Stop calling me old okay?? like i dont know why you guys think i’m old when you clearly have forgotten that purp is like… the crypt-keeper at this point. i am a fountain of youth in comparison. zombiepurplefox
These databases are indexes of thousands of images that have been sorted into thousands of categories [you know that captchas that ask you to write down the numbers you see or ask “what 4 images are hamburgers?”? Those all help to feed into the database and categorize images].
The DeepDream project even allows the computer to basically inject what it’s learned from these databases into images and create it’s own images, or ~”dreams”~.
Basically it’s a nightmare machine that shows us how computers see and manipulate pictures, and I tested it on Danny Devito…several times.
Here it goes: Molly finds out that Sherlock keeps a picture of her in his wallet.
“That must be the Chinese - use my card!” Sherlock shouted from his bedroom. She didn’t argue still soaked to the bone, her clothes squelching as she went down the steps and found his slightly moist coat in the hallway (he’d known beforehand that this was how the case would go of course, so he was somewhat prepared - - unlike her). She got his wallet out from the inner coat pocket and answered the door - “Hi - woah - what happened to you Miss?” said the young man, wide-eyed and surprised at her appearance.
Molly was in no mood to chat about her current predicament, too hungry and too cold to feel keen on sharing anything. She fished out the money and a tip, smiling at the young man who nodded knowingly. “Should have known not to ask when I come here. Thanks for the tip.”
The bag of food was thankfully in her hands and she was about to place the wallet back in the coat when she managed to drop it onto the floor. Groaning Molly bent down, struggling against her wet clothes until she held it in her hand but she blinked when something eerily familiar had slipped out of one of the card slots - her face. She gaped picking up the photograph from the floor bemused, there her smile was wide and her cheeks red from a Christmas long ago. Had someone been taking pictures that night? Maybe it was Mrs Hudson? She couldn’t really remember. She thankfully didn’t look sad or weepy, but all sparkly (the silvery earrings certainly helped). It took her longer than usual to put two and two together, she supposed it was her growling stomach and the waft of fried rice hitting her nostrils that blinded her, until - “Oh.”
Tucking it back into the slot, she put the wallet back into his coat and wandered upstairs again. “You can borrow clothes if you want, I have a dryer,” he said walking out in just his robe, his curls all flattened down.
“You mean Mrs Hudson has a dryer?” she teased glad he hadn’t noticed her flushing or presumed it was because of his appearance.
“Of course,” he said smirking. “Just head to my bedroom. I’ve already laid out some clothes on the bed for you.”
“Thanks,” she said handing him the bag of Chinese food, while he stared at her looking suddenly suspicious. “…What?”
“You seem less angry. Why is that?”
“Food,” she said quickly, grinning at him before heading off to his bedroom, but she still couldn’t resist shouting out - “Is there a photo of me too in your bedroom?” It took hours before he looked remotely comfortable.