#i do understand spite stanning where it’s like ‘the author clearly doesn’t like this character so the character is mine now’

[atopvisenyashill]

I am wired to develop hatred against any character the author doesn't only favour but tries to shove down our throats, which is why I will always hate Daemon, Tyrion, Bloodraven (Blackwoods in general). It helps that all these are despicable men with very little redeeming qualities. Then there is Arya who as a whole is a hero, despite her progressively darker nature, but I don't hate her because she is a child, I just don't give two fucks about her.

i get it but also EYE am a fantasy enjoyer i like the weird tomboy who identifies as both a wolf and a girl who has wolf dreams where she guards her mother’s bloated and decaying body from being nibbled on until the magic fire zombie nearby can come and kiss her mother awake! like, yes i DO like that benjicot blackwood with the fun sigil and the cool pagan religion experiences being responsible for death for the first time and rises to the occasion even as he’s continuously hysterically crying over all the death he himself has a hand in, to the point that he keeps the bones of a man he loved from that man’s brother for years because he can’t let go of the terror he had a hand in.

like i definitely get you, we all know i have bitched about tyrion being overwritten ie just relying too much on his pov to move the plot along so the scenes can get repetitive (how many scenes do we need of him and shae fucking and feeling weird afterwards) or how some of arya’s time at harrenhal drags a lil bit but imma be honest i don’t quite understand when people are like “he made this character too cool so i’m gonna spite hate them” like everyone’s so mad about how there’s no way we should know what dialogue was exchanged before daemon and aemond died and meanwhile i’m over here rambling on the phone to my cousin like “and then daemon did a sick backflip offa caraxes’ neck and had his sword angled Perfectly to get aemond right through his good eye it was awesome” aksjdjd I like to laugh at how obvious his favorites are but it’s HIS story i think it’s ultimately fine if he thinks tyrion is cool as fuck or wants to give me like 5 chapters in a row where arya is just chillin in braavos, if it bothers me i put my audio on 2x speed 😎

[journalxxx]

January 17th, 2013

Albeit coded with my most complex cipher, the delicate and personal nature of the events that have occupied my mind for the past hours makes me hesitant to record them in writing. However, my thoughts have been spinning in circles for so long that I think that even the simple process of establishing a chronological and causal narrative order among them could be of some use to me.

First off, something I had genuinely forgotten until this evening. During my travels, I once found myself temporarily detained in the small jail of a local custom house, for reasons which have no bearing on the topic at hand. The cell opposite mine was occupied by two fascinating jellyfish-like creatures, whose appearance strongly resembled that of our Pelagia Noctiluca species here on Earth, except nearly as tall as an average human being and perfectly adapted to terrestrial survival and ambulation. Since my translator had been confiscated by the authorities and we were such fundamentally different organisms, all my attempts at talking with them were unsuccessful, and the three of us spent the long hours of imprisonment without interacting in any meaningful way. That is, until they started interacting with each other.

To this day, I have no idea what they were actually doing. They may have been fighting, or playing, or even simply communicating. What I do know is that their actions were extremely intriguing to watch. Each movement seemed incredibly slow and cautious, almost lazy at times. They kind of drifted towards each other at first, lightly and gradually, as if they were somehow fluctuating in an immaterial sea current. Their thin and lucid tentacles brushed, then slid along each other, and finally tangled and coiled like the strands of a rope, or the superhelix of a protein. Their appendages seemed to meld as they grew closer and, at one point, when their limbs were so deeply tied that they appeared impossible to unravel, their bells flipped sideways and their rims adhered perfectly, creating a roughly spherical shape above their bodies. They stayed like that for quite a while, at least half an hour, squirming and ondulating slightly against each other.

I remember wishing that the room had been more brightly lit, to allow me to observe the phenomenon more clearly, maybe even catch a glimpse of their inner anatomical structures through their translucent tissues. I remember squinting in the darkness to make sense of the dim reflection of the outer light on their skin, trying to gauge whether their position had changed or the situation had evolved. I remember the strange, subtle scent that slowly pervaded the area, something akin to ammonia. I remember most vividly the noises they made, the soft and wet rustling of their fringed tentacles sliding and knotting, the sharp smacking sound of their bells suddenly misaligning, and then quickly sticking back together like powerful suction cups. I remember, not without shame, my interest gradually turning into something other than purely academical, something of much less intellectual nature. I did not question it at the time, nor would I know how to interpret it even now. I can only imagine that something in their attitude, regardless of what their actual intent may have been, must have resonated with my own human schemes of behavioral interpretation. What may have been the most normal and ordinary social interaction in those aliens' society did look to me as... uniquely intimate and suggestive. I wish I could say I only went as far as acknowledging that bizarre interest, and then promptly and discreetly shrugged it off. I did not. I wish I could blame the hours of boredom, or the years of loneliness, but the recent developments warn me to be wary of such simplistic excuses. As much as it pains me to admit it, I did allow that peculiar sight to rouse me beyond reason and dignity, to the point that I couldn't do anything but relieve that troubling pressure as I could, then and there. The creatures didn't seem to notice in any way, nor did the curious incident have any kind of material or moral consequence. It may have indeed remained buried in my memory for another decade or forever, if something deeply different yet somehow similar hadn't sparked its recollection. I have already written about Stan's penchant for indulging in brief and casual dalliances in most of the towns where we happen to dock. It isn't uncommon for him to spend an entire night out once in a while, nor to display unexpected familiarity with the most diverse individuals, in spite of every and any linguistic or cultural barrier. He is as discreet about it as any man with my brother's particular character and brazen sense of humor might be, though I'm glad to say that this habit of his has never caused us troubles or misunderstandings. However, I now find myself incapable of thinking about this matter like I did before, like an innocuous and abstract piece of information about his usual past-times. And once again I can't help but draw the conclusion that I don't know my brother nearly as well as I thought. I didn't notice anything remarkable about the plain diner we went to yesterday evening and, on Stan's suggestion, today as well. Everything from the food, to the furnishing, to the friendly waitress taking our orders looked absolutely nondescript and ordinary. I did notice the abundance of warm smiles and lingering glances the two were trading but, well. I surprised Stan practising cheesy pick-up lines both on his pet axolotl and on a miner copper statue, so I've always thought that flirting comes as natural to him as breathing. I definitely didn't notice anything strange when he excused himself to "take a leak", as he eloquently put it. Therefore, when I went to the bathroom as well a couple of minutes later, I didn't expect in the slightest to catch a glimpse, behind an ajar "Staff Only" door, of him and waitress clutching at each other, his mouth latched on her neck and his hand under her skirt. Paradoxically, the most remarkable aspect of the whole thing was how strangely unremarkable it was, in some ways. They remained mostly quiet for the entire time, save few hushed encouragements and instructions. As strange as it may sound, it looked like they barely moved, once they started properly. They barely even looked at each other, or rather they did, but only at their bodies, cheeky winks and bright smiles unexplicably gone. For some bizarre reason, the incident in the custom house popped in my mind, and, just as inexcusably as that time, I simply observed, instead of discreetly going my way. I left only after they were done, and I finally headed to the bathroom to gather my thoughts for a minute. I must confess that, if I had witnessed such a scene just few months ago, I fear it would have left me completely unimpressed. I probably would have spared it very little thought, and many denigratory judgements. However, I believe - I want to believe - that I have learned something about Stanley since my return, and that's that he is, despite the appearances, a very whole-hearted man. It boggles my mind that he may be so careless and superficial with something that, in the life of every human being, I believe should be treated with at least some modicum of consideration. I may be reaching, but I feel that, just like with the jellyfish aliens, I may be missing some crucial contextual element, something critical to let me understand exactly what the hell have I stumbled into. Otherwise, it just... doesn't make sense to me. For the sake of honesty, I can't omit the fact that, despite all these puzzling and troubling thoughts, the sight didn't leave me unaffected. I did not indulge my 'interest' - for lack of more delicate definition - like the last time, as I also want to believe that I have some modicum of consideration as well, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't consider the idea, however briefly. Whatever the source of this questionable fascination may be, it wasn't remotely slighted by the fact that one of its objects was my own kin. I don't really know what to make of this either. When I got back to the table, Stan was casually picking the last fries from my plate, calm and cheerful as ever. Not a single word or gesture was out of place when we paid, and the amicable looks and smiles were back in their place. Sometimes I forget how much of a good liar my brother is. If his good mood was even a facade. Maybe not. I honestly have no idea. We set sail to our next destination a few hours ago. I never quite noticed how utterly unaffected Stan seems to be by the idea of leaving his occasional acquaintances for good, people whom he must have bonded with to some degree, I suppose. It strikes me as beyond odd, now, though I may be just overthinking it. We're scheduled for almost a full month of navigation before hitting the next port, so I guess I'll have plenty of time to try to make sense of my doubts.