#incapable of brevity. fundamentally incapable

[blujayonthewing]

23, 26, 30, 34 for Felix, Mel and Nyssa! :3

23. how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

felix is soft spoken-- his voice is sort of in the back of my throat, and he's often quiet and a bit muttery-- he tends to speak either a little haltlingly or all in sort of a rush-- much more haltingly if he's stressed. he's a surprisingly excellent singer, but he'd implode if anyone ever caught him singing, lol. melliwyk's a little reedy-- my starting point for her was emily litella, although she's ended up less high-pitched and squeaky than that, haha. she can probably? carry a tune? I don't think she's tone-deaf or anything, but she's not any sort of good singer, and she really doesn't sing ever. nyssa is sweet and breathy, if not airy-- my starting point for her was evanna lynch as luna lovegood. you can hear that she's smiling, and often teetering on the edge of bemused laughter. she's a pretty good singer! it's not her strongest suit musically speaking, but she can carry a tune and has a soft, sweet singing voice.

26. how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

felix's motions are sharp and agile-- on a normal/ casual basis he's sort of fidgety, picks things up and fiddles with them or just wrings his hands if there's nothing else to occupy them, but he's graceful in motion; fighting, for example, or sneaking around. if he's not sneaking around he likes to stroll at a relaxed pace, and generally keeps his hands in his pockets when he's just walking about. melliwyk tends to sort of bustle about, and she gestures a lot-- a lot of broad, fluid, rolling sort of wrist and finger motions, but she's also lowkey expressive with her whole body while she's talking. nyssa is extremely light-footed, nimble and springy-- except when she was disguising herself as a dwarf before she learned disguise self, and had to try to walk in real physical human boots without 1) looking like a cat wearing booties for the first time 2) tripping over her own feet. which she hated! a lot! without the hindrance of shoes, she's shockingly fast when she gets going, for someone with such a relaxed disposition, and she tends to sort of flit about when she's in good spirits. she's also an exceptional dancer!

30. do they smell like anything notable?

felix smells, generally, like pipe tobacco and leather, and wool that's been in the sun and the rain a lot-- and cedar, if he's drawing (he chews on the pencils). he's relatively fastidious about hygiene, so mostly he just smells like his clothes, although sometimes he gets up to Shenanigans that leave him smelling like, you know, garbage or chimney smoke or old potatoes (don't ask). melliwyk usually has a metallic scent about her, and most of her stuff is suffused in years' worth of ritual incense smoke and various magical reagents. sometimes she smells like something was just on fire (because something was just on fire) (it's fine). nyssa has, primarily, the warm, appealing, musky sort of natural smell of a clean person or animal, but she also smells of the flowers in her hair, and other less identifiable sweet and green or earthy kinds of scents tend to hang around her as well. she also often smells like honey, or tobacco, or wine, or unfortunately weed lol-- whatever she's been Up To that might leave a scent on her.

ALSO >:) these are the three I bought a bunch of alkemia samples for, and I got some REALLY good ones!! for Felix I've been really favoring The Highwayman, but Kitten And The Falling Leaves and Dustsceawung are also really good for him in two different directions; there are a bunch of good weird wizardy options for Melliwyk but I LOVE Industrial Sabotage and Sigil, separately but especially together; and Nyssa has always been the hardest for me to pick scents for irl because I can never settle on whether to go sweet or green/earthy or floral or animal, but I've been really enjoying combining Gaea and Electric Fur for her :3

34. how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

felix would laugh a little nervously and just tell you, pleasantly, that he's no one of consequence, there's not really much to say. and then change the subject (please).

melliwyk: "Well, what is there to say? I'm a wizard, a researcher, specializing in transmutation and artificing. I've just recently invented a means of spellcasting using artificing principles, although no one seems terribly interested in that 🙄. [good humoredly, grinning teasingly:] I'm a little bit of a pain in the ass, particularly to the sorts of people who can't appreciate the balance between risk and reward, but I usually know mostly what I'm doing."

nyssa: "I'm a satyr; I have curly hair and green eyes, and there are flowers in my hair; I'm very friendly :) I really just like to have fun; I like to dance, and I like to play music... I love spending time with my friends, and I love meeting new people :) I try to bring joy when I can... I don't always understand things, but I'm trying my best to figure it all out :)'

ask about my OCs :3

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

ok I am STILL hung up on this unfortunately so here’s a breakdown of why this lyric sucks balls (perhaps even sucks them during a game of grand theft auto)

first off — this goes deeper than “it just sounds clunky”. while “there is no syllabic consistency between phrases” is a criticism I could levy at the bulk of this album, and it’s definitely still an issue here, that’s not actually my problem with this lyric in particular.

to get why this lyric really sucks we have to talk about my good friend the double entendre:

these bad boys are everywhere in every kind of creative writing, as they’re a very fun device to employ. here’s a great example that you’ve probably seen around the internet:

this is a one-liner from the cat in the hat (2003 live action film), spoken directly after the titular cat is hit in the face with a garden hoe. we as an audience fully understand that “dirty hoe” in this context is a disparaging remark directed at an inanimate object, but we also understand that the phrase “dirty ho(e)” isn’t normally used that way — it’s much more commonly used as an insult towards a person who’s alleged to be, well, a ho. the humor here comes from the fact that the cat is saying a funny sex phrase in a completely nonsexual situation.

but this is only half of why the double entendre works. it also works because, and this is absolutely crucial, if the audience only interprets the line in the most literal surface-level way (eg. insulting the garden hoe) it still makes complete sense. there are millions of small children who saw the cat in the hat (2003 live action film) with no idea that the phrase “dirty hoe” could mean anything other than what it was literally presented as on screen. for them, “dirty hoe” was just a throwaway line where the cat expresses his frustration with an everyday object. with double entendre it is essential that if an audience member doesn’t pick up on the secondary meaning, that still doesn’t interfere with the effectiveness of the literal interpretation.

“dirty hoe”, as silly as it is, exemplifies this perfectly. a small child might wonder why a parent/older sibling/cousin/whatever thought the line was funny when they didn’t, but that’s really the extent of the ways that “dirty hoe” could hypothetically break immersion.

with all this clarified, let’s return to taylor swift.

there’s a clear attempt at double entendre in this lyric, with the crux of it being that “heroin” and “heroine”, two VERY different things, sound the same when said out loud. here’s a handy diagram for anyone who might not know the difference:

for now, let’s ignore the clunky phrasing of the actual lyric and pretend travis (I am like 80% sure this song is about travis) had instead said something along the lines of “you’re my heroin(e)”. this is a great double entendre, as it has two clear cut meanings, one innocent and one risqué:

1. “you’re my heroine”, meaning “you’re my hero”.

2. “you’re my heroin”, meaning “you, and our relationship as a whole, is wildly addictive. when I’m with you I feel happier than is normally humanly possible and I don’t know if I can function without you”.

at this point, you might be thinking “sander, you’ve just proven that the the lyric works perfectly fine. what’s your deal?”. in response I would like to highlight the fact that I Had To Fundamentally Change The Lyric For It To Make Sense. because taylor swift — a woman who is incapable of brevity — has not written “you’re my heroin(e)”, she has written “it’s like heroin, but this time with an e”.

in that phrasing, swift has forsaken The Second Rule Of Double Entendre — the saying must still make sense if only one of two meanings is understood. “you’re my heroine” and “you’re my heroin” both stand on their own as lyrics despite their wildly different meanings, and both independently make sense within the context of a song about extreme devotion. “it’s like heroin […] with an e” only works if the listener not only knows both meanings of the word, but also that one is spelled with an e and one without — not to mention the fact that there is a time limit on this pun, as this is something the listener has to extrapolate before the song moves onto its next words lest they get completely lost for the rest of the song or (god forbid) have to break their immersion and pause it.

which is to say a good double entendre should have depth, yes, but it should also just click. in fact here’s an example I’ve been saving for just now of that click happening using, I shit you not, THE EXACT SAME JOKE AS TAYLOR:

I’m not going to bog us down in Saw Lore (today), but I’ll give the necessary context — this character, amanda, is a former heroin addict turned sober serial killer/torture enthusiast. she views herself as a heroine (with an e) for all the torture she’s doing because having a torturous near-death experience is what shocked her back into control of her own life, and she’s now providing the same “service” for other people that she sees her old self in.

when amanda says “I’m your heroin(e)” it’s once again meant in both senses of the word — she’s a “heroine” because she thinks that she’s doing something heroic, but she’s also “heroin” because, in reality, she’s slowly breaking apart and often eventually killing the people she attaches herself to. however, the second meaning is still just an added layer and the lyrics works just as well if you only ever interpret them as saying “hero”. the actual drug heroin is only mentioned once, towards the end, after the heroine/heroin pun has been repeated in the chorus ad nauseam and been given full time to click with the audience. in fact, you can actually hear the pun clicking every time an audience member laughs at a seemingly non-comedic line.

I bring this example up to show that double entendre doesn’t always have to be lighthearted comedy like the cat in the hat (2003 live action film)’s is, and to highlight how “taylor’s work isn’t meant to be funny, so she shouldn’t have to follow proper joke technique” doesn’t make sense as a rebuttal, which will hopefully dissuade anyone from making that claim. it isn’t just proper joke technique to nail a double entendre correctly, it’s proper writing technique. the non-swift examples I’ve shown you simply wouldn’t work as well if the cat had said “you’re a dirty ho, but with an e”, or if amanda had said “I’m your heroin, but with an e” (although unlike swift, she would’ve at least had the proper context in her song to attempt pulling that off).

all of this is of course to say that yes, the lyric is clunky, but more importantly the lyric is confusing. at best it’s a noticeable stumble in the prose, something that makes you go “huh? did I hear that right?”, and at worst it’s completely immersion-shattering.

I’ve noticed that the most common defense of this album (which I’m sure I’ll see in my notes if this post even remotely escapes containment) is “the lyrics aren’t bad, they just make you stop and think”, to which I would ask “think about what?”. there is a major, major difference between stopping to think about a cleverly complicated story, and stopping to think because the thing you just heard made no sense whatsoever. wordiness does not automatically a good piece of writing make, and if brevity is the soul of wit I think we should all stop for a little to question the nature of swift’s.

I think in terms of Dumb Taylor Swift Lyrics we are all really sleeping on “he says it’s like heroin but with an e”

[sol-korolevas]

—𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: rk900 x gn!reader 

words: 8.2k+

summary: “there you are, the wound. the warning. what am i, then? the breach?” 

warning: super mild violence (for now)

note: gosh writing dbh brings me back to the days where i habitually upload at least one fic to the tag. it’s been several months since my last fic so i’m gonna need to rectify that :3c this work is inspired by a previous fic, but i added more meat into this one. rk900 is such a bastard in my book and i hope i do his bastardness some justice so enjoy!

Never show weakness. 

Weakness can be controlled and manipulated. It leaves you vulnerable to the mercy of the enemy; it’ll kill you. But weakness is also a human facet that’s ingrained into the mind. And it’s a remembrance to humanity’s mistakes and proof of the existence of humanity. 

Someone told you weakness cannot be shed, but you can tether it and guard it with your ferocity. 

And, they said, ferocity is precious. 

Wear it like a crown of fangs. 

Hold it as a gun, heavy and warm on the flesh of your hand.

“What did you do?” 

All of a sudden, you feel the oppressive stare of RK900 pushing down on you. When once you can easily respond in kind, you now feel at a loss. 

Control everything, even your weakest emotions. 

And yet, you still lost control. You pulled the trigger too early, believing that you had won. After the explosion comes reality, the world shatters, bending forward until it's weight pushes you down onto your knees. The gun in your hand slips out and clatters onto the ground beside you - now just a deadweight. The ringing is loud and you’re not sure if it's from the aftermath of the shooting or from your own mind. You cannot block out the noise no matter how close you press your palm to your ears. Suddenly, you have no idea where everything is anymore. All you can think about is the ‘why’s ‘and the ‘how’s’. 

“[Name]!” a familiar voice calls to you and you turn your gaze towards it, eyes watching with a pathetic plea for help. RK900’s icy stare run chills down your spine, even more so when he’s standing tall and looking down upon you like the wraith he is. 

He crouches then, setting his gun beside him, his body blocking away the sight behind him as he takes your chin and tilts it up. The gesture is tender, if not for the blankness of his stare. 

You sometimes forget he’s incapable of the fundamental kindness humans have. Within his barren heart is just the life force that keeps him moving. 

The void in his eyes stare back and you panic, reaching towards his wrist with both of your hands so you can wrap them around it. 

He doesn’t let go. 

“Why did you shoot the hostage, [Name]?” he murmurs, but the venom in his words is clear. “You were supposed to save it and you failed.” When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin and, out of instinct, you attempt to stand, almost falling to the ground before RK900 grabs your shoulders and pushes you down.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just answer my question.”

The flicker of emotion in his words terrifies you and it further reminds you of the catastrophe laid out in front. 

“I-I lost control of myself—” you choke out, eyes following RK900’s movement as he stands and walks toward the fallen android. 

Time becomes still. The ocean doesn’t smell like an ocean anymore as the scent of red and blue blood bloats the air. Even the gull birds’ cries have been swept away by the chill of the aftermath. Shadow drapes over the cargos; the area you are in is illuminated by dim lights - the strongest of which is cast over the pile of bodies. 

The only sound left is the click of his pristine shoes and your heart beating through your ear. 

Your body falls forward, elbows keeping you from fully meeting the ground, as you watch him crouch down and take out the thirium pump. There are black wires still connecting it to the android before RK900 rips the pump away. You see the red LED light on the fallen android’s temple blink rapidly until it goes blank. 

“What are you doing?” you ask in horror. 

“Cleaning up the mess you made, [Name],” Rk900 says, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder. His words quickly silence you, the brevity of it all coming back after the initial shock of seeing RK900 doing this. 

He then takes the kidnapper’s gun and shoots the android in the forehead, before replacing the gun back into the kidnapper’s hand and once more into its chest. The skin on his arm is dissolved - a safety precaution. 

The light of his LED circulates yellow and orange as his skin eventually returns. You watch as RK900 begins to search for something, before finding it - a bullet - and picks it up. 

He’s feeling the weight of it, moving it around in his hold as if studying the shape. “I’ve wiped the cameras and cleared the android’s memory cache, now no one will know what happened.” 

“No, this is wrong,” you quickly say, scrambling up. But before you can move properly, your body tips forward from the fatigue. And RK900 is there to catch you, gripping your waist with one arm. Immediately you rip your gaze away, not wanting him to see you at your most vulnerable anymore. 

But in the end, RK900 wins - he always wins - as you turn your gaze to him. You notice the corner of his mouth twitch as if he’s going to smile. Instead, he says,“ ‘This is wrong’? Would it be better if I tell the command what you did then?” 

The numbness in your mind stops. 

Some sense finally floods in as you disassemble his words. There’s nothing but a grim reality for you if word gets out. If he speaks - if any of you speaks - then the years behind you will truly be lost, forever. And you’ll be marked by the sin you just committed. 

But this is no less criminal than what you just did. 

And despite it all, the naively moral person in you still wouldn’t relent. “Unfix all of this, RK900.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do, [Name],” he says, pressing the hand containing the bullet against yours., “Not when I am saving both of us.” 

There’s no ‘but’s’ and ‘if’s’; no hesitations either. It’s either a shaky road ahead or punishment. 

You must accept this and with acceptance, you slump your shoulders. But the grip on your waist tightens and you squeak, feeling soreness everywhere on your body. 

“So now it’s a secret, and we lie,” you manage to say, forcing yourself to look into RK900’s eyes. But it’s not easy with RK900, despite having a hand in this. The look of superiority so natural to him diminishes all hope of sympathy for your plight. Although you’re not looking for that; you’re now looking for a semblance of peace, more than ever. “Unless—” 

Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer, his pale lips brushing too close to the shell of your ear. 

“Unless you are not doing what we all agreed to,” he tells you, voice calm and collected. This is now personal to RK900, you can hear it by the hush of his words. He sees some kind of chance, some kind of reason to do what he did.

Except, he has no sense of monetary or material value. You know because he always plays by the book - he’s a military and police assistance designed to assist human officers. 

He wants one thing and one thing only. 

“You want me to continue to work as a police detective.” 

You watch as he chuckles, eyes creasing with a hint of pleasure glimmering underneath his stormy gaze. But the brief look of human emotion feels foreign; it’s a mask he wears. Underneath the light, he looks far more like a fiend. 

The thick blocky letters of his name fizzle in and out as you mindlessly cling onto the fabric of his shoulder. 

“Absolutely, but you’ll listen to me without question. No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing manages to come out. In the past, he had always made it hard for you. You came in late, he scolds you; you forget a deadline, he scolds you; you talk too much with a coworker, he tells Fowler and then returns to mock you. To RK900, you’re too careless and naive - vastly different from the perfection that he is. 

To anyone else, RK900’s condition can be easy - normal even. But you know, underneath his request, is another demand. 

Absolute obedience. 

But now, everything is better than being fired. 

“Think of this as a punishment for you, [Name],” comes RK900’s voice. He still doesn’t release you, knowing that you hate unnecessary contact between himself and you more than anything in this world. You sense a certain kind of twisted pleasure forming in him, from the smugness in his tone to the way he looks at you. “And think of this as a lesson too, on why you should think before you act,” he adds. 

If you have a clearance of mind and of a stronger character, you would’ve argued back and taken control of the situation. Especially since you are his superior in both name and title. And under normal circumstances, you will absolutely rebel against him.  

He’s supposed to be underneath you, not the other way around. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Okay, I’ll work harder and accept your input.” 

It’s hard to keep sarcasm away usually, but this time you’re serious. 

A part of you still doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re closer to corruption - the opposite of what you want to be. Your cheeks are heating up and there’s a tremble to your limbs. The ringing in your ears is still present. 

“Very good, I know we can somehow come to a mutual agreement one day.” RK900 finally lets you go before passing a thumb across your cheek. You flinch and move away as far as you can. He knows you hate the agreement as much as he enjoys it. 

When you see him turn his back on you in the distance, you open your hand. The bullet is deformed. There’s a chance that no one will even know this bullet is shot by a different gun. You still have your gun with you. 

RK900 could’ve easily mentioned this and gave you peace of mind. 

And he must’ve transferred the memory cache into himself before wiping it away from the android. 

You’ve always thought he’s trying to work his way above you. 

Now you think he succeeded

“Detroit’s first android ambassador.” Fowler’s words are heavy and thick as he paces around his office. You and RK900 both watch in silence, standing side-by-side in front. The screen behind him flashes the news of what happened two days before. Every once in a while you see the frozen features of the android you shot, looking back at you. There’s no life in those empty-looking eyes. 

Nothing that gives a hint of it being once alive. 

Immediately, you look away. 

In one corner, you notice a small video screen with the leftover remnants of Markus’s rebellion speaking at a podium. It cuts off to Fowler speaking at a press conference, but the words are muted. 

You fucked up, you fucked up so bad and they don’t even know the other half of it. 

“Do you know the name of this android you’re saving, [Last]?” Fowler asks, nodding towards the screen where the android’s face appears. You want to look away, but you know it’ll only force you to dig a deeper grave. Fowler isn’t stupid; he knows all the tics in you from the moment you joined. There’s a reason why he’s here in this position. But Fowler doesn’t wait for an answer, because he says, “RK900, tell [Name] the name of the hostage that was supposed to be saved.” 

“Victor, sir,” RK900 says without hesitation. He doesn’t look at Fowler, instead, he keeps his gaze to the floor with an emotionless look on his face. He seems so passive and subservient; you couldn’t even hear the coldness in his voice. You’re not sure whether you like him like this or if you’re envious of Fowler because of RK900’s difference in demeanor. 

“Victor—” Fowler sits down on his office chair and brings his fingers together, his elbows resting on the desk— “Android-kind’s hope to rectify a long, long period of scorn and hate from the society that built them.” 

He sighs, huffing out a breath. “At least there are still other ambassadors willing to meet us.” 

You look up from your gaze on the floor, noticing the way Fowler’s shoulders sag as he picks up a picture frame. There’s a brief flash of tenderness in his eyes before he sets down the frame and looks back at you. 

“I’ve asked Hank to make sure the other android ambassadors are all safe - put them in witness protection if need be.” 

“That’s a very good plan, sir,” RK900 replies. 

Fowler is still looking pointedly at you, his face unwavering in the seriousness of the situation. You know your face is cracked, splitting between guilt and remorse. To the unknowledgeable outsider, they would think it’s from the failed hostage extraction. 

Silence slowly brews and Fowler is awaiting a response from you. RK900’s knuckles brush against yours in an effort to make you talk without verbalizing his intentions. 

You know you need to speak - you want to speak - but all the words catch in your throat. Even your mind is in chaos; it wants to justify what you did while putting in caution to not let slip of what really happened; it wants to come up with ways to make some kind of amendment, some kind of solution to all this. 

But, none of this can rewind time and bring Victor back. 

“Why did you allow the kidnapper to shoot the hostage?” 

You tense, suddenly hearing the gunshot ring inside your ear again and the painful feeling of your knees hitting the ground. But amidst the chaos, RK900’s footsteps going towards the pile of bodies echoes with clarity. You still remember all the words he said, the promise he made to you, and the promise you made to him. And then, when you finally find yourself coming up with an explanation, you realize you couldn’t. 

Years before you promised yourself not to fall into the depths of corruption - as both a civilian and as police. 

But, oh, how the tables turned. 

“I-I won’t lie, we did fail, and—” you pause just as you feel RK900’s hand bump into the back of yours. It’s a deliberate act; it’s him warning you not to tell. And you look at him - at his face - and see the faint furrow of his dark brows and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look back, but you can already feel his voice playing against your mind. 

Keep quiet.  

RK900’s hands are now folded behind his back as he takes one step forward. “We tried initiating contact with the kidnapper as diplomatically as possible, but when he saw us, he struck. I believe he meant to kill the hostage anyway; it was merely a game for him.” He spoke with such calmness that Fowler must believe it. 

And Fowler does - you watch him shake his head, his eyes looking to a spot beside your leg. “So it seems as if he’s playing with you - only to end up killing Victor and then himself.” He inhales sharply, before breathing out as he gazes back at you. “And I suppose you were the one who shot the kidnapper?” 

“Yessir,” you say, words slurring a little - a lack of eloquence and professionalism as RK900 would put it. You briefly look away, fingers picking at the fabric of your dress shirt. 

“Captain,  [Name]’s safety was also important - especially when they’re still new to all of this.” 

The words sting more than they should. Most because you know in some way RK900 is hiding his own opinion of you underneath a fake tone of sympathy and concern for you. In the end, he’s still the dominant voice and the dominant mind. 

You can tell Fowler right now about the degree to which RK900 made you obey him and work until he is satisfied. You once thought about lying to Fowler that you suspect RK900’s a deviant - despite being assured he cannot deviate. But you’re neck-deep in a lie right now and you don’t suppose RK900 will let you off this easily. 

And Fowler may not trust androids completely yet but he seems to have full faith in RK900’s responsibilities to assist you as both partner and mentor. Regardless of how many boundaries crossed, Fowler will not be able to regulate that because RK900 isn’t human. 

“For now I can look past your rookie mistake, but if the higher-ups question it, I’ll be forced to bring you back into this office for a thorough investigation. Mark my words, [Name], count your blessings now because I damn hope nothing comes out of it.”

This is the kindest Fowler has ever said to you in your work environment. 

“Thank you for your words, Captain,” you say, straightening your back. 

He nods his head, saying, “I expect a report from you by the end of your shift tonight, [Name].” He then reaches for something, a picture frame, before pausing. “You know, I sense a change in you. You’re not like who you were when you were younger.”

You understand Fowler is expecting an answer from you, but you feel trapped by what he said. A part of you feels confused, wanting him to explain. 

You then take a look at RK900, briefly wondering if he’ll say something. He’s looking at you instead, icy eyes watching you back, that telltale sign of condescension glimmering in his gaze. You immediately look back, staring at the group of picture frames on Fowler’s desk. 

“Yes, I understand,” is your only response, but you know it’s not the answer you nor Fowler wanted. 

You thank Fowler again and leave his office, the burdening feeling of something amiss follows you.

“I work better without someone hovering over me.”

You don’t feel the movement behind you or the heavyweight of RK900’s gaze sliding away. The intensity of his presence continues focusing on you, eventually forcing you to stop typing and push your chair away from your desk. 

“I believe right now would be a perfect time for you to work,” comes his smooth response. He’s standing beside you, stiff and straight. He’s a thoughtless being who’s realistically programmed to act and do a certain way. But now he looks as if he’s hiding away his thoughts as you look at him. You try not to glare at RK900; it’s unprofessional. But your annoyance isn’t well-hidden either as you return your focus back onto the screen. 

The DPD is empty except for you, Fowler, and RK900. Everyone else has their usual schedule of nine-to-five. It’s been such a common occurrence for you personally to be here earlier that you’re now used to it. 

“And within ten minutes the others will arrive,” you say, picking up a pen, “You can’t expect me to finish this report by then, won’t you?” Your attempt to sound less biting fails; if it is any other person speaking you would’ve been kinder. 

At least, you want to believe it so. 

“Do you even know how to write a status report?” His words are sharp and blunt as ever. Much to your abject horror, he’s reading the document. He doesn’t need to physically control it to do so; he can hack. You watch him narrow his gaze, eyes scrutinizing every word you typed. 

Silence folds over you as you pick at your thumb, now childishly put into a corner and unable to speak. You know you hold yourself accountable for your lack of attention to the finer aspects of reporting, but as RK900 begins deleting and re-editing your current progress, you know he’s trying to get underneath your skin. 

“Use what I wrote as a guide,” he finally says, stepping back for you to read, “I assume the police academy never taught you how to write.” There’s a teasing lilt in the last of his words, but it means so much more than that to you. 

Leaning in, you begin to type, using what he wrote as guidance, just as he directed. You’ve written reports before, for your high school classes and some of college. And it’s not that which is hard; it’s him, all him. 

“I understand you loathe my being here, but we agreed to it, [Name].”

You stop typing once more, feeling the familiar ring pulsing in your ear. “I don’t need to be reminded.” 

He never said you have to be formal to him. And in some way, you still want to show him his true place. 

RK900 raises his chin, his arms clasped behind him. He’s really looking down on you in the most literal sense. “I’m also doing what I’m programmed to do.” RK900’s tone is surprisingly soft this time as if his response is intimately between you and him. “And if you can’t write something simple as a report, then I would suggest you take remedial classes somewhere so you can.” 

“I thought you’re going to assist me, RK900.”

“With police work, not writing,” comes his terse response. 

“No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

He takes his duty of being your partner and guide to a much higher level than you had anticipated. And you fully understand that RK900 was built like this. 

Except—

The need to hide and destroy evidence wasn’t - no, shouldn’t be - programmed into him. 

Many times you’re not even sure you know what RK900 is. Time and time again something tells you he’s a deviant, but the high collar of his uniform and the promise by Cyberlife attests to something else entirely. And his strict adherence to serving humans far exceeded his capabilities of free-thinking. 

Just the simple thought of his role in that makes you shiver. 

But as you start typing again, you feel the tip of RK900’s fingers settle on the back of your hand and you turn your face towards him, silently asking for a reason. 

“Except for that little bit of rebellion back there, you’re doing wonderful,” he tells you, voice soft. The smugness returns as a vague smirk plays on his lips. You furrow your brows and ignore him, steadily keeping your eyes on the monitor as your fingers resume the typing. 

“Would you like me to tell the rest not to bother you?” 

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps coming into the precinct. 

Swiveling your chair around, you see Gavin first, his hands slipped inside his jeans, followed by Chris in his uniform, and Hank walking behind. And Connor, much to your disappointment, must have finally made his decision to leave the DPD. 

“Why you gotta upstage us again, Rookie?” Gavin says, holding his hands out. 

You are then greeted by Chris and Hank as they take their seats. Except for Gavin, who is still waiting for you to respond. A side of you is relieved he’s here; as annoying as he is, he brightens the place. But, on the other hand, RK900’s still here too. 

And before you can react, RK900 is standing firm beside you. A look of displeasure is on his face, lips thin and eyes pointedly looking at Gavin. “Detective Reed, my partner has a name you should use.” 

You reach for the cuff of RK900’s sleeve and grip it, pulling it against his wrist. “Don’t meddle, please.” 

Despite your attempt to keep your words between you and him, Gavin hears and reacts with a smirk. 

“Yeah, ‘don’t meddle’ you stone-faced robot,” he says, sneering. The look of ill-disguised contempt washes over his face as he crosses his arm. “This conversation is between me and Rookie, yeah?” His last words are directed at you, brown eyes flickering over to you, silently asking for input. 

“It’s—” you look back up to RK900, figuring that in the end, it’s better to placate him than Gavin— “I shouldn’t talk while at work.” Your words suddenly feel foreign and you want to sink into your chair. 

Meanwhile, Gavin stares at you, one eyebrow raising as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Huh, you sound odd today.” He then waves his hand out and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, whatever, you do what you gotta, I guess.” 

You and RK900 both watch as Gavin takes his seat near the entrance. 

Then, RK900 moves until he’s blocking Gavin’s entire desk and figure, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by your eyes. 

“Unrefined wretch - his immaturity will cost him his reputation as the face of Detroit.” 

“You have no business judging him,” is your response. You lean back into your chair and cross your legs, partially relieved that the tension has subsided for now between Gavin and RK900. Yet still, another remains, hovering in-between RK900 and you now. Your lips press together, heel rubbing against the tile floors, attempting to strike down the budding irritation in you. 

“RK900—” you turn your chair until you can fully face him— “Why do you hate everyone so much? You respect Captain Fowler but only because of his status, right?” 

Strategically, it’s uncouth of you to ask such a question, especially during work-hours. You aren’t privy to the notion that anyone can hear you discuss this, or that RK900 himself might be displeased with the question. And true to your thought, he is, as his mouth curls into a frown. 

“They are all nobodies to me,” he says, words cool and even. But his eyes are an unbridled storm of hard edges. He lowers himself, bending at one knee as he looks you straight in your eyes. “You may have a good standing with them, but not me - I’m only programmed to work with them.” He presses three fingers on your knee and stands up. 

“Do with it as you will, [Name], but I am your partner.” 

You blink, but silently you acknowledge his response.

RK900 is right, however. He cannot develop relations with others aside from a strict work code. And there is a contrasting clash between him and people like Gavin, whose casual and carefree manner doesn’t adhere to the serious business professionalism of Rk900. Thus, easy enmity flourishes and that in itself surrounds every other individual RK900 meets. 

Hank and Chris now only ever talk to you outside of work. 

You feel just a bit more out of touch with everyone, but it’s not your place to argue when you should be putting those extra time to do your duties. 

RK900 left for maintenance after you finished your report. 

With his absence comes a peace that feels surreal, almost fake. His access to your phone and personal computer means he can send you case files and even message you if he finds it necessary. But knowing he’s going for maintenance means he won’t be able to do any of that for a few hours. 

And hopefully, nothing changes during that time. 

The last thing you need is someone finding the stored memory cache of that night. 

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as you slip on your messenger bag. 

Before you can leave, Chris stops you. “Hey [Name].” 

He looks around, then says, “I was going to tell you this, but RK900 was there and I don’t want to end up like Gavin.” You see a nervous look on his face when he mentions RK900, which you wouldn’t fault him at all for. 

“Don’t worry, RK900’s in CyberLife headquarter now,” you tell him, adjusting the strap of your bag. 

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Chris answers, sighing. “Connor wants to meet you, Hank’s supposed to be the messenger but he got work to do. You can find Conner at the old playground - you’ll know which one.” 

There’s a beat in-between, before he adds, “Best not to mention it to RK900.”

“—and I cannot believe the process of finding an apartment,” Connor says, leaning against the black railing with a smile on his face. “But it’s liberating, there’s so much detail that I can decide for myself. Hank helped too; he argued with the agent and he must’ve worked something out because the next thing I know, he’s handing me the key.” 

He smiles and rubs his hands together. 

“It sounds like you really liked the experience,” you tell him. You watch as his shoulders shake, but he’s not laughing. Smile pulling into a frown, you touch his shoulder and say, “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah, my internal system sometimes gets sensitive during cold weather - I’ve replaced it with older parts.” He doesn’t look at you, instead, he keeps his focus onto the view ahead, where the ocean stretches until it hits the coast. Dark clouds curl from the factory chimneys in the distance, reminding you of the days spent bicycling through the empty streets, wanting to go inside one of those factories where your parents worked. 

And you don’t miss the way Connor’s tone changes when he utters those last words. It’s been a year since he left CyberLife and ever since then, both good and bad changes have come for him. Freedom for the exchange of degradation and a life of half-scorn and half-hope. 

You gleaned some of Connor’s experience from Hank. But you never had the chance to fully understand. 

A part of you doesn’t want to; comforting words isn’t something you can effortlessly gift to someone. 

“You think I can make it through this year?” Connor asks, clasping his hands tightly. He’s looking down, face full of solemnity and a vague sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak much about this kind of worry to anyone, so you are left struck with the realization that he trusts you enough to say this to you. 

You suddenly feel burdened and undeserving of that trust. 

You shake your head, silently gazing at the space between the two chimneys in the distance. The material of your scarf’s able to hide your mouth, but it cannot hide the frown from your face. “Of course you will,” you tell him, placing your hands on the railing, “You won’t break - I promise.” 

The phone in your pocket vibrates and you place a hand over the pocket and hesitates. 

Connor turns to face you and tilts his head. “[Name], is something wrong?” 

The voice in you wants to answer him that yes, something’s wrong. It’s RK900 calling, because it’s always him that cares too much to call you when you’re off work. No matter how much the deafening voice is telling you now to answer and yell at him, you can’t. Connor is here and this moment is for him. 

“Yes, but it’s there’s always a little wrong if you’re me,” you say, chuckling. 

His gaze softens and you don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you. And despite the problems he’s facing, it’s always easy to see him do that. You’re not certain if he’s just like that or if there’s something you don’t know about it. But this is the Connor you’re most familiar with and you terribly miss having him in the DPD. 

And since he’s here—

“Would you ever think of coming back to the DPD?” 

Surprise appears on his face, taken aback by your abrupt question. He doesn’t respond but the LED blinks rapidly in orange. You don’t want to make it too serious of a question to worry him so you look away and pretend he said no. Connor deserves a break - a long one anyway - and it’s not like there are no androids like him out there who can fill in his space. 

Once upon a time, you thought he would be a good replacement. 

“If you don’t want to, I understand, but—” you stop yourself, taking in a shuddering breath as you attempt to collect your nerves. It’s unsavory - perhaps even pathetic - of you to want Connor back. But it’s the wishful knowledge that you can see his warm smile in the DPD rather than just the cold gray eyes of RK900 is a thought of comfort. 

You feel uneasy and you begin to adjust the strap on your messenger bag. The weight beside you is a welcoming right now. 

“No, I would like that,” Connor says, smiling. And you can see it, the flicker of hope in his honey-brown eyes. “I would love to work with Hank again, and I would love to work with you on a case together,” he adds, placing his arm behind his back. Then the grin on his face settles back as he looks to the ground. 

“But—” 

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Both you and Connor know this, that it’s an unspoken rule in DPD that Connor cannot work anymore. He’s ineffective, old, and useless according to his makers and the numerous flaws on his body has rendered him incapable to be on most cases anyway. 

But there’s another truth that overshadows everything else. 

“My presence isn’t particularly well-liked there.” He laughs, but it’s forced and absent of his usual light humor. You know he’s upset about this - it pains him to not be able to do something he truly loves to do. 

“It’s RK900, isn’t it?”

Connor looks back up at you and he frowns. He’s still for a moment, the wind brushing through his dark brown hair. Stray strands linger across his forehead, hiding the LED behind them. “My successor will be the first to have objections. I don’t think Detective Reed would like me back either, considering our last meeting involved my fist to his face.” 

“Fuck RK900,” you say, voice louder. You feel the sole of your boots digging into the thin trace of snow as you step forward. “He doesn’t own you and even I have more jurisdiction than him. Gavin’s long forgotten about that incident and I’m damn sure even he would rather it’s you in there than him.”

The fierceness in your words doesn’t betray the way your hands shake. You know it’s wrong to force Connor to come back. But your own selfishness far outcries the sensibility within you at this moment. 

Connor blinks, taken aback by your sudden response. You feel the creep of warmth through your cheeks the more time passes, especially when you realize he’s assessing you. That is something Connor will never part with, that instinct-like need to observe first.

But before you can talk more, a pair of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, breaks the silence between you. 

Immediately, you feel the warmth that had risen a moment before ebb back into a cold void. In the same moment you attempt to step forth, you decide to step back instead. Cold eyes stare at you, but you couldn’t find the previous energy you had to even look properly. 

“RK900.” And it’s Connor who said the first word, calling to his successor in the same clinical manner Rk900 would speak in towards everyone around him. All of a sudden, the [person] who spoke with tenderness is gone, his entire facade now hardwired into that of a near-emotionless being. 

And RK900, who up until now has been looking at you, turns his gaze toward him. He’s not in the Cyberlife issued white and black uniform but in a black turtleneck sweater and dark fitted jeans and polished black oxfords. Even so, the entirety of his form recalls the usual coldness of his existence. 

You’re aware that the same situation as this morning will happen again. But that was different; the one in front of him had been Gavin. 

This time, it’s Connor and he’s—

“A deviated failure, how quaint,” comes RK900’s venomous words, but it’s only concealing the darker intentions underneath. You’re not sure who to push back or who to tell to stand down. 

But you know who is more likely to act first. 

“RK900, that’s enough; we’re leaving.” In your attempt to break the dangerous tension, you wedge yourself between him and Connor, before pushing yourself against RK900. The uncomfortable closeness only makes you nervous, but the need to separate them far outweighs your own distress. “This is an order!” you add, realizing that RK900’s not moving. 

Neither Connor nor RK900 has said anything about your involvement, although they may be too focused on each other to care. This is dangerous, you know, because if they clash then no one - not even a military-trained soldier - can break them apart. 

The last time someone tried, it broke their arm. 

And that someone was you. 

You’re not certain you want to mentally live another day if something like this happens again. 

Suddenly, you feel a palm on the back of your shoulder. RK900’s glancing down at you and you look up, desperately trying to plead to him to go. 

Don’t make the same mistake, don’t harm him. 

“Is this why [Name] wants me back? Because of you?” 

You freeze, realizing this will never end unless one of them relents. You can still remember the first time, but now is not the time to relish in the past. And now that Connor has spoken, you know RK900 will make sure he gives him an answer. 

Turning your gaze, you see his jaws tense and the glimmer of hunger in RK900’s eyes. A tightness forms in your chest as you change your position and attempt to pull him by his arm. It’s useless; RK900 is as much a stone as he is a war machine. 

“Oh, worry not, we don’t miss you—” he breaks, eyes flitting back to you with a look of heavy disapproval on his face— “And certainly not [Name].” The last of his words are also for you, but well-hidden enough that only you know. 

Connor’s hand curls into a tight fist and no doubt is he thinking of using it like he did with Gavin. You can see it in the tenseness of his jaws, the wrinkle of flesh between his brows, and the narrowing of his eyes. The potent hostility between them only builds and builds despite the time in-between their previous meeting. 

And RK900 sees this, it makes him sneer in a show of dominance. 

“Are you really sure you want to fight me here? In a discarded playground?” The mocking tone in his voice is strong enough that you know it’s meant to enrage Connor. 

It’s working too. The red on Connor’s LED is flashing dangerously underneath the strands of hair covering it. 

As much as you want to see RK900 defeated, you know you cannot let Connor pull the punch first. 

“We’re leaving now, RK900, or I promise you I’ll tell Fowler about this,” you whisper, uncaring now of what happens in the future between you and him. 

“And what then? Don’t make me remind you of your position right now,” is his response. 

You see Connor looking at you, concern written across his face. “What does he mean by that?” 

For a moment, all eyes are on you as you attempt to come up with an answer. Once again you feel like a prey underneath the oppressive eyes of RK900. Still, you stand your ground and keep your hands on his arms. “Nothing, there’s nothing really.” A fake calmness is in your voice, one that you know Connor must’ve seen through. You tug once more at RK900’s arm, uncaring whether or not it’s too harsh of a gesture. 

“[Name]—” But before he can finish his sentence, RK900 has turned, finally allowing you to pull him away. “[Name] wait!” You hear Connor walking forward, attempting to stop you. But you throw him a look, a silent plea for him to not come. 

Not long after, the playground’s out of your line of sight. 

You’re going home, the waning frustration having worn away any semblance of peace in you. But the budding anger feels like fangs gnawing at the back of your mind. You don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight and be able to wake up tomorrow either. 

But you also cannot go home, because RK900 is following you even though you’ve walked and walked. The feeling of his cold stare is like a knife stabbing at your back. So you stop, having walked into an alleyway that’s a detour to your apartment, and you turn to face him. 

He also stops, standing just a few feet away, eyes settling upon your own. The longer the seconds tick by, the more irate you become and the more nervous you feel. So many times you feel like you’ve been cornered by him. Now that you’re physically cornered, the hair on the back of your neck is slowly standing stiff and a sharp coldness runs down your back. 

“I’m off work.” The calmness in your tone surprises you, but you know that calmness will quickly subside the moment something snaps. The glance you give him is only a warning; hell, it’s a learned reaction from him. But, you’re not finished and the flame within you is blazing stronger and stronger still.“And don’t you think it’s unprofessional of you to try to antagonize an ex-coworker?” 

“I never regretted my decision,” RK900 says, clasping his arms together behind his back. 

“And the first time it happened?” 

“That was a mistake.” 

You almost laugh, knowing all too well the pain that coursed through your arm when it got broken. Everything was so muddled back then, your memory, that is. So you’re not sure who was the one that broke your arm. You want to blame RK900, but you don’t want to bend that low. 

“We all make mistakes, [Name],” RK900 says, sharp gaze stubbornly holding yours, neve letting you go. 

We all make mistakes. 

Right. 

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” you say, words harsh but, in your mind, appropriate. And it’s not like it has a singular meaning. Your own bitterness towards yourself is still there, etched into the very words. Whether or not RK900 notices this is his problem. 

And you’ve run out of patience to wait for him to respond.

You turn and continue making your way out of the alley and into the street, where fluorescent lights decorate each shop. There are only a few civilians out, the distinction between whether or not any of them is an android or not now blurred by their lack of uniforms and LEDs. 

This time, you remain en route to your apartment, wanting nothing but the comfort of your bed. And when the familiar off-white color of the building appears in your line of vision, you walk faster. 

But before you can fish out your keys and unlock the double doors, a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Why are you following me?” It’s easy now for you to tell apart his hand from others - there’s always a strength to it. You also don’t miss the intrusive warmth behind your back. 

This time, you turn out of your own will. The sun hasn’t set yet and you can see RK900 staring back at you, face blank - almost serene. 

“I have a question for you, and I hope you may answer it,” he says, voice low. 

“A question for me,” you say, sounding out each word slowly. Again, the nagging feeling of wanting to laugh, to scream at him, gnaws at the edge of your brain. You just want to go home and he’s not even giving you that luxury. 

RK900 seems to sense it too because for a moment you notice the way he frowns before he reigns his expression back. “If you had answered my call, I wouldn’t have to chase you down like this.” 

“Thought you were in maintenance.”

“I can still access the phone application installed in me - you should already know that.” 

You press a hand to your face and slide it down hard. You do, you do know he can call you whenever he pleases. It’s not like that was the first time he attempted to do so. 

But sometimes it’s easier to lie. 

“Okay,” you say, fully giving up now. “I’m all ears.” 

You think he’s going to talk about Connor, again. But, no, he doesn’t because you notice there’s no trace of displeasure on his face, yet. Instead, he says, “No matter what, I want to remind you all that I did and am doing is for you, [Name].” He closes in, his body now just inches before you. Thankfully no one’s walking the street right now except for a few passing cars. 

Your hands are up, ready to push him away, but you stop, letting them linger in the air. “You could change, you know. Be nicer, be better.” It’s hesitant, the way you say those words, and perhaps naive in the way you told it. 

“And why should I?” he asks, leaning closer. “Would kindness protect you from the world? Wasn’t it your own kindness that left you injured?” He’s glaring down at you, attempting to trap you in a corner again. You cannot take a step back, the door is right behind you. 

“I know you wanted Connor to replace me, I’ve known since you first met him,” he adds, sensing that you wouldn’t be responding any time sooner. 

He’s right. And although you question how he knew, you realize it’s too late to find out. But do you even care if he knows? It may be better for him to know he’s not all that superior if he’s second at best. 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t honor our agreement,” is your response. “And I only wanted Connor back in the DPD and not as my partner.” You take in a deep breath, mind now burning with the need to stray away from this, all of this. 

Your attempt to sound confident in front of his presence only makes you seem like a trapped animal even more. Yet still, you place your hands on his chest, holding him at a distance. RK900 reacts with a chuckle, much to your relief, as he stays. 

“Even if the broken one comes back, he will never make you a better version of yourself. Remember [Name], your dream? You told me about it when we first met; you said you wanted to become a police lieutenant at least. You want to earn it through hard and honest work. You have a powerful dream, [Name], and I fully intend to see it happen.” 

The conviction in his words shatters you. You know RK900 is incapable of lying, maybe hide facts and manipulate it, but never outright lie. At least, not to you. And you do remember what you told him before. That wide-eyed new member of the DPD, staring at their future android partner and telling it their wish. That was all you. 

But to know he knows of your dream baffles you. He’s efficient, merciless, and stoic - a well-built machine. And to think he remembers something as insignificant as your dream makes you want to believe he’s something more. 

RK900’s hand suddenly drapes over your own, causing your shoulder to stiffen. 

“Kindness is a choice [Name]. ” 

He’s slowly pushing your arms down. 

RK900 then steps back, his focus still lingering on you. “I see it, from time-to-time, but it should be directed elsewhere. If you can use something more efficient, I believe you’ll make it.” 

And he puts his hand up and waves briefly at you. Wordlessly, you wave back. 

“And [Name]–” he stops himself, eyes searching for something on you— “I forgot to mention this, but if you don’t need me anymore, I will be forced to deactivate and taken apart. They will see into my memory cache if it happens; remember that.” 

RK900 doesn’t wait for your response. 

Seconds pass and you feel yourself slumping against the door. 

This is all a ploy, one could even admit to saying it was a selfish act of benevolence. 

But it’s still not right. You want to believe RK900 is still an android, too crude and unrefined to be anything more than what he already is.

He’s only doing this because that’s what he’s programmed to believe in. 

Unconsciously, your fingers touched the back of your hand. 

You can feel the phantom warmth of his hand, urging you to comply. 

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Saturday and you’re off, but the chance to be called on-duty is enough for you to rouse yourself. Sluggishly, you lean over and grab your phone. Several empty cups of ramen fall down before you find it. 

Looking at the screen, you notice that it’s not a number in your contacts. 

Surely it belongs to a telemarketer. 

But right after you slide it close, the same number calls you again. 

This time, you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, [Name].”

You feel your heart drop. “Markus?” 

note: YIKES i hope you guys like this. i’ve never experimented with long chaptered fics before and as a writer in general i’ve been rusty. i don’t fully intend to make this story any longer than 2-part unless i get some neat ideas going. plus, if you haven’t known, i suck at updating multi-chapters ^^; 

[observedchaos]

Differences between Harrenhal bath scene in ASOS and “Kissed by Fire” (3x05)

I am still struggling to find the will to complete my meta on eye contact during the Harrenhal bath scene in Kissed by Fire given my gif and tag troubles (Pointers on how to get gif posts to show up in tumblr tags welcome!). 

Since I am rereading ASOIAF, I thought I would do a compare list and see if I can find some motivation. 

Not even near death will keep Jaime from quips, as he laments the lack of invitation for his “fleas”

GRRM highlights Jaime’s helplessness by making him incapable of unlacing his breeches

I, for one, am grateful that we get to see NCW undo them himself for ...reasons

Jaime explicitly sends the Bolton attendants away, citing Brienne’s nakedness

Our King of Projection calls them “scum” for gaping at her teats after gaping at her teats in the previous paragraph

Of course, he makes sure to insult her size. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea

And he obviously only climbs into the tub with Brienne due to the tub’s spaciousness.

Sets up the irony of his later arousal at her pubic hair (a sentence I did not expect to write) by proclaiming he isn’t “interested in what she has got between them”

Actually does some scrubbing, which always bothered me in a “character looking away from the road while driving” way

The transition into his jab about Renly is rather more disconnected.

It is clearer that he is trying to get a rise out of her (pun not intended but enjoyed) by mentioning the reasons she scorns him and a sexual comment that he knows will embarrass her

this after savoring her blush

He frames the loss of his hand as karmic comeuppance. As always, his insults reveal what he thinks of himself.

Sets up his agitation that Brienne may think him such a villain that he deserves his maiming

Brienne actually climbs out of the tub and covers herself. In the book, her reaction is more one of hurt than the defiance of Brienne’s stance in the show

Indicates the books emphasis on Brienne’s vulnerability which is harder to see in the show

Bitter jealousy of Robert, which I find more interesting

Robert gets everything that Jaime ever wanted. Cersei, sympathy, belief that he is the paragon of romantic love. “Saved the realm.” How this must chafe Jaime who defines himself by love.

This works much better as a catalyst into Jaime’s story than “the look,” imo. But I can see why the level of detail would not work in the show.

Interesting nod to Tyrion perhaps being a Targaryen by mentioning his use of wildfire in the Battle of Blackwater

A lot more detail about Jaime’s actions that day, which I won’t get into other than to note:

Varys is an antagonist rather than just Pycelle. aiding Aerys burn those in his way

I prefer the brevity of the show as I think it gets the point across. This does have interesting character notes about Jaime. though. 

Jaime passes out due to striking his stump against the tub

We get to see Jaime’s internal monologue, which makes his identity crisis explicit

Feeling vulnerable, he labels Brienne as “looking ridiculous.”

Which levels the playing field for his pride. Could also be an attempt to align himself with her, mentally

More noticing of the detail of Brienne’s body.  Gee, I wonder why he includes “kiss me” as an option.

Not technically a difference because the show cuts away and it could have happened but the care taking is shipping gold

I also LOVE that he keeps himself from insulting her (a fundamental Lannister habit) because he doesn’t want to risk making her so mad she kicks his ass.

the IDEA that this “gentle” woman who just cradled and washed him would beat him up is so damn ludicrous that it is pathetic

 Jaime is over here deflecting for his LIFE

[chal-converts-archive]

What’s the word limit for texts posts on Tumblr.com? Lmao I think we’re about to find out. Anyway, I wrote a long piece about last week’s parsha and the ostensibly anti-gay prohibitions and why I think they’re not what people like to make them out to be. I know this has been written on a lot, but I’d still definitely appreciate [constructive] feedback if you feel like slogging through it all.

Obviously under a cut for length.

(Seriously this thing clocks in at over 3700 words. Just fyi. Brevity is not one of my talents.) 

An analysis of the homosexual prohibitions in Leviticus

I know this has been analyzed by a lot of people and there are a number of alternative readings of these passages; however, I have yet to see one offered that I think is rather simple – almost obvious when you think about it – but I think a fair reading of them. [It’s worth noting that I’d be very surprised if this was a completely original argument; however, I have not yet seen a write-up of this theory and I’ve read up on this, so I thought I’d put it out there anyway.]

First, I think it’s worthwhile to briefly discuss my methodology and the reasons behind it. In my opinion, the overall message of the Torah is to protect human rights and to encourage loving relationships between people. Ergo, a total ban on all homosexual relationships – no matter how loving, consensual, supportive, and overall life-affirming they may be – runs counter to this message and purpose. Furthermore, it descends into the realm of cruelty when the alternative to a happy, healthy same-gender relationship is to deny a truly homosexual person access to a healthy partnership altogether. Of course, a gay man or lesbian could marry an opposite-gender friend and theoretically build a somewhat happy life with that person. That is the best possible scenario if the anti-gay interpretation of these laws is enforced. However, I think most people would agree that there is a world of difference between the love that happens between friends and the partnership of a lover. More likely, however, is that the sham marriage is built on half-truths and lies and will only lead to heartbreak later down the line. Or, the gay or lesbian person lives a celibate, solitary life, which sociological science has shown overwhelmingly leads to unhappiness, unhealthiness, and earlier death. To deny gays and lesbians the full benefit of kiddushin is therefore an unnecessary cruelty.

Bisexuality is a somewhat different conversation, because while bisexuals may find themselves able to form happy, healthy relationships with same gender folks, they also have the capacity to do so with an opposite gender partner as well. They are therefore not forced into the same cruel position as someone who could not be happy in a cis-het relationship. However, it still denies them a major aspect of self-expression. Transgender people are a whole other conversation unto ourselves, so I will focus only on binary cis men and women for this discussion.

From what I have learned so far, even if we are to take the Torah as directly from G-d and the covenant as binding, the interpretation of the Torah and the covenantal law is something that is entirely in the hands of humanity. We were given the source material, but what we do with it is “not in the heavens.” In light of that ideology, it is up to us to interpret the Torah in ways that make sense for each age and that safeguard human rights. It’s one thing to argue over whether chickens should be considered “fleischig” for kashrut purposes, seeing as they do not produce milk – and entirely another to argue over whether an entire class of people should be allowed to enter into healthy, fulfilling partnerships. The former has consequences only insofar as our religious practices goes, but does not fundamentally dehumanize or injure anyone. The latter does. This is particularly poignant the more we learn about human sexuality and the more studies show that it is a completely natural and immutable variation.

Over the years, the position of people with disabilities has changed to reflect our improved understanding of human variation and recognition of human rights. And although there is still a lot of work to be done, the position of women has changed over the years as well. The assumption that these groups were less intelligent (rather than that their society had not bothered to educate them) is offensive to modern sensibilities, and therefore our interpretations have shifted to improve their standing. This is merely yet another area of natural human variation that deserves recognition and the search for readings that protect their fundamental dignity and human rights.

Additionally, this is not a morally grey area. Few moral debates are this simple, to be quite frank. LGBQ+ sexuality does not harm a single person or have deleterious effects on any community that cannot be better attributed to homophobia. Reproduction is not a valid argument in an age of modern reproductive technology, in a country where we have quite a lot of children who need loving foster and adoptive homes, and where we completely embrace infertile, aged, and sterile heterosexual couples. In no way is it morally comparable to other banned sexual expressions, which absolutely do have corrosive and violent effects. Incest destroys the integrity of the family structure and almost always involves abusive power dynamics. Bestiality is a particularly egregious expression of cruelty to animals, who are incapable of consent. Pedophilia is child sexual abuse and has seriously damaging effects on its victims. Homosexuality is not comparable to any of these in intent or effect and therefore any slippery slope argument is invalid.

Therefore, we can easily conclude that there is no practical harm in creating a supportive environment for LGBQ+ individuals, while a significant amount of harm stems from repression of homosexuality. Ergo, objections to same-gender partnerships are rooted in religious arguments alone. We turn to those now.

My view is not that we should distort the Torah or give it disingenuous readings merely to get to a preferred answer. Rather, if what we see on the page runs counter to our sense of compassion and human rights, then the flaw is not with the Torah or with G-d, but rather our interpretation of it. We simply do not understand it correctly yet.

A fair challenge to this assertion might be, “Why would G-d make it so difficult to find a genuine and compassionate reading, then?” My answer to this is twofold: First, when has reading and comprehending Torah ever been easy? Second, I think that we’re meant to react negatively to some of these passages. There are plenty of other parts of the Torah that range from baffling to outright offensive. I think that G-d presented us with these as challenges to our compassion; will we be obedient and mindlessly enforce cruel edicts as “G-d’s will,” or, like Abraham, will we demand that the Judge of the Universe rule fairly? We might struggle with these verses, but ultimately, will we not emerge victorious, insisting that G-d’s word be read in the light most compassionate to people of all walks of life? Perhaps more importantly – what does it say about our understanding of G-d if we don’t insist on finding a compassionate understanding?

Another point about my methodology – I think any interpretation of the Torah that requires us to deny reality or scientific progress is not only counterproductive and incorrect, but actively flies in the face of G-d’s gift of intelligence and the power of the human mind and is therefore actively anti-religious. We are a curious species and our ingenuity is especially exemplary of our being b’tzelem Elohim; to stick our heads in the sand instead of exploring and learning about this vast, gorgeous creation we were entrusted with on religious grounds is itself a perverse use of the Torah.

A couple of assumptions I tend to make in my analyses: Our ancestors/spiritual predecessors were very concerned about creating a fair, safe, sanitary, moral, and orderly society in the context of their historical circumstances; and, they knew more than we modern folks often like to give them credit for. They may not have had the advantage of the scientific advances we’ve made by this point in the twenty-first century, but they were intelligent and observant of their surroundings. Ergo, there are usually reasons for prohibitions or expectations, most of which were likely based on their observations of the world. I think it’s reasonable to imagine that they carefully watched the results of certain actions, noticed patterns, and assumed that the natural law was one and the same as divine Law; if the Creator of all things structured the world in such a way that certain actions or foods caused sickness and death, then it was a message that these things were immoral or forbidden, even if we weren’t completely sure of why.

Some of these observations were likely idiosyncratic or due to chance; however, I think it’s also reasonable to assume that some were due to a lack of modern sanitation and refrigeration or other technology. In light of our progress to date, it’s worthwhile to look at this latter category with the purpose of understanding what they were trying to accomplish. If we can suss out these underlying values, we can better come up with a modern equivalent that is actually equivalent. Many of what these laws were intended to accomplish in their day have completely unrelated and unintended effects when held to completely literally in the modern world. However, the underlying values are often universal and speak to us just as clearly today as they did thousands of years ago. I think it’s important to honor these values as much as possible, even if our means of doing so looks very different today than it did then.

With all that in mind, I now turn to the verses in question.

A lot of the analyses of these Leviticus verses I’ve seen bend over backwards to read it as saying something other than what it seems to be saying, or to contextualize it out of relevance. Alternatively, they fundamentally alter how we read the Torah. These verses do not pose a threat to the Reform movement’s support for LGBQ+ rights, of course, because they are not held to be binding on modern Jews. However, I don’t think you need to analyze the Torah strangely or disingenuously or fundamentally alter how you read the Torah to find a compassionate reading of these verses, even if you view the covenant as binding and the Torah as G-d given. That said, I also don’t think the traditionalist reading of these passages of Leviticus is particularly accurate. Let me explain.

So in this section, we see a lot of prohibitions on forbidden forms of sexuality. Most of them relate to incest and a couple to bestiality – things that the overwhelming majority of the population rightly agrees are immoral. It’s worth looking at the framing of these other prohibitions, because that will tell us something about how to understand the construction of the passages about homosexuality. My training is in law, and within secular legal analysis, one common method for interpreting a statute is to read it in context with itself under the assumption that author formulated not only the ideas but the written structure of the statute itself with intent. If we assume that the Torah was written – or at least inspired by – the ultimate Author, it seems reasonable to use this approach here.  

Two things immediately leap out to me when I read these passages together in context. First, the structure of the sentence, while consistent between the two verses in question, is completely different than the other verses in this section. Second, it specifically addresses male homosexuality, and only male homosexuality, despite clearly addressing women’s sexual behavior in the other verses.

Observation #1. I think it’s pretty clear that these verses are talking about sex, and likely not addressing rape. (I don’t want to totally invalidate that possible reading of it, but that has been explored much more eloquently elsewhere.) A cheeky reading of this would be to take “lies” literally rather than to read it as a metaphor for sex; that seems unreasonable given the fact that the other verses pretty explicitly refer to sex and this euphemism is used elsewhere to mean sex. So I think we can pretty safely read “lies with” as “has sex with.”

What isn’t clear to me, however, and what I think the traditional readings of it fail to address, is that the sentence construction differs from the other prohibitions in a way that seems pretty significant. Where the other verses flatly prohibit “uncovering the nakedness” of one’s family members or simply say “lies with,” these verses both go out of their way to say “lies with a male as one lies with a woman.” In traditional readings of this, this distinction is seen as a way of emphasizing that the prohibition is sexual in nature, but this explanation is incredibly weak. Considering that the euphemism here is consistently used in a sexual context, and the verses both occur in lists of sexual prohibitions, there’s absolutely no need to clarify that this isn’t referring to simply sharing a tent with another man.

Reading it this way renders this additional phrasing superfluous, which is problematic if you believe in Divine authorship, considering the teaching that every letter in the Torah has its own purpose and is important in its own right. In fact, one of the traditional rules of construction in interpreting Torah is that you don’t render any part of it superfluous. The fact that this additional phrasing is repeated in both verses makes this problematic even if you believe in human authorship, because it indicates that this isn’t merely a flowery way of framing the issue, but an essential piece of the verse. Furthermore, it’s clear from the preceding and following verses that the author(s) knew how to flatly state the law, making it less likely that this is simply wordiness.

Therefore, it makes sense to give some serious consideration to what the purpose of this disambiguation is. “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman” begs the question of, “as opposed to…?” which contains another, deeper question: If a disambiguation is necessary, then it inherently means that not all sex between men is prohibited. If all sex with men was prohibited, then the human author(s) or Author, having stated a total bar for other forbidden relations without a problem directly above and below these verses, could have simply said, “Do not lie with another man.” Or, perhaps, “Do not uncover the nakedness of another man.” That is not what either verse says, inherently limiting the scope of the prohibition.

If the prohibition is whatever sex a man could have that is the same as sex with a woman, then the question becomes one of how to construe the meaning of “as one lies with a woman.” To understand the scope of the actual prohibition, we must understand what it means to lie with a woman [as a man.]

As important as this is, I will leave this question for a moment and move on to another important consideration:

Observation #2 – this prohibition is limited to male/male relationships. Female/female relationships are not prohibited here or anywhere else. If the intent was to enforce heterosexual relationships, or at a minimum, to prevent homosexual sexuality, then either these verses should have said something to the effect of, “Do not lie with one of the same sex as yourself,” or correlating phrases specifying that female/female relationships are equally verboten should have also been included.

The argument that this is simply another instance of the “universal man” or masculine default that is common in the Torah holds absolutely no water in a list that explicitly prohibits women from committing bestiality. While the incest clauses are not directly addressed to women, they do not need to be; enjoining the men from these relationships has the same result as banning it for both sexes. Bestiality is likely singled out because no human male need be involved if a woman were to commit this offense. Therefore, enjoining men alone would effectively allow it for women in a way that is not the case for the incest clauses. However, by definition, a woman lying with another woman as she would with a man creates the possibility of a sexual encounter that excludes men entirely and therefore cannot be prevented by verses aimed at men.

Nor can the inverse simply be implied. The Author or author(s) of this list were clearly concerned enough about women’s sexual conduct to include the female equivalent of the male bestiality prohibition. It was therefore contemplated that women had enough sexual agency to commit despicable acts that must be forbidden explicitly. Should there have been an equal concern for female/female relationships, it could easily have been added, and this cannot be chalked up to an instance where women’s sexual agency and resulting conduct simply wasn’t contemplated. Clearly the concept that women could commit obscene acts all on their own was contemplated and directly addressed.

What are we to do with this information? Well, to me it’s a clue that says look closer – not everything is as it appears. If nothing else, it tells us that the moral concern wasn’t same sex partnerships as a category of behavior. The specific concern was regarding sex between men as one lies with a woman. So let us return to that question.

What does it mean for a man to lie with a woman?

Unfortunately, the text doesn’t give us any clear idea of what specific class of sexual acts was being contemplated here. The only sexual act that one could commit with a woman that one could not commit with a man is vaginal intercourse. As it would be impossible (barring an understanding of trans folks that stretches the boundaries of credulity) to have vaginal intercourse with another man, this understanding of the verse would render it superfluous. So this cannot be the answer.

Other arguments have said that the difference is power-related; that men at the time were considered sexual agents in a way that women were not, and therefore penetrating a man was to dishonor him. While I won’t entirely disregard that possibility, as person raised as a girl, as a non-binary person who is still socially read as a woman quite often, and as a feminist, I have serious problems with this argument. Even if it may be historically accurate, hinging the argument for the equal rights of LGBQ+ folks on the concept that sex is something that is done to women by men rather than an equal, consensual relationship builds a house on a foundation of sand. Yes, you can argue that this seemingly degrading interpretation actually leads to a prohibition on rape (of anyone) but this argument feels very circular to me. Furthermore, there are several examples of rape in the Tanakh, and so the known distinction between a regular heterosexual relationship (regardless of the very real gendered power dynamic involved) and rape elsewhere undermines this interpretation.

More importantly, I don’t think you have to get that deep into implications or obscurities to find a perfectly reasonable alternative to a total ban on sex between men. I have already explained my theory that the prohibition only applies to a sub-class of sexual activity between men; now the only remaining work to be done is to parse out what that distinction actually is.

If I may make what seems like an almost too-simple suggestion: The point is the distinction itself.

There are two paths one can go from here, and it depends on your interpretation of the mitzvot. If you are of the school of thought that the rational justifications for any mitzvah are completely irrelevant because the be-all, end-all reason for doing them is because G-d asked us to, then the analysis is very simple. If, on the other hand, you are of the school of thought that needs some kind of rational reason for engaging in or refraining from something aside from simply as a promise to Hashem, then the analysis is a bit more complex. Either way, the argument stands.

In the first stream of thought, there are many places in the Torah where G-d asks us to make distinctions between one thing and another, and many times this is gendered. Within even this same section, we are asked not to mix fibers, as one example. There is no rational explanation for this (as far as I’m aware) and yet it is asked of us. Therefore, it shouldn’t surprise us that G-d would ask men to make a distinction between the way they engage in sex with men versus the way they engage in sex with women. For heterosexual men, this is not a concern, because they will not want to engage in sex with men at all. Similarly, for homosexual men, this not a concern because they will not be engaging in sex with women at all. The distinction is made by the person’s sexuality alone. However, for men who engage in sex with men and women (or at least have the capacity to be attracted to either men or women) a distinction must be made. Because it is not specifically stated what this distinction must be, it seems reasonable to suggest that the bisexual man in question determine what that distinction needs to be for himself.

However, to address the other stream of thought – I do have a suggestion for one way to think about this. Going back to my earlier commentary about the history and intelligence of these ancient peoples, it’s worth considering this from a practical standpoint. Many of these rules seem to be intended to protect the public health, and I think this falls into that camp. At that time, without the benefit of sterile lubricant and condoms (or other barriers), anal sex ran a much higher risk of injury and infection. After watching enough men become sick from engaging in anal sex with other men, it’s likely that they noted the pattern (and probably associated the practice with the pagans they were so concerned about distinguishing themselves from) and deduced that it must be displeasing to G-d. Meanwhile, the natural lubrication of the vagina, as well as its acidity prevents most of these types of infections and injuries. The observed difference then, was a safe/unsafe distinction.

With modern sanitation and safer sex methods, I would argue that a useful modern distinction could be that while a man having sex with a woman may sometimes not want to use a protective barrier for reproductive purposes, men who also want to have sex with men should always use protection when doing so. This preserves the value of public health by promoting safer sex, as well as the command to make a distinction between sexual methods with men and women. Furthermore, it doesn’t require any mental gymnastics, alternative methods of reading the Torah, or hinge on the degradation of women.

[joycespring2017]

Craft

In response to your last question, Dr. Ryan, I contend that Joyce’s craft and art of language structure and rhetoric appeal to more than simply creative writers -- for all scholars alike, the attention to structure and language style is fundamental to one’s act of writing. While I consider myself an artist and a writer, the category of being a “creative writer” is particularly odd to me; this point aside, Joyce’s artistry is particularly alluring.

That said, speaking to Joyce’s craft and art, I first would like to note the particular genre of short stories that Dubliners is composed of. Having before not read much within the genre, I have been attentive to the certain precision that Joyce crafts with such a genre: a brevity and exactness of revealing and withholding to be gleaned. Moreover, this quality is embedded in Joyce’s art of language structure and rhetoric, and as a reader, teasing this riddle out is arguably the experience -- it is through this that Joyce shapes the voices, the silences, the epiphanies. I would like to venture, Joyce’s sensibilities to this genre has the potential to contribute to my interests in constraint-based writing within scholarly exhibition contexts.   

Moreover, to return -  Joyce’s language structure and the narratives, the voices, within Dubliners are counterparts of each other. Undoubtedly, the most striking voice that I have encountered so far is Mr. James Duffy in “A Painful Case.” There is a particular sense of ordering within Duffy’s quarters: the way in which he is attune to his furniture, the way the books are organized, “arranged from below upwards according to bulk,” (107, note that I am reading from an alternate addition then the Norton Critical Edition, however this reference is from the very first paragraph of the story at hand) and the invariability of his sense of living - a sense of ‘always’ expressed in the placement of his writing materials, in the simple presence of a fragrance, be the particulars what they may. I noted his calculated and categorized character from the very sentence structure and rhetoric - the open listing and placement particularized - as Duffy’s voice. So that when I arrived at the line, “Mr. Duffy abhorred anything which betokened physical or mental disorder,” I felt his abhorrence because I was already aware of his strict order and removal from confusion (108). There is a pervasive tone throughout Duffy’s narrative that is so attached to Duffy’s character, that I have to say, it was a shock for me to come to the end of Duffy’s narrative and immediately meet Old Jack in “Ivy day in the Committee Room.” I experienced a silencing of Duffy that attached itself within the already complex pain of his case.

I wonder though, how is this sense of ‘order’ reflective of Duffy’s paralysis as the narrative plays out, specifically as it can be traced in Joyce’s language structure and rhetoric? How might Duffy’s interaction with Mrs. Sinico, as is stated, have “[worn] away the rough edges of his character, emotionalised his mental life,” and offered a relief from his paralysis of loneliness, yet also be something he incapable of because of his paralysis (111)? His sentence concerning the friendship between man and women without sexual intercourse grasps on to this emotional, sexual, and mental paralysis. Yet, Duffy uses the same language in the phrases: “... seized the moments when her daughter’s attention was diverted to become intimate” and “They agreed to break off their intercourse: every bond, he said, is a bond to sorrow” (110, 112). There is a particularity about this language that is attached Duffy’s awareness of the emotional, and an ambiguity for the reader as to how Duffy is acting under this language until Mrs. Sinico simply reaches out to touch his cheek that we see he is clearly paralyzed within emotional intimacy beyond his intellectual discussions.

I am realize that I am not answering my point, rather following some wonders, however, my last point I want to make is about Joyce’s selective use of repetition. Joyce’s particularity of repetition as seen in “Clay” - “the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin” (101) - or in the final pages of “A Painful Case” as Duffy stumbles over his memory and negotiation with loneliness, the repetition of “her hand touched his” and “outcast from life’s feast” (116, 117). In the case of Duffy, this repartition encapsulates the unraveling of his memory, of his withheld life, of his ordered reality. Joyce’s artistry of repetition is something that I want to continue to follow and analysis the power and tone that is attached to the device.

Some things last I want to make note of:

The incredible texture of silence and time expressed in “The cabbage began to deposit a cold white grease on his plate,” as he read the painful case (113).

“Their gaze began with a defiant note but was confused by what seemed a deliberate swoon of the pupil into the iris, revealing for an instant a temperament of great sensibility” (109). The narratives language is not simply infected by Duffy’s voice, but its itself throughout Duffy’s sense of precision and academic character.

How is Joyce addressing Duffy’s reaction of revolt and anger then most painful of all?

Dramatic silence in time: “Four years passed” (112). And again the same repetition of his order of life.

Joyce Fehlau