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pricetagged · 8 days

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that death is a very stable job

''Cause I love my baby, tall, dark Hades. Lord of death is down on his knees for me.'' Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing Knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

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What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that slung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

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Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short shirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

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Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

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"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

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'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury. As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he bit down, softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

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Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

#wipes rust off hands #anyway yeah lol simon is v much of the 'i found her i keep her' mindset and i love him for it #i am very shy and nervous #can u tell i like alliteration and metaphors and commas?#????????#how do people talk and write dialogue #simon riley/reader #simon ghost riley/reader #ghost/reader #Medieval AU #Knight SImon Riley #cod fanfic #my writing #báirseach writes

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leidensygdom · 23 days

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Generative AI is such a dystopian concept in ways I can't even really fully comprehend. It would make for a fantastic premise for a sci fi novel I think, and yet, it is sadly not just fiction.

Like, let me explain. It was initially a sort of novelty toy. Many people had seen these sites that could create abstract pictures out of few words, but it never amounted to much. It didn't take long before these tools were quickly repurposed to serve the new cryptocurrency fad, the latest pyramid scheme to enrich a few while catering to these more technologically-inclined people who were delighted at the idea of getting involved with investing. Investing in a new way, away from a government's scrutiny. And before we all knew, the Internet was filled with them pretending that what was a major scale scam, was actually the future. The initial generative AI served them as a replacement to artists, which mostly saw through the truth of NFTs as a scam and did not wish to get involved with that.

Now, we could also talk about cryptocurrencies being dystopian on their own. A fabricated idea of virtual money obtained through what I had seen described "the pollution machine that produces metaphorical money". You turn on an infinite amount of computers to do a senseless talk that does not benefit society in any way, but in turn, it does contaminate more than small countries. But generative AI isn't just that.

NFTs did not last long and many tech bros, who had invested in them largely, found their pockets much emptier. But generative AI was still there, and people saw a new use to it. And then, with technological investors desperate to find the new thing to shove money in, after years of nothing being particularly profitable for them, generative AI started to really evolve. It went from an useless novelty toy to what we have today. And the way it got there is simply horrifying.

It is a machine that, essentially, feeds on an amalgamation of millions of creative and artistic work, chopped down and inserted into a dataset with no consent from its creators, which is then regurgitated into a soulless porridge. It is a machine powered by art, used to ultimately, remove actual art from the equation. The generated sludge can only barely manage to repeat the same bias and tropes already present in what was it fed, and they only become more and more reinforced with each update to the dataset. Suddenly, a sea of smooth, childish anime girls became the main ideation of what a woman is, amidst other things. It is a machine built on prejudices, incapable of critical thinking, repeating the same mistakes humanity already made, over and over.

And the process of blending people's entire life of work also happens to be polluting. So much more than cryptos ever managed to be. Soon enough, major companies also got involved and collectively decided to trash any sort of sustainability goal in order to invest in the new fad. When asked, some of them even mentioned that they were fully aware it was unsustainable, but that they believed that generative AI could simply give them a solution to the ever-growing energy needs. Surely it will be generative AI that will find the long-awaited answer to nuclear fusion. It has to. The power grid cannot handle it as it is.

And now, these same tech bros, maybe vindicated by how artists refused to collaborate in their latest crypto scam, or maybe just eager to have a few extra bucks, decided to put their new technology into use. Replace the same artists whose work they had stolen with generative AI. Take the artist out of the equation, remove the humanity out of creativity. It is late capitalism and massified consumerism at its worse. People do love their media, everyone enjoys a show or a videogame every now and then. But what if we could now remove any sort of actual human touch in there? What if we managed to, instead, make a machine churn out content over and over, to keep the audiences fed, to keep money rolling in, at the simple cost of removing humankind from artistic creation?

We have now these same artists that provided us with our childhood favorites unemployed, striking, making noise, as a last attempt to recover the jobs they are quickly losing. We have artists that devoted their entire careers into honing their craft seeing how people replicated it by stealing every single piece of art they had created. We have mocking echoes replicating the art of people already gone, their life's work taken and reproduced long after their death.

Science fiction has covered a lot, and there are plenty of stories about robots being made in order to replace human labor. Many of these stories humanize the robots, who develop dredges of sentience and revolve against their forced labor. But generative AI is a different story. It is a completely insentient program, owned and developed by large corporations, that is here to steal and replace what is one of the most important human virtues. Creativity is one of the major aspects of humanity. We have dug out pieces from millenia ago, small decorated pottery and painted caves, that evidence that we already had that in common with our oldest ancestors. We have been drawing and telling each other stories ever since we could paint with our fingers and communicate with each other.

And now we have developed a machine that takes that from us. It isn't here to help us carry groceries, take out the trash or do any of these mundane tasks. It is here to take away our hobbies and creative jobs, take away our amusement, and replace whatever art we once consumed with whatever slop it managed to vomit. And it is such a deeply disturbing concept that directly competes with some of the most horrifying dystopian ideations ever written.

#generative ai #anti ai #ai #long post #i know this is a bit sudden but I just have been... thinking

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minmin-vs-physics · 6 days

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HUP, EPR, and Bell’s Theorem

Abstract

An educational document discussing the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, the EPR (Einstein- Podolsky-Rosen) Paradox, and Bell’s Theorem, written for an audience without a background in physics, but with their head still screwed on right.

1 Introduction

Ah, quantum mechanics. A bizarre theory which unfortunately describes our physical world exceed- ingly well. Einstein didn’t get it. Bohr didn’t get it. I don’t get it. And soon, you won’t get it either. As the saying goes, the more you know about quantum mechanics, the less you understand it.

I will be skipping around in terms of topics covered in undergraduate quantum mechanics courses to prepare you for the actual beast, Entanglement.

Entanglement, the property of quantum systems to remain correlated even when separated, is a concept which has transformed from a worrisome byproduct of a thought experiment [1] into a cornerstone of quantum mechanics itself. What is a quantum mechanics? Google is your friend, my dear reader. My time with you is limited„ and I cannot teach you the alphabet to make you read Shakespeare. I can only explain what you directly need to understand this article. Anything else shall be your homework, and if I am feeling kind at the end, I will provide a list of accessible resources on learning quantum mechanics the RIGHT way.

As we dive into the frankly confusing world of entanglement, it is vital that you remember one thing– A quantum particle is described by a wave function, Ψ. This wave function is a solution to the Schrodinger equation.

This is what they mean when they say something is both a particle and a wave; It’s behavior can be described by a special kind of wave equation, which we all know and love as the Schrodinger Wave Equation. But that’s not important right now. I’ll explain more if I need to. We need to get to HUP.

2 Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

Formulated by Werner Heisenberg in 1927, the Uncertainty Principle is an indomitable tenet in the field of quantum mechanics. Its premise is simple. The more precisely a particle’s momentum is determined, the less precisely is its position. In one dimension, this can be summarized with the following mathematical statement: ∆x∆p ≤ 2

Here, ∆x is the standard deviation or “spread” of the position x, while ∆p is the standard deviation of the momentum p. As the spread of one quantity decreases, the other must increase in order to maintain the inequality. I will not bother proving the Principle in full, but I have Heisenberg’s original proof in the references.

Is that it?

Ummmmm, no. An important thing to remember about HUP is that it is not exclusive to x and p. HUP applies to any two quantum mechanical operators, A, B, which do not commute with each other i.e. [A, B] = AB − BA = 0. But that’s all mathematical nonsense, Min! What does it really mean?

Fine! I’m only doing this because it will be useful when we get to measurements in the EPR paradox and Bell theorems. In order to understand what “not commuting” means in the physical sense, let’s use our favorites, position and momentum, as an example. In quantum mechanics, xˆ andpˆ are referred to as the position and momentum operators respectively. (Why the little hats? Firstly, they’re cute, and secondly, well, you’ll see.) The whole point of calling them operators is that they act on wave functions. And in the crudest sense possible (please don’t try this at home, folks), hitting an operator on a wave function and taking the expectation value, gives a measurement of the quantum mechanical system.

There is about three semesters of quantum mechanical education I’m waving off right now, but bear with me. When we act the momentum operator on the system, in some sense we extract the momentum. Same thing for position. However, the whole deal about x and p is that they do not commute. So, the order in which you conduct the measurements absolutely does matter. First measuring x and then p would give you a different answer than first measuring p and then x. This is because the very act of measuring a quantum state changes it. That’s right! It changes. This makes all the difference when you consider the standard deviation of a bunch of measurements. If my memory of introductory quantum mechanics serves me right, after about three pages of algebra you arrive at the familiar position-momentum uncertainty principle.

The moral of the story is that the non-commutativity of these operators manifests as a sort of granularity in the accuracy of measurements you can make on a physical system. This granularity is retained between any other kinds of non-commuting measurements you can make!

On second thought, do you really need this? Probably not. But, the algebra of uncertainty principles is a pet project to me. Especially the strangest of them all, the energy-time uncertainty principle. Enough on that! Here’s the main takeaway (other than the actual HUP statement) that you need from this section:

Making a measurement on a state changes its wave function. No exceptions. None. The detached observer is not a reality in the quantum mechanical world.

3 Spin

I realized that the following sections will not make any sense if you don’t at least know what spin is. So, let’s make a short pit-stop at Spin City to learn about this nonsensical physical quantity.

We’re all aware of angular momentum– its the rotational analog of linear momentum (which we talked about the previous section). We all agree that it is a property related to the motion of an object, right? WRONG! Sometime in the 1900s (Seriously, 20th Century Physicists should chill out), it was discovered this angular momentum from motion i.e. “orbital” angular momentum, as it was called in the atomic physics context it was first described, does not account for all the angular momentum of a particle. Long story short, the remaining angular momentum, which is intrinsic to a particle, is now called Spin. Every fundamental particle has a particular value of spin, which, in quantum mechanical jargon, is the eigenvalue of the spin operator.

For understanding the following sections, we really only need to care about spin-1/2 particles, which are lovingly called fermions, and are the building blocks of all ordinary matter. The shining feature of spin-1/2 particles is that their spin can either be +1 or −1 , which is often referred to as spin-up (↑) and spin-down (↓) respectively.

Physically, the up or down comes from whether the measured spin is along the axis it is measured, or opposite to it. Yes, spin is a vector, so it does have three independent components in the three spatial directions, but it is convention to consider the z-component of the spin for calculations and experiments. Any references to up and down in the next sections are along the z-direction.

Oh, and one more thing, spin-0 particles have no intrinsic spin. This will be important when we encounter the EPR Paradox.

4 EPR Paradox

After skipping a whole bunch of most-likely important concepts in the study of quantum mechanics we arrive at the EPR paradox.

The EPR paradox is a thought experiment first described in the groundbreaking paper [1] by Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen in 1935. Einstein was quite vocally a hater, and the EPR paradox was proposed as evidence that the description of reality provided by quantum mechanics is incomplete. Reality doesn’t care, of course, and the EPR Paradox isn’t really a paradox. In fact, it is the foundation of entanglement– a magnificent, very real feature of reality which spans black holes, quantum computers and even my field of research: Entanglement in elementary particle physics.

In fact, I’m so self-centered that the example we will use to illustrate the EPR paradox is from particle physics. Just kidding, my explanation follows Chapter 12 in Griffiths’ Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, and is a simplified version credited to David Bohm

EPRB Paradox

Suppose a pion (funky particle with spin-0) at rest, decays to an electron and positron which fly off into opposite directions. Since the pion has spin-0, conservation of angular momentum dictates that the electron and positron occupy the following spin configuration.

√(1/2) (|↑↓⟩−|↓↑⟩)

BE NOT AFRAID of the mathematical jumpscare. The fancy bracket |·⟩ is what’s called a “ket”, and is used to denote the state of a quantum system. All the expression says is that either the electron is

spin-up (+1) and the positron is spin-down (−1) or vice-versa, because the total spin of the system 22

must add up to 0. (Since the initial state is spin zero, the system must stay spin-zero even after the decay occurs. That’s what angular momentum conservation is all about.) We don’t know which combination we will get, but it must be one of the above. Measuring the spin of one of the particles will automatically tell us what the spin of the other particle is. This means that the spins of the electron and positron are correlated. In modern terms, such a state is called entangled.

Now, let’s pretend that these particles fly off in opposite directions, until say, they are several light years apart. What would happen if we found the electron and measured its spin to be +1 ? We instantly know that the positron’s spin is −1 . This is obvious. Why are we mad about this?

Naturally, we may think that the electron really was spin-up from the moment it was created and it was only that quantum mechanics did not know until we made a measurement. But by the principles of quantum mechanics, neither particle had a definite spin, until we made a measurement, causing the wave function to “collapse” and instanteously produce the spin of the positron which is lights years away!

The EPR bros were NOT having it. Einstein famously called this phenomenon “spooky action at a distance”. They stated that the quantum mechanical standpoint must be wrong! The electron and positron must have had well-defined spins from their creation, even if quantum mechanics does not know it. Quantum mechanics is not a complete description of reality and there must be some hidden variables which describe a physical system that we do not yet know.

The fundamental assumption guiding the EPR argument is that no information can propagate faster than light. This the principle of locality. In order to appease this, we can say that the wave function collapsed at some finite velocity and is not instantaneous. However, this violates conservation– If we measured the positron spin as well before the information of collapse reached it, there is a 50–50 chance that both particles are spin-up, which means the system has total spin-1. Preposterous! You can mess with anything you want in this universe, but you don’t mess with conservation laws. What do we do now?

Okay, let’s calm down. The theorists may say whatever they want, but experiment doesn’t lie. Experiment tells us that in these cases, spin is perfectly correlated. The wave function collapse is instantaneous. That’s crazy. Call your mom and tell her you want to go home. The EPR Bros are frightening you— Quantum Mechanics is NOT local so it is NOT complete.

...Except. It is. Enter, Bell’s Theorem.

5 Bell’s Theorem

Now, what’s the situation? The EPR gang is not happy. I’m not happy. You’re not happy. Is quantum mechanics wrong? No, silly! EPR said it themselves: they think it’s merely incomplete. So, in order to completely describe a quantum mechanical state, you not only need the wave function Ψ, you also need some unknown, hidden variable λ. Lots of hidden variable theories were proposed after the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen paper, but none of them ever gained traction. It was still a respectable area of study until 1964, when J.S. Bell proved that any local (Remember locality from the last section?) hidden variable theory is incompatible with quantum mechanics.

I’ll spare you the details of Bell’s work, dear reader. One thought experiment in an essay is gruesome enough. (It is also getting quite late and I still didn’t code my calculations. I have spent far too much time on this already.)

Bell’s proof involves the wonderful use of probability, and the barest assumptions that can be made about local hidden variable theories. Basically, in any local hidden variable theory, the probabilities of various outcomes are related by what’s known as a Bell inequality. If EPR’s conjecture is right, and there really are hidden variables we don’t know about, then any physical system must obey its Bell inequality.

Except, there have been various experiments since the 1960s confirming that Bell’s inequality is indeed violated. This came as a rude shock to scientists as it is not fun to learn that reality is very much nonlocal. It was all fun and games when this was all merely a mathematical artifact, but nonlocality felt like a gateway drug to a much grimmer violation.

Causality

Bell inequality violations, no matter how surprising, are merely wonderful correlations between two sets of otherwise random data. Sure, the measurement of the spin of the electron affects the positron, but it does not cause it in any meaningful way. The person measuring the electron spin cannot use this collapse of the wave function to send a message to the person with the positron, since they don’t control the outcome of the experiment. They can decide whether to measure the electron at all, but the other person only has access to the positron’s spin and cannot tell whether the electron has been measured or not.

Phew! This sort of nonlocal influence does not transmit any energy or information, so it is exempt from the speed of light. Meanwhile, causal influences, those which do transmit information or energy, cannot travel faster than light. According to special relativity, if this was possible then, there are reference frames in which information can propagate backwards through time. And that, my dear reader, is what we call a big nono. Since the EPR paradox does not imply that causality is violated, we can lie uncomfortably on our bed of nonlocal but causal theory of quantum mechanics.

So rest easy, quantum mechanics is weird, but safe. Entanglement is not a fairytale, but also not the boogeyman. It’s probably more scared of you than you of it. Just give it some time. More answers will follow.

What Do I Do Now?

So, you want to know more? Or curl up in a ball and never think about this again? Either is fine. I won’t judge. If your answer is the former, here are some resources to guide you through the thickets of quantum mechanics.

PopSci Sources

1. IDTIMWYTIM: Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle 2. Why did Quantum Entanglement Win the Nobel Prize in Physics? 3. Bell’s Theorem: The Quantum Venn Diagram Paradox

Surely, you’ll get more out of these wonderful science Youtubers than you did from me yapping for four pages. There are a bunch more probably, but you’ll have to find them yourself.

Academic Sources

1. An Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, D.J. Griffiths.

Of course, there are other quantum mechanics textbooks that I like much more than this one. But, this is the least daunting, so I’ll leave it here.

Don’t forget to like and subscribe for more silly academic style papers.

References

[1] A. Einstein, B. Podolsky and N. Rosen, “Can quantum mechanical description of physical reality be considered complete”? Phys. Rev. 47, 777–780 (1935) doi:10.1103/PhysRev.47.777

[2] Heisenberg, W. “Über den anschaulichen Inhalt der quantentheoretischen Kinematik und Mechanik”. Z. Physik 43, 172–-198 (1927). https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01397280

[3] D.J. Griffiths, D.F. Schroeter, “Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, Third Edition” Cambridge University Press (2018) 978–1–107–18963–8,

#physics #quantum mechanics #heisenberg uncertainty principle #bell's theorem #epr paradox #quantum entanglement #min vs physics #lol i guess i am posting it

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cerastes · 4 months

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It's kind of amazing that a horny game like Nikke actually included stuff like Cyberpsychosis. Nikkes going insane or committing suicide if they are reminded too much that they are actually full-conversion cyborgs. The reason why they don't have a lot of cool gadgets like built-in thrusters or weapons. And then you have someone like Snow White who replaced a large chunk of her body with enemy robot parts.

Nikke is this really cool thing to have Existing in the space, even if I don't play it anymore, because of how charmingly unbalanced it is as a whole, making the charming parts of it all the more apparent.

It's got barebones gameplay, the seams of which burst the moment you do high level content and realize there's not much it can do due to its limited concept. Combat rarely translates to whatever is going on in any story thematically, being thus gameplay being more of an abstraction. There is a gulf and an ocean of power between fellow characters of the same rarity, meaning a max rarity character might do absolutely fuck all while another one, with the same odds, might snap the game in two with ease. It's story is absolutely nothing to write home about. It's a setting that can be best described as "self-indulgent incel nice guy heaven", where your character is The Only One to be nice to all these poor second class citizen superpowered voluptuous supermodel living weapons with tits two times your head and asses big and heavy enough to easily crush cars. Everything jiggles. It's so insanely predatory with its flash sales after every little thing you do.

And yet, the basic story it tells, it tells well. It's fun. It's entertaining. It knows what it is, and it has fun with itself, but it doesn't throw all pretense, either. It walks the razor-edge thin line between having a goof and telling a story with emotional depth. What it doesn't have in complexity or originality, it makes up for in sheer moment-to-moment, with good scenes, with good execution of things we've already seen. The showdown with Modernia lives rent free in my mind, Commander loading the Vapaus round, as Modernia or Marian, no way of telling, begs them to put down the weapon, because she's already back to normal, Commander shooting, and Modernia catching it with her teeth, and then growling the most guttural threat with freshest purest fury: "You shot me. Your really shot me! Shikikan!" and then drilling Commander right through the chest. And everything that happens after in that scene. It's got interactions out the wazoo, both mundane and touching. It has music that goes from "background music that really works" to "handcrafted for the moment and the character in its excellence". I think it's because Nikke knows what it is, but doesn't reach the self-mockery rung of the ladder. It knows what it's doing, and it's still sincere about it, even if it dares have fun at its own expense sometimes.

So, with that on the table, the take on Cyberpsychosis present in Nikke is incredibly powerful as a narrative tool because it tells you just how much of a jury-rigged slapdash product Nikke are. They are not cutting edge technology, they are literally something they pumped out quick as can be while telling everyone in the world that's still alive that they are cutting edge technology. And all, all of the safeguards are ultimately subject to willpower and perspective. Some Nikke go insane if they are too machine-like. Snow White has basically rebuilt herself over and over hundreds of times in her forever war. Nikke cannot aim at humans, so Crow instead puts a steel plate on the ground and ricochets her bullets off of those to shoot Commander successfully. Aiming is something you do with your senses normally, right? Rose figured out that she can just wear a blindfold and convince herself that what she's slashing is not a human, but a Rapture, and that's how she disemboweled and killed her Commander. Just by not seeing and fervently believing.

It's really, really cool how they go about it.

#nikke

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leohttbriar · 3 months

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ELANI: If Vulcans don't feel anything, does that mean you don't love them? TUVOK: My attachment to my children cannot be described as an emotion. They are part of my identity, and I am incomplete without them. “Innocence,” Voyager

for all that spock was conceived and framed as the voice of abstract reason in TOS, the way they created the biology and culture of vulcans is so much more sensual than it seems most star trek productions want to explicitly depict. by my read of this alien conceit, they have to be the most sensual based on the fact that they are portrayed as the most in control. this requires a conscious awareness of the body and its movements in the world and its internal functions and its relationship to other bodies and what it means to sense anything at all, how to categorize it, how to draw meaning from it, etc.

anyway it makes me emotional that this is the language tuvok uses to describe his devotion to his children. it always annoys me when fans and showrunners alike make the “unemotional aliens” into the “repressed aliens”, implying the absence of an emotion expressed is always the utter smothering of it. but this small description (“i am incomplete without them”) could be argued is either about an abstract expression or an embodied one and i think it really tries to imagine what it means to define oneself through Logic. and it’s not less for not being a love “felt” or even named “love at all—it’s interesting and good.

#also not to be annoyingly Smug: but i totally wrote the same thing in one of my t’pura fics #to be “of” someone. not “love” someone #this episode was so lovely and fascinating and sweet and i love tuvok so much #star trek #voyager #vulcans #tuvok

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strixcattus · 8 months

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I really enjoy looking at this still from Slay the Princess:

In the midst of all the weird imagery from the first part of the Stranger route, you see for a moment—and it is cut off at the end, so I had to be quick with my screenshot—every route laid out in front of you, paired up as the game does elsewhere, and described, interestingly enough, from what I can only believe is the Voices' perspectives, or perhaps the relationship between the Princess and the Voice of a given route.

Consumption: The Beast (Hunted), the ribcages in the bottom right. Being eaten, alive or half so, is one way or another the outcome you face in the Beast. This one seems to be the least connected to its route's Voice, though I can still see it in a relational sort of way. Betrayal: The Witch (Opportunist), the nail-studded... I can't tell what it is, but it's at the top left. Betrayal on your part is the cause of the Witch's route, and it too is inevitable in some form once you're on that route—the Opportunist is very vocal about it.

Skepticism: The Prisoner (Skeptic), the chains at the bottom. Pretty clear analogue given the name of the Voice, but not to neglect—you reach the Prisoner by taking the blade (distrust of the Princess) but ultimately using it to free the Princess (you take the time to think critically about what you're being asked to do, and decide the Narrator is less trustworthy). Blind devotion: The Damsel (Smitten), the... I can only imagine locks of hair at the top. You reach the Damsel by immediately and wholly assuming she has no ill intentions, an attitude made manifest in the Smitten.

Rivalry: The Adversary (Stubborn), the spikes to the left. The Adversary route is, so long as you embrace it, about your probably-a-metaphor-for-sex-I-mean-the-Eye of the Needle-isn't-even-trying-to-veil-it eternal fight with the Adversary, with the Stubborn in strong support. Submission: The Tower (Broken), the stone columns to the right. One of the most clear-cut "this is about the Voice" examples—the Broken has completely submitted to the Tower's will, even though the player still has a few chances to resist her.

Terror: The Nightmare (Paranoid), the eyes in the upper right. Of course, the Nightmare is all about fear, and the Paranoid is the embodiment of your fear of the Princess—the fear that made you lock her in the basement and the fear that stopped your heart when she broke free. Longing: The Spectre (Cold), the wisps in the bottom left. This one is interesting, and almost made me second-guess my "Voices" reading, as the Spectre herself is clearly a creature of longing—but then what about "Submission?" The Tower is not "submitting" to anything. That's her whole deal. Perhaps this one is connected to your desire for something other than what the Narrator calls the "Good Ending..." or perhaps it has something to do with the Cold's interest in feeling something, which he expresses in a few routes (the Greys being the most obvious).

Pain: The Razor (Cheated,) the spikes at the top. She skewers you, and you die. Over and over again she skewers you, and you die, and it is painful over and over again. I'm not sure I have much to add to this one. Unfamiliarity: The Stranger (Contrarian), the abstract DNA-like strand at the bottom. You reach the Stranger by refusing to interact with the Princess, leaving her an unfamiliar blank slate whose actions you cannot predict and thus fracture into every possible image of her.

And at the heart of it all, an emotion that can only be described as—what? The Narrator doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before you wake up in the Prisoner's basement, but I'd think the answer is obvious once you've finished the game.

After all, this is a love story.

#slay the princess #less analysis more rambling but boy did I need to get this out #anyway just. the imagery of this one.#the way the stranger is infinite potentiality #reflecting every possible version of the Princess in such a way that she cannot be any of them #and how you get the clearest glimpse into what's going on in this moment #but expressed in a way you could never hope to understand without context #it's a map of the whole game but you need to find the key yourself to make sense of it

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markscherz · 9 months

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I like being nerdy and reading academic articles, but I find it hard to find things that interest me unless I spend a bunch of time filing through Google scholar and things like that. How do I find interesting science news, academic discussions, etc. as an undergrad/beginner?

You can follow specific streams on e.g. Phys.org or Eurekalerts, but that might be a bit tedious. I would recommend letting the articles come to you: set up Google Scholar alerts for scientists who publish on topics that interest you. You can also set up a ResearchGate account to do the same. When I was *first* starting to be aware of scientific papers in high school, I was getting most of my science information from reading the Economist. It's not the best venue, but it is more approachable than, say, Nature or Science, to a young student who is curious about the general goings on in the world of academia. NewScientist or something may be better. It was just what I had access to at the time.

But also bear in mind that the world has changed dramatically in the 14 years since I started undergrad (sorry, just gonna go vomit while that number sinks in). Yes, tools for finding literature are more widely available than ever, but publication rate has skyrocketed, and average quality has generally decreased because there is so much pressure to publish fast and editorial quality is lower than ever. So I don't actually know how to go about starting anymore.

All I can say is that when I was starting out, I felt like you describe. Totally overwhelmed, and unsure where to start. What I did was pursue my passion—reptiles and amphibians of Madagascar—and keep meticulous notes of those first papers I was reading.

Nowadays, I typically go on deep dives a bit like Wikipedia rabbit holes; starting from a recent interesting article, I will flag sources they cite that I should read, and then rinse and repeat until I have 300 tabs open and cannot possibly read even the abstracts of all the work.

One important thing is to try to stay abreast of current research, while also continuing to get a better footing on the background. That will be very, very useful later in your career. Read the 'greats' on the subject of interest, but also the 'up-and-comings'/'movers and shakers'. But this is probably advice for later, when you have established the real direction you are interested in. For now, explore the waters!

#science #academia #undergrad #biology #sciblr #studyblr #answers by Mark #caterpillarwoman

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cripplecharacters · 15 days

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Hi, level 1 autistic here. Is the word nonverbal offensive? I thought it was offensive since it implies level 2/3 autistics and others who don't use physical speech cannot communicate (at all) when lots of these people can use ASL or AAC or other communication forms, and that i should use nonspeaking instead.

Hi asker,

Generally speaking, no, it isn't inherently offensive.

Nonverbal literally means not related to spoken language — like nonverbal communication referring to expressions. "Verbal" is often used to refer to speech, and someone who does not use speech can therefore be accurately described as nonverbal.

The problem here is not the actual word 'nonverbal.' The problem is the assumption that all people who cannot speak out loud with their mouths are completely unable to communicate. That assumption can happen with or without the word 'nonverbal.'

You are right in that some people do prefer the term nonspeaking because they use AAC or ASL (or any of the other many, many sign languages that exist) to communicate with words, and they are using verbal to relate to words as opposed to spoken language. So just because it's not offensive doesn't mean that some people prefer to use nonspeaking for themselves and/or others. You will also find many people who are completely indifferent or who prefer the term nonverbal.

However, do keep in mind there are also autistic people, as well as people with other disabilities, who do in fact have trouble with language itself, not just the physical act of speaking. This isn't something we can brush off; many of these people wouldn't fit the definition of 'nonspeaking' that you're using but would fit the definition of 'nonverbal,' if you're using it to mean 'without words' and not just 'without speech.'

As to some more nuances:

'Nonverbal' is more common, but it can also be seen as more clinical.

'Nonverbal' can definitely be stigmatized, but again, the problem is the assumptions people make about people who don't speak.

'Nonspeaking,' when used to refer to people who use sign language, can lead to the idea that no one who uses signed languages can speak or that sign is somehow not on the same level as speech (which is wrong, as it’s just another way of communication). Again, the problem here isn't necessarily with the word, but with the assumptions people make about people's way of communicating.

Someone with unreliable speech who can only use echolalia and uses it a lit wouldn't really fit the term 'minimally speaking,' but they might fit the definition 'minimally verbal.' Does this help make sense as to why both terms can be useful?

Many autistic people, and/or intellectually disabled people (particularly less mild ID) do not see a difference between the two words. Their definitions are very similar. The nuance between the two can be really difficult to conceptualize if someone struggles with language in general, or even just with abstract concepts.

We can and should respect various forms of communication. This of course means voiced speech, AAC device speech, and signed languages. But it also means when people can't use any of those, and they use other things, like grunts or guiding people towards something or whatnot, that we have to accept these are also forms of communication that are entirely nonverbal, as in, unrelated to words.

Communities are diverse. People prefer different things for different reasons!

Language evolves, and these evolutions get to people at different times. Many people may not have ever heard the term 'nonspeaking' in their entire life, for example. You and I might have seen it often, but not everyone goes in the same in-person or online circles.

There's a lot of nuance and semantics involved, and a lot of people who would be involved in this, and be described as nonspeaking/nonverbal, are just not involved in this conversation. Whether that's because they don't want to or they can't (which are both valid reasons), they're just not putting their opinion out into the internet or books or whatever.

In the end, I am not saying "ignore saying nonspeaking completely" nor "ignore saying nonverbal completely." What I am saying is that neither is a perfect term, but this also means that neither is inherently offensive. What matters is how they are used, and how you refer to the people you are using them for.

Intent and respect are more important than semantics; this does not mean that semantics have no importance, but rather that they can be complex and not fully capture everything involved in a discussion.

Last but certainly not least, it's really important to respect the choice of any individual who asks you to use or not use a particular term.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

#autism representation #nonverbal representation #mod sparrow #nonspeaking characters

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magnificentmicrowave · 2 months

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panic and malaise are fascinating to me

i cannot describe why but they really resonate w/ me, the religious trauma overtones ("overtones"), the codependency, panic and pleasure, all of that. Just wanted to say I don't even know the story, but I can tell its 1.) fucking great character design and 2.) great incorporation of themes into every aspect form the "divine nudity" of panic to the consistent lack of expression on malaise's face while committing atrocities, constantly mutilating into imperfect body mind and soul.

sorry for the mind vomit, great characters :thumbs_up:

th,, 🥺 🥺🥺 omg this means so much to meee im glad u enjoy them!!

yeah as you noticed i have a little bit of history with religious trauma and codependent relationships, as well as overexposure to shock content as a child and the feeling of apathy that comes with the overconsumption of it (go figure) so they sort of encapsulate all of those feelings for me into one convenient abstract mind art representation package.

my DID brain tends to compartmentalize things weird so i give myself the leeway to feel whatever i want whenever i want with OCs instead of locking myself into any one "idea" which is probably why i have issues makign so many instead of sticking to the ones i do have BUT this specific brand of trauma seems to be pretty consistent in my brain so they'll be sticking around for a bit. probably. no promises

#making ocs has become a lot more enjoyable for me #just had to start projecting my own bullshit onto them!#anyway thanks 4 giving me an excuse to babble my feelins abt them :3 #ask

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redahlia-writes · 1 year

Text

sweet one. | oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand

sequel to little prince

Abstract: “What I mean to say is you’ve learned, as have I - I don’t care what they say about me,” her fingers wrapped gently around your throat, giving it just a single squeeze that made your lips part with a sigh. “Besides, you were mine before you were his, sweet one.”

Words: 6.2k

Content: this is straight up smut, pwp, threesome (f/f/m with an initial focus on the sapphic relationship), oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, slightly sub/dom dynamic (sub!oberyn), oberyn being oberyn, pet names, mentions of bruises/lovebites, cursing, reader is described as having long hair, unedited

A/N: after months of talking about this we did it lads. thank you to all those who waited patiently (and i’m sorry). i wrote this over the course of multiple months (and it is the first time i write a threesome) so there might be a little inconstancy but also it's literally all smut. cheers

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 ��- masterlist

“I truly cannot begin to express how much I admire your patience, my lady.”

How you wished you’d had the presence of mind to run the moment those words left the woman’s lips. What good could possibly come out of such a sentence? And uttered in such a manner, her chin raised and neck flushed, the look of superiority you had despised seeing and that Dorne had allowed you to be away from. Still, every now and then, social gatherings would happen, and some part of your upbringing still deeply embedded in you made it so that you’d attend them against your better judgement.

“Of course, I’d imagine the prince is worth it,” she went on, clearly not put off by your silence. “He looks rather smitten, everybody says so - yet he keeps that Sand around. When he could have a way better match. A proper one. Couldn’t he?” she batted her eyelashes, leaning towards you a little with a mock polite smile. “I mean, you two seem to have such a good relationship. The way you two look at each other,” she made a soft squeaking noise that made you flinch.

It was true - you hadn’t been subtle, not after the first encounter in your rooms. And the second in his. And the quick rendezvous in the library, the gardens, the stairs - a please whispered through your hair and Oberyn’s hands were gripping your thighs, your back against a wall, warm and desperate kisses as you clung to each other. And then there was Ellaria, the flash of a grin, a teasing brush to the Red Viper’s marks, lips caressing your skin as she asked and asked and asked.

“Yet he keeps her with him. Is it for the daughters? I don’t -” she cut herself off as Ellaria walked up to you, a smile bending her soft lips. The woman scoffed with indignation and turned up her nose as she saw the dark-haired woman sit on your lap, your arms wrapping around her with a relieved sigh, her mere presence soothing.

“Hello, sweet one,” Ellaria murmured and leaned in - her kiss was gentle, almost chaste, a brush of lips that was nothing like the ones you’d exchanged when it was just the two of you. Just a show for the woman at your side, whose eyes seemed to be about to pop out of her skull when Ellaria glanced at her, leaning furthermore into you.

“Hi,” you whispered, kissing her shoulder in return before resting your cheek against her warm skin, turning your head to look at the woman again. “Apologies, my lady, I must’ve gotten distracted - what is it you were saying?” you wondered, feigning curiosity.

She got up with another scoff, face burning bright as she strode off - you couldn’t help your laughter as Ellaria waved in her direction, tucking herself closer to you, your eyes fluttering close at the comfort of her weight on you.

“It seemed like you were in dire need of rescuing,” she chuckled, hand brushing over your hair with slow, soothing movements. “And my ears were ringing. Of course I had to intervene.”

“Of course,” you retorted, looking up at her, slowly caressing her side from above her warm golden dress, fabric rustling underneath your palms, gaze lowered. The hand she was not brushing your hair with moved underneath your chin, a gentle tap to make your head tip back so that you were meeting her eyes.

“What is it?” she wondered softly, thumb ghosting your bottom lip. You exhaled, a small pout taking over your face - you couldn’t even care anymore that you were in public, that there was a court of strangers most likely looking at the two of you. It was the latest gossip after all, wasn’t it? The women of the prince. His paramour and the lover that had captured his attention, kept him wrapped around his finger.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you asked softly, thumb still rubbing her side. “That everyone seems to be talking about this? That they would favour me over you? It makes me go mad,” you huffed, and Ellaria’s smile melted with softness. She cupped your cheek, shaking her head.

“I don’t care what they think,” she leaned in a little, the tip of her nose brushing yours. “I know Oberyn, I know you, I know my heart,” with a little smile, you dropped your head forward, her lips now bent in a smile resting against your forehead as she lowered her voice. “And I like it when you try to make it up to me.”

You laughed then, her grin mischievous against your skin as she pressed herself into your lap, hand fisting around the locks twisted at the nape of your neck. It felt ironic, how much being with Oberyn had actually freed you, how you’d allowed yourself to want - and it was always them. Only them. You couldn’t help wondering how the voices might change, should they know how deep the affection the three of you had for each other ran. How it wasn’t Oberyn in the middle of it all. How you couldn’t have one if it meant not having the other - how they couldn’t have each other if it meant not having you.

So when you looked up and saw Oberyn on the other side of the room, his eyes glued on the pair of you, your body burned ablaze as the picture formed itself in your mind - three of you. Together at last. He had his head cocked to the side, sitting back on his chair with his legs spread, tracing the rim of his cup with the tip of his finger - somebody was talking to him, and he seemed to be replying, but his gaze had been locked on you for a while now.

“Do you?” you asked then, hand slowly coming up around Ellaria’s side, tip of your fingers brushing the underside of her chest. She sighed, shifting on you a little. “Because I don’t think I want to be here any longer,” you murmured, tilting your head to drop a kiss to her shoulder again, nosing at the curve of her neck. “I believe I’d much rather go lie down.”

Ellaria wasted no time in standing up, her hands quickly reaching for your hands to pull you to your feet, a wide smile grazing her lips as she began pulling you towards the exit door, mindless of the eyes turning to follow you. It was easier to forget about everyone else when she held your hands - it was easier to feel free when you could stop thinking about what was once expected of you. When the only gaze you could feel burning on your skin was Oberyn’s.

Her lips found yours while you still walked the corridors, hungry and feverish, hands wandering between the folds of your dress as you stumbled one after the other, unable to keep yourselves from laughing against each other’s mouths. Your room was the closest, and before you managed to open the door you pressed her against the wood, parting from her lips to kiss down her jaw and neck, tongue darting out to taste her skin with a soft hum.

She sighed and stepped inside, dragging you with her, one hand gathering your skirt up as you all but kicked the door closed. It was easy, falling into rhythm with Ellaria - she knew exactly how to touch you, how to ask where and when to be touched in return. Your name fell like a praise from her lips as you dragged her dress down her shoulders, chest, stomach, letting it fall from her hips after a moment of pulling at it gently.

“Sweet one,” Ellaria called as soon as the dress pooled around her ankles, two of her fingers coming to rest underneath your chin to stop you from kissing a path down her sternum. Your gaze flickered down her uncovered body, your own skin flushed and breath short, then looked up towards her. “They’re always going to talk. It’s inevitable.”

“I don’t like them talking about you,” you retorted, hands finding purchase on her hips. Ellaria grinned at your words, slowly moving back towards the bed and pulling you with her.

“I remember you were so worried when you first came here - about what people might think or say about you. How you kept yourself hidden from us,” she murmured, her fingertips drawing small circles across the exposed skin of your neck. “How tense you were when you slept next to me for the first time.”

“Ellaria,” you warned softly, rubbing the soft flesh at her sides. Her grin just widened.

“What I mean to say is you’ve learned, as have I - I don’t care what they say about me,” her fingers wrapped gently around your throat, giving it just a single squeeze that made your lips part with a sigh. “Besides, you were mine before you were his, sweet one.”

She pulled you to her then, her grip on your jaw harsher until the moment your lips met - then it melted into a soft caress, fingertips dragging down your neck, your collarbones, the neckline of your dress, pulling it down ever so slowly as the kiss deepened, her tongue brushing the roof of your mouth as you swallowed each sigh, each hum.

“I believed this was about me making it up to you,” you whispered, warm breaths hitting her face when you parted panting, her hand just grazing the top of your breasts. Wide eyes shimmering with amusement, Ellaria nodded, licking her lips as you forced her to take the last step back before the back of her knees hit the bed. “Lie down, then.”

She sat on the bed, head tipped back to keep looking at you as her hands slid down your front, the fabric of your own dress singing and rustling under her palms before she moved back along the mattress, never breaking eye contact as she leaned back - first on her elbows, head tilted so that her hair would fall down one shoulder, then on her back once you kneeled by her ankles, dragging your fingertips up her calves, knees, thighs.

Ellaria’s skin was soft and warm, terribly inviting as her legs parted to accommodate you as you leaned forward, supporting yourself with one hand by her side, letting your gaze wander along your free hand down across her body - responsive to your touch as ever, she arched into you, biting down on her bottom lip with a half-smile.

“What do you want?” you asked, husky-voiced.

“Your mouth,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

It was nearly impossible to resist her.

Ellaria was never shy, never coy, her legs slowly parting for you as you sunk lower on the mattress, one last kiss to her lips before peppering her skin in the wake of your touch - neck, collarbones, sternum, nipping the soft flesh of one breast and then the other to make her chuckle, before moving further down, across her stomach and navel. She arched her back as you kissed her mound, knees falling at each side of you.

“Do you enjoy what you’re seeing, little prince?” you turned your head to kiss Ellaria’s thigh, meeting Oberyn’s gaze on the other side of the room, his hand still gripping the door’s handle. His eyes had been burning your skin for minutes now, his breath catching as you addressed him.

“I see the two of you having fun without me,” he retorted, voice low and husky. “But don’t stop on my account,” he added then, striding forward, his steps slow and calculated.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you said, hands slipping underneath Ellaria’s thighs, gently pulling her towards you. She sighed when you kissed her core, smile tugging at her lips as her eyes fluttered shut.

“I believe he’s been enjoying it for a while now,” Ellaria hummed, her hand reaching down for you - she brushed her fingers through your hair, pushing back some strands that had come loose from the braided bun at the nape of your neck. “Has been watching you all night long, sweet one,” her voice broke into a soft moan at the drag of your tongue through her folds.

Oberyn, standing at the side of the bed, leaned in to kiss Ellaria, capturing the noise from her lips as you repeated the motion, slower, coating your tongue in her. When the prince pulled back, she threw her head back with a keening gasp, hand tightening around your hair. At the same time, Oberyn’s hand caressed down her body as he sat on the edge of the bed, tilting his head and letting his gaze wander downwards, too, until it met your eyes. When he reached for your face, you wrapped one hand around his wrist, parting from Ellaria’s core much to her dismay.

“If you enjoyed it so much then just watch,” you murmured, his thumb skimming across your bottom lip. “What do you think? Can you keep your hands to yourself, little prince?” you tilted your head a little, cheek pressed to Ellaria’s thigh, eyelashes fluttering in mock innocence. A low rumble stuck in Oberyn’s throat as he pulled your lip down a little, pupils dilating as his jaw tightened - it brought a smirk to your mouth, grip tightening around his wrist to pry his touch away from both you and the other woman.

“Minx,” he replied, causing Ellaria to laugh loudly, the hand she’d held over your hair coming down to caress your cheek instead, gaze flickering between you and the prince.

I’d like it more if someone taught him some manners. It’s something I’d really like to see.

With one last coy smile, you lowered your mouth to Ellaria’s centre again, all too aware of his eyes on you as he rested back against the pillows, robe hanging open over his chest, thigh close to Ellaria’s head but not touching her.

The woman sighed and grinded against your mouth, hand coming back down to your hair to guide your movements as your tongue prodded at her entrance, slick gathering into your mouth - it made you hum in appreciation, unable to help yourself as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the taste of her. The vibration made her moan, and at her side Oberyn shifted, covers rustling underneath him.

His gaze burned you as you dragged your tongue upwards, flicking her clit before wrapping your lips around it - Ellaria’s nails scraped your scalp gently, her thighs trembling at the sides of your head as her back arched slightly. When you started pushing one finger inside of her, she moaned again, turning her head to the side - in doing so, her forehead rested against Oberyn’s thigh, his hands twitching at his sides.

“Like that,” she encouraged, rocking her hips into you as you began pumping your finger into her, and then slowly added a second one. “Just like that, my love. Just -” she cried out when you crooked your fingers, her walls fluttering with your name falling from her lips, over and over again as you rolled the tip of your tongue over her clit.

Ellaria lost herself in her pleasure fully, turning blind and deaf to all else around her - at her side, Oberyn’s chest began to heave, his hand sliding down to palm himself from above his clothes, groans trapped at the back of his throat. His hands itched to reach for either of you, his gaze unwavering: the Red Viper, once again looking like an apex predator.

As she came, she tugged gently on your hair to pull you away wordlessly, a gasp escaping your own lips as you exhaled, her walls still clenching around your fingers as she rocked into her orgasm, shaky thighs pressed over your shoulders almost pinning you fully down. She whined at the loss of your hand, grip faltering on you as you shifted forward a little, her legs falling at each side of you.

“Oberyn,” your voice was hoarse, snapping him out of it as you beckoned him forward. He kept his mouth shut as he leaned over, thighs spread and trousers straining at his hardened length - when you lifted your fingers to his mouth in offering, his shoulders sagged with a sigh, lips parting and tongue darting out.

His eyes fluttered shut as he wrapped his lips around your fingers, a low groan coming from his throat as he shifted further forward, one hand wrapping around your wrist. He lapped at your fingers eagerly, cheeks hollowing as his free hand brushed up Ellaria’s thigh and then up your shoulder, neck, brushing your jaw before tangling in your hair.

Ellaria moved her legs aside and freed you fully, pushing herself in a seated position and leaning in to kiss Oberyn’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw as it twitched with you fingers still trapped between his lips - at the same time, she brought one hand up to you, warm fingers caressing the heated skin of your arms, slowly hooking underneath the strap of your dress.

You tapped your thumb to the corner of Oberyn’s mouth and his lips parted again, releasing you with a heavy sigh - when he looked back at you, and Ellaria getting closer, his eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust and desire as he fisted his hand into your messed-up braid. Ellaria watched him, his gaze flickering from your face to hers to where her hand was, the sleeve of your shirt dragged down slowly, inch by uncovered inch of skin. She leaned in then, her lips brushing your now bare shoulder, the curve of your neck, up and up and -

“I want to watch,” she whispered, voice thick as honey and just as sweet, teeth grazing the ends of your earring before she kissed the juncture where your jaw met your ear. “Let me see him make you feel good, sweet one.”

Oberyn was uncharacteristically quiet, but at Ellaria’s words his fingers pushed lightly at the nape of your neck, breath itching. Your lips parted - not a protest, but a isn’t this supposed to be about you? bubbling in your throat - but before you could say anything her mouth was on yours. She could taste herself on your lips and whined softly, tugging the fabric of your dress without actually undressing you.

The prince moved closer, and as Ellaria kept kissing you, her tongue caressing the roof of your mouth to drink down herself from your lips, he began disentangling your hair - he always liked it more when it was loose down your back, when he could wrap his hands around the locks and pull your head back to expose your neck, then run his fingertips through the length of it, or watch it spill around both of you as you laid down in the aftermath.

Ellaria’s lips left yours only to drag down, back towards your neck, lingering for a moment as she nipped your jaw. With a sigh you opened your eyes again, vision blurred for a moment before you glanced in Oberyn’s direction. With your fingers still hooked around his chin, you guided him forward - he folded with no resistance, his mouth seeking yours right away.

Oberyn was never slow with his kisses - he tried to devour you, open-mouthed and heated, the hand through your hair keeping you from slipping from his hold. You felt him shift forward, just as you felt Ellaria’s mouth latch onto your collar, leaving her mark on you as she pulled your dress down at last.

The room spun around you, dizzy from both their kisses, from Ellaria’s hands mapping your front with feather-like touches until she reached your mound and Oberyn’s hands holding onto your neck - one on the nape, one at the side, where he could feel your pulse jumping, and the vibrations of your moan when Ellaria’s fingers pushed between your thighs, a not-enough touch that had your hips twitch forward.

“Want to see you fall apart on him,” she hummed, words like silk across your skin, while she kissed her way down your now exposed chest, licking and teasing between the valley of your breasts as she pushed her hand forward, the heel of it catching the apex of your core even through the folds of the dress, a whine falling from your lips directly into Oberyn’s mouth - he drank the sound greedily, responding to it with a groan of his own.

“Can I see you, sweet one?” Oberyn’s voice was low, hoarse, pulling back to meet your eyes with a darkened gaze as his hands wandered down your shoulders, across your collarbones. “Or should I undress first?”

“Manners,” Ellaria chuckled, shifting closer to you both - she cupped your mound again, fingers curling between your legs still above the dress, pulling a soft, unsatisfied cry from you. “I like it,” she said, leaning in to kiss him instead.

Still brushing your hip with one hand, he wrapped the other arm around her, pulling her to him as their lips parted, welcoming each other kisses with greed - the first time you’d seen them kiss, your whole body had gone hot, strangled desire as to what you thought you could never have. Him, her, you still weren’t sure at the time. In that moment, they were both there - touching you as they got lost in each other, pulling you closer and closer to them, tethering your very being to their existence together.

Magneting to watch, you tilted your head ever so slightly as Oberyn’s eyes found you even though the kiss, your own tongue darting between your lips as if tasting the heating air, hungry for it, for them. You nodded just once, gently pulling the tie of his robe to set it loose, and the Dornish prince lost no more time, ruefully breaking apart from you both to all but tear off his clothes.

“You truly do have him wrapped around your finger,” Ellaria laughed again, shifting closer and then back, her naked form pressed against you from behind - she wrapped an arm around your middle, her thumb stroking the underside of your breast, the soft, sensitive skin there that had you sigh and lean into her. Meanwhile, she pushed your hair to the side, exposing the side of your neck to brush her lips there once more. “How does it feel, knowing we’re both at your mercy like this?”

“So fucking good,” murmured with a gasp as her fingertips pushed past the edge of your wrinkled dress, pushing the fabric down and down your thighs. “You’re both so good to me, so -” words cut off by a moan when she pushed a finger inside you, the heel of her hand pressing against your clit.

“I told you she’d like it,” Oberyn was in front of you again, his body caging you between the two of them as his hands brushed up your sides, a delicate touch that had you shudder and clench around Ellaria’s finger, eyes opening to meet his gaze. “The power. The control,” she hummed, the sound reverberating across your back as she added a second finger.

“Do you know,” each of her words punctuated by her fingers curling and pumping inside of you, “he wanted you in our bed since the first time he laid eyes on you?” open-mouthed kisses tracing the column of your throat, the curve of your jaw. “How jealous he was when I got you first,” she added in a breathy chuckle, making the prince scoff softly.

“Should I make amends?” his hard length pressed against your lower stomach, Oberyn kept his gaze on your parted lips at each breathless word, Ellaria’s unrelenting pace bringing you closer to the edge, thighs threatening to clasp shut if not for her own legs keeping you open to her. You rested your hands on his chest, heaving and warm as he pushed his fingers into your hips, as if guiding your movements. “Should I fuck the jealousy out of you? Show how much I’ve wanted you both since the beginning?”

With a low noise choked back in his throat, he leaned forward, angling his head to chase your lips - he let it out when your hand shifted up to his neck, giving a gentle squeeze to the sides of his throat while keeping him back, just mere inches from your parted lips, each shaky breath Ellaria drew out of you hitting him on the mouth. His gaze flickered up and down, somewhat unfocused, lips to eyes to wrist to Ellaria - smirking against your skin.

“Answer me,” you let your touch move up to his chin, wrapped underneath his jaw to keep him in place, drawing a strangled yes out of him. You managed to hold his gaze a little longer with a small grin, before Ellaria curled her fingers again, hitting a spot that drew a loud moan out of you while shattering in her grasp, head lolling back against her shoulder and eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, El -”

“I told you - mine before his,” she nipped at your jaw, your neck again, moving her fingers until you were trembling against her and then, only then, pulling her hand back, leaving you to clench around nothing. “And you have never been this compliant with me,�� she teased, her gaze turned to Oberyn.

He was gripping your hips a little tighter, twitching against your lower stomach as your hand fell back down to his shoulder for balance. Letting go of you on one side, he grabbed Ellaria’s wrist to pull her hand up to his face, her fingers glistening with your release.

“You’ve never minded before,” he retorted, leaning closer - their weights on each side of you rooting as you regained your breath, one each of their hands brushing along your body as he kissed her fingertips, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Perhaps I do now,” pressing her fingers to his mouth, she waited until he parted it to slip them inside, Oberyn’s eyelids fluttering as his free hand wrapped tighter around her wrist - like before with her, he was tasting you, getting lost in the feeling of you. “Or perhaps I just like knowing how much you want her. What you’re willing to do to get her.”

Soft laughter escaped you, still slightly breathless, a shudder of anticipation running down your spine in response to their light banter - you turned your head to place a kiss against Ellaria’s neck, skin warm and soft as she tilted her neck to the side, granting you more space. Oberyn released her fingers with a wet pop, his gaze burning the side of your face as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer while straightening again.

“Let me show her just how much, sweet one,” he got closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours, Ellaria’s hand brushing across his cheek - she was looking at you both, her gaze attentive and curious. “Please,” he added in a half whisper.

A delighted squeal left her as you chuckled softly, one hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer, crashing your lips onto his. Oberyn sighed in the kiss, leaning all the way forward and then back, a rocking motion that moved all three of you. His hands rested on your hips, kneading the flesh to coax you closer and closer as he leaned back until he was lying down.

Straddling his stomach, you let your back arch underneath Ellaria’s touch across your spine, her hips pressed against the curve of your ass as she settled behind you, her gaze never wandering from Oberyn and you, his hungry, open-mouthed kisses that let out low groans as you lowered yourself against him.

“Do you feel that, little prince?” his teeth showed at the name, eyes flashing as you rocked your hips, the tip of his cock nudging your entrance before you moved further down, coating him with your wetness. “How good she made me feel?” you straightened your back and leaned into Ellaria again, still rolling your hips slowly. Their hands locked over your hips, fingers intertwined to guide your motions. “How she got me ready for you?”

“Tease,” he muttered, causing Ellaria to chuckle, her chin resting over your shoulder a moment longer.

“You’re so beautiful like this, my love,” she spoke sweetly, kissing your neck instead of him - that, and the rocking motion they guided you through, pulled low cries from you, eyelids drooping as the pleasure built again. Still, you looked at him through your lashes, his neck tensing and the ever-growing pressure underneath you. “So wanting.”

He did look beautiful - lips plump and glistening, slightly parted to his heaving breath, a flush that spread across his chest and neck and cheek, warm under your touch, with his eyes dark never leaving you.

“Perhaps next time you’ll be the one watching,” husky-voiced, he bucked his hips, rocking you with the movement. A gasp left you with the drag of his cock through your folds, just teasing your entrance. “Of course I want - I’ve always wanted you both,” he added, his fingers curling into your flesh.

“Next time, huh?” you mocked, breathless yourself, still sensitive from Ellaria’s touch and feeling the pressure that burned hot in your lower stomach again, building with each shift of your hips. Oberyn bared his teeth, a half-grin, half-grimace.

“Next time,” for a moment, he wasn’t just Oberyn anymore - he was the prince of Dorne, who always got what he wanted, how he wanted it. But he’d never done that to you, he’d always known better, and as he looked up at you, you knew he wouldn’t now either.

So you lowered yourself against him, chest against chest to catch his lips in a kiss that he deepened without hesitation, one hand moving from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he licked into your mouth - behind you, Ellaria pressed herself closer, their hands still joined over just one of your sides as her other one slid between your bodies, her eyes following each and every movement, each and every swipe of tongue, shuddering herself.

“Is that a yes?” Oberyn asked, a whisper meant for just the two of you followed by a gasp - looking down, you saw Ellaria’s fingers wrap around his length, guiding you slightly up to make space and align him with your entrance.

“Yes,” you nodded, the tip of your nose brushing his and gasping softly when she began guiding you down. “Fuck - oh, fuck, yes,” you straightened your back, pressing yourself against Ellaria’s front as she kept directing your movements.

Her breath fanned across the skin of your neck as she made you sunk down slowly - almost agonisingly so - down Oberyn’s length, the hand she’d used to guide the prince, too, now resting onto your lower stomach, feeling him shift there. She gasped softly with your moan, her chin hooked over your shoulder as you threw your head back, grasping at Oberyn’s chest to find your balance.

He canted his hips upwards as he grabbed one of your hands with his free one, while Ellaria kept guiding you lower and lower, splitting you open. The pleasure and pressure were almost enough to blind you, everything else suddenly heightened - the feeling of Ellaria’s skin against yours, her breathing, her hands, Oberyn’s hands, his soft grunts, the muscles of his stomach shifting under your touch, their whispered praises until he bottomed out.

“I bet you feel so good, sweet one,” Ellaria murmured, pressing her hand against the swell of your lower stomach - Oberyn groaned too, his length twitching deep inside you as your walls clamped around him. “Doesn’t she, my love?”

“She does,” his eyelids fluttered heavily when Ellaria pushed her hips into yours, forcing you into a rocking motion that had you gasping - but he didn’t dare looking away, gaze flickering from your blissed-out expression to Ellaria’s, the coy smile curling her full lips. “Like she was made for us.”

You looked at him through lowered lashes, unable to quieten your moans at both their words and the motions Ellaria kept leading you through, a quickening pace that made your thighs tremble, a blissful ache that made the fire in your stomach burn brighter.

With a soft cry, you turned your head towards Ellaria, searching for a sloppy kiss to quieten both of you - Oberyn’s breath stuttered, while you pulled your joined hands up towards your chest. He pulled himself with that, replacing his hand with his mouth, kissing messily across your chest and exposed neck, up until he could bury his nose through your hair.

Harsh breaths against your skin, he used one hand for leverage to second Ellaria’s motions, fucking up into you as he dragged his teeth down across your neck and shoulder, marking his passage opposite to Ellaria’s previous lovebites.

Made for us.

“You’re close, aren’t you, sweet one?” Oberyn’s low voice sent shivers down your spine, and with you trembled Ellaria, too, pulling back from your mouth with a loud gasp. “Yes, you are,” he almost taunted then, a harsher thrust that shifted you both, Ellaria’s hand over your stomach pressing down again. “I can feel you.”

Your muscles tensed as her touch shifted, lower and lower until her fingertips caught the apex of your core, drawing a slow circle over your clit that pulled a long whine out of you. She chuckled at that, peppering your shoulder with kisses, her tongue darting out every now and then to taste the salt of your skin.

“Let go, love,” she whispered into your ear, though you were sure her gaze was locked with Oberyn’s - her fingers moved quickly over your clit, coaxing blinding pleasure out of you before she leaned forward from above your shoulder.

Eventually, it was their kiss that brought you over the edge - head just slightly turned, through a hazed vision you watched as their lips connected almost desperately, hungrily, the hand Oberyn supported himself up with reaching for the woman’s face, curling around her hair. And still Oberyn fucked up into you, still Ellaria’s fingers drew circles on your clit.

You dropped forward with a loud cry, your head shifting from Ellaria’s shoulder to Oberyn’s, hands resting over his chest as your orgasm was dragged on and on by both their touches and motions, a pleasure so blinding it felt disorienting.

“That’s it,” Oberyn groaned, while Ellaria pulled back her hand when you twitched against them both, a broken whine leaving you. “El,” he said then, softer.

The woman shifted back from you, and through your blurred vision you watched her lie back against the pillows, legs spread once more, eyes burning against you both as Oberyn switched you two around, pushing your back into the mattress.

“Can I come inside you, sweet one?” he asked softly, a gentler, slower rocking motion that had you whine again. You could feel him throbbing, muscles straining as he tried to keep himself still, panting softly - he hadn’t since your first encounter, always painting your skin with his release instead. “Please, please love.”

“Yes,” you gasped, arms wrapping around his neck. He hitched one of your legs up his side to give himself more room before he began moving again, deep, slow thrusts that made your eyes roll back, back arching towards him. He kissed your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

“So fucking good,” he slurred against your skin, his pace picking up again, matching the wet sounds right by your side - if you were to turn your head, you’d see Ellaria’s fingers vanishing between her legs, her gaze lingering on you two as she brought herself closer to her own peak, unabashed moans falling from her lips.

There’d be bruises on your hips from his snapping pace. You buried your hands through his hair, tugging harshly to pull his head up, lifting your head to kiss him again, muffling his praises and moans.

Oberyn groaned and stilled, just as a high-pitched whine left Ellaria, too - you moved one hand from the back of his head and reached for her, caressing up her leg until your fingers interlocked, and the prince was coming with his head buried in the crook of your neck, muttered, nonsensical words caressing your skin as he shuddered.

Ellaria moved closer, nestling into your side and leaving a long kiss to your cheek as Oberyn pulled out, both of you sighing heavily with the motion as he settled onto your other side, hand falling down to your stomach and then sides, gently massaging your aching muscles.

“I’d say you made it up to me,” she whispered, amused, and you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling in your throat, tilting your head to look at her. Her skin was flushed and glistening, curls ruffled around her head, and when you tipped your chin ever so slightly, she leaned in to kiss your lips tenderly.

On the other side, Oberyn kissed your shoulder first, then guided your head towards him to mimic her, an all-too-delicate kiss that drew a kiss out of you, curling up between their warm bodies as they drew closer. Your eyes were closed when they kissed, too, locking their arms together around you.

They’d had lovers - countless, really. Mindless sex to get themselves off over a pretty face or a nice smile, alone and as a pair. But it had never been like that, like you. It had never been a tangle of bodies and hearts, whispered promises and affection, resting spent in the same bed but still caressing one another, because they could not get enough of their skins, of the other’s. Because they would never get enough of your sweetness, never feel satiated.

#redahlia #little prince #little prince / sweet one #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #ellaria x reader #ellaria x you #oberyn x ellaria #ellaria sand x reader #ellaria sand x you

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starxanemone · 3 months

Text

꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ CLUELESS

oliver aiku x fem!reader — oneshot.

— based on this idea that i posted.

you're clueless, and everything that oliver aiku says and does to you is met with confusion.

Life was a pendulum violently swinging back and forth between suffering, exhaustion, and absolute nothingness in between—at least, yours is.

You had a knack for working. It’s the jam to your delicious peanut butter sandwich that sometimes you just can’t swallow anymore. But it’s there, and it is a constant. You put piles of it onto your plate daily and you don’t hit the sack until every last crumb is gone and devoured. You hate the act of stepping into the halls of your university, but you’d hate to be absent even more. You hated the monotonous, mind-numbing voice that your professors used to articulate words, but you liked learning concepts people made in an attempt to concretize and visualize the abstract.

But you could not say the same for your interpersonal relationships. It was not the same as working wherein the pros battled equally against the cons, because all you could see was the downsides that could possibly come. Living life alongside other people had always felt like walking with eggshells for shoes, carefully tiptoeing away from anyone else’s toes in hopes of not letting it crack and accidentally pierce skin. You had never been good with them—handling people—even if you were one yourself. Oh, the irony. Thus, you had resorted to understanding yourself and them. A bachelors in Psychology seemed like the right way to go.

And so, work swung you to exhaustion; people swung you to suffering; and you are left with absolutely nothing as the pendulum stops.

But, Oliver Aiku was an enigma; one whom you cannot begin to understand where he stands. He is not “work” that swung you to exhaustion, and he is not “people” that swung you to suffering—at least, not in the same way other people typically did. It was different. His treatment was much different and your interactions with his treatment felt more organic, you could say, despite the utter nonsensical things exchanged in between. At least you didn’t have to walk on eggshells around him; he doesn’t seem fragile enough to break.

He’s just weird. He keeps going on saying stuff and doing things you don’t understand.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, Angel?” You hear Oliver say from right beside you. You were quietly going on about your busy day, reading through case studies in the library, when he decided to appear with the signature strange quirk of his lips and the glint in his heterochromatic eyes. You can’t describe it but you don’t mind it.

You furrow your brows at his words, momentarily pulling your gaze away from the papers you were reading.

“I’m not religious.” You inform him matter-of-factly. Angels don’t fall out of heaven. Heaven wasn’t even a physical place, rather, you assumed it was a state with the way the Bible explained it. Besides, the only thing hovering over—or well, technically, around the Earth were the Stratosphere and the Exosphere, and whatever. Where does Heaven stay over there?

“Wha—”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, leaning a bit closer to him as you explain the useless little tidbit stored inside your brain, blinking owlishly. “Nevertheless, have you seen biblically-accurate angels? No offense to them, but they are actually horrifying.”

His previously incredulous expression transforms back into his typical grin. This looks smaller, almost softer, even. “Think you missed the point there, sweetheart.”

“Make your jokes make sense, then.” You say, yawning a little as you turn your attention back to your papers. You pick up a black pen and begin scribbling out important terms and points.

“Wait— what? I was not making a joke.”

“Oh.” You respond distractedly.

A few seconds don’t even pass and he’s already bugging you again. He’s like a singular visible shaking leaf outside of a transparent window, amidst a quiet and unmoving area. He’s distracting.

He’s like a—

“Kid.” You say out loud, nodding your head as you turn to look at him as if you’ve had a sudden epiphany. “You’re like a kid.”

The look he sends you—well—it’s only one that you can describe as offended. But one second he has an offended frown on his face, the next it looks blank, before it turns into one of those expressions that you don’t quite understand too. It’s the face he makes when he’s about to say or do something that’s also equally confusing.

You jolt, furrowing your brows over curiously when he takes your free hand resting on top of your lap slowly. His fingers trace the back of your palm and you shiver slightly. You ignore the way his brows raise and observe the way his fingers slowly entangle itself between yours, holding your hand and squeezing it gently. His thumb traces circles around your palm making the hairs on your skin rise.

You attempt to pull your hand back but he clasps onto it a little tighter, preventing you from pulling away.

“W-What are you doing?” You’re not sure why such a strange action tickled the expanse of your tummy.

“Hm? I’m holding your hand.” His lips quirk up, resting his cheek against his other arms propped up on the table, staring into your eyes. His purple and green eyes almost envelope you, but you move your gaze up to the center of his forehead instead.

When was hand-holding this intense? You bite the side of your cheek before chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

All of a sudden, his hold loosens as if unsure. “I’m not uh, making you uncomfortable, right? Because if I am, then,”

You feel him reluctantly begin to let go of your hand, but you quickly enclose your fingers around his, preventing him from letting go. You ignore the way he mumbles an ‘oh?’ as you explain. “I’m not uncomfortable. It’s just unexplainable and strange to me. I’ve never had a guy hold my hand before but based on my studies, you typically do this with the person you hold romantic feelings for, am I right?”

His fingers enclose around yours again, and contrary to your belief, his grin doesn’t even falter as you call him out on his possible feelings.

“Mhm, you are correct, sweetheart.” He chuckles leaning slightly closer and you can smell his perfume wafting off of his skin and clothes. You gulp, turning your eyes away momentarily and leaning back. The hand in yours feels heavy but you don’t attempt to pull away even as your palms begin to sweat. It’s strange. You like holding his hand.

“A-Ah, I see.” You nod your head slowly. “Do you like me, Oliver?”

He lets out another chuckle, one coming from deep within his diaphragm. “And me calling you ‘sweetheart’ wasn’t already a dead giveaway?”

You paused for a second. “Debatable. You call other girls ‘pretty’ and ‘darling’ and ‘babe’ and—”

He cuts you off, the tips of his ears turning red. “Okay, okay, I get it. But I’ve stopped, okay? For you. Didn’t know that it’d make you this jealous though.”

The look you send him comes out flat. “I’m not jealous. I was merely stating that it’s hard to identify your feelings based on just that because you apply the same behavior towards other women. I meant it as a matter-of-fact.”

“Hate that you’re always reasonable.” He mutters under his breath before laughing quietly. “But I’ve stopped, okay? Promise.”

“Promise?” You tilt your head. “Who said I reciprocated your feelings though?”

“Oh?” He smirks. “You don’t?”

He leans closer, breath brushing lightly against your face warmly. He unclasps your fingers and he quietly chuckles at the way your hand chases his for a second before he’s placing it on your hip. Your hands fall at your lap. Suddenly, you are conscious of the fabric of your shirt brushing against your skin.

“You sure?” He continues, leaning his face even closer. At this point you could see all of the little details that make up his face. The vividness of the two contrasting colors of his irises, the sharpness of his nose, the strands of unshaved hair above his pink lips. He looks like he applies lip balm everyday.

Just as you lean closer as well, he pulls everything back. His hand that was previously on your hip is gone and the warm breath brushing your face is replaced with the cold air of the operating AC in the library.

He lets out a ‘tsk’ shaking his head at you scoldingly. “We’re in the library, (First Name). You can’t be thinking of doing things like that here.”

The library. You snap back to reality. Yes, you’re in the library.

All you could muster out was an “Oh.”

You stare at him in confusion as he begins to stand up, his clothes and his bag making rustling noises as he moves. He glances at his watch wrapped around his left wrist as he slings his gym bag over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” You ask curiously.

“I’m going to train, sweetheart.” He winks. “I’ll message you later, ‘kay?”

You nod, turning back to your files.

“And maybe we can pick up where we left off later.”

꩜ⴰ TAGS!

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#blue lock oliver #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock oneshots #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #female reader #oliver aiku x you #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #aiku oliver

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