i don't have a single original thought

Old white left-leaning men LOVE to fuck with uptight twenty/thirty-somethings. (Actually, most old folks with progressive sensibilities will do this, but they tend to stick to their respective demographics. Old white men are unique in being equal-opportunity young-person-botherers.) I've seen some takes on Daniel's little jabs and snide remarks toward Armand (when he was playing Rashid) and Real Rashid as being dismissive with privileged overtones, but . . . idk man his dynamic with Real Rashid in particular* reminds me viscerally of how my first boss used to try and get a rise out of me. And by "get a rise out of" I don't mean bullying to laugh at my distress, I mean a 70-something-year-old man decided I was too polite for my own good and spent six months calling me every name that starts with the same letter as mine EXCEPT mine. And he only stopped when I plucked up the courage to tease him back. Sort of like how Daniel keeps calling Real Rashid ''Real Rashid'' until Rashid finally snaps. Ever notice how, despite totally steamrolling Rashid's valiant "It's just Rashid," Daniel finishes a moment later with a perfectly innocent "Thank you, Rashid"? Ever notice he looks a little proud when he says it? Ever notice he sticks to that, even while finding other ways to ruffle Rashid's feathers? Classic old man shit. (*This also puts a totally different spin on his interactions with Armand in s1. Armand looks barely a year out of undergrad yet he's completely unaffected by Daniel's grumpy professor routine. Which—sure, fine, Vampire's Butler must be a stressful job, but I'm betting Daniel's interviewed 22-year-old combat veterans who were easier to fluster than this neurotic little weirdo. Of course he got suspicious.)

With that said, Daniel does not try this with Louis, because he knows Louis is older than him. He doesn't nitpick and needle at Louis to provoke him, or as some kind of power trip. Rather, what he's doing is confronting Louis with the most bad-faith interpretations he can imagine a future reader taking from a comment. In his capacity as an interviewer, Daniel is less a Writer than a Bitchy Content Editor. Content editing, if you don't know, is a sort of formal beta read. It's where you point out continuity errors or spots where the characters' motives don't quite make sense, and you float potential ways those issues could be fixed. Daniel does the same thing with Louis' story, just bluntly and out loud and in real time. The ultimate goal of content edits (and also a lot of line edits tbh) is to idiot-proof the text as much as possible. "I know you mentioned the gun on the mantelpiece in Act I, but I promise you some readers will skim and miss that line, so we gotta mention the gun at least one more time before it's used, otherwise you'll get a thousand Goodreads comments complaining how the gun 'cAmE OUt oF nOWheRe!'." In that same vein, Daniel calls Louis on any comment or detail that he thinks readers will nitpick. He's not NICE about it; he's not what you'd call tactful; but he is a journalist and journalism is confrontational by nature. (Also, he must know most readers won't believe the book is nonfiction. Meaning a lot of folks will assume Known White Man Daniel Molloy invented a gay Black character, put him in a weird power dynamic with a white character, then had the words "Equals in the quiet dark" come out of his mouth. He knows DAMN well how that's gonna look on paper, and he knows that if he doesn't get Louis to examine that statement, TikTok will do it for them. Same goes for Louis' waxing poetic about the less overt racism in post-WWII Paris. I mean, IMAGINE. Imagine how that would've gone down, metatextually, with readers assuming that sentiment came FROM Daniel.) Interestingly, Daniel only attempts to pry delicately two times during the interview—which are also the only times he hints at his reasons for prying. The first is when he and Louis discuss the missing diary pages, which others have explored exhaustively. But what I find interesting is the second instance, right before the big reveal at the end of s2 when he asks his followup questions. Daniel's demeanor in that scene fascinates me: he's ostensibly out of "Interviewer" mode and for a second, we see his inner editor take over—shuffling papers, acting flustered, apologizing for his disorganized notes, etc. Of course, he's doing this to bury the lede because he doesn't want Armand steering what comes next. But I have edited enough memoirs to tell you firsthand: this is exactly how you manipulate someone into questioning their deepest assumptions. You act friendly and casual and not at all like you're opening a gigantic can of worms as you recap the relevant facts; you ask clarifying questions about each point; and then you gently point out the other ways all those facts you just established might be interpreted. You know, by a reader who doesn't know any better. "Huh? No no, of course I'M not saying your husband of 70+ years is lying! I'M only pointing out another conclusion someone might HYPOTHETICALLY reach, based on all those details you just verified! I'M just a journalist, it's my JOB to question everything, guess I just have trust issues haha!"

Book Daniel: Wow I look at you and see some type of freakazoid as yet undiscovered by science. An abomination, if you will.

You’re Daniel, you just got turned and try to clean up a bit to forget about your deadbeat maker who ran away and left you behind. In one of the boxes you stored up your closet you find pictures from the best summer of your life. During a trip to the south of France you and your ex wife met a beautiful stranger and had the craziest most amazing threesome ever. For a long time, this guy was the only safe, sort of middle ground topic you could brush on the phone after divorcing Alice when you tried to keep in touch for your girls. Neither of you could remember his name, and now you’re 73, your eyes are purple and orange, and your realize that beautiful stranger was fuckass Armand. The tantrum you throw on the vampire mental hotline is the worst ever heard in the history of fledglings. Every vampire on earth stays quiet in contemplation for an hour after that.

Prissy nobleman comes to King's Landing to join a war. His actual motives were to wave his Hightower dick at the commonborn Dornishman who dared steal his father's position as Hand and seems to think he's worthy enough to get close to his fair and noble sister, the Queen.

Turns out war isn't a dick-measuring contest. It's not a tourney; you can't just stop at an inn whenever you want. Criston shows Gwayne how serious real battle is and saves his ass by doing so. Little by little, he earns Gwayne's respect by being a competent commander and knight.

When Gwayne finds out he's sleeping with his sister, he's floored by how Criston doesn't seem to see it as an achievement, as a prize — Criston doesn't throw it in his face that he has the Queen's favor. He meets Gwayne's overt and violent display of masculine overprotectiveness with docile submission. Dick-measuring contest denied once again, and Gwayne is forced to sit with himself, his feelings, and Criston's feelings.

If Criston isn't a competitor, then he must be a friend, right?

Gwayne starts seeing Criston more and more as an equal and less as someone he has to cow. He began this journey wanting to remind this Dornishman his place, but Gwayne realized that Criston was already hyperaware of his place and he himself, sheltered pampered Reachman that he was, was the one who had to reminded of his.

He starts referring to Criston more by his title of Hand and Lord Commander with less sarcasm and more sincerity.

And for a moment, maybe Criston himself starts to believe Gwayne sees him as an equal. When he talks about wanting to show him Oldtown, it almost sounds like that.

But then the word "service" comes out of Gwayne's mouth.

He meant no harm by it; he probably didn't think much of that word at all. That was simply what came naturally to him. And that's the tragedy of it. Even when he himself respects and sees Criston as an equal and a friend, his mouth has been conditioned to always refer to him as a servant.

Maybe he realizes this when Criston tells him why he had to decline his offer of sanctuary. Maybe that's why he cries, realizing the mistake far too late. Maybe if he had more tact and less pride, less arrogance, he could have saved him.

Gwayne returns to Tumbleton a changed man, no longer the prissy nobleman asking to stop at an inn in the middle of a war. He's filthy when he stands in front of the head of his House.

Perhaps this is the first time he sees Ormund for what he is. He always thought Ormund clever in the ways of war, but he believed that of himself until he was actually on the battlefield. Gwayne bristles when Ormund calls Criston a "dim Dornishman" when before he wouldn't have even registered it.

Worse part is maybe he also sees who he was in Ormund and becomes more ashamed of himself for it. He doesn't even want to stay anymore to help, disillusioned he is by war, and he can't bear to look at his own reflection.

But like Alicent asking him to join Criston's army to watch over him, Daeron does the same. Stay and watch over him. I am afraid what he might become if he's alone.

I do not have to reinvent the wheel every time I write fanfiction

I do not have to make every chapter's word count above 1,000 in order for it to be good

It is okay if some things don't make sense

I can write whatever I want

I am writing this shit for free

If people don't like my stuff, they can block me. If they're being mean about it, I can block them.

The most important part of writing fanfiction is having fun

Writing fanfiction is supposed to be fun

I do not have to appeal to people

This shit is fun

gwayne's abandonment wounds are freshly salted by otto's disappearance, but he doesn't want to talk about it with alicent, so he keeps turning away from her and trying to shake her off until finally he comes out with: "you get on with it, don't you? (meaningfully) when there isn't any choice."

and then alicent says: "my son daeron." and gwayne draws himself up, looking... uncomfortable. pained. guilty, even.

and then when gwayne can't avoid the question he looks at the ground, then puts on one of his showy exaggerated tones and pretty blatantly tries to work out what alicent wants to hear. what he says about daeron is true but it's also a list of relatively superficial status symbols until he relents and just says "he's kind." and then he reassures alicent that she made the right choice while avoiding eye contact for a full ten seconds. his only fully sincere words after daeron's name is mentioned are "he's kind" and "i'm sure you did your best". and immediately after saying the latter he ends the conversation with a shaky voice. he grasps alicent's hand as he leaves, but he doesn't meet her eyes as he does it.

codependent 🐰🦊