Kolmogorov Complexity and Our Search for Meaning - Issue 63: Horizons - Nautilus

We abhor randomness and love patterns. We are biologically programmed to find some patterns that explain what they see. But we can never be certain that the pattern we’ve identified is the right one. Even if we could somehow be assured that we haven’t made a mistake, and we are exhibiting a computer-like perfection, there may always still be a deeper truth to unearth. This tension helps drive our love of literature, theater, and the cinema. When we read a novel, or watch a play, the author or director is presenting us with a sequence of events that has a common theme, pattern, or moral. Literature, plays, and the cinema offer us a delightful escape from the usual unintelligible, meaningless chaos that we find in the real world around us. Really good literature goes further, and leaves us with the possibility of many interpretations. We come face to face with the incomputability of the Kolmogorov complexity.

This tension also defines how we engage with our own lives. While we travel through the seemingly random events in our life, we are searching for patterns, and structure. Life is full of “ups and downs.” There are the joys of falling in love, giggling with your child, and feeling a sense of great accomplishment when a hard job is completed. There is also the pain of a crumbling relationship, or the agony of failing at a task after great effort, or the tragedy of the death of a loved one. We try to make sense of all this. We abhor the feeling of total randomness and the idea that we are just following chaotic, habitual laws of physics. We want to know that there is some meaning, purpose, and significance in the world around us.We want a magical story of a life, so we tell ourselves stories.

Sometimes the stories are simply false. Sometimes we lie to ourselves and those around us. And sometimes the patterns we identify are correct. But even if the story is correct, it is not necessarily the best one. We can never know if there is a deeper story that is more exact. As we age and suffer from ennui, we gain certain insights about the universe that we did not see before. We find better patterns. Maybe we get to see things more clearly. Or maybe not. We will never know. But we do know that the search is guaranteed to never end.

sxnsitive-red:

Prompt #37

“Light cannot truly shine without darkness, you claim to never want to fight me but I’m the reason you have a job, [hero]”

Villain’s cocky attitude peaked further. Causing Hero to groan, they knew villain was right. They knew they wouldn’t be where they were if villain wasn’t around. Villain was a powerful, uncontainable force. Yet the flirting from villains part, the times they let the other “slip” off, the teasing touches when Hero got too close. Is what made hero fall for villain so hard.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t..-“

“Go on darling, finish that sentence, I’m dying to know what in that beautiful mind of yours,”

There they were again. Hero’s face felt hotter while their hands began to shaken. Bundling into fists to try and keep themselves together, but they knew they couldn’t. They knew that couldn’t be that easy.

Hero x Villain Prompt

“You know seeing you, [hero], tied up like this is a change of pace I’d love to get used to”

Villain purred, running a finger gently underneath hero’s chin, making them turn their head aggressively away as much as they wanted to get more of it.

“In your fucking dreams, asshole”

Hero barked, turning their head to glare hatefully at villain. Villain only continued to smile, their eyes going up and down on the sight of hero on their knees, panting with a glare that looks more hooded, a need rather than the intended masked hatred.

“I’d watch your tone around me [hero], as lovely as you are - your words and actions do have consequences”

Happy moments with the fantastic Shiho Shinomiya Bottom @ryouko-kinksm

It’s been a rough couple of months. Lots of stress and tension. I’m feeling it. But tonight was my first sparring since helping the lads prepare for their fights at the end of October.

It was glorious…I feel like I’ve just done a month of relaxation meditation.

It’s bizarre - perverse, even…but nothing heals my soul like combat.

Shadows & Daggers

Az and Gwyn share a moment during a private dagger lesson.

Warnings: None | WC: 1,432 | Read on AO3|Gwynriel Masterlist

a/n: Based on a fanart by Lucielart, commissioned by @booknerd87 on tumblr. Part of her “A Picture and the Story Behind” collection. Happy Birthday, lovely!

The cool of the blade spread across his skin. It was pressed hard enough to be felt, but not so hard it would leave a mark. 

Az almost wished it would. 

“Do you yield, Shadowsinger?”

He couldn’t help but flash a half-smile to the redhead. “I never yield, Berdara.” She pressed the flat side of the blade harder against his neck, bringing her body nearer to his. 

This close, he was overtaken by water lilies and a river rushing through the forest. The scent so strong, he felt as if they’d been transported to a clearing by a small brook. 

“Cassian says otherwise,” Gwyn challenged, not easing up on her hold of Az. 

“Cassian says a lot of things." 

Her lips twitched upward, as if she wanted to laugh in agreement but wouldn’t let herself. "He also says there’s no dishonor in yielding to the better fighter.”

“Yeah,” Az chuckled. “I’ll believe him when I see him yield.”

Adding more pressure to the blade, Gwyn watched Az carefully, her eyes scanning his face, looking for something. Likely insight into what he’d do next. 

He lifted his hands and rested them on hers, wrapping them around her fingers and the dagger’s hilt. His callouses wouldn’t let him appreciate the smooth backside of her hand, but they didn’t stop the tingling sensation that buzzed up his arms from the point of contact. “A knife to the neck is a good power play, but if you’ve left both of your opponent’s arms free, they’ve got far more room to fight back, even if you do have their legs pinned.” His shadows danced up his wrists until they were swirling around their joined hands. 

Swimming in deep pools of teal, Az couldn’t look away from her eyes as he pushed the dagger away from him. Gwyn attempted to hold it where it was, but he was stronger. And once it was far enough from his skin, he managed to wrangle it out of her hand. The metal clanged against the floor of the training ring, the sound drawing Gwyn’s gaze away for a minute. 

His shadows retreated slightly, back to their perch on his shoulders, watching Gwyn. Marking every tiny move in case Azriel missed one.

He never did.

“I guess I still need more lessons,” Gwyn breathed, slowly looking back toward Az. His hands were still holding hers. She didn’t pull away. 

“Whenever you want, Priestess.” Az could feel his chest expanding and contracting with each breath he took. Gwyn was so close to him, her eyes bright and contemplative. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to lift a hand and brush the color softly. But he dare not. 

Gwyn had recently become more comfortable with his touch. Letting him direct and guide her, to take her hand when necessary. All for teaching purposes. Their touches were no more than a mentor helping a student learn a proper stance or move. That’s all they could be. It didn’t matter how much more they might mean to Az, how much more he wanted. Gwyn’s comfort came first. 

Still, this close, it would be so easy to lean in. To just ghost his lips across hers, to chance a quick taste, knowing it would likely be his only one. 

Azriel would never disrespect Gwyn like that. It was just a dream, another fantasy. That’s all he was ever granted: fantasies. He tried to shut them off, to keep his mind occupied with other thoughts. Consciously, he refused to think about Gwyn in that way. But in his dreams, on the nights he actually managed to sleep, there was no stopping them. 

Picture after picture of a possible life flooded his mind. Picnics by the Sidra. Getting a small house together. Private game nights at the House. Spying together on various missions. Stolen kisses in the garden. Secret moments in hidden alcoves that only the House would witness. 

He would wake smiling every time they came. And it would quickly fade when he remembered it was a dream he’d never have.

Gwyn’s eyes flicked down to the hands that were still holding hers.

Idiot. This touch was far beyond that of a teacher helping a student. 

He moved to slide his hands away, but she turned her palm and linked her fingers with one of them as the other fell away.

It was as if his entire body had expanded, only so that he could feel even more hollow. And yet, it was warm and welcome, and entirely daunting. 

He swallowed as she locked her stare with his again. 

Everything was pounding. Everything was silent as a grave.

Gwyn leaned in slightly, her movement slow, cautious. Az was frozen in place. And even if he could move, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what was going through Gwyn’s mind. What she was thinking or doing. But whatever it was, he would give her the control. He would always give her the control in such a close proximity. Whenever she wanted it. 

She stilled, her face a few inches from his, her breathing as heavy and ragged as his had become. 

“Az,” she whispered, her eyes flicking between his and his mouth. In five hundred years, his self-control had never been so tested as it was in that moment. He was practically shaking with restraint, only he couldn’t do that either. Not as Gwyn sat on top of him, able to feel his every heartbeat. 

Drums started to sound in his distant corners, announcing an army that would march through his entire body. He could feel the vibrations of the footsteps in the depths of his chest. 

Gwyn’s eyes never left his. They held his stare and wouldn’t let it go. Not that Az wanted them, too. No, he would gladly stare into that sea of teal all day if Gwyn would let him. 

He felt a nudge at the back of his head, something cool and not entirely corporeal. One of his shadows, pushing him closer. 

Az let it, bringing his face closer to Gwyn’s. From this distance he could easily find shapes and images in the freckles across her nose and cheeks, like constellations in the stars. His hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing through her hair and pushing it out of her face. 

Images from his dreams flashed across his mind, more determined than ever before. He attempted to shut them down, to quell the hope that was building. 

“Gwyn?” he breathed, barely making a sound. Something was on her mind. He could see it in her stare, in the tension in her lips. 

The corners of her mouth ticked upward and then she was leaning in again. 

His shadows began to swirl around them, shrouding them, as if trying to offer some privacy. As if that were possible at the House in any sense. Especially out in the open in the training ring. 

Az couldn’t breath as Gwyn inched closer. He’d dreamed of her getting this close for months. Of her smile and lips, her laugh, her bright eyes. And now it was happening. She leaned her face into his hand, even as she moved toward him, tilting her head. 

It was her choice. He stayed still to ensure it remained that way, but Cauldron did he want this, for her lips to reach his, to brush them, press against them. 

“Don’t even think about it!" 

The cry sounded through the air, making Az’s shadows retreat as Gwyn jolted away. 

"Don’t think about what?” a deeper voice chuckled. 

Az groaned as he recognized the voices. As he heard the footsteps on the stairs coming from the House to the ring. 

Gwyn stood, straightening herself. Az followed her lead, moving slower than her as he mentally cursed his brother. Cassian would find a way to chase Nesta up to the ring at the worst possible moment.

Az held out the dagger to Gwyn. She accepted it and muttered, “Thanks, again. For the lesson and…yeah." 

He nodded and watched as Gwyn put the dagger back in its place and then rushed through the door just as Nesta and Cassian got there. His eyes remained on the emptying stairwell behind the two idiots who were now staring at him with shit eating grins. 

"Did we walk in on something, brother?” Cassian wondered, his words full of amusement. 

Az rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dagger lessons.” He shot a quick glare at Cassian and then spread his wings, taking off for a much needed flight to expel some pent-up energy.

@live-the-fangirl-life@boredserpent@moodymelanist@sv0430@gwynrielsupremacy@katekatpattywack@moonstoneriver77@deedz-thrillerkilller16@nesquik-arccheron@imsointobooks@sayosdreams@lejlathecutie@feyretales@almosttenaciousmoon@amb3rpanda@shinya-hiiragi@a-court-of-milkandhoney

Whatever the reason, there always seems to be a fog of tension and blood.

Vicente Aleixandre, ed. by Lewis Hyde, from A Longing for the Light: Selected Poems