fog. You talk to yourself—not in whispers, not in hushed, secret admissions, but in full conversations, loud enough to be heard.

Like he’s there.

Like he’s listening.

At first, it’s harmless. Small things. Complaints tossed into the air as you walk the corridors, a muttered sigh when a door refuses to open, a groan when breakfast is exactly the same as the day before. Snark, frustration—things he would’ve scoffed at, things that would’ve earned you a dry remark, a teasing smirk, a click of his tongue through the speakers.

But there’s no response.

And the silence makes the walls feel smaller.

So you answer yourself.

Not all at once. It happens gradually, creeping in before you can stop it. A sarcastic quip under your breath. A sharp retort to an insult that was never actually spoken. A scoff as you catch your own reflection in the dark glass of a panel and roll your eyes.

“Tsk, Pip-squeak.” You lean against the counter, folding your arms, feigning exasperation, shaking your head just the way he would. “Losing your mind already?”

And then, with a huff, you answer back.

“Better than losing my patience, Colonel.”

It spirals from there.

You set an extra plate across from you at breakfast, pour two cups of coffee. You glance at the cameras, tilting your head, raising a knowing brow like you’re waiting for a reaction. You start throwing out challenges to the empty air, wagers with stakes only you understand, mocking yourself for the way you’ve taken to roleplaying both sides of the conversation.

And the worst part?

You start having fun with it.

Because the alternative—acknowledging the weight of the silence, the hollow space where Caleb should be—is worse.

You glance at the cameras with mock curiosity.

And finally—

You set the bait.

You pivot back toward the camera, hands resting on your hips, voice lilting into something coy.

“What do you say, Caleb?”

You stretch, pretending not to care, walking lazily toward the main control panel you know he can access, flicking a quick glance at your wristwatch as you move.

“I’d really love to visit the artificial waterfall tonight. Romantic, right? Just me, myself, and—well.” You smirk. “You know. You.”

You turn away, tapping your fingers lightly against the wall.

“We could even make it a date. Just imagine it—candlelight, fine dining, deep, meaningful conversation.”

You let your voice drop slightly, feigning thoughtfulness.

“Well, I mean, I’d be doing all the talking, obviously.”

You pause.

A beat.

Then—you sigh, shaking your head, flicking your gaze to your wristwatch again as if studying the time, feigning disinterest, letting the movement stretch the silence just a little longer.

“But if you’re too busy, I totally understand. I’m sure I can entertain myself.”

You smirk again.

And then, with mocking precision, you adjust your posture—tilting your chin, lowering your voice.

“Oh, Pip-squeak,” you murmur in a near-perfect mimicry of his teasing drawl. “What a great idea. I would love to take you on a date. Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

You laugh lightly at your own absurdity, idly rotating the coffee cup between your fingers.

——————————————————————————

The Fleet, Administrative wing, Caleb

Caleb leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, ankle lazily crossed over the other.

The monitors in front of him glow softly, a dozen live feeds flickering across the screens. The Maze—his Maze—every corridor, every passage, every empty room.

But his gaze only lingers on one.

You.

Speaking aloud to no one.

No—not no one.

To him.

Your voice drifts through the speakers in his office, soft, playful, eerily accurate.

“Caleb, you’re being unreasonable.” Your own voice, laced with mock authority. “Oh, Pip-squeak, is that really the best you can do?”

His lips twitch. Amused. Entertained.

But something deeper gnaws at the edges of his thoughts.

You’ve been doing this for days.

Talking like him.

Playing his game alone.

It should be pathetic.

It should be nothing.

But it isn’t.

His gaze flickers to the timestamp in the corner of the screen.

Day 20.

Seven days since he’s seen you.

Seven days of radio silence, of keeping his distance, of letting the Maze breathe around you while he remained nothing but a ghost.

Seven days, and you still won’t stop looking for him.

He watches as you lift the cup of coffee—his cup, the one you set out across from you at the breakfast table meant for two. You take a slow sip, expression unreadable, gaze flicking toward the nearest camera like you’re waiting. Not hopeful. Not impatient. Just… expecting. You tap a finger idly against the ceramic, tilting your head, as if considering something.

You exhale loudly.

Then—

“Fine, Caleb.” Your voice is lighter now, teasing, entirely too casual. “You win. I give up. You wanna play stubborn? Go ahead.”

A pause.

And then, with exaggerated grace, you turn toward an empty space—exactly where one of the Maze’s hidden cameras sits.

He feels the corner of his mouth tug upward.

“But!” You hold up a single finger. “I have a proposal.”

His amusement deepens.

“Colonel.”

Now that gets his attention.

“It has come to my attention that we have been… out of sync lately. And while I completely respect your decision to act like a moody, brooding specter instead of a functioning adult, I think it’s time we come to an agreement.”

Caleb exhales through his nose, something dangerously close to laughter rumbling in his chest.

“I am formally requesting,” you continue, lifting your chin, maintaining the full effect of the absurdity you’re selling, “that you join me for a date.”

His fingers tap idly against the desk.

“System.” His voice is smooth. “Schedule for this evening?”

A list. Obligations. Fleet meetings. Security reports. Things that should matter.

He barely listens.

His fingers drum against the desk again.

Slow. Even.

“Reschedule them.”

A pause.

“Reschedule for later.”

The silence stretches.

Then, slowly, a smile tugs at his lips.

Dangerous. Cunning. Amused.

He’s going to make you regret wanting his attention.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

You wait.

And wait.

A glance at your wristwatch, the seconds ticking by, stretching thin.

Until—

A flicker of movement at the edge of your vision.

Your pulse kicks up, sharp and immediate, a rush of awareness flooding through you. You scan the room, heart hammering against your ribs, and then—there.

Near the doorway, settled too neatly, too deliberately on the floor—a paper plane.

Bright orange.

Your breath catches, and for a second, you just stare.

It’s precise—perfect folds, sharp creases, not a single mistake in its construction. The kind of thing Caleb would craft effortlessly, fingers deft and practiced, a mind built for precision.

You move slowly, lowering yourself into a crouch. You trace the folded edges before carefully peeling them apart, smoothing out the creases with the flat of your palm.

Five words.

His handwriting.

“Nice try, Pip-squeak. Catch me.”

The breath leaves your lungs, a slow exhale, something twisting deep in your stomach.

Because you know what this means.

He’s letting you chase him.

Which means—

He’s going to catch you.

——————————————————————————

The temperature feels engineered—calculated to keep your senses sharp, to keep the tension thrumming beneath your skin like a wire pulled too tight.

You sprint through the corridors, bare feet barely making a sound against the smooth floor, the hush of your movements nearly drowned out by the rapid thud of your own heartbeat. The walls blur past in streaks of muted steel and shadow, bending and shifting with each step. The Maze is breathing around you, rearranging itself in real time, but it isn’t what has your pulse hammering.

Somewhere behind you—above, beyond, just out of reach—he is watching.

He could be anywhere. Every unseen corner. Every darkened corridor. Every blind spot you can’t account for. He is patiently waiting, tracking your every movement, following the inevitable path that only he knows.

And then—

A flicker.

A shadow moves in your periphery. A shift—too quick, too fluid to be the Maze itself.

Your stomach flips.

A voice crackles through the comms, smooth, teasing, sliding straight down your spine.

“Ah, there you are.”

Fuck.

Your muscles coil, every nerve firing at once. Your pace quickens, pushing faster, legs burning as you veer left, then right—sliding under a half-closed door just before it seals behind you.

The space tightens. The path narrows.

And then—

Footsteps.

Not rushed. Not hurried.

Because he’s not running.

He doesn’t have to.

“That little roleplay of yours was cute, by the way.”

Heat crawls up your spine. You don’t have to see him to picture the smirk curling against his lips.

Your teeth clench. Annoyance. Thrill. A mix of both.

“What can I say?” you pant, lungs burning as you vault onto a ledge, pulling yourself up onto a narrow walkway. “I was getting lonely.”

A chuckle. Low. Dark. Too fucking close.

“I bet.”

Then—

Impact.

A force slamming into you from behind, knocking you off balance, stealing the breath from your lungs before you can even react.

The world flips. The cold ground rushes up to meet you, the weight of him pressing you down, pinning you in place before you can even struggle. The scent of him—leather, metal, heat—invading your senses, overwhelming, inescapable.

His lips brush against your ear, voice smooth, smug, dripping with satisfaction.

“Caught you.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the waterfall, you

By the time he drags you to the artificial waterfall, your pulse is still unsteady, your legs still aching from the chase, your mind bracing for whatever twisted game comes next.

But instead—

A table.

Not just any table. A deliberate, calculated display. A perfect arrangement of polished silverware, a bottle of wine uncorked and breathing, a meal set for two beneath the soft glow of dimmed lighting. The sound of cascading water fills the space—gentle, rhythmic, almost real—muffling the mechanical heartbeat of the Maze beyond it.

He lets you go, and you stumble slightly, muscles still buzzing, instincts still screaming at you to run.

But he’s already there.

Waiting.

Seated with a relaxed posture, elbow propped lazily against the table, fingers idly turning the stem of his wine glass. He looks at ease—so effortlessly at ease you might almost forget the chase that led you here.

Almost.

He’s out of uniform. Not the crisp, imposing presence of the Colonel, not the structured, impersonal control of a Fleet officer.

Just a button-down—white, immaculate but slightly undone, the top button left open, the fabric settled easily over his frame. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal the definition of his forearms, the slow, idle flex of muscle as he moves. His long bangs are damp, strands fallen loosely into his eyes, the artificial moonlight catching faintly against the silver-brown strands.

For a second—a dangerous second—he looks like Caleb.

But then his gaze settles on you.

Sharp. Intentional. Possessive.

And you know.

This isn’t just Caleb.

This is the Colonel.

“Please,” he says smoothly, gesturing to the seat across from him.

The scent hits you first.

Slow-cooked braised chicken, golden and glistening, the skin crisped just enough, the aroma rich with garlic, rosemary, and the deep caramelized sweetness of roasted shallots. Steamed vegetables, still glistening with butter, arranged in careful balance—as if every detail was considered.

A glass of your favorite wine, already poured.

Even the smallest details—your preferred silverware, the right softness of the bread—everything is exact.

You swallow.

“You wanted a date.” His smirk tilts. “So let’s enjoy it.”

It almost feels real.

Until—

A door shifts in the distance.

And there—just behind Caleb—

A way out.

Slightly ajar.

Waiting.

And then—he speaks.

“Well?”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on one hand.

“You lured me out.”

His voice is slow, indulgent. Dangerous.

“Let’s see what you really wanted.”

Your breath catches.

Because now, this isn’t about dinner.

It��s about the choice.

The door.

Or him.

And the worst part?

You don’t know what you’re going to do.

The scent of rosemary and caramelized shallots should be comforting.

But it isn’t.

Not when Caleb’s violet eyes haven’t left you once.

Not when the door behind him remains open—just enough to matter.

Caleb doesn’t move.

But you, you lower yourself into the chair with slow grace and reach for your wine, lifting it with ease.

And you don’t break eye contact.

Not once.

The wine is smooth, rich, settling in your throat, but it does nothing to dull the way he watches you.

Your pulse kicks up.

You lower the glass, just as carefully, letting the moment stretch, letting the power shift between you, just enough to see if he’ll do something about it.

Then—calmly, evenly—you ask the question that shatters everything.

“What do you think I should do?”

Caleb’s lips curve—a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The candlelight flickers over his face, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw.

“That depends.” His voice is smooth, controlled, teasing. “Do you actually want an answer, or do you just want me to beg?”

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t flinch.

“Begging isn’t really your style, Colonel.”

He exhales an amused sound, leaning back, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers.

“No,” he muses, pretending to think it over. “But it would be entertaining to see you try.”

You don’t rise to it.

Instead, you lean in slightly, elbows resting against the table, studying him just as he studies you.

“You already know what I want,” you say, keeping your voice even, patient. “You’re just waiting for permission.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the waterfall, Caleb

Caleb’s fingers tighten around his glass.

Just slightly.

Not enough to shatter it. Not enough to be obvious. But enough for the glass to shift just a fraction in his grasp. His head tilts, slow, calculated—but the smirk doesn’t quite hold.

A slip.

“And what if I am?”

The words come smooth, perfectly placed—but there’s something underneath them.

Something fraying at the edges.

You’re pushing.

And fuck, he should have seen it coming.

The way you lifted your wine glass. The way you’re leaning into this moment, holding his gaze, unshaken, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear that you’re waiting.

Testing him.

And it works.

Because you’re not afraid.

Not of the open door.

Not of him.

And that—that should mean nothing. It should be a detail, a flicker of behavior easily dismissed, just another piece of the equation he’s already solved.

Except it isn’t.

Because for a second—just a second—something inside him almost breaks completely.

Because if you leave, he’ll survive.

He’ll keep breathing.

The Maze will function.

The doors will close.

Everything will go back to perfection.

But he will never have you again.

His throat tightens, a flicker of tension that shouldn’t be there, that shouldn’t exist. He can feel himself slipping, his control shifting.

And fuck, why does this feel like losing?

His breath pulls tight in his chest.

No.

Not here. Not now.

He has to leave.

Now.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the waterfall, you

Caleb pushes back from the table, exhaling slowly, a perfect recalibration of breath.

“Thank you, Pips,” he says smoothly, voice eerily calm. “For the… distraction. But I really do have work to get back to.”

And then—he stands.

He leaves the door open.

Wide.

And he walks through it.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the waterfall, Caleb

He doesn’t look back.

Because if he does—he might do something irreversible.

His pulse is off-beat, unsteady, his body rejecting the open door even as he forces himself forward. Every step feels wrong, too slow, too heavy, like something is pulling at him, like something inside him is resisting.

Why the fuck did that almost break him?

Why the fuck did you have to look at him like that?

Like you were waiting.

Waiting for what?

For him to stop you?

For him to admit that he doesn’t want you to go?

His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he pushes into the next corridor. The air feels cooler here, the artificial lighting casting sharp lines along the metallic walls. The Maze adjusts to his presence, doors sliding shut behind him, pathways shifting—a perfect, controlled system, responding to him exactly the way it should.

And yet—

It’s not working.

Not this time.

Not when your voice is still in his head. Not when the open door still lingers behind him, waiting, waiting, waiting—just like you had.

He exhales sharply, forcing his body into routine, into precision. Counts his breaths, lets the soft hum of the Maze’s recalibrations steady him.

He’s fine.

And yet—

He’s working his hardest not to shut the open door.

That’s why he’s leaving.

Because if he doesn’t, he won’t let you make a choice at all.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the waterfall, you

The moment stretches.

The door remains open.

You’ve danced this dance enough now. Enough to know the steps. Enough to know that this isn’t about letting you go—it never was.

This is about fear.

And Caleb is leaving because he’s afraid.

Not of you.

Of himself.

Your body moves before your mind does, the chair scraping against the ground as you push up, the sound slicing through the silence. You’re already stepping forward, already crossing the space between you and the door, heat pooling in your chest, in your veins, something driving you forward that you refuse to name.

You reach out—no hesitation, no second-guessing—and grab his wrist.

Hard.

His steps falter.

He tenses beneath your grip, muscles coiling, a sharp breath escaping between his teeth. His gaze flicks downward, locking onto the point of contact—your fingers curled tight around his skin, keeping him here, keeping him from leaving.

And then—slowly, almost hesitantly—he looks at you.

Violet eyes unreadable.

You don’t give him time to speak. Don’t give him time to think.

Your grip tightens. And you drag him forward.

Through the door.

Through the clearing.

Toward the waterfall, where the wide, shimmering pool glows beneath the artificial moonlight.

“What—?”

You shove him.

And yourself.

The impact is instant.

A shock of cold, a rush of weightless suspension, the world vanishing into the silence of water. The force of the fall knocks the breath from your lungs, your body colliding with his beneath the surface—heat meeting cold, movement meeting chaos.

For a moment, it’s just pressure and disorientation, the weight of water swallowing everything.

Then—

You break the surface.

Gasping. Wet. Eyes unfocused as you drag in a breath, air rushing too fast into your lungs. The glow above scatters across the water’s surface, silver and blue, distorting the outlines of the Maze beyond.

Caleb follows a second later.

He emerges with a sharp inhale, damp bangs plastered against his forehead. His shirt, once crisp and structured, is soaked through, clinging to his body, outlining the firm lines of muscle beneath the fabric. His chest rises and falls—a little too sharp, a little too ragged.

And for the first time in days—

He looks completely caught off guard.

A single breathless second.

Then—

He laughs.

A short, startled exhale—something real, something human, something so utterly Caleb that it sends a pulse of heat straight through you. His head tilts back, water dripping from his hair, down the length of his throat, his chest vibrating with something raw and unguarded.

But it doesn’t last.

His violet eyes snap back to you.

And he stops.

Expression unreadable.

Body tense.

“What the fuck was that, Pip-squeak?”

His voice is low, an edge creeping in, a bite of something unsteady beneath the irritation.

You exhale, your breath evening out, your fingers trailing across the surface of the water, creating small ripples between you.

“You were leaving.”

His gaze flickers, something shifting—calculating, deciding. The water drips slow from his jaw, down the tendon of his throat. Then, his voice drops low.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that?”

You move first.

No hesitation.

No calculation.

Just need.

Your fingers slide into his wet hair, the strands damp and silken between your fingers, twisting in your grasp. Caleb stills, muscles coiling beneath your touch, eyes locked onto yours.

And before he can process it—

You kiss him.

His body locks up—tense, something unraveling inside him so fast you can feel it in the way he clenches his jaw.

And then—

He gives in.

A sharp inhale, a low sound vibrating deep in his throat—raw, desperate, something unguarded breaking past his control. And suddenly, his hands are on you—gripping, dragging, pulling you flush against him.

The warmth of his mouth is a stark contrast to the cold water around you—hot, consuming, full of something both too much and not enough. His fingers skate up your spine, over the curve of your ribs, gripping tighter, needing you closer—like something inside him will shatter if he doesn’t have you entirely.

And then—

A flicker.

A jolt.

A small, unmistakable twitch in his neck.

The first warning.

The first crack.

The reminder of exactly what he is.

——————————————————————————

Chapter seven

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So you caught him. Not how you necessarily intended to. But you caught him. I don’t know what it is, but I clearly have a thing for kissing Caleb in water. The gist of the next chapters is done—just proofreading and little enhancements left, yay! Okay then, thank you so much for reading! 🫶🏻

#bear with me! we’re getting there #now on to proofreading chapter 7 #maybe I’ll even post it today who knows how my brain works #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #fanfic caleb #you x caleb #reader x caleb #fanfic love and deepspace #mc x caleb #the maze #caleb #love and deepspace caleb #fanfiction caleb #fanfic

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writingpoorly · 7 months ago

Text

Jaster absolutely has a Tumblr

Ever since he’d been kicked out of the Journeymen protectors Jaster has been drunk. Drunk and furious. He'd been in the right! Since when was killing a deal breaker for a Mando'ade?

The priorities of the Mando’ade have been misplaced for generations. At that thought, Jaster goes back to his private documents folder and opens the Ori’ramikad’nare document he had been working on since his buir’s death.

He was no lawyer or politician and didn’t specialize in legal documents, but he thinks he’s done a pretty thorough job with it. Granted Mando’a was a straightforward language, unlike Basic. He’d broken down each tenant of the Resol’nare and expanded on how a modern Mando’ade should be expected to responsibly and ethically adhere to the six tenants.

With a reckless, drunken thought, Jaster decides to post it. Being hundreds of pages he didn’t expect any of his followers to actually read the thing, but it didn’t do any good sitting in his files. He’d cited everything so no one could accuse him of plagiarism or anything ridiculous like that.

Nodding to himself he uploads a link to it ensuring that no one should be able to edit it before giving a toast to his buir’s memory and promptly passing out.

Jaster wakes up past noon the next day with a pounding headache and an annoying dinging coming from somewhere near him. Ignoring the lesser issue for now, he gets up to relieve himself and take pain meds before slumping on the ratty couch set into the wall of his ship. He sets a glass of water down on his sorry excuse for a caf table and hope by the time he empties it he'll feel more human.

It takes a few long moments to realize that the dinging sound is still coming from somewhere. Eventually he finds a discarded pad and opens it to discover that the sound had been notifications on his blog. The simple tone he had programmed as the notification sound had turned into a droning noise with the excessive amount of comments and reblogs he was getting on something.

With dread he clicks into it expecting a drunk him to have posted some embarrassing picture or error ridden text post, he’s embarrassed to discover that drunk him had instead posted the ori’ramikad’nare last night. What makes him almost drop his pad though, is the steadily growing number of notifications in his ask-box, dms, and on the post itself.

Jaster quickly turns off his asks and privates his account so that hopefully less dms will come in. He has easily gotten thousands of notifications in the relatively few hours between passing out last night and now.

His comm unit on the table buzzes and Jaster looks at it warily. It buzzes again, somehow sounding like a reprimand and Jaster picks it up cautiously.

[Skirata: Mereel you kriffing dikut!]

[Skirata: What did you do?!?!]

[Skirata: Why is your blog all over the Mando’web?]

[Skirata: You better not be drunk again]

[Skirata: I swear to the Manda I will end you!]

[Mereel: Kal I don’t know what happened]

[Mereel: I posted the ori’ramikad’nare]

[Mereel: Now I have thousands of notifications]

[Skirata: Check the news pages on Mando’web]

[Mereel: I’m not sure I want to]

[Skirata: I will end you, don’t test me]

Deciding to do as he’s told, for a completely unrelated reason to Kal threatening him, Jaster grabs his pad. Ignoring the continuing notifications he opens up his preferred new channel.

‘Breaking News: Anonymous Source Posts Codex Challenging Current thoughts on Mando’ade Culture- Could this verde be trying to gather supporters to become the next Mand’alor?’

Horrified he opens a different news channel.

‘New Mand’alor Posts Manifisto Detailing How They’ll Change Our Culture- Page 234 will shock you’

How is it getting worse? Jaster snatches up his comm again.

[Skirata: You better be checking the news]

[Mereel: Kal what do I do?!??!]

[Mereel: They’re saying I’m trying to be Mand’alor]

[Mereel: I’m not qualified for that??]

[Mereel; I don’t even have a job anymore]

[Skirata: Jaster calm down. Go make shig]

[Skirata: I’m already on my way to you]

[Skirata; We’ll figure out how to get you out of this]

They did not in fact figure out a way to get him out of it. Turns out when you start a cultural revolution in a group largely made up of Bounty Hunters it’s difficult to hide from the people who want to follow you.

Go figure.

#star wars #jaster mereel #kal skirata #haat'mando'ade #true mandalorians #mando'ade #ao3 writer #figured i'd make this its own post #wp writes

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alpaca-clouds · 1 month ago

Text

We need to talk about AI

Okay, several people asked me to post about this, so I guess I am going to post about this. Or to say it differently: Hey, for once I am posting about the stuff I am actually doing for university. Woohoo!

Because here is the issue. We are kinda suffering a death of nuance right now, when it comes to the topic of AI.

I understand why this happening (basically everyone wanting to market anything is calling it AI even though it is often a thousand different things) but it is a problem.

So, let's talk about "AI", that isn't actually intelligent, what the term means right now, what it is, what it isn't, and why it is not always bad. I am trying to be short, alright?

So, right now when anyone says they are using AI they mean, that they are using a program that functions based on what computer nerds call "a neural network" through a process called "deep learning" or "machine learning" (yes, those terms mean slightly different things, but frankly, you really do not need to know the details).

Now, the theory for this has been around since the 1940s! The idea had always been to create calculation nodes that mirror the way neurons in the human brain work. That looks kinda like this:

Basically, there are input nodes, in which you put some data, those do some transformations that kinda depend on the kind of thing you want to train it for and in the end a number comes out, that the program than "remembers". I could explain the details, but your eyes would glaze over the same way everyone's eyes glaze over in this class I have on this on every Friday afternoon.

All you need to know: You put in some sort of data (that can be text, math, pictures, audio, whatever), the computer does magic math, and then it gets a number that has a meaning to it.

And we actually have been using this sinde the 80s in some way. If any Digimon fans are here: there is a reason the digital world in Digimon Tamers was created in Stanford in the 80s. This was studied there.

But if it was around so long, why am I hearing so much about it now?

This is a good question hypothetical reader. The very short answer is: some super-nerds found a way to make this work way, way better in 2012, and from that work (which was then called Deep Learning in Artifical Neural Networks, short ANN) we got basically everything that TechBros will not shut up about for the last like ten years. Including "AI".

Now, most things you think about when you hear "AI" is some form of generative AI. Usually it will use some form of a LLM, a Large Language Model to process text, and a method called Stable Diffusion to create visuals. (Tbh, I have no clue what method audio generation uses, as the only audio AI I have so far looked into was based on wolf howls.)

LLMs were like this big, big break through, because they actually appear to comprehend natural language. They don't, of coruse, as to them words and phrases are just stastical variables. Scientists call them also "stochastic parrots". But of course our dumb human brains love to anthropogice shit. So they go: "It makes human words. It gotta be human!"

It is a whole thing.

It does not understand or grasp language. But the mathematics behind it will basically create a statistical analysis of all the words and then create a likely answer.

What you have to understand however is, that LLMs and Stable Diffusion are just a a tiny, minority type of use cases for ANNs. Because research right now is starting to use ANNs for EVERYTHING. Some also partially using Stable Diffusion and LLMs, but not to take away people'S jobs.

Which is probably the place where I will share what I have been doing recently with AI.

The stuff I am doing with Neural Networks

The neat thing: if a Neural Network is Open Source, it is surprisingly easy to work with it. Last year when I started with this I was so intimidated, but frankly, I will confidently say now: As someone who has been working with computers for like more than 10 years, this is easier programming than most shit I did to organize data bases. So, during this last year I did three things with AI. One for a university research project, one for my work, and one because I find it interesting.

The university research project trained an AI to watch video live streams of our biology department's fish tanks, analyse the behavior of the fish and notify someone if a fish showed signs of being sick. We used an AI named "YOLO" for this, that is very good at analyzing pictures, though the base framework did not know anything about stuff that lived not on land. So we needed to teach it what a fish was, how to analyze videos (as the base framework only can look at single pictures) and then we needed to teach it how fish were supposed to behave. We still managed to get that whole thing working in about 5 months. So... Yeah. But nobody can watch hundreds of fish all the time, so without this, those fish will just die if something is wrong.

The second is for my work. For this I used a really old Neural Network Framework called tesseract. This was developed by Google ages ago. And I mean ages. This is one of those neural network based on 1980s research, simply doing OCR. OCR being "optical character recognition". Aka: if you give it a picture of writing, it can read that writing. My work has the issue, that we have tons and tons of old paper work that has been scanned and needs to be digitized into a database. But everyone who was hired to do this manually found this mindnumbing. Just imagine doing this all day: take a contract, look up certain data, fill it into a table, put the contract away, take the next contract and do the same. Thousands of contracts, 8 hours a day. Nobody wants to do that. Our company has been using another OCR software for this. But that one was super expensive. So I was asked if I could built something to do that. So I did. And this was so ridiculously easy, it took me three weeks. And it actually has a higher successrate than the expensive software before.

Lastly there is the one I am doing right now, and this one is a bit more complex. See: we have tons and tons of historical shit, that never has been translated. Be it papyri, stone tablets, letters, manuscripts, whatever. And right now I used tesseract which by now is open source to develop it further to allow it to read handwritten stuff and completely different letters than what it knows so far. I plan to hook it up, once it can reliably do the OCR, to a LLM to then translate those texts. Because here is the thing: these things have not been translated because there is just not enough people speaking those old languages. Which leads to people going like: "GASP! We found this super important document that actually shows things from the anceint world we wanted to know forever, and it was lying in our collection collecting dust for 90 years!" I am not the only person who has this idea, and yeah, I just hope maybe we can in the next few years get something going to help historians and archeologists to do their work.

Make no mistake: ANNs are saving lives right now

Here is the thing: ANNs are Deep Learning are saving lives right now. I really cannot stress enough how quickly this technology has become incredibly important in fields like biology and medicine to analyze data and predict outcomes in a way that a human just never would be capable of.

I saw a post yesterday saying "AI" can never be a part of Solarpunk. I heavily will disagree on that. Solarpunk for example would need the help of AI for a lot of stuff, as it can help us deal with ecological things, might be able to predict weather in ways we are not capable of, will help with medicine, with plants and so many other things.

ANNs are a good thing in general. And yes, they might also be used for some just fun things in general.

And for things that we may not need to know, but that would be fun to know. Like, I mentioned above: the only audio research I read through was based on wolf howls. Basically there is a group of researchers trying to understand wolves and they are using AI to analyze the howling and grunting and find patterns in there which humans are not capable of due ot human bias. So maybe AI will hlep us understand some animals at some point.

Heck, we saw so far, that some LLMs have been capable of on their on extrapolating from being taught one version of a language to just automatically understand another version of it. Like going from modern English to old English and such. Which is why some researchers wonder, if it might actually be able to understand languages that were never deciphered.

All of that is interesting and fascinating.

Again, the generative stuff is a very, very minute part of what AI is being used for.

Yeah, but WHAT ABOUT the generative stuff?

So, let's talk about the generative stuff. Because I kinda hate it, but I also understand that there is a big issue.

If you know me, you know how much I freaking love the creative industry. If I had more money, I would just throw it all at all those amazing creative people online. I mean, fuck! I adore y'all!

And I do think that basically art fully created by AI is lacking the human "heart" - or to phrase it more artistically: it is lacking the chemical inbalances that make a human human lol. Same goes for writing. After all, an AI is actually incapable of actually creating a complex plot and all of that. And even if we managed to train it to do it, I don't think it should.

AI saving lives = good.

AI doing the shit humans actually evolved to do = bad.

And I also think that people who just do the "AI Art/Writing" shit are lazy and need to just put in work to learn the skill. Meh.

However...

I do think that these forms of AI can have a place in the creative process. There are people creating works of art that use some assets created with genAI but still putting in hours and hours of work on their own. And given that collages are legal to create - I do not see how this is meaningfully different. If you can take someone else's artwork as part of a collage legally, you can also take some art created by AI trained on someone else's art legally for the collage.

And then there is also the thing... Look, right now there is a lot of crunch in a lot of creative industries, and a lot of the work is not the fun creative kind, but the annoying creative kind that nobody actually enjoys and still eats hours and hours before deadlines. Swen the Man (the Larian boss) spoke about that recently: how mocapping often created some artifacts where the computer stuff used to record it (which already is done partially by an algorithm) gets janky. So far this was cleaned up by humans, and it is shitty brain numbing work most people hate. You can train AI to do this.

And I am going to assume that in normal 2D animation there is also more than enough clean up steps and such that nobody actually likes to do and that can just help to prevent crunch. Same goes for like those overworked souls doing movie VFX, who have worked 80 hour weeks for the last 5 years. In movie VFX we just do not have enough workers. This is a fact. So, yeah, if we can help those people out: great.

If this is all directed by a human vision and just helping out to make certain processes easier? It is fine.

However, something that is just 100% AI? That is dumb and sucks. And it sucks even more that people's fanart, fanfics, and also commercial work online got stolen for it.

And yet... Yeah, I am sorry, I am afraid I have to join the camp of: "I am afraid criminalizing taking the training data is a really bad idea." Because yeah... It is fucking shitty how Facebook, Microsoft, Google, OpenAI and whatever are using this stolen data to create programs to make themselves richer and what not, while not even making their models open source. BUT... If we outlawed it, the only people being capable of even creating such algorithms that absolutely can help in some processes would be big media corporations that already own a ton of data for training (so basically Disney, Warner and Universal) who would then get a monopoly. And that would actually be a bad thing. So, like... both variations suck. There is no good solution, I am afraid.

And mind you, Disney, Warner, and Universal would still not pay their artists for it. lol

However, that does not mean, you should not bully the companies who are using this stolen data right now without making their models open source! And also please, please bully Hasbro and Riot and whoever for using AI Art in their merchandise. Bully them hard. They have a lot of money and they deserve to be bullied!

But yeah. Generally speaking: Please, please, as I will always say... inform yourself on these topics. Do not hate on stuff without understanding what it actually is. Most topics in life are nuanced. Not all. But many.

#computer science #artifical intelligence #neural network #artifical neural network #ann #deep learning #ai #large language model #science #research #nuance #explanation #opinion #text post #ai explained #solarpunk #cyberpunk

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