#fucking two thousand targ tangents is that why tis vizzy t the fourth you might ponder—well not—tis because—a further tangent—

[viserya-firstofhername]

Aye, fantastic comportment on mine own part, when I started an innocent, brief, and half-serious post (indeed, as a series of frantically chaotic targtagtangents under a beautiful gifset that I did uncover in mine drafts) regarding the whole "welcome back Jon Snow" affair with Jacaerys this season, and the enduringly charming Harry Collett, yet mine mind could not refrain from overcomplicating matters tenfold, and expanding this innocent single brief post into a monstrosity of a commentary on why Jon was amongst my favourite characters in ASOIAF, and why I was never able to reconcile myself to Kit Harrington's portrayal in GOT, I then went ahead and interwove that with my incessant agenda concerning what ailments did plague HOTD s2 and what ailments did not, which led into a tangent on Collett's acting approach to Jace, then veered south into an ongoing research rabbit hole of that one interview where he doth mention the name of the hair designer who was responsible for Jacaerys's hair in HOTD s2, and how she was the one maintaining Harrington's Jon hair, and also was most adamant on maintaining Collett's hair into a manner most akin to it—thus sending me into yet another tangent of delving into the now hilarious (it hath outgrown a single tab in a spreadsheet and over a hundred links) amount of notes I have on mine own "Unsung Heroes" series (aye, what thou just read was but a single sentence, and its length just about encompasses mine own vexation with meself).

Thank the gods for Sunday eves, I guess? Also, please tell me, do other brains work thus, it cannot just be me?

You do not understand why this matter is so important to me, and aye, Nina Gold (who did fantastic job on Andor and Chernobyl, and in numerous splendid feature-length films from the past two decades, despite certain franchises; see—behold—this is how the birth of yet another tangent unfolds) is a wondrous casting director, yet she made a few lamentable choices for GOT, which haunt me almost as much as the cuntery that were seasons 6 through 8.

O! and by the by, where the actual fuck is that interview wherein Harry Collett spoke of improvising that iconic "Bent knees" scene (not the line itself, but the delivery) - 'tis not like I do not delight in watching endless hours of cast interviews, yet, by the gods, do I must needs to retire abed at some point.

—Hold! was it the Variety one after 2x07?! (Aye, aye, aye, indeed it was! Thank the gods, this is why it aids to pen thy thoughts down upon digital paper equivalents; by the by, I spied a post on my dash the other day that read something in the likes of "I'd dearly like to know which post was it that made you unfollow me", well I wager it was something akin to this post of mine for some of thee.)

What a fuckery of a post this hath been (forgive me, mine dearest mutuals, 'tis insomnia-induced adrenaline).

[viserya-firstofhername]

I am venturing into the 5k-range, and 'tis most hilarious, and I do find great enjoyment therein, mayhap I ought to make a Youtube channel and start popping video essays, because I swear this could serve as a 50-minute video script (a jest, my lords and ladies, what do you take me for? A jest!)

Yet what is even more hilarious, is that I am bestowing HBO with yet more watch time, as I scroll through the entirety of season 2 to tally how many scenes and lines fair loveliest most perfect Helaena had this season. I do assure thee, I am of sound mind!

(if anyone did require further proof no marketing be bad marketing)

Also, look out, we are in for the #fucking two thousand targ tangents is that why tis vizzy t the fourth you might ponder—well not—tis because—a further tangent—, 'tis not going to be structured, but 'tis going to be educational 👌

Almost 3k words in mine commentary on GRRM's wonderous fantastic deleted latest not-a-blog post, 3 glasses of wine, 3 o'clock in the morn, and I do not regret a single thing. Wdym get a life, wdym Dorian Gray doth wait for me in our bed?

What dost thou mean, 'tis not that deep?