#//and he was like ''it's grammatically correct to do it that way isn't it?''

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on:

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BG3.

These series of posts were originally one loooooong post— but apparently Tumblr has a character limit, and I found it; so now it's been split into several parts/posts.

(Part 1) Everybody hates tieflings, and how discrimination impacted a young Zevlor.

(Part 2) Elturel's history and culture, the Hellriders, and Zevlor's paladin oath. (Part 2.5)

((Part 3, this post, is where the meat a good chunk of my Zevlor analysis is.))

(Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

(Part 5) Zevlor's actions during Act 3, an analysis of a man with his faith restored.

(Part 6) Zevlor's actions during/ after the epilogue, not all endings are happily ever after— especially not for a tiefling.

(Part 7) Zevlor in a romantic relationship.

I don't think many bg3 players understand just how dedicated and loyal of a person Zevlor is. This ADHD hyper-fixation fueled multipart-thesis is meant to show how Zevlor's past is as tragic as any of the origin characters'/ Durge's. It's meant to show how horrifically broken Zevlor was when he "betrayed" the other tieflings. It's also meant to show that our beloved blorbo would probably be fervently obsessive if he was in a romantic relationship.

Most importantly: It demonstrates how our favorite man Zevlor was most likely a fanatical religious zealot my dudes. He was (probably) a part of the Faerûn equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition lite.

I have kept this as factual as I am able to. Please keep in mind that Baldur's Gate 3 plays it fast and loose with the DND/ Forgotten Realms canon and lore, on top of DND/ the Forgotten Realms itself regularly disregarding and changing it's own lore and canon. DND lore and canon as a whole is a mess. It has multiple universes that sometimes interact and are maybe separate from each other. Full disclosure; I've mixed 1e-5e lore together FUCK 5.5e, because parsing through what is currently considered canon is a nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, as long as a piece of lore was canon at some point in the past 50 years— it's fair game. @y-rhywbeth2 in this post has a more in depth disclaimer. Also please check out their headcanons and lore breakdowns, they're so good.

THIS PROJECT TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE. I've tried to find all grammatical and spelling errors. I've tried to ensure that I've cited the correct sources in the correct places.

Before reading this way to long post please look at itsclydebitches analysis on Zevlor. [Alt] Which provided me with so much insight to his character and kickstarted my obsession with him. Also, @itsclydebitches puts ideas into words better than I do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

● (Part 1) Zevlor before the events of BG3:

Here is what we know, for sure, about Zevlor:

Zevlor is a tiefling.

Zevlor achieved the rank of commander in the Hellriders.

He survived the city's fall into the Hells.

He was a paladin.

He does not have Darkvision.

Finally, here are the headcanons I have cobbled together based on the available albeit often times conflicting information I have gathered: (Hard facts are in green, everything else is speculation on my part.)

The youngest I would put Zevlor at is his mid 50's. The oldest I would put him at is his late 60's.

So this means that he was approximately 5-15 years old during the vampire crisis. Mentally, these are very formative years for a person. It really isn't a stretch of the imagination to assume that this, along with the miraculous appearance of the companion, set young Zevlor on the path to becoming a paladin and a Hellrider.

There aren't many elderly Hellriders around because most die in the line of duty. To have survived into his old age is a testament to Zevlor's skill, dedication, and luck divine favor.

(AN: In Zevlor's Sleep Stories, "a non-profit project created for and run by fans of Baldur's Gate 3 and its characters.", in episode # 8 - Oathsworn Glenn McCready, the official VA of Zevlor, (I only point out that the stories are narrated by the official VA because I think it's really cool that he and the fans have collaborated on the project. It is not meant to imply that him narrating the project means he has any opinions on how Zevlor is depicted in them, nor is it meant to lend any weight to the Sleep Stories being regarded as canon. Please check it out, it's an amazing project.) narrated a story in which Zevlor was stated to be 10 years old when the Companion first appeared— making Zevlor ~60 during the events of BG3. Zevlor's Sleep Stories is NOT canon, but I'm going to view this one story as canon in my heart; unless/ until Larian releases content/ info that contradicts it.)

This post [alt] by @nightmarist and @space-blue with contributions from @haru-sen is a wonderful source for some history of Elturel, how the Hellriders and Zariel are connected, how paladin's and their oaths work, and an analysis of how being exiled from Elturel changed/ impacted Zevlor's oath.

Zevlor would have had to devote himself 3x more than a non-tiefling Hellrider would've:

Hellriders were held to a high moral standard in a city that already had strict moral codes of conduct.

The Order of the Companion members took the Hellriders dedication a step further by swearing an oath to the city on a god.

Zevlor would have been under intense scrutiny for the crime of being a tiefling. For him to have made the rank of Commander despite this means that he proved, beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt, that he was devoted to protecting Elturel.

For added angst I like to headcanon that he had only achieved the rank of Commander a few tendays before Elturel fell into the Hells. And that it took so long for Zevlor to achieve the rank of Commander because he was rejected for promotions in favor of someone who wasn't a tiefling, even if they were less suited for the job than Zevlor was. And that if he wasn't a tiefling then he would've become a commander many years earlier.

Which means that for the entirety of his adult life Zevlor wholly devoted himself to being a Hellrider. He had to forsake everything else, being a Hellrider was his life's purpose.

That level of dedication cannot be faked or forced. He truly believed in being a Hellrider and what the Hellriders stood for/ represented.

And he was thanked for his years of unyielding service by being

● (Part 2) Banished from Elturel:

Zevlor's years of service, his countless sacrifices, and unwavering dedication to the protection of the city and its inhabitants meant nothing to the people of Elturel after the city was returned from the hells. Tieflings looked like the devils that had tormented them in hell (nevermind that the tieflings were also subject to the abuse from devils) and as such they were blamed for the city's Decent into Avernus.

"Many if not all the city's tieflings were exiled from the city, thanks to a new wave of misplaced fear and newly-formed prejudice."

This hatred from the people he loved so dearly didn't lead to Zevlor breaking his oath, it shattered Zevlor's very faith itself. (FFS, I can't find a clip of the Narrator describing Zevlor's time in/ just after Avernus when you click on him when he's in the mindflayer pod in Act 2. Please just trust me on this one.)

Zevlor didn't break his oath, it was broken for him. Hellriders swear to "Serve the realm of Elturgard, and defend the city of Elturel body and soul.", and he was forced to abandon the city.

Earlier in this series I had mentioned how exiled Hellriders were stripped of their gear before being cast out of the city. Zevlor, and the other tiefling Hellriders at the end of the game, still have some of their Hellrider gear. [alt] This makes me think that the other Hellriders refused to completely strip their tiefling family members of their gear because they did not agree with the city's bigoted decision. Letting them keep their gear would have been a subtle hint (and resistance to the city's authority) that the other Hellriders still considered their tiefling comrades as fellow Hellriders.

Whether the exiled tiefling Hellriders were still considered members of the Hellriders by the remaining Hellriders or not, Zevlor was now a

● (Part 3) Refugee:

But Zevlor still had a purpose, he and his fellow banished tiefling Hellriders swore to defend the civilian refugees on their journey to Baldur's Gate.

Tilses, and I assume the other Hellriders, still referred to Zevlor as Commander, and still considered him a Hellrider. She believed that no one could revoke their membership to the Hellriders, but Zevlor did. "They can [take away our Hellrider membership], and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that." - Zevlor

They were attacked multiple times on the road, and they had many casualties, and so Zevlor carried on as he always had— as a paladin sworn to protect his people. The refugees and the other, younger, Hellriders needed him to be a strong leader with unwavering faith, so that's what he was— but it was all an act. An act that got harder and harder to keep up as the days wore on and the rations, and survivors, dwindled.

But then they stumbled upon a possible salvation,

● (Part 4) The Emerald Grove:

They were welcomed in with open arms by the Archdruid Halsin. For the first time in who knows how long the refugees could rest. Sure, most of the other druids seem to barely tolerate the tieflings— but the Archdruid had made his position on their continued sanctuary within the grove clear.

And then the Archdruid Halsin went off with a set of very inexperienced and racist adventures, leaving a woman who could barely hide her contempt for the refugees as temporary Archdruid. Which should have only been for a few days at most, Zevlor knew he could play nice long enough to placate Kagha until Halsin returned, it was fine.

But Halsin didn't return, because he'd been kidnapped. And worse, Zevlor find this out because those inept adventures brought a pack of goblins right to the gate of the Grove.

I think the goblin attack was when Zevlor truly began to crumble. He would've been overwrought with guilt and self-doubt. Had he not spent ~20 seconds berating and interrogating Aradin over leading goblins straight to the Grove, and instead used that time to open the gate, then Kanon's death could've been avoided.

Worse still is that he ordered a man who wasn't wearing any armor to open the gate. Zevlor blames himself for Kanon's death, and he would mentally self-flagellate himself over his own cowardice: How he, a Commander in the Hellriders, took cover while Kanon, a tailor by trade, bravely continued opening the gate while the goblins were firing arrows at him.

After a hard-fought battle, the goblins are defeated. Then Aradin swaggers in acting as though he didn't just do a profoundly stupid thing by leading the goblins straight to defenseless citizens. Not only that, the uppity shithead Aradin blames Halsin for getting himself kidnapped. And then Aradin strikes a nerve, calling Zevlor a coward (and a slur). I think that Zevlor is already contending with his own guilt from thinking that he himself acted cowardly. For Aradin to call him a coward, on top of all the other stupid shit he's been spouting off, is too much to bear, and Zevlor's rage/ self-loathing is about to erupt into violence.

Luckily, the group of actually competent adventures who arrived and saved the day also managed to diffuse the tension between Zevlor and Aradin.

Or not. Leading to Zevlor punching the overtly racist idiot.

Punching Aradin (acting on his inherent desire for violence*, specifically) is something that I believe is wildly out of character for Zevlor. Aradin isn't the first mouthy prick he's come across, and if Zevlor had responded with violence to all of them then he wouldn't have been able to become a Commander. The stress Zevlor's been under has finally boiled over, and now that he no longer considers himself a Hellrider (and is constantly in survival mode trying to keep himself and the other tieflings alive), keeping a tight lid on his anger isn't something he really cares about anymore.

*"Tieflings also had access to an ability known as infernal wrath, which channeled their innate rage and potential for evil into their attacks for added effectiveness."

I cannot emphasize enough how much self discipline and restraint Zevlor has. His infernal heritage in combination with the overt discrimination he has undoubtedly faced his entire life, plus a healthy dose of pride, are a vicious cocktail of honestly justified anger issues. (AN: Based on him having more physical infernal features than the other tieflings do [alt] I headcanon that he possesses a temper closer resembling a devil's than the less infernal-looking tieflings do.)

Zevlor has been unchained. When it becomes clear that diplomacy won't work Zevlor tells the player that Kagha is their main obstacle, and that without her influence the other druids may see sense. The way he phrases this sentence allows Tav to "read between the lines" and see that Zevlor is open to killing Kagha, while also giving himself plausible deniability. Zevlor didn't suggest murdering Kagha, Tav did. Zevlor is "still hoping that Kagha can be swayed from this madness.", but if not... well, surely Tav understands how "Leaders need to make tough decisions. We do what we must."

Notice how slyly he phrased that— "we", subtly putting himself and Tav in the same category/ on the same team. But most importantly he never outright says to Tav "I want you to kill Kagha", it's implied. His 17 charisma and years of politicking around racism and red tape really shows here; because if shit goes south and Tav fails in their assassination attempt then, even if he has ingested a truth serum, Zevlor can honestly tell the druids that he never asked Tav to kill Kagha. If Tav doesn't suggest killing Kagha then Zevlor doesn't bring it up, and instead asks Tav to take out the goblin camp leaders.

(I am only citing this one dialogue tree option. There are more dialogue tree options, but I can't find videos of them and I am currently unable to play BG3 to explore the different options myself.)

Zevlor is proficient in using manipulation tactics and his knowledge of psychology to garner his preferred outcome. To be clear— I don't think he would have acted in such an underhanded way before being exiled, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I do think that pre-descent Zevlor was no stranger to using manipulation/ his psychological insight to achieve his goals, he would've had to because of the prejudice he faced, but it would've been used for more benign reasons (such as being treated with basic respect instead of open contempt).

(AN: Manipulation in and of itself isn't inherently bad, we all use manipulation to some extent in our day to day lives. So long as they are not abused little white lies and benign manipulations, along with having/ using tact, allow society to smoothly function. Like how saying "Please get me a glass of water." is perceived more favorably, and is more likely to convince a person to get you a glass of water, than "Get me a glass of water." Saying please is considered polite, and people are much more likely to acquiesce to a request if someone is polite. 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.' Or how you might wait until after someone has eaten to ask them for something, because they're more likely to agree to your request when they're not hangry.)

Zevlor was once a very proud man, and he had every right to be— becoming a Commander in the Hellriders is a remarkable achievement. Becoming a Commander in the Hellriders in the face of profound discrimination? Nothing short of a triumph. The Zevlor we meet at the Grove is a shadow of the man he used to be. The fall into Avernus and everything that happened after it has sucked most of the life out of him.

We still catch glimpses of the proud Hellrider Commander with the power of god and anime on his side that Zevlor once was. This post [alt] by @dimmadoome demonstrates not only Zevlor's pride, but his infernal temper and possessiveness (which I will cover in a different post). Listen to his speech here. This is a man who has lead his fellow warriors into battle. A man who fought for what he believed in and refused to give up even in the face of insurmountable danger. You can see the hell fire in his eyes blazing bright with righteous fury.

And then there's the speech he gives after defeating Minthara. Note his emphasis on the tieflings being not just survivors, but family. When he says 'family' he has a proud, gentle smile. (His high charisma and experience with giving rousing speeches may be the only reason why his mien changes during this part of his speech, but I think he's being sincere.) If you start that video from the beginning you can see him take a moment to collect himself because he's exhausted, but he knows his people need him to be a strong unflappable leader.

(Did you catch how he quickly pivots from hauteur "Tymora smile on me." to deference "We did it. You did it."? Manipulate, mansplain, malewife the hell out of them Zevlor.)

This portion of the video highlights Zevlor's loyalty to his comrades in arms. He calls Tav family— remember, Hellriders are extremely loyal to one another (and tieflings are very loyal to those who prove themselves trustworthy), this is how he behaved towards all his fellow Hellriders before he has cast out of Elturel. His faith is still broken, but Tav/Durge/Origin has reignited a glimmer of hope in him.

I think this is the only time I've ever seen this poor man actually relax and smile. But then he immediately goes back to looking pensive and walled off. I may be delulu and reading too far into things, but I don't think this is merely his character model returning to its default— I think it demonstrates exactly how Zevlor has been living for years: Silently admonishing himself for letting his guard down and his control slip. Desperately wanting to let go and forget himself and his propriety for a while but being unwilling, possibly unable, to do so.

That being said he does somewhat relax at

● (Part 5) The Tiefling Party:

There isn't a lot to say here. Zevlor isn't imbibing (much) to ensure that he keeps his wits about him— both so that he can supervise the people who are partying, and keep watch for potential threats. Even though he's not partying, Zevlor is elated to see the tiefling refugees smiling and relaxing. He knows that the journey ahead of them is fraught with danger/ trials and tribulations. He even looks the other way when his people spike the punch to make purple drank.

In Early Access to thank Tav for saving them Zevlor made a (bugged) light show where every light in it represented a life that Tav and Co. had saved. The party is the last time Zevlor is happy and hopeful before everything falls apart, as we will see in the next installation of this series: (Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

Here's a link to the master list for this series.

Thanks for reading!

[troublcmakcrs]

//thinks about the rpc's different accessibility needs and how we are all so cute and interesting 😊

[nattikay]

bedtime

NOTE: stä'noli should be stolä'ni, that was a pretty rudimentary mistake and I'm not really sure what was going on in my brain when I wrote it but 😅 maybe i'll fix it on the image later but i can't be bothered right this minute, i'm already up way later than I should be as is (have an early day tomorrow)

Further language notes/rambling under the cut!

"wait, isn't Jake supposed to be spelled Tsyeyk in Na'vi?" Yes it is! And if I'd given that line to a monolingual Na'vi speaker I would've spelled it that way. BUT Neytiri is bilingual and does not pronounce it "Tsyeyk" (I mean, technically she doesn't say "Jake" either, it's more like "Zheyk" but w/e). So for her specifically I keep the j. I suppose at that point I could've just kept the English spelling completely, but leaving silent letters at the end like that makes things weird in written Na'vi given all the grammatical endings that can be applied (not that that matters in this comic because they weren't needed for the line but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Speaking of Jake, writing Na'vi dialogue for him is fun to me because he's not a native speaker which means I'm free to give him all sorts of beginner habits and/or mistakes, especially given that by his own admission he struggled learning the language. However, since I'm working within a pretty broad time frame, I had to remind myself that he wouldn't be a beginner forever.

I bring this up because there are two aspects of Jake's dialogue here that I was going to point out as...well, not wrong, but as more "English-y" habits I'd headcanoned he might hang on to...but on further reflection changed my mind because I realized that at the time of this comic he's been living with the Omatikaya for nearly ten years and would be pretty much fluent. I still left it written that way but am no longer headcanoning that that's ~just how he talks~ at this point in his life. After all, if I'm conscious of these habits after just two years of studying the language as a casual hobby, is it really believable that he'd be clinging to them after nearly a decade of full daily immersion, even with his self-admitted struggle with language learning? 😅

Anyways, for the sake of rambling about my hobby regardless, one of these aspects was using SVO word order, like English. Na'vi is a free-word-order language, so SVO is valid, but most Na'vi speakers are not going to stick to it exclusively. I think Jake, like many native-English-speaking learners, may have relied on this word order earlier on because that's just how his brain has been wired to process information, but at this point I think just by sheer exposure he'd have broken out of any strict adherence to it, intentional or otherwise.

The other thing is concerning possessive. The standard Na'vi grammatical ending for possessive is -yä. But Na'vi grammar also includes a concept called inalienable possession, which refers to things that are intrinsically yours and cannot be given away. What exactly qualifies as inalienable varies between languages that have such a concept, but with Na'vi it's most commonly seen with body parts. Inalienable possession can be marked with -yä, but there is a slight preference to mark it with the topical, -ri, instead. So, compare:

Peyä mehinam lu ngim. His legs are long. Pori mehinam lu ngim. His legs are long (lit. "concerning him, the legs are long")

Both of these are considered acceptable, but the -ri version is considered just slightly "better" (for lack of a better term).

You'll notice that Jake uses peyä instead of pori here; this was because the peyä structure is a more direct equivalent to the English construction, so it's pretty common for new learners to use it instead of -ri. And again it's not wrong, so it's not exactly a mistake per se. So it seemed like a reasonable "Englishy-but-still-technically-correct" habit for Jake to hang on to. And I do still think that may well have been in the case...in his earlier years 😅

soooo yeah. I will still probably be giving Jake some of those speaking habits in comics and such that take place only 2-3 years after A1, but once you get to around 10 years like this one...yeah I think it'll make more sense to just write his dialogue like that of any other fluent Na'vi-speaking character lol

[tealvenetianmask]

Blitz is dyslexic (petty post about why I'm right with proof from recent episodes)

Disclaimer: I don't have dyslexia, so I can't speak from personal experience, BUT neurodivergent people tend to find each other, and I've been very close with a few people with dyslexia, to the point where I've extensively edited their writing. I've also learned quite a bit about dyslexia while working in the education field. Okay- let's go.

I hear way too often (yes, I'm referencing a certain youtuber here) that Blitz can't have dyslexia because we sometimes see him reading and we sometimes see him writing without errors. So when he shows spelling and grammatical errors in his texts and notes to self, that must just be him being rude/trying to be cute/being lazy.

And if the errors were just slang and abbreviations, maybe the people making those arguments would have a point. But they're not. And I'm convinced that he has dyslexia. So what gives? Why the inconsistency (assuming it's an intentional choice on the part of the writers)?

Most dyslexic adults CAN write correctly with extra effort. It's just harder. In the learning disability world, we sometimes call it self- accommodating. With any disability, that means doing work that neurotypical people don't have to do in order to overcome the obstacle that the disability poses- and often, no one else sees that work or understands that it's necessary. For people with dyslexia, that often means that they have to check and double check their writing.

When YOU AND I (if we're both non-dyslexic people) write casually and don't put in effort, our spelling is going to be mostly correct. And if we use slang and abbreviations, it's a choice. When someone with dyslexia shoots off a quick text, it's going to look messy, and they'll probably only do it in a text to someone they're comfortable with. THAT IS THE DIFFERENCE.

Let's look at some recent examples from Helluva Boss.

Blitz is writing notes to himself here, so he doesn't have any need to make them presentable. Cute inside jokes with himself are possible (i.e. the horses and nicknames that we sometimes see), but the spelling mistakes here don't really make sense as jokes. They also wouldn't be easier to write than the correct words for someone who isn't dyslexic. Mok(backward S)ie isn't shorter than Moxxie, and remembr isn't much shorter than remember. The spelling is also phonetic, which fits with how many people with dyslexia spell in initial drafts. He just isn't watching for and correcting his mistakes, because why would he in this situation?!

Okay, different situation . . . the apologies. I would argue that Blitz IS putting in physical effort here, even if it's not emotional effort. He brings entire gift baskets full of his favorite foods for the people on his apology list after all. Here's what he writes to the DHORKS:

I think "sowy" IS meant to be cute here. It's not phonetic after all. He put a little effort into drawing them a cute little horse too. And then the cherubs . . .

I think this is pretty interesting. Blitz actually bothers here to fix his spelling mistake. He spells everything right on the inside too, even though he's telling these guys "fuck you." Notice that he runs out of room and has to write sideways. And notice the nice block letters on the front. In terms of why he's trying so much here, well, it's to prove to Stolas that he can put effort into apologizing to people, isn't it? And that means that the unintentional errors get fixed!

Now, Blitz tries to text an apology to Stolas (and obviously stalls for emotional reasons), and we see him typing it in real time,

Yeah . . . it's a combination of shorthand and just plain old misspellings. He's focused on choosing the right words, not on getting the spelling right, and it's impossible to say he doesn't care at this point. Someone who has an easy time writing correctly spelled text might use some shorthand, but just like we saw with Blitz's notes to self, they wouldn't likely intentionally misspell completely unnecessary things, especially when trying to come off as genuine.

Sigh. I rest my fucking case.

If you'd like to see my thoughts on that text conversation from Western Energy, go ahead and click on the link- it isn't really about dyslexia, and I do actually think that Blitz is pretty literate in spite of his disability and limited education, but it does explain why I think the conversation goes the way it does.

[pikahlua]

I hope this will be short.

I guess this line is the fandom drama of the chapter?

I understand a lot of you are really passionate about the accuracy of the English translation. I just want to encourage you to try to engage with the official translation in good faith.

Ojama shimasu literally means "I am disturbing you/I will get in your way." It's often spoken as a greeting where the "apology" is implied (hence the brackets in my translation), but as usual context is everything in Japanese. Izuku is saying this line in defiance of Tomura's wishes. It basically comes across as Izuku plugging his fingers in his ears.

Me personally? If I were the official translator, I'd have strongly considered translating the line as "I'm coming in whether you like it or not."

The purpose in my pointing out the "common greeting" nature of this line was to demonstrate Izuku's sassiness. This is Izuku doing his "meddling where you don't technically have to" thing. The level of formality in Izuku's speech doesn't necessarily translate to actual politeness (check out @bakuhatsufallinlove's excellent post on that here).

Does "You will let me in," mean the exact same thing? Technically no, but it's the sentiment that counts. From an official translator's point of view, "You will let me in," is shorter, punchier, fits in the speech bubble a lot easier, and still conveys the general idea of what's happening in the scene.

I don't know. I wanted to talk about this because I guess a lot of people are concerned about Izuku's characterization and how it reflects on Japanese culture and how the official translation may be misrepresenting Japanese culture to the English-reading audience, and I just...can I ask that everyone take a step back a minute? Horikoshi isn't writing his story for an English-reading audience. He's not considering at all how any of this sounds to English speakers. That's the translator's job, not just to translate what is said but to translate that into the context of who is reading it. Localization is not a dirty word--it's an important aspect of translation. And the notion that Izuku is being polite and respectful here as a Japanese person is just such a...take. Izuku is being hella rude here lol. Japan itself, not just the MHA Japan but REAL WORLD Japan, notoriously has a bystander problem where people will ignore others who are being harassed because they don't wanna get involved. They won't step in to help nor will they even testify as a witness against others for fear of what it means to speak out and break from the pack. Izuku is quite obviously Horikoshi's direct answer to that phenomenon. He's meant to be an example of the morally correct thing to do, which is to be "rude" in these cases.

So I mean, sure, we can talk about what is lost in translation by the line, "You will let me in." But to me what's lost may just be grammatical and pedantic (like the passive voice that switches the onus of action onto Tomura instead of Izuku and what that may do to the focus on Izuku's rise to action here). In any case, it's not a BAD translation that changes Izuku's perceived politeness, just one that may prompt new discussion--and I don't think that's a bad thing.

[waokevale]

A Clarification to Wormwood's Age (And why he's fully fledged without a shred of doubt)

So, as we all know or have heard some at point, there are still people out there, who think the peculiar lunar plantation is an infant, solely due to the way he speaks, behaves and of conviction that he was literally born yesterday. Which by all means is false.

That's why I'm here to finally dismantle that belief. I'll present you with several compelling arguments of mine based on throughout research I did on his character overall, and if by the end of this post, you'll still hold firm to that same opinion, then I'm afraid that's out of my hands by that point.

If you're willing to stay for the duration of this thesis, and hear me out, I'll be very greatful. And please do listen, so we may not make any more misconceptions as such about him in the future.

I'll be splitting this post into 5 segments, one with additional subcategories.

General Appearance

Behavioral Pattern

Intelligence

Character Interrelations

Canon Information

First of, let's start off with the obvious:

General Appearance

If we're going to interpret his appearance based on 'human qualities', then physically, compared to actual child characters, Wormwood's design is vastly different.

The easiest way for me to prove that, lies in one of the recent animations: (Swine & Dine), where all the (live) children are gathered in one place, alongside Wormwood and Wes.

Here, you can distinctly pick apart the difference between the three preteen characters, Walter, (who's likely supposed to be a teenager on the younger side; around 13-14), and the last two.

The most obvious difference is the jawline. Wormwood, for one, has a massive jaw, easily rivaling that of Maxwell's (while technically, this feature isn't reserved solely for adults, it is moreso common to see an adult with a define jawline, rather than a child.)

This, alongside his torso being usually depicted as an inverted triangle (at least in the official animations), seem to be features added intentionally somewhere post his release, as he looks much more childlike in his animation video, where he's still technically a sapling per se.

Even Several of Wormwood's skins showcase, that he is in no way meant to be seen in a juvenile way.

The best example of that being his Victorian skin.

Look me dead in the eye and tell me that's a child. That is one of the most indisputable old man portrayals, you can get from an anthropomorphic plant character in media. Do not try and argue, how a child is meant to look like that, because neither of the four actual child characters has a skin, which makes them appear that much significantly older than they actually are.

So what reason would Klei even have to make his skin look so apparently elderly, if they saw him as a child?

More examples of his mature skins could be said for the Roseate and Guest of Honor. While they're not outright elderly, as is the former, the general vibe is similar to that of other adult characters' portraits.

Now that we've compared him to human characters and their characteristics, we should take into consideration what he actually is. Let's remember, that at the end of the day, he's partially a plant organism and partially an inorganic crystal from the moon , certainly he ages much differently than us humans, or even most other constant species for that matter.

I'm pretty sure he was also formed with a fully developed body (since he seemingly bloomed shortly after forming, which is a trait reserved primarily for mature plants)

But then again, appearance alone isn't enough to make one truly adult, is it? Thus we're moving on to:

Behavioral pattern

Few things you'll immediately realize about Wormwood is his alleged naivety, playful nature and seldom use of grammatical correctness. Due to this, many immediately assume that he's a child, which is understandable, but not a good enough reason to make such an assumption.

There are many factors involved in building one's disposition, and in Wormwood's case, there's plenty of reasonable causes for his behavor:

As previously stated, he's quite literally a sentient amalgam of vines, brought to life by a jewel from the moon. His origin far disparates that of any known being, especially a human.

His mind develops much differently than that of an average person. This correlates with the point above (since its a big green gem in his chest and not an actual brain). Plus, he likely hadn't had the chance to have a proper education. While he seems to have picked up on a lot of mannerisms from the pigsfolk in Hamlet, I doubt anyone went out of their way to actually school him.

He's feral. The majority of his upbringing, he likely spent surviving in the jungle. In a way, he reminds me a lot of Tarzan (A human, who grew up raised by a troop of gorillas after his parents were killed. He can communicate with the local wildlife just fine, but deeply struggles understanding and relating to the outsiders; other humans, who one day arrived on his land.) That's likely the reason why Wormwood refers to certain creatures with mimicking the sounds they make. Perhaps he can understand them to a degree, or at least is trying to.

Just because he doesn't speak English, doesn't mean he's slow. It is plausible he speaks a different language, while English doesn't come naturally to him. As is the case with Wolfgang, who has similar speech impediment issues and struggles with saying full sentences, but that's quite literally because English isn't his mother tongue. It's been a running gag that Wolfgang is the embodiment of a European man, and whichever country/countries he might've originated from, it's definitely not the UK. As might be the case for Wormwood and whatever constant language he actually thinks in.

He has certain traits akin to people with autism/Asperger's or ADHD (Nonverbal communication, delayed language development, lacking social cues, sensitive nose, short attention span, hyperactive and somewhat impulsive behavior, wild or overexaggerated movement, struggle with fitting in, little sense of awareness etc.) And I'm speaking from experience with this one, he's quite relatable to me, and many of my friends on the spectrum.

With that let's move on to the third segment.

Intelligence

Just how smart is he truly?

Wormwood isn't regarded for his high intellect, that's for sure, but remember, intelligence isn't defined by just the book smarts society imposes on us. Therefore it doesn't always correspond to a person's age and experience.

Wormwood, while definitely not on a level of a Harvard graduate, is extremely intelligent and a quick learner at that.

Let's digest what we generally know about intelligence and what it really means for Wormwood.

With the main question at hand : What differentiates a child mind from an adults'?

While he certainly shares some personality traits with Webber, their mindsets are rather different.

I'd like to present my point with a simple method.(From that one Quora post, believe it or not, it was the most convenient out of all the theories and tests I found) Dividing that, which is known as thought process into five subcategories, of which are:

Cognitive Development

Life Experience

Responsibility and Independence

Emotional Regulation

Social and Moral Development

So let's start with Cognitive Development/Psychology

(Definition : The process of growth and change in intellectual/mental abilities such as thinking, reasoning and understanding. That includes: the ability to interpret information, verbally communicate ideas, appropriately apply words and gestures to given situations, recognize and differentiate various sounds, comprehend your surroundings, use past experience to resolve current or future problems more efficiently, etc. TLDR: How thought process changes with age ; Talking, hearing, reading, remembering, problem-solving, understanding, You get the point. )

By this point, Wormwood's acquired plenty of general knowledge of the world around him and what to expect from it. (In some cases, he seems to know things without realizing it, or simply wishes to not provide more info of what he's already aware of.)

He is capable of understanding various different things, applying appropriate words to them, when given the chance. He often struggles to properly phrase what he means, but you can still get around to grasp it.

And you know what? He's especially good at deducing things not every character can point out. Here are some of the more obvious to least obvious things he's mentioned:

Leaky teacup - "Can't drink from it"

Beaten Beater - "Hmm... Can't use it"

Start tower kit - "Need to plant it on the water"

Compass- "which way?"

N- "North

S- "South"

E- "East"

W- "West"

NE- "Northeast"

SE- "Southeast"

NW- "Northwest

SW- "Southwest"

(The direction one would seem pointless to add but let's remember that there literally are characters in this game who don't know which way is which cough cough Winona cough)

Clippings - "Can sell this hair"

Sapphire Medallion/Tenpiece oinc – "Can buy things now"

(the plant understands capitalism 👍)

Winona's GEM-erator (out of fuel) - "Oh. Needs sparky"

Telelocator Focus (missing gem)- "Needs Purple Shiny"

Telelocator Socket (missing gem)- "Where shiny things?"

The Queen of Moon Quay: "Oh...she thinks Night Ball is friend hair?"

(He might know who They are after all)

Beast of Hunger (1) - "Oh. Not alive"

(This, plus any other quote of his mistaking a statue or an object with distinguishable features as alive, does not make him dull; this world literally has statues coming to life. He simply uses a reasoning he acquired from living in the Constant.)

Rose-Colored Glasses – "Friends show Fixer friend secret things"

(Most character, barring Maxwell, Wendy and Wigfrid don't know about the glasses' true purpose)

Ancient chest - "Put stuff in there!"

(One of 4 characters to have an inclining what to do with it)

Greater Gestalt- "Protect"

Enlightened Crown - "Helps hear them"

(Okay, he definitely knows who They are)

Hound Corpse (reanimating) - "Coming back"

(He seems the least bit of surprised or disturbed by this, compared to everyone else)

Antlion (upset) - "Oh no. Needs gifts"

(interestingly, no one else seems to mention why the Antlion is upset)

Mysterious Energy- "Seed"

(...?)

Distilled knowledge- "Plant this in funny floor"

(he's the only one to have figured out what to actually do with it)

I think what we all can realize from going through his quotes, is that he's in no way as clueless as he initially seems. He has his moments, but so do the rest of the survivors.

Life Experience, Responsibility and Independence

This plant has lived through a lot, but then again so have the rest, a lot of them have faced countless hardships most of us can't even fathom.

From what we already know, the fandom generally believes he is very naive and trusting, which really isn't the case. The thing is, it's not that he's naive, he may not react especially negatively to a creature or thing because he's used to seeing bizarre things, or because he's not afraid of them, unlike the majority of the survivor cast, who are alien to the constant.

Barring the in-game mechanics which force characters to be competent regardless of their experience, we're going to focus on his reactions to mobs and items that might pose actual threat to him or others, or are considered as questionable by him.

Inflatable Vest - "Safe?"

Shadowcraft plinth - "Scary hands helping?"

Fish steak - "Watch for bones"

Candy Apple - "Careful! Don't eat stick! "

Platapine (sleeping)- "don't wake it"

Sentrypede husk - "Sleeping. Shhh"

Sea Stack - "Oops! Watch out!

Great Tree Root - "Oh! Don't bump into friends!"

Worm hole (open) - "Deep. Dark"

(When deerclops is near) - "Something scary coming!"

Pressure plate - Hmmm...Odd rock"

Dread mite (about to explode) - "Look out!"

Shadow Reaper - "No...Wants to hurt friends!"

Depth Worm (lure) - "Hmm... not safe"

Depth Worm (burrowed) - "something hiding"

Meat bulb - "Careful!"

[The fish quotes in DST + the candy Apple are giving me an image of him saying that to the child characters (and definitely Woodie for the latter)]

Independence-wise, the one thing I especially took notice of, is how much the child characters seek guidance from the adults in the group, mentioning them by their formal titles too. That's especially frequent with Webber, Wurt, and Walter, though Wendy rarely does this. On one hand, she claims she considers toys and fun to be behind her, but contradictory, enjoys playing with other children and some of the adults. (Besides we canonically know she's 10-11 years old)

Wormwood isn't known for wanting to seek guidance either. He's sometimes confused about how certain things work and thus will ask about it, but that's understandable given his predicament. (As @thebleedingalien once mentioned, he's like an extraterrestrial experiencing bits and pieces from 2 different worlds at once)

He doesn't really care to play with toys either, (barring a couple of instances, one being Bernie and the others; toys with wheels and Antlion's sand castle. But c'mon, I know some of you grown adults own toy cars/collectibles or build sandcastles when the opportunity arises, you can't lie to me and say neither of these things is fun. Plus, this is literally a forum on video games, and those, not too long ago, were considered childish.

Besides, adult characters in this game also goof around. There's the whole sand castle building thing in Shipwrecked, which curiously Wormwood doesn't have a strong opinion on.)

But if we were to compare his maturity to other adult characters…

(Wilson) [aside his many, many jokes]: Silk- "It comes from a spider's butt."

(Willow) Portal Exit - "It's fun to watch OTHER people fall on their butts."

(Wolfgang) Coral Nubbin - "Haha. Rock is bald."

(WX-78) Regular Jungle Tree (normal and stump) - "THIS DUMB TREE HAS A DUMB FACE"

(Wickerbottom) Weregoose - "My! What a silly goose!"

(Wigfrid) Plant (ready to be picked) - "Ugh, vegetables. I'm nöt sure what I expected..."

(Woodie) Ghost - "Boo! Ha ha!"

(Winona) Kingly Figure - "It's BUST-ed! Ha!"

(Maxwell) Frazzled Wires - "I might hide those in WX-78's bedroll if I get bored"

(Wortox) [But if we were to pick an example of many] Potato Sack- "Hyuyuyu, wouldn't it be fun to hide inside and give him a scare?"

Yeah, I think he's good.

In this section I don't really have much else to say. He can be cautious, he can be daft. He joggles the braincells alongside the rest of the survivors. But all in all, I would not consider him any more reckless or goofy than either the child or adult characters. Independence wise, while he can absolutely manage just fine on his own, his desire for companionship far outweighs that.

And since we've already talked about maturity, let's move on to:

Emotional Regulation

Despite common belief, Wormwood is not overly emotional. While, yes, he is excitable and easy to impress, he doesn't usually display intense negative emotions, unless something (more often than not wooden) is destroyed, or unless a plant or a creature he likes, suffers. But then again, in those situations, it's logical to display panic, worry and grief. Imagine if your family member or friend suddenly caught on fire and burned before your eyes... Yeah, I bet no one morally adjusted would be the slightest bit of composed in those kinds of situations...

Worse yet, the majority of the Constant is filled with plants, most of whom are his friends, the closest to his kind, beings which display varying amount of sentience...

In actuality, the children, including Wendy, display a shift in emotions much more often than Wormwood does.

Then there's Willow, WX-78, Woodie (birds) and Maxwell, who all have even less emotional stability.

In comparison, I'd say he handles most situations much more maturely and nonchalantly.

Social & Moral Development

Ah yes, the ability to difference right from wrong, morality, patos or however you would call it. Now this one's a little tricky, on one hand, while he may react strongly to a plant's demise, his reaction varies, when it comes to animals and structures. Sometimes, he doesn't really bat an eye, frankly, other times, he displays intense amounts of grief.

I guess that's the definition of selective empathy.

Curiously, he has 2 separate quotes for a pigeon. One from Hamlet, where he seems a lot more distressed when it perishes, and the other, from The Gorge, where he simply states the fact "Oh. Dead."

I'd like to think this was intentional to sort of give him that fading care many of us experience as we grow older.

Here's another example:

[Hamlet] Glowfly (dead) - "(sob)"

[DST, Host of Horrors update] Koalefant Carcass - "Braump...? Not anymore"

Regarding the other survivors; for the most part, he sympathizes with them. Though he doesn't panic much when they die from average constant shenanigans. He knows it's not permanent or consequential.

He does show sympathy, when some of the others' precious belongings get destroyed or damaged.

Winona's Catapult (burnt)- "Fire bad"

Winona's Spotlight (burnt)- "Oh. So sad"

Mighty Gym (burnt)- "Oh... poor muscle man..."

Or in some instances, when a character strongly disapproves of something/is emotionally hurt and he takes notice of that:

Nautipilot - "Robot friend doesn't like Pull Rock"

Mocking Bird - "Mean tweeters, hurt friends' feelings!"

What's interesting, is that, while he calls many creatures his friends, he specifically avoids calling Maxwell that. He even considers Lucy, Willow and Woodie his friends, which is just... wow. May he harbor a grudge against him for what he did to the other survivors? Something more personal? Or is it moreso related to the fact he's fully siding with the shadows... Most likely the former.

Overall I would say he's definitely more empathetic than not, and one doesn't have to care for every living being after all.

Character Interrelations

Regarding what other characters think of how old he is...

It's debatable, keep in mind, the characters don't have to be fully aware, or can misinterpret his age based on his behavior alone.

Most people just refer to him as "plant", unsurprisingly.

There's characters like Winona, who seem to intentionally downplay his age. Winona in her quotes refers to both Wormwood and Wilson (who's officially in his 30s) as 'bucko' (a lively, young fellow. Or in some cases a friend, or another version of buddy). As for her quotes for Bramble trap and Compost wrap, she refers to Wormwood with the terms 'lil plant fella' and 'little guy'. She pretty much just teases people who are younger than her or seem younger. Or she genuinely believes he's actually that young.

There's plenty instances of people calling him a variation of little, small or sapling, which might just be how they see him. Keep in mind, just because a character may think he's on the younger side, does not mean their interpretation is the absolute firm belief you should uphold.

Then, there's Wolfgang and Wurt, who both firmly believe that he's a grown adult.

(Wolfgang) Generic - "Is leafy green man, %s! Hello!"

Firestarter - "Leafy green man did a fire booboo."

Syrup of Ipecaca - "Will leafy green man be sad if Wolfgang doesn't have a taste?"

(Wolfgang only calls him little once in his quotes, because he calls everyone little, children though, he refers to as very tiny + boy/girl/child, so there's that.)

(Wurt) Attacker - "Ow! You mean old weed!"

You might think; why would I care about what a child and a man who's considered to not be so bright think? Well, my previous point about language barriers explains that. Besides, Wurt is a constant-born creature who builds an entire kingdom in her play style, by no means, is she clueless. She also refers to Deerclops and Antlion as 'She', while most of the other characters use he or it.

What's interesting is that Wickerbottom also tends to avoid referring to him with youthful terms, aside the obvious general one she uses for everyone and everything. If anything, she's more patronizing towards Woodie, Wilson, Winona and Wigfrid. (All of whom are in between their late 20s-40s)

Lastly, we have:

Canon Information

While there isn't much information relating to his age, there are hints in the game canon that explain that.

In the game's compendium, where reside the survivors' profile, backstory and description, three of the four kids have 'young' in their introduction. Barring Walter, who instead has 'boy' which is as much of a youthful term. Wormwood's simply stated as 'an amalgam of vines' not a seedling, sapling nor a young/little plant.

From his backstory, we know that:

"A green gem fell from the moon, landing on an ancient stone monument in the middle of overgrown rubble. Over a long period of time, a vine encircled the gem and eventually formed a humanoid figure sitting on the monument. The figure, Wormwood, opened his eyes and looked at his hands. (...)"

(Now this simply explains, that a lot of time has passed as he was forming, unlike what's shown in his animation, where his body instantly forms.)

There's also this part of his bio.

“Though the circumstances of his creation were unusual at best, Wormwood came into this world full of optimism and curiosity, ready to make new friends and see all that life had to offer. But as time wore on and he experienced the cold sting of rejection, he came to learn what the moon above had always known: Wormwood the Lonesome does not belong here.”

It's implied that a while has passed since his birth. Everyone assumes that he was just created recently and that he doesn't know anything, but as I've shown you previously, he's very perceptive when it matters. He has the knowledge and experience, even insight or a hunch. He is able to determine things others can't. Ever since Hamlet happened, his quotes gradually became somewhat more apathetic towards creatures dying, as opposed to the worry and care he previously displayed.

I wouldn't say he's exactly an adult the same way the human characters are, but he's in no way a child as many presume him to be.

(It actually kind of reminds me of how certain Greek gods are created; some are formed as adults, some grow and then eventually stop, and some come to be under very strange and specific circumstances, Aphrodite. But overall, you can't exactly compare their maturing process to that of a human.) Meanwhile, Wormwood is an alien plant with a crystal for a brain

So by the end of this post, are you still inclined to believe he's a child?

Was this completely unnecessary and took far too long to construct? Yes.

Do I regret making this? Nah.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Childhood Bilingualism

Bilingual language acquisition, or simultaneous bilingualism refers to the acquisition of two languages simultaneously from infancy

About half the people in the world are bilingual or multilingual

In many parts of the world, bilingualism (or multilingualism) is the norm

The Easier Word

As during monolingual language development, young bilingual children will first acquire what is easy in their languages:

Example: A bilingual child might find a word or structure much easier or more obvious in one language than in the other and use the easier word or the easier structure in both languages.

With time, the child will be able to process more and more language cues and eventually this strategy will be dropped and the correct form will be used in each language.

Short Words

Short words are easier for young children than long words.

Example: Young children shorten words and say nana instead of banana.

If mum's word is shorter than dad's, the bilingual child naturally goes for the shorter option.

Sound Combinations

Some sound combinations are harder to say than others.

Example: Young children change chair to tair.

If the word in one language has complex sound combinations and the equivalent in the other language does not, choosing the word in the other language is much the same as what monolingual children do when they choose a simpler word over a more complex word.

Frequency of Word Use

How often a child has heard a word is important.

Like monolingual children, words which are used all the time are learned first.

Example: Car, or its simplified form tar, is learned before the word van, unless there is more talk about vans in the child's environment than about cars.

Grammatical Structures

Frequency of use and simplicity of grammatical structures.

Examples:

The six verb endings in Italian are acquired very early by monolingual children because there is one ending for each person (I, you, he etc.) and they are used all the time - in present tense, in past tense, for the future and for the conditional.

The German system uses its verb endings all the time as well, but there are only four distinctly different endings for the six grammatical persons, which means that some endings overlap. As a result, German children master the verb system 6 to 12 months later than the Italian children.

There is only one personmarker in English, and it is only used in present tense (he runs). This takes the longest to acquire because it makes verb markings so infrequent in English.

Such differences may be reflected in bilingual children's acquisition. They may show themselves in the child learning a functionally comparable structure first in one language and only a few months later in the other.

In the meantime, the bilingual child might choose to draw on what s/he has already acquired to fill the gap.

There might be aspects of the grammatical development in the Language Other Than English (LOTE) which the bilingual child will never conquer 100%. There isn't much one can do about grammatical structures which are so unsystematic that children need massive amounts of input over many years to fully master them completely. An example of such structures are the article systems in German or French.

Consistency

The parent's consistency in language choice is very important.

Initially, the child will not know what a language is, but only understand that, for example, Mummy and Daddy speak in different ways.

Example: If the mother is consistent with their language choice, it is much easier for the child to realise that everything they say belongs to one system and everything the mother's partner or the grandparents or the staff at the child care centre say belongs to another. In time, the child will learn both systems.

Code-switching

Bilingual children engage in code-switching:

The alternate use of two or more languages within the same utterance or during the same conversation

The alternative used by bilinguals of two or more languages in the same conversation

Situational Code-switching

Also called transactional code-switching

Two different languages are assigned to two or more different situations. An individual may have knowledge of all the languages associated with different situations. Conversational etiquette, however, requires the use of only one language at a time.

Example: Speaking one language at home and switching to another at school.

Examples of Spanish-English Code-Switching

Switching between sentences: “I was going to tell you something. Pero no me acuerdo que, es.”

Switching between sentences—first sentence repeated in the second language: “Ella es bonita. She is pretty.”

Switching in the middle of a sentence: “I just can’t no puedo concentrame con tanto ruido.”

Borrowing & Loanword

Bilingual children also engage in borrowing:

The incorporation of lexical elements from one language in the lexicon of another language

The introduction of single words or short, frozen, idiomatic phrases from one variety into another

A loanword can also be called a borrowing:

Loanwords are words adopted by the speakers of one language from a different language.

Example: of an English loanword into Spanish dealing with organizations, restaurants, or institutions is, “Vamos al la United Nations en el carro” or “nos vamos al Disney World a ver a Mickie Mouse.”

Here we see a mixing from Spanish to English with the name of an organization and a restaurant used.

Examples. Spanish borrowing from English: “parqueadero,” “sandwich,” and “garaje.”

Examples. English borrowing from Spanish: are “armada,” “armadillo,” and “bravado.”

Take Note:

Contrary to popular belief, bilingual children acquire all the language milestones within the range of what's normal for monolingual children.

Rate of language development is more likely to be due to the child's abilities and the quality of interaction than hearing two languages as such.

Children who code-switch are not confused, because they are able to use their two languages appropriately with different people. In fact, the ability to switch back and forth between languages is a sign of mastery of two linguistic systems, not a sign of language confusion.

Children as young as 2 are able to code-switch in socially appropriate ways.

Bilingual children do not develop more slowly than monolingual children just because they are hearing two languages. Differences between monolingual and bilingual learners do exist but have nothing to do with delays or impairments.

THEORIES OF BILINGUAL DEVELOPMENT

1. Unitary system hypothesis - the idea that the child initially constructs only one lexicon and one grammar

Evidence for: language mixing similar to codeswitching; lexical items existing in only one language

Evidence against: there is a lot of overlap in the lexicon for each language, and children may have gaps because each language is used in different contexts and they can only learn so many words each day

2. Separate systems hypothesis - the idea that the child builds a distinct lexicon and grammar for each language

Evidence for:

where the two languages diverge grammatically, the child will acquire two different sets of rules

bilingual children select which language to use based on the context

children bilingual in sign language and a spoken language may say a word in one language and sign it in the other simultaneously

“Just remember, when someone has an accent, it means that he knows one more language than you do.” ―Sidney Sheldon, Windmills of the Gods

Sources: 1 2 3

Writing Notes: On Children Writing Notes: Children's Dialogue

[pick-me-up-im-scared]

It’ll Be Our Little Secret (Hiccup x Reader) (Smut)

Author's Note: Hey! Hope you're ready to read a very steamy AND long 'Hiccup x Reader' fanfic. This was originally posted on Wattpad, but it kind of flopped. So I thought I would shoot my shot over here instead (since, from my understanding, people go a little crazier for smuts over here). Also, English isn't my first language so please excuse me if it isn't grammatically correct, or a sentence isn't built up right.

Short Summary: You have a crush on Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, Chief of Berk. You can’t think straight. None of the other guys on your island can compare. The only issue is you’re the daughter of (y/f/n), Chief of (y/i/n). Berk’s enemy island. Though your crush on Hiccup only can play out in your fantasy, a knock at your door would change that?

⚠️Warning!⚠️: This story contains swearing and rough sexual acts. Not suitable for a younger audience!

(y/i/n) = your island´s name

Words: 3336

(I don't own any of the GIFs)

Your pov:

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third. Not really a popular name around here. Even though you didn't have anything against him personally, your islands wasn't really on good terms. This all started long before you were even born, so you didn't really know the exact reason as to why you hated each other so much. But you were taught that "anything from the island of Berk is equal to horse shit", and so your opinion remained... sort of.

After Stoick's death Hiccup inherited the title, which made him more of a foe in your eyes. Compared to him "just" being the Chief's son. Still you couldn't help but find him... attractive. Hey! You're a 18 year old girl. Boys starts to look quite appealing at this age. And after all he's kind of the only guy, around your age, you've meet frequently (thanks to your islands fighting each other on a regular basses). When you compared him to the other guys on your island, they're not even close. He's just perfect. Well, everything but his title. You know your "relationship" can only remain in your imagination. It's not really optimal to ask for your father's blessing to marry, the now, Chief of the island we abominate.

-

As you lay in bed, facing the wall, you hear the door open. By having such old doors the squeaking gives away any unwanted surprise visits. You began to wonder who it could be. You've already said your 'goodnights' to your parents before preparing for bed. After a lot of whining, your parents finally let you move in to your own hut. Their only 'but' was to have your hut being surrounded by guards 24/7. They didn't want to take any risks with everything that was happening at this island. But you didn't mind. You actually liked when they informed you who was approaching, even if it was your mother. It felt like you could have the privacy you wanted by moving out. That's why it's even more strange that non of the guards had told you about the guest that was now on their way inside your house.

You turned around and jumped as you saw who decided to give you a visit. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. What is he doing here? Isn't this the foremost guy they're suppose to make sure isn't strolling around the village? "I need to have a little talk to them about this" you thought as you rolled your eyes. But they quickly went back to the unwelcomed guest. "Uh, may I ask why you're in my hut?" you asked, rather confused as to why he hasn't tried to kill you yet. Hiccup dropped all his potential weapons on the ground before approaching you. Even the tiny dagger on one of his bracers was now laying a few meters from your bed. You watched him rather doubtful, wondering 'what the fuck is he doing?'. "I'm not here to hurt you" he said calmly before standing in front of your bed, "No weapons on me, so I hope you haven't got any either". Should I make a run for it? My parents´s hut is just a few meters away. If he catch up with me I've at least tried. Before you could make up your mind if you should take a chance or not he started petting the empty space beside you on the bed, not really trusting you no matter what your answer would be.

He soon went over to you, sticking his hands underneath the blanket and petting you from the thighs up to your neck, making sure you wasn't hiding any knifes underneath your clothes. "No weapons... and no panties either" you slapped him across the face. "What the hell are you doi-" you yelled out, but got cut off as Hiccup slam his hand over your mouth "Shh! Don't yell, someone could hear you!". You gave him the look that said 'duh, that's the point' and he let's go of your mouth. He continued "I want to make sure you aren't armed either. I just want to.... talk". You looked at him rather confused "What could you possibly want to talk to me about? How it is to be an only child of a Chief?" you joked, which allowed Hiccup to chuckle. "Maybe I phrased that wrong, but you'll see what I came here to do" he said while giving you a smirk. I swear to the gods, he's flirting with me.

"Let me just remove this to make sure you aren't hidding something first" Hiccup started to pull up your nightgown. He got to about your waist before you grabbed his hands, making him stop. The thought of him seeing you so bare, even if not in a sexual context, made you anxious. You looked inside his emerald green eyes, as if to find something that would tell you what to do. You've never been this close to him before, so this was your opportunity to scan his face for the first time. He had a few freckles, a scar on his chin, and what seem to be the early stage of a beard-growth. Without even thinking you placed your hand against his cheek, caressing it as Hiccup leaned in. As soon as you noticed you quickly snatched back your hand. Hiccup tugged at your dress again, as if to ask if it's okay. You raised your arms, making the progress of removing your nightgown a lot easier for him. Something about his face had made you calmer. Your nipples harden, reacting to the low temperature as he toss the piece of clothing at the floor. He looked at them in admiration but also noticed the necklace your father gave you, showing which island you belong to. "Can I touch them?" Hiccup asks as he push your hair back, allowing him to get a better view of your bare chest. "Only if I can remove these first" you answer, referring to his bracers. He nodded, thinking it's a fare trade. Hiccup watched your concentrated face as you loosen it up, eventually sliding it off. He tugged a strand of hair behind your ear with his, now bare hand as you worked on the other one.

You caress your hands over his body, admiring the armor that always seemed to turned you on so much. You would lie if you said you haven't thought of how it would feel grinding your naked body against it. Feel the leather and metal against your wet folds. The thought would help you when you were alone in bed, having some 'me'-time. Even though you wish he could keep it on, you helped Hiccup remove the upper part of his armor, leaving him shirtless. "Now we're even" you teased. He looked at you, grinning. Hiccup grabbed your breasts which made you gasp just by the touch. As he began to massage them you let out a few proper moans. "Are you a virgin?", you looked up at him, thinking "how rude" wondering why on earth he needed to know that. "You react quite intense at just the small amount of pleasure I'm giving you now. Virgins usually reacts quite hard at any sort of sexual stimulation, so that's why I asked". He seemed to notice your concerned face since he quickly filled in with "-but that's not bad" the panic was vibrant in his voice "It's actually very excitative". You nodded, answering his previous question. Hiccup flickered his tongue at both of your nipples, earning more moans from you. He went down your stomach, leaving sloppy kisses on his way there, keeping his eyes locked with yours. As he looked at you, seductively, you couldn't help but feel like this is wrong. This could ruin your family's name for generations if it would ever come out. Should I stop? Hiccup would stop if you asked him to, but the question is 'do I want it to stop?' After all, this is what you've been dreaming of. The senators you've made up in your head in order to get yourself off is actually happening. No way you're going to ruin this shot. Hiccup went up to your face again, this time only a few centimeters gap. You let out a shaky breath, starting to sweat just by the looks he gave you. Yep, this is really happening.

"Got any hidden weapons in here?" Hiccup asked, pulling at your underwear. You shrugged, acting stupid, really intrigued to see what he would do. "Well, I better inspect it" he teased before shoving his hand down your underwear. You gasped, feeling his slender fingers being so close to your core. He laughed as he felt the wetness you've already developed. "You really get turned on by this" he teased before removing your panties and threw them across the room. As your legs went down you squeezed your thighs together, feeling a bit self conscious again. Hiccup noticed "No, open up for me, princess. No need to act all shy now" he parted your legs, keeping some weight on your thighs to prevent you from pressing them together again. You, realizing this instead took your hands and covered the most private part. But Hiccup didn't let that get unnoticed, "Ah-ah" he said in a warning tone as he slapped your hand away. When he finally got to see all of you, he took a step back just to admire it. "You're so beautiful (y/n). I swear your a gift from the gods". You smiled at his generous words, trying your best not to blush too hard.

He massaged your thighs while moving his hands closer to your throbbing pussy. "You're basically dripping. I never knew you had a thing for me" he joked while looking down, between your legs. "You have no idea" you admitted. He looked up at you, not expecting that answer, "Well, then I'm not the only one who'll enjoy this". Hiccup dragged two fingers along your entrance, scooping up some of your wetness and brought it to his mouth. He licked his fingers clean, having full on eye contact with you as he does. Hiccup raised up from the bed, pulling down his trousers. Your eyes widen as you looked at his hard cock slapping against his stomach. Getting a bit worried about the penetration-bit. He seem to notice and went right in front of your bed, picking you up so you were on your knees by the edge of your bed. Knowing you're a virgin, Hiccup thought you might get less nervous if you get to feel him first. He grabbed you by the wrists, and dragged your hands over his body, starting by the shoulders going down to his chest. He moved your hands down past his bellybutton. When you began to feel his pubs you quickly went down to his thighs instead, not feeling ready to touch him there, just yet. Hiccup's breathing quicken as you worked your hands over his thighs, which intrigued you to go closer and closer to his area. You really wanted to hear him moan. Oh, how many times you've tried to imagine what sounds he makes. You saw his cock twitch as you came closer. He threw his head back, let out an extracted moan as you took him in your hand and began to jerk him off. He traced your other hand to his chest again. You continued till you reached his hair, tugging at his braids. You watched as he hummed at the new sensation while tighten his grip around your wrist. You pumped him harder, milking him on his moans. "T-that's... enough" Hiccup said, breathing heavily.

He pushed you down on the bed as he crawled up your body. He smirked, "Don't worry, I'll fill you up in a second" he said as he positioned himself at your entrance. You whined as he pushed his cock inside you slowly, while holding the back of your head. "You're doing so good, princess. You're being such a good girl" Hiccup said, not being able to hide his moans as your tightness surround his cock. You balled the sheets in your fists as he continued to push till he's fully in. He stayed in that position for a bit, both for you to adjust to his size, but also due to him not cumming straight away. After some reassuring Hiccup began to slide in and out of you, keeping the pace rather slow, not wanting to hurt you. "It doesn't get better" you said through clinged teeth. You've heard the first time would be quite painful, but not for this long. "Hold on, it'll be better soon, I promise" Hiccup reassured you while keeping the low pace. He caressed your cheek while kissing your neck, hoping it would help you to get used to it if you got something else to focus on. It helped. As soon you asked Hiccup to go a bit faster the pace soon increased.

Hiccup rested one of your legs on his shoulder, giving him better excess. He rammed into your body with such speed. You cried out Hiccup's name as he groaned while listening to you saying his name like that. You turned your head to the side, almost embarrassed to look at Hiccup. You didn't know why, but you felt as if you weren't allowed to look at him. He noticed and grabbed you by the chin, turning your head straight "Look at me while you let the enemy fuck your tight, virgin pussy!" he spat. You tightened around him at his words. "Huh? You like it when I fuck you like this? Knowing that Berk's Chief's cock is inside you. And know that with ever thrust, you abandon your people more *thrust* and more". You whined out in pleasure as he spoke to you. He smiled when he saw what effect his words had on you, "You like it, don't you?" you nodded intensely. He bent forward, grabbing you by the neck as he whispered in your ear "You've never let anyone get to feel you like this. But I didn't even have to ask before you spread your legs for me, like the little whore you are. What would the people of (y/i/n) say if they saw you now? Whimper as you let me take advantage of you. I don't think your father would be proud to..." Hiccup traced his fingertip over the charm of your necklace "...see you act like such a whore for me". "Tell me you're mine" he demanded. You were a breathing mess, really affected by Hiccup's dialogue. "I-I'm y-" you couldn't even finish the sentence before a moan interrupted you. "Say it!" he bayed, tighten his grip around your neck. "I-I'm yours, Hiccup. I'm your dirty little whore" you pled out. Hiccup smirked "Good girl. Finally one of (y/i/n)'s people can follow an order".

He pulled out, which made you look down. His cock was coated with your cum and a hint of blood. "Turn around" he demand, you raised up slowly as your whole body felt like jello. As you turned around Hiccup slammed your head against the mattress while your ass was high up. He traced his hand up your back to your waist, sending shivers down your spine. He took a firm grip on your fat before shoving his cock back into your pussy, making you screamed. Luckily the pillow muffed most of your sounds. "Oh, (y/n). You can't imagine how long I've been wanting to do this" Hiccup whines out while pounding into you. Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. He'd thought about you too? He continues to fuck you, keeping the same pace the whole time before slowing down, allowing you both to catch your breath. "Let's keep that other hole busy, too" Hiccup said while bending down towards his pants, picking up something. You tried to see what it was, but with no success. "With what?" your curiosity took over as Hiccup spat down your ass in lack of lube. "The back of my inferno. Let's see how much you can take" he said before pushing it slowly in your asshole. You winced at the cold metal entering you. You had to bite the side of your pillow in order to not scream while your untouched hole slowly got stretched out. "H-hiccup I... I can't take..." you plead out, feeling so filled up while still having Hiccup's cock in you, too. "Aw, sure you can" he pushed in the rest till you felt the cold metal of the dragon head around your opening. "See! You could fit the whole thing" Hiccup said proudly, petting your back while still slightly pushing the dragon head so the handle wouldn't slip out.

You tried to catch your breath. The feeling of both your holes being penetrated at the same time felt amazing. But when Hiccup picked up the same speed as before you could barely take it. You were moaning so loud you were surprised non of the guards came in to check what's going on. The pleasure mixed with Hiccup moaning your name made you so wet you could feel it dripping down your thigh. Every time Hiccup would slam his hips against you, you would be reminded of the handle as it was being push back in you. You continued your highly verbal way of showing how much pleasure you're feeling. Until Hiccup grabbed you by the neck, pressing your back against his chest and cover your mouth "I really appreciate your little orchestra, princess. But we can't risk anyone finding us, right?". You nod your head, while Hiccup keep his hand on your mouth. Even tough you've changed position the speed remind the same. You got to give it to him for keeping up the pace for so long. Hiccup's other hand went down to rubbing your clit, but you quickly slapped it away. "Overstimulated" you mumbled against Hiccup's hand, but he seemed to have heard it since the feedback of his work left a smirk on his face. He grabbed your necklace and swirled it around his fist. You felt the charm against your neck as Hiccup firmly chocked you.

He buried his face against the side of your head, his mouth lining up perfectly to your ear allowing you to hear every little sound Hiccup made. You felt your orgasm around the corner as your legs began to shake even more. "Hiccup-" "Shh, shh, I know. I'm close too". He made sure to thrust hard into you as your orgasm approach. You scream in Hiccup's hand as you came. He moaned higher, getting even closer to his own release while seeing you in this state. Your body was twitching in Hiccup's arms as he held you while still fucking you. He then threw you on your back as he hovered over you and jerked himself to his climax. He came on you, covering your stomach with his warm cum as he screamed out your name as loud as he could without the guards noticing it. He let himself fall beside you, as you both tried to catch your breath. He turned you on your side so your back was facing him, bending your leg up a bit as he pulled out the inferno sword. You moaned one last time as it exited you. Hiccup dropped it on the floor before he went back to you, making you face him again. He pulled his face closer to yours before saying "It'll be our little secret". Then he went up, pull one of the blankets around him, collecting all his things, and leaves.

You lay there in your bed with Hiccup's cum still on your stomach, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Vampire Wedding Part 1

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Galileo: "Mitsuki."

While walking down the street to buy groceries for dinner, someone suddenly called me from behind.

When I turned around, I saw Galileo, probably on his way back from the university.

Mitsuki: "Galileo, I mean Professor Maury."

I hastily corrected myself after accidentally calling him by his first name.

Mitsuki: "Are you done with work? You're early today."

Galileo: "Yeah. Things have finally calmed down a bit."

Recently, his students' research seemed to be reaching a critical point, so he had been busy and usually came home late.

Galileo: "Are you in the middle of shopping?"

Mitsuki: "Yes, I'm getting ingredients for tonight's dinner."

Galileo: "I'll join you."

His hand reached out and effortlessly lifted the basket I was holding.

Mitsuki: "Wait, it's heavy!"

Galileo: "That's why I'm carrying it."

He naturally carried the basket filled with groceries and started walking.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, I walked alongside him.

Galileo: "What else do you need to buy?"

Mitsuki: "Well, I was thinking of getting some bread."

Shopkeeper: "If it's bread, then this just came out of the oven!"

Hearing my words, the shopkeeper cheerfully called out.

Mitsuki: "Wow, it smells great. Then, I'll take that bread, please."

Shopkeeper: "Sure thing! We have plenty more, so take your time, Mrs.!"

(Um, what?)

Shopkeeper: "Oh, carrying the groceries for you, isn't he? Your husband is very kind."

(H-Husband!?)

The unexpected remark caused my cheeks to heat up, and I couldn't respond immediately.

Galileo: "Carrying bags is no big deal."

Shopkeeper: "Oh, you're quite the gentleman. How about I add something extra for such a handsome husband?"

Galileo: "Thank you."

Unlike my flustered self, he smoothly accepted the bread.

Galileo: "Let's go, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "O-Okay."

Even after returning home and sitting down to dinner, I kept thinking about what had just happened.

(Married couple, huh? Being seen that way made me a little happy.)

Galileo: "You seem unusually happy since earlier."

Startled, I realized he was looking at me curiously.

Mitsuki: "I-It's nothing. This bread is really delicious!"

(I wonder if such a future could ever happen.)

It became our routine to have coffee in his room after dinner.

Mitsuki: "Galileo, I brought some coffee."

Galileo: "Yeah."

When I entered the room, Galileo was meticulously cleaning an instrument at his desk. The wooden, rounded instrument looked somewhat familiar.

Mitsuki: "What kind of instrument is that? I've seen it before but don't know its name."

Galileo: "This is a lute, a string instrument."

Galileo: "It's been stored here for a long time. I felt like playing it again, so I was cleaning it."

Seeing him pick up the lute, a certain scene suddenly crossed my mind.

(Ah...)

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo's Father: "I'm in a good mood. Let's play a tune."

Galileo: "I'd like that. I always liked the sound of you playing the lute."

---------Flashback Ends--------

It was a scene from his past.

Galileo: "I'm going to play a piece now. Is that okay with you?"

Mitsuki: "Sure! I'd love to listen."

He nodded and began to play the lute.

The familiar melody brought back memories of that gentle night air, stirring an ache in my heart.

(I wonder what he's feeling right now.)

He had a soft expression on his face as he plucked the strings.

As I admired his profile, the performance came to an end, and he gently released his hands from the lute.

Mitsuki: "That was a beautiful piece."

Galileo: "My father taught it to me."

Galileo: "He often played this piece during family time."

Galileo: "I don't know why, but I felt a strong urge to hear this piece again tonight."

He gazed at me intently and murmured, "Yeah," as if he had come to a realization.

Mitsuki: "Is something the matter?"

Galileo: "It's because you're here."

His amethyst eyes reflected me directly, and my heart skipped a beat.

Mitsuki: "Huh, me?"

He softened his expression ever so slightly and gently caressed the lute he held on his knee.

Galileo: "Lately, I've been able to recall the past with a calmer heart than before."

Galileo: "Instead of piercing pain, I feel a warm nostalgia growing."

Galileo: "Spending more time with you like this has gradually changed something inside me."

Galileo set aside the lute and turned towards me.

His amethyst eyes gazed into mine.

Galileo: "Now that I've realized that, I want to move on to a new relationship with you."

Mitsuki: "A new relationship?"

His large hand reached out, gently enveloping mine.

Galileo: "Mitsuki, will you be my wife and family?"

Mitsuki: "………"

My heart swelled with warmth at his straightforward words, filling me with an overwhelming emotion.

Galileo: "From now on, I want to play this song with you as a family."

Mitsuki: "........"

While savoring the overwhelming joy, I tightly squeezed his hand in return.

Mitsuki: “I’ve known for quite some time that you are irreplaceable.”

The voice I finally managed to squeeze out was hoarse, but I managed to string the words together.

Mitsuki: “Please let me be a part of your family, too.”

I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, and he gently hugged me.

Galileo: “Thank you, Mitsuki. I love you.”

He lifted my chin, and his soft lips met mine.

Mitsuki: “I love you with all my heart.”

Closing my eyes, I accepted the kiss as if we were exchanging vows.

Eventually, he released my lips and peered into my eyes.

Galileo: “If you’ll become my wife, there’s something I want to do.”

Mitsuki: “What is it?”

Galileo: “It’s an ancient vampire marriage ceremony.”

With determination in his gaze, Galileo stroked my cheek.

His hand slid down and touched my neck, confirming the warmth of my blood.

Galileo: “Will you exchange a blood oath with me?”

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

⤑ Story Events Masterlist

[haggishlyhagging]

Japanese illustrates the complex interaction between male social/political dominance and control of language use. It manifests not only the three ways patriarchal language infiltrates our minds and the ways we talk (or are permitted to talk) or are talked about by men, but also provides instances of women's defiance of PUD [Patriarchal Universe of Discourse] rules. When men name the world of their perceptions, they also name the place of women in that world; these names lexicalize men's concepts and form semantic sets within a culture's vocabulary. When men control the social and grammatical rules of a language and have mandated their dialect as the standard, they define what women are allowed to say and the way in which they must say it. The "place" of a woman in a man's world isn't only reflected in certain sets of words in the language's vocabulary but is also marked in her speech by specific suffixes. Japanese women aren't utterly silent, however, and have words for describing their own experiences, including derogatory terms for men.

In a 1988 Weekend Edition, National Public Radio (NPR) did a segment called "Japanese Women's Language." A man's voice introduced the segment as "a story about sexism, although most people in the country we're about to visit wouldn't call it that." Patronizingly acknowledging that, "of course, the United States has its share of sexism," he went on with his ethnocentric description of "sexism" in Japan:

now imagine a culture that forbids women most of the time to speak the same language as men, a society where women actually have to use different words than men do to say the same thing, or else they'll be shunned.

Men's subjugation of women in Japan goes back at least 1,000 years, to a time when women were forbidden to speak to men. In the 1930s, the Japanese government issued edicts warning women not to use words reserved to men, and the resulting differentiations remain in force, if not the edicts themselves (NPR). The significant adjectives that distinguish onna kotaba, 'women's words', from the male dialect are 'soft' and 'harsh', the equivalents of English 'weak' and 'forceful'. One example of the pressure on women to speak softly and submissively, if they speak at all, is the custom of hiring elevator "girls" in Japanese department stores.

According to the NPR report, women hired as elevator "girls" must be "pretty, young, and very, very feminine." One of the behaviors that conveys onna-rashisa (the stereotype of femininity) is the ability to speak women's "language" correctly, and this aspect of the elevator operator's job performance is closely monitored. They are expected to talk in "perfect women's language," and "never slip and use a masculine word." Their fluency in the linguistic display of submissiveness is insured by one-half hour of mandatory daily practice, during which any "unfeminine" pronunciations are corrected. In order for a woman, any woman, to be perceived as "nice," she must speak "correct women's language" (NPR). Women who don't speak the submissive dialect men assign to them don't get jobs.

R. Lakoff (1975) and Mary Ritchie Key (1975) both noted that the sentences of English-speaking women are likely to be longer and wordier than those of men, and the same apparently holds true for Japanese. A man might be able to say, "Open the window!" but a Japanese woman, in order to get the same thing done, would have to say, "Please open the window a little bit, if you don't mind!" The result is that a woman's sentence has only one or two words in common with a comparable male utterance (NPR) and is much longer. Not surprisingly, Japanese women's dialect is perceived as more subservient and tentative than men's, because the women must use submissive, self-effacing phrases equivalent to the tag-questions that Robin Lakoff (1975) associated with women's speech in English. These phrases translate into English as "do you think," "I can't be sure," and "will it be," and their use in commonplace statements means that Japanese women say an average of 20% more words than men to describe the same thing. In Japanese, it is impossible for a woman to speak informally and assertively at the same time (NPR).

-Julia Penelope, Speaking Freely: Unlearning the Lies of the Fathers’ Tongues

[ilikepjo24]

On Azula burning Zuko's toys...

I mentioned in my last meta, that I'd write this one and here it is.

In the previous meta, I talked about how the turtleduck we see Azula burn in Azula in the Spirit Temple is not real. I brought up some arguments and pictures to show how the turtleduck does not at all react the way a real animal would, which is why it is a toy.

@prying-pandora666 was kind enough to add to that by mentioning we can see the base of the toy, broken, burnt and tossed to the side of the panel, further proving that it isn't alive, because real creatures don't have figurine bases.

So we already know it's a toy. And one might assume it was Zuko's toy, since we already know Azula likes to burn his toys, right?

Wrong!

And this is the point I'll be providing in this meta.

As you can see, Zuko never accuses Azula of burning his toys. He just says she was laughing at him while his toys were on fire. That doesn't mean she started the fire. I can't think of two possible scenarios that don't include Azula burning the toys.

In the dream, Ozai burned his toys as punishment and Azula laughed at him getting punished.

In the dream, he was trying to train his firebending and he set his own things on fire and Azula laughed at how bad of a firebender he is.

Plus, Zuko looks around 4-5 years old, which means Azula is 2-3 years old, and in Azula in the Spirit Temple, she looks 6 or 7 when she burns the toy, which was her first time firebending. So around the time Zuko had the nightmare, there was no reason to dream of Azula burning his stuff, because Azula didn't even have fire.

And let's not forget that it was a dream. Something happening in a dream doesn't mean it happens in real life. If that's what it meant, I would have survived 6 zombie apocalypses in the past month. And for those of you that are going to say "he probably had a nightmare about it because it's a traumatic event that actually happened 🤡", not only you don't know math, but you also know nothing about Zuko.

I'm not going to argue that no one ever burned his toys, but I am going to argue that it wasn't Azula, since she had no fire at the time, and it was actually Ozai, who's a terrible father. And the only reason Zuko saw Azula in his dream is because he uses her as a scapegoat for Ozai's actions. He blames her for all the things that happened to him, as if Ozai would have been a good father if Azula wasn't born.

It wouldn't surprise me if Ozai burned Zuko's toys as punishment for doing bad at his spelling lessons when Azula is just two and can already form full, grammatically correct sentences in her speech, and Zuko blamed Azula for knowing how to talk instead of blaming Ozai for being a bad person. Which would explain why he'd see her at his dream instead of Ozai.

Lastly, not only do I think that the object wasn't Zuko's, I'm 100% sure it was Azula's and she just didn't like it, since we already know she has a habit of ruining her toys when she doesn't like them, as most children do.

I guess turtleducks just aren't her favorite animal.

Thus proven.

[lieutenantselnia]

One of my favourite 2D Doof scenes just because I like listening to him (or actually both Doofs) rambling over stuff, here in the German version! <3

A few words on this; when I imagine scenarios with him in my head I'm actually never quite sure if I imagine him talking in German or English, in my mind it just kind of all blurs together since I'm so used to using both languages in my everyday life at this point. However, I think for the most part I imagine him with the sound of his German voice and his pronunciation, probably also because I'm more used to it (for PnF I always kinda preferred the German dub, I don't know why exactly, it really can't be nostalgia since I didn't watch it as a kid, but maybe just for the childhood show vibes). I like the original as well though (and sometimes kind of mix them up in my mind), I feel like Dan voiced the two Doofs with a bit more nuance, making 2D Doof speak a bit slower and maybe a tiny little bit deeper, to give him a bit more of an intimidating aura.

Another detail about his accent that might be interesting especially for non German speakers: In the original, Heinz' home country Drusselstein is a parody mostly on Germany/German-speaking countries, and on a few occasions, characters are heard speaking some German words. Doofenshmirtz himself is supposed to have a sort-of German accent as well. In the German dub, this was mostly replaced with Russian, for example that once scene where little Heinz is dressed as a lawn gnome and his father yells at him "Bewegen Sie nicht!", which is a grammatically incorrect way of saying "Don't move!" (correct ways would for example be "Beweg dich nicht!" or "Nicht bewegen!"), while in the German dub he yells in Russian "Не шевелиться!" - in latin letters something like "Nje shevelitsja!" - (which I believe is also grammatically incorrect lol).

Doof's accent seems also inspired by what the (stereo-)typical Russian (or generally Slavic) accent sounds to German people. However it doesn't lean very strongly into it, the most notable thing is that he rolls his Rs quite a bit stronger than it's common for German speakers, otherwise he speaks pretty much standard German. For example his pronunciation of the "ch" sound isn't really emphasised at all, which often tends to be associated with a Russian accent.

Also another small note about accents in general, I don't know how common it still is nowadays for people to think that German speakers all speak with a strongly rolled R, but we actually don't. Of course it may depend on the region or specific dialects, some people also just happen to naturally speak with a more rolled R due to their individual mouth/throat anatomy, but in the standard way of speaking in both Germany and Austria at least, it's not really a thing. We roll our R differently than English speakers, but it's also not that very "full" rolled R that you may hear in languages like Spanish. I myself, despite being Austrian and growing up speaking the Austrian variant of German, am physically struggling to roll my Rs because my tongue frenulum is literally too short to do it properly. The R pronunciation was always my biggest challenge in my Spanish and Russian classes (luckily my teachers weren't strict with it as long as you tried). But yeah, I just wanted to clarify that Doofenshmirtz' way of speaking isn't what the average German speaker would sound like, also I just find languages a fascinating topic to ramble about :D

[blurredblu]

Why I made Eggman harsher on Sage in my Frontiers rewrite

A reader left me a review for Sonic Horizons on FFN asking why I wrote Eggman to be harsher to Sage. I think the messages we had are informative enough that I want to transfer them to a post on my blog here.

I've anonymised the reader and only made grammatical-level edits to both our messages for clarity and correctness. The reader's messages are indented whereas my responses are not.

Okay, I've got to ask: why are you making Eggman harsher on Sage? He can’t really hate her when she exceeds her function that he made her for and along with having a intellect to talk with.

Hi there!

Eggman is a narcissistic supervillain who holds nothing but disdain for those who diverge from his vision and has no reputation of working with or respecting others' opinions. Sage is his creation the way that children can have narcissistic parents who grow unreasonably disappointed and angry that their children do not cater and adhere to their specific visions, whims, and emotional states. It doesn't matter that, reasonably and objectively speaking, Sage is intelligent and highly capable, because Eggman is not a reasonable or objective person who holds other in any regard higher than he does himself

His and Sage's relationship isn't meant to reflect two reasonable and well-adjusted people, but an unrepentantly evil megalomaniac and his guileless creation who only has one purpose to her existence, a purpose which Eggman's personality makes nigh impossible to sustainably achieve

But that's why he felt a connection with Sage because he created something that he can be proud of and despite all of Orbot and Cubot mistakes and fumbling he keeps them around for some conversations and people to knock around. The Egg Memo did also show what his childhood was like and the fact he was stuck way longer with Sage to grow to appreciate her. Yeah, he's a Narcissist but he still would have pride in Sage and she gives him that longing he wanted as a child and what he could imagine what Maria was like when she was alive. Sometimes evil people can grow to love someone which gives them a different reason to conquer/destroy the world. Plus, if Joker can fall in love and start a real family (an evil one, mind you) so can Eggman. But this is your story and I'm not here to force change I was just wondering.

Hi again!

I should first dispel any notion that this rewrite is supposed to respect or be faithful to Frontiers' interpretations of the characters. As a matter of fact, I'm writing Horizons specifically because I found the characterisation of all the key characters, including and especially Eggman, to be lacking in some way. If you're reading Horizons with an expectation that I am ignoring what Frontiers has established, it is purposeful, to the point of literally being the purpose of this fic in the first place.

On that point, I find the way that Frontiers 'humanised' Eggman to be very boring, predictable, and not well established according to what we know of his character in all the past games. It is very in line with Marvel/DC superhero/supervillain plot beats, or something parodying those beats like Megamind does, to have supervillains actually, in truth(!), have a kernel of Humanity, Sympathy, Compassion, a Human *Non-Socio/Psychopathic Heart, unlockable finally by fulfilling some Freudian conception of familial love that was lacking in their (obviously tragic and loveless, because how could it be any other way) childhood or some such. This storyline, to me, is an absolute snore. Eggman, I have found, is a very compelling and likeable supervillain who has accomplished being that without very popular and predictable plotlines about discovering the Power Of Love that other villains or characters have been routinely subject to.

If Eggman were the type who valued connections or somehow, some way, wanted connection with a being who was in some sense equal to him, it is (1) not hinted at all in most of his existence and (2) not established in a convincing way in Frontiers given point (1). If he built any statues commemorating Literally Anyone But Himself in Eggmanland or had something other than his own face be his logo on every piece of technology he owns, perhaps I could be a little more convinced of the idea that he actually would like, appreciate, and try to nurture something resembling an equal partnership. As things stand, I'm not convinced.

Horizons starts from after Forces where he tasted success and it was all torn away after he worked with a jackal, another person, who in the end exhausted his usefulness and could not help Eggman's cause, and Eggman was ultimately beaten again despite having won. Horizons follows an Eggman who is pulling out all the stops while still remaining his narcissistic, clownish, unrepentantly evil self while creating and exploiting highly advanced technology and, in some senses, being way in over his head about it while still remaining fiendishly clever. He is not like you, or me, or other supervillains so popularised in comics. He is just evil. Period. To me, that does not mean he is uninteresting or unlikeable; far from it. I like him as he is and I want to tell a story given the way that he is.

*Editorial note (one that I haven't communicated with the reviewing reader but write for the current one)

The idea of goodness and humanity always seems to include the stereotyping of sociopathy and psychopathy as inherently evil, which I do recognise to be false and the realities to be much more nuanced. It contributes to a narrow viewpoint about human nature and humanity that to have a Human Heart is to have a Squeaky Clean Bill Of Mental Health, and that those are the only ways in which villains can be compelling, relatable, or likeable to an audience, none of which I think to be true

On another note, though I use narcissistic as a qualifier, I don't use it to mean that Eggman has narcissistic personality disorder, or NPD, proper. I also don't think that someone having NPD or narcissistic traits automatically makes them evil; reality, again, is far more nuanced than such a flattened picture provides. At the end of the day, though, Eggman is extremely and cartoonishly self-centred and self-loving in all his ambitions to take over the world, which can only be aptly described as him being narcissistic

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (43/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 18,112 (OOPS, but not really)

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond return to King's Landing. Arianwyn tells the Vale the truth.

Warnings: self-harm

Author's Note:

So sorry for the delay! After seeing some new BTS from episode 10, my brain sprang to life with some new things I could incorporate here. And my beta is on vacation, so if you saw any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, please let me know so I can fix it!

We are now officially leaving show canon behind...

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Three Days, Part III

On the 25th day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s Conquest…

The moon was tauntingly full and bright, and the clouds had long since dispersed. There was nowhere to hide. Anyone who looked toward the sky could clearly see the monster flying above them.

The monster, and the dragon he rode.

“Skoros emagon ao gaomagon?” Aemond whispered, far too quietly for Vhagar to hear over the roaring wind lashing at them as they raced back to King’s Landing with a speed he had never seen. What have you done?

He did not know if he was asking her or himself.

He was not sure if he had actually said anything at all, or so much as moved his lips. His throat was painfully raw from shouting through the storm – he may not have been able to produce a sound even if he wanted to.

But he must have said something, for Vhagar responded with a proud twist of her head and a victorious roar.

Gods save him. There was still blood on her teeth.

The blood of that poor young dragon whose name Aemond did not know. And…

Luke’s blood.

The pain that had been steadily growing within Aemond’s skull suddenly burst forth like a mighty wave crashing through a dam.

Even the sapphire – Aria’s sapphire – felt like it had come alive and was trying to claw its way out of his skin.

The vision in his good eye went blurry, and it was only thanks to the dozens of straps and chains tying him to the saddle that Aemond did not fall off Vhagar’s back and plummet to his death on the peaks of the mountains below.

He wanted to cut the straps away, break the iron chains with his bare hands. Anything to get away from the beast he was shackled to in body and soul, even if it meant his death.

Would it be anything less than he deserved?

But the pain was too great for him to wrap his hand around the hilt of his dagger.

Each beat of his heart brought on a new pulse of pure agony. With each surge, his muscles tensed until he was sure they would snap.

The only thing he could manage was to cradle the burning scar.

His eyepatch was not there, though he did not remember removing it himself, nor it falling off in the wind.

It was just… gone.

When another wave washed over him – the pain more intense than when he was first given the wound – he pressed into his hands, desperately seeking relief.

But it did not come.

The sapphire was as cold as ice – colder than anything he had ever felt. So cold that it burned the skin of his palm.

Aemond shrieked at the pain.

Vhagar echoed the noise, nearly coming to a halt over a mountain peak. But she recovered faster than her rider and began to fly faster still – so fast Aemond could not believe it – towards King’s Landing.

Towards home – to Aria.

Aemond collapsed against the saddle, not caring when the leather and chains bit into his skin as he strained against them.

His next cry came not from pain, but realization.

It wasn’t his scar that was hurting him so deeply.

It was the sapphire.

The jewel – the purest expression of Aria’s love he ever possessed – was fighting against him.

Burning him.

Hurting him.

Rejecting him.

He was unworthy of such a gift. Unworthy of Aria’s love and the protection her Runes offered.

She was so good, so pure, so perfect.

He was a monster.

Worse, a kinslayer.

Wearing her gift was an affront to her, the old gods, and indeed all gods and men. He could not be allowed to possess it any longer. His very touch marred its goodness irreparably.

He pulled his hands away from his face just enough to curl his fingers into claws – the same claws Vhagar bore.

Skin broke on the first strike.

Then again.

And again.

Over and over until his hands, and the sapphire that now sat within them, were coated in hot red blood.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, unable to bring himself to look as he opened his hands and let the sapphire fall.

Then he screamed anew.

And he did not stop.

-

Sleep, restful sleep, had eluded Arianwyn, leaving her bleary-eyed as she watched Emrys bristle in the garden below. Her poor dragon was quite upset that his first-ever adventure had been ruined by the arrival of Vermax – almost as upset as his rider was by the arrival of Jacaerys.

Had it not been for the arrival of her stepbrother, they would currently be preparing to leave, if they had not left already.

Instead, Arianwyn was tugging half-heartedly on the satin belt of her dressing gown, wishing it was the leather lacings of her cuirass – freshly replaced after Aemond ripped them only days ago.

Emrys –just as averse to early mornings as his beloved rider – was not stretching his wings in anticipation of their long flight, but folding them tightly over his head to block out Vermax’s unceasing chirrups.

As she loosed her robe and sat at the end of her bed, Arianwyn bowed her head in prayer. “May the Crone guide me this day, that I may speak with wisdom and grace. If it is the will of the gods, allow my petition to be successful. And if it is not…”

She opened her eyes and gazed out into the gardens, where Vermax was excitedly sniffing at a large rose bush. If she ignored who the little green creature was bonded to, she could almost let herself be amused by the sight.

But she couldn’t ignore it, nor how Emrys was slinking closer and closer to her window, examining its stone walls as if trying to figure out a way to slip inside. It would never work, of course. He was so large that he couldn’t even fit his whole snout through.

When he finally figured it out himself, he dejectedly rested the tip of his chin against the windowsill and whined softly.

Arianwyn rose from the bed with a sympathetic smile and stroked his nose. “Nyke gīmigon, byka ossȳngnon,” she cooed as he leaned into her touch. “Lo jaelā naejot jiōragon qrīdrughagon hen zirȳla, kostā jikagon sōvegon ondoso aōla. Vermax iksis byka, se daor olvie adere, kessa daor gaomagon bē.” I know, little dread. If you want to get away from him, you can go fly by yourself. Vermax is small, and not very fast, he will not keep up.

Emrys snorted solemnly in reply, sending a small burst of smoke into the bedroom. No, he would not leave her now. Never when she was so upset.

“Kirimvose, dōna mēre,” she said with a kiss to his warm scales. “Avy jorrāelan.” Thank you, sweet one. I love you.

She could almost swear that as Emrys grumbled, there was a voice speaking in the back of her head that sounded eerily like that grumbling. It told her it loved her too.

“Kostagon jān arlī naejot ñuha jorepnon sir?” she asked playfully. Can I go back to my prayer now?

Emrys blinked and, with some difficulty, removed his snout from the window. Vermax immediately noticed the movement and began to approach the older dragon.

Arianwyn laughed as Emrys slumped against the wall, wrapped his wings around his face again, and pretended to fall asleep.

“Sȳz biarves,” she called. Good luck.

She did not return to her prayer immediately, for she did not know what to say next. So instead, she took off her nightgown and began to dress for the day. Jeyne had offered to send a maid, but Arianwyn found she enjoyed managing alone for a few days. Besides, she did not want to have to explain to someone new how to deal with her mass of curls.

When Brynna told her she had packed five dresses for the journey, even though it was supposed to take only three days, she had thought her maid foolish and unreasonably over-prepared.

But now, she was grateful to have options to choose from. It made her feel like a knight selecting which weapon to carry into battle.

She had already worn two of the gowns, leaving her with three options:

First, there was a heavily structured dress of deep blue silk – Arryn blue. The shoulders bore embroidery reminiscent of wings, a nod to the sigil of her godsmother’s house. But to wear something so obvious would feel dishonest. Too much like begging.

Arianwyn was not an Arryn. She was a Royce – and a Targaryen. She would not pretend to be anything else.

She would not rely on her connections to the Vale or the throne to make her argument. If she was to win Jeyne’s allegiance, it would be her logic and the brutal honesty of her story that won it.

So, the black and bronze gown – the one she had worn her first day back to King’s Landing – was also rejected.

There was only one option left.

A surcoat and linen underdress, like the one she had worn during the little game she and Aemond played the day before they left.

But this was far simpler than that one. The coat was made of soft, undyed wool, with voluminous sleeves to protect her from the cold mountain wind.

Its only decoration was the embroidery along the edges – intricate depictions of the beautiful flowers that graced the fields of Runestone. Campion and marsh. Cornflower and primrose. Foxglove and snowdrops. And Arianwyn’s favorite – meadowsweet.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt perfect. Soft, but regal. Stately, yet not too imposing. She was every bit the Princess and Lady she now was, but she was still herself.

All that was missing was a ring on her finger and her husband on her arm.

Suddenly, she knew how to end her prayer.

“I know that I am on the right path, and my cause is just,” she whispered aloud, feeling that the words were too important to keep inside. “But the path you lay out for us is not always so clear. If I am to fail today, I ask only that I be allowed to return safely into my husband’s arms, that we may face whatever is to come together.”

-

The very earth trembled as Vhagar landed just outside the King’s Gate. She had flown so far and fast that, by the time she started her descent, she was too exhausted to land well.

The talons at the tips of her wings and her claws had caught the stones of the city wall as she tried to slow herself, sending broken shards of brick raining down on the gold cloaks standing guard at the gate. She had landed with such force that her back legs dug deep rivets into the ground below her.

It hadn’t helped that as soon as the city was in sight, Aemond took up the reins for the first time in hours to try and steer her directly toward the Red Keep.

“Skoriot issi ao jāre?” he had rasped when she pulled against his commands. His voice was practically nonexistent after hours of ceaseless screaming. “Gūrogon nyke lenton.” Where are you going? Take me home.

Vhagar ignored his commands. She knew there was nowhere she could land in the city itself that would not result in the injury or death of some innocent. After how he reacted to the righteous death of that little dragon and its rider – the same hateful boy who had maimed her Aemond on the night they claimed each other – who dared to threaten him, she would not put him in place to be hurt again.

In the years she had spent making him fierce, she had never thought him soft. None of her other riders had been so.

Thankfully, he was far too weak from the flight, his self-inflicted wounds, and whatever demons were roiling within his mind to fight against her in any meaningful way. Not that she would obey, even if he could. She would follow no order which might put him in danger.

“Kostilus,” he begged hoarsely as she turned toward the tourney grounds. “Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon lenton. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon naejot zirȳla. Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla.” Please. I need to go home. I need to go to her. I need her.

She let out a sympathetic growl but continued to descend on the great stretch of grassy fields outside the city, frightening the smallfolk for how close they came to their roofs.

Aemond was not surprised by her disobedience. He had begged her to stop when she began to pursue Luke on her own after that dragon – barely more than a hatchling – had loosed a weak burst of dragonfire on her. And she had disobeyed.

Of course, she had. Who was he to command the Queen of All Dragons?

Compared to the paragons of his house who had ridden her before him, Aemond was nothing.

He was not an almighty conqueror like Visenya.

He was not a brave and beloved Prince like his grandsire, Baelon.

He was certainly not like Laena, adored and admired by all.

No, he was only a wretched, monstrous, broken excuse for a prince – for a Targaryen.

He had never been worthy of any dragon, much less Vhagar.

Allowing him to claim her had been some cruel, cosmic joke. A way for the gods to amuse themselves by watching him fail so miserably. Or a punishment, perhaps. For the darkness that had always lived inside his damned soul.

Oh gods.

He was damned. As a murderer, a monster, a kinslayer.

All because of the dragon – the abomination created by his Valyrian ancestors with their infernal blood magics – that he had bound himself to.

He had to get away from her.

The moment she came to rest in the middle of the road leading out of the city, Aemond began frantically removing each of the restraints keeping him in the saddle. It took him longer than it should have, as his bloodstained hands still trembled. His chest was heaving painfully with each panicked breath, and without the chill of the wind to numb it, his empty clawed-open eye was starting to burn again.

When he was finally free, he scrambled down the rope ladder on Vhagar’s side quicker than ever before, despite the pain circling his legs. Somehow, on the flight back, he had pulled so hard against the leather straps and chains that they had dug into his skin. He had no doubt there were bruises, and knew it was more than likely that blood had been drawn.

But he didn’t care. He just wanted to get away, to run back to his rooms and into the awaiting arms of his wife.

He didn’t want to acknowledge Vhagar at all. But when he began toward the guards at the King’s Gate, each of whom was staring with wide eyes as the fact of who was limping toward them and covered in his own blood sunk in, she let out a low, pleading whine.

His exhaustion and devastation faded instantly, replaced with an enormous, unquenchable rage.

“Gaomā daor jiōragon naejot sagon zūgagon syt nyke!” Aemond shouted as he whirled on her, causing his left leg to buckle. He only just caught himself before falling into the upturned dirt. “Emā ojūdan bona paktot.” You do not get to be worried for me! You have lost that right.

Vhagar shied away from his anger, her orange eyes wide with bewilderment. How could her dear rider treat her like this after all she had done to protect him?

“Gaomagon ao sesīr gīmigon skoros emā sepār gaomagon?” he asked, ignoring the calls from the guards offering him aid. Do you know what you have just done?

The dragon only whined again – a feeble, wounded noise.

“Ao ossēntan zirȳla! Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla – hae ziry istin gōntan naejot nyke.  Yn ao ossēntan zirȳla!” His voice cracked like a raging fire as he roared, his throat raw and aching. You killed him! I only wanted to frighten him – as he once did to me. But you killed him!

“Īles iā riña! Īles ñuha lentor, se ao ossēntan zirȳla!” he shrieked as pain began to well once more in his empty eye – the result of the salty tears pooling within and stinging the open wounds he had inflicted himself. He was a child! He was my family, and you killed him!

He almost collapsed as each one of his wounds began to throb as one. “Emā vēttan nyke iā letnor sēntys! Se syt bona iksan qrimbrōstan! Ñuha gīs kessa zālagon isse se trūmāje hen Sīkudi Nopāzmi ēva se mōris hen jēda… se kesan gūrogon ziry.” You have made me a kinslayer! And for that I am cursed! My soul will burn in the deepest of the Seven Hells until the end of time... and I will deserve it.

Vhagar dropped her chin to the ground and moaned, her best attempt at appearing innocent and coy. But Aemond could still smell the sharp tang of blood on her breath and see the faint traces of rusty brown embedded between the scales of her snout.

Another pang had Aemond stumbling into the dirt, the impact sending licks of fire up his injured legs. Several guards at the gate began to run for him, but reeled back when Vhagar, too, surged toward her rider.

“Daor!” Aemond ordered with the last of his remaining strength as he fought to try and stand. “Umbagon qrīdrughagon!” No! Stay away!

The massive dragon winced at the sheer fury contained in the command and began to slink away like a scolded pup. As she retreated, the guards once again began to cautiously approach the Prince.

“Eminna daorun tolī naejot gaomagon lēda ao,” Aemond spat with a fading voice between shaky breaths. “Jaelan ao naejot henujagon.  Skoriot jā daoriot jemagon.  Hēzīr, iksā daorun naejot nyke. I will have nothing more to do with you. I want you to leave. Where you go does not matter. From now on, you are nothing to me. 

He did not look at Vhagar as he finally stood, turning to the three gold cloaks now surrounding him. They looked at him like they had happened upon an injured shadowcat – something at once pitiful and deadly.

“My Prince…” the eldest among them said sheepishly. “Are you alright?”

Aemond did not so much as glance at the man as he began stumbling toward the gate. He could feel his mind, which he had only just regained as he came back to solid ground, begin to slip away again. If he looked at the man’s simpering face, no doubt full of pity, he might very well lose it again.

“I need a horse,” he growled.

“Of course,” the guard said, running ahead of him to the guardpost. The other two fell into an awkward formation behind the Prince.

It took a humiliatingly long time for Aemond to actually arrive at the gate, by which time a horse was saddled and waiting. Mounting the damned thing when every muscle he had screamed in protest was one of the most challenging things he had ever done.

As he gripped the horse’s reins, Vhagar made another woeful noise – a last attempt to try and ply him.

With the sound, he felt the last remaining dregs of his consciousness begin to melt away. He had to return to the Keep quickly, before losing himself entirely. Indeed, it was already becoming hard to focus his vision on anything beyond his horse’s ears.

But he still held to his anger at his damned dragon.

“Lo nyke mirre ilagon laesi va ao aril…” he hissed, his lone violet eye bloodshot and filled with disdain. “Nyke dōrī jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao arlī.  Mirre.” If I ever lay eyes on you again... I never want to see you again. Ever.

He did not wait for her reply before driving his heels into the horse and setting it galloping through the King’s Gate and into the bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Vhagar’s doleful wails were heard by all within the city’s walls, save for her rider. His mind had already begun to pull him away from reality. All he could hear was the pouring of rain, the cracking of thunder, and the horrible crunch of bones between Vhagar’s teeth.

-

If Arianwyn had thought hours of listening to the old men of the Vale debate over dams and crops and visitation schedules was miserable, having to stay still and silent and keep her face neutral as she listened to Jace speak on behalf of Rhaenyra was surely a punishment from the gods themselves.

It certainly didn’t help that he looked at her with that stupid smug smile whenever he thought he made a good point.

Perhaps she should have prayed more for the strength to endure her stepbrother rather than just for the success of her own petition.

Jace had begun with a rather monotonous history lesson detailing the Targaryen family line from Aenar to himself. But, of course, he had incorrectly listed the late Ser Laenor Velaryon as his father.

Arianwyn had let her impassive façade slip for a moment when a few disbelieving chuckles and jeers echoed through the hall at the assertion. But the ever-watchful Gerold had spotted her slight smile and quickly corrected her with a gentle pinch on her elbow.

To his credit, Jace had not let it deter him. Instead, he smoothly transitioned into detailing how and why Viserys had named Rhaenyra his heir. Then to a fumbling and faulty explanation of the Widow’s Law and how he thought it supported his mother’s claim.

Arianwyn listened closely, making a note of each inconsistency, vaguery, or inaccuracy – whether it be intentional or not. While the bulk of her argument would rely on the revelation of Daemon’s character and past crimes, she had to first counter whatever Jace said.

There was ever the possibility that some, perhaps many, would not believe what she had to say about her father. If they did, she would still need to say whatever she could to convince them.

“There is little more to say, my Lords,” Jace proclaimed. The self-righteous lilt in his voice grated on Arianwyn endlessly. “It is clear that by both law and my grandsire’s wishes, my mother Rhaenyra was always the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, whatever the would-be usurper may say.

“I never had the good fortune to meet my mother’s mother, Queen Aemma, but I have been raised on stories of her goodness. I am proud to bear her blood, her Arryn blood. Though I have been here not yet a day, I can feel the land here call to me, as I am sure it does to my mother as well.”

Arianwyn considered her restraint in not rolling her eyes at that to be nothing short of miraculous. She would have to commission a bard to write a song commemorating the feat.

Jace turned to Jeyne and gave a short, almost solemn nod. “Rhaenyra is not only your cousin and your Queen, my Lady, but your peer. Those who would try to usurp her throne do so for no reason other than that she is a woman, and for that, they consider her unworthy of her birthright.

“I ask only that you honor the oath you took some twenty years ago by acknowledging my mother as your Queen and pledging your support to her cause. With good fortune, this farce will not come to bloodshed. However, I cannot deny that having you declare your support for the Queen, with the might of your armies behind you, would do much to dissuade my usurper uncle from pursuing this any further.

“But I am willing to wait to receive your answer,” he said, turning once more to look at Arianwyn with a smile almost too genuine. “For my sweet sister has come to speak on my uncle’s behalf. I find myself quite curious as to why she has done so, seeing as she is, herself, a ruling Lady. Nevertheless, my affection for her is nearly as great as my respect for her intellect, so I will humbly stand aside and allow her to speak.”

Another subtle pinch from Gerold signaled Arianwyn to bow her head in thanks to her stepbrother and give him a grateful smile. Though she would never admit it, she was surprisingly touched by his praise, underhanded though it was.

“I commend you for your eloquent speech, Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne said from the throne as the light smattering of applause, led by Lords Sunderland and Corbray, finally quieted. “It is true that I have found myself in a similar predicament to your mother. Thrice have mine own kin sought to replace me, and thrice they have failed. My cousin Ser Arnold is wont to say that women are too soft to rule. I have him in one of my sky cells, if you would like to ask him yourself, or simply meet another long-estranged cousin.”

The gathered crowd laughed with her at that – including Arianwyn, despite her nerves.

Jeyne’s held up a hand to quiet the room once more. “As Jacaerys says, there is another here to speak to us on this matter. While she is not my blood as Rhaenyra is, she is my family in both the eyes of the gods and in the affections of my own heart. For this, and for her place as the Lady of Runestone, I now invite her now to make her petition on behalf of her good brother, Aegon.”

The silence in the room was so heavy that as Arianwyn walked to the center of the hall to stand before the Weirwood thrones, she felt as though she was moving through sand. But she swallowed her fear and willed her racing heart to calm.

Otto Hightower would not have sent her here if he did not believe her capable of succeeding – nor would any member of the Small Council, even Aegon. She reassured herself that she had not only their support, distant as it was, but that of the law, the gods, and her husband. With all that behind her, how could she fail?

“Lords and Ladies of the Vale, it is an honor to speak to you today,” she began, pleasantly surprised at the strength of her voice. “I ask that you please be forgiving should I not be particularly eloquent. I have never addressed a court before nor had any real oratory experience, and I find myself quite nervous to do so now.”

She laughed slightly, expecting others to laugh with her, at least out of pity, but none did. So, she took a deep breath and continued. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting most of you personally, so I will begin by introducing myself. I am Lady Arianwyn Targaryen.”

“Princess, my dear,” Gerold reminded her with a grimace from where he stood by the base of the throne.

Arianwyn winced. This was precisely why she had prayed this morning. She did not possess a silver tongue. Indeed, at the moment, hers felt much more like lead.

“Yes, forgive me,” she stuttered. “I am still not used to that title yet. It was granted to me only seven days past – or eight, maybe? I actually do not know what day we were wed. It was around midnight. But I am not quite sure whether it was before or after.”

“Aria?” Gerold’s call was unsubtly covered with an obviously false cough. When she looked at him, he widened his eyes to let her know she had already begun to ramble.

She swallowed, taking a moment to straighten her skirts and gather her thoughts. “My apologies, again. I, um… I became a Princess only days ago when I was wed to Prince Aemond Targaryen. Naturally, as it comes from my husband, the title is quite dear to me. However, dearer to me is that which I inherited from my mother, who was well known and, I hope, well-loved by all of you: Rhea Royce, Lady of Runestone.

“That title was given to me on the day of my birth, as it was also the day my mother died,” she fell silent then as all those gathered in the Throne Room bowed their heads in remembrance. Much to her surprise, Jace joined them.

“I am here to speak on behalf of my good brother, King Aegon, Second of His Name,” she looked to Jace then, copying the smug smile he had already given her several times that day. Perhaps it was cruel of her, after he had just offered respects to her mother, but she could not help herself.

“Five days ago, Aegon was crowned by Lord Commander Criston Cole of the Kingsguard in accordance with the laws of the realm and his father’s dying wish. Of course, there are those who would point to the Queen being the only audience to the proclamation as proof that it is untrue. But I have heard the tale from the Queen herself, and I believe with absolutely no hesitation.” She could sense, more than see, the sour expression on Jace’s face at her words.

“It is no secret that King Viserys was long ill,” she continued. “As such, he was often confined to his bed and unable to govern the realm himself. In his absences, it was Queen Alicent who most often sat the Iron Throne in his place, where she proved herself to be wise, kind, and above all else, honorable.

“It would have been well within her right to dispute Rhaenyra’s position as heir from the moment Aegon was born, but she did not.” At least, not publicly, Arianwyn thought. She had overheard more than one conversation suggesting Alicent had brought it up to the King privately. “For years, she steadfastly supported the King’s attestation that Rhaenyra was his heir, despite its dubious legality. I can offer no better proof to the veracity of the King’s change of heart than that.”

A slight nod and a half-smile from Gerold indicated that she had made her point well.

“However, it must be understood that despite the King’s insistence in Rhaenyra’s place as heir for many years, despite whatever oaths he had the Lords of the Realm make, she did lose that position when Aegon was born.”

This was the part she was most nervous about.

“The ruling of the Great Council was clear: a male heir is preferable to a female. Even before the Council was called, this was well understood by law and men. It is why Princess Rhaenys was passed over in favor of my grandsire, Prince Baelon, following her father’s death. And it is why the Great Council voted so overwhelmingly in favor of Viserys’ claim.

“According to the very precedent that gave Viserys his throne, Rhaenyra stopped being the heir from the instant Aegon took his first breath,” she declared.

A murmur made its way through the crowd, and Arianwyn was gratified that most of them seemed to agree with her. However, seeing the dejected expressions on several Ladies’ faces pained her, knowing she had likely just affirmed their deepest insecurities and fears.

She avoided meeting their eyes and instead looked to Jace. “My stepbrother has brought up an interesting point in his interpretation of the Widow’s Law. He is correct that it prevents a man from disinheriting his children from a first wife in favor of the children born to a second wife, but I am afraid it is not actually applicable to the current dispute.

“The purpose of the Widow’s Law is to prevent rightful heirs from being cast aside in favor of their younger half-siblings. But a man’s eldest son, regardless of whether his mother was a first, second, or any other later wife, is the lawful heir before any daughters. Nothing can pass to the daughter so long as there is a son. Therefore, a younger son from a second wife inheriting instead of an elder daughter from a first wife is not a dispossession.”

Arianwyn paused to see Jace’s reaction. He stayed silent and watched her carefully and with more than a little contempt.

According to the plan she had made with Jeyne the day before, she should now tell the court of the dangerous precedent that would be set should Rhaenyra insist that Jace – a bastard – was her heir.

She shouldn’t feel bad about it. It was true, and everyone knew it – even him.

So, why was she now hesitating?

Perhaps it was because many of the Lords in the room were already nodding along as she spoke. If they already agreed with her, she would not have to bring it up. She would not have to hurt him, Luke, or sweet little Joffrey to win the day.

For a heartbeat, she thought she might not even have to speak of Daemon.

But as she examined the crowd to assess how many were already with her, she found there were still more than a few who looked doubtful. It was to win them over that she swallowed her fear and continued.

No, she had to this for more than just winning the Vale. She had to do this because it was, and always was, the right thing to do.

“Of course,” she said with a sweet, placid smile, “you are all wise and intelligent men, with far more political experience than my stepbrother or me. Everything I have said thus far is only a repetition of what I am confident you already know.”

Arianwyn bowed her head and took a deep, steadying breath. “There is one thing more I must tell you before I end my appeal. Something that you do not know. Something that, until now, you could not know. Something concerning my mother and my father.”

Anyone whose interest in the proceedings had waned was suddenly brought back to attention.

“I imagine you all know the story of my mother’s injuries that led to her unfortunate death,” Arianwyn said as she looked around, but none met her eyes. Of course, they did not want to be reminded of something so terrible. “Perhaps some of you even saw them. I must admit, I do not envy you if you did. The descriptions I have been given are enough to curdle my blood, so I will not repeat them here. But I will tell you the story of how she was wounded. For the truth of it is far different from what you have been told, I am afraid.

“That day, my mother set out by herself to hunt, as was her habit. Ser Gerold tells me that she savored the time she spent alone. How she was never happier than when she was in the hills and moorlands of Runestone. Words cannot describe how much it pains me that what happened to her – no, what was done to her – was done in the place she loved so well.”

Arianwyn took another pause to calm herself as a flurry of whisperers flew through the crowd at what she was suggesting with that one little word.

“You were told that her horse startled and fell upon her, leaving her paralyzed and injured. And that it was a miracle that my father happened to be flying nearby when he spotted her, rescued her, and brought her home. That she was so charmed by his heroism that she finally consummated the marriage and fell pregnant with me. I do admit, it is a good story. Like something that I would read in my books.” She laughed slightly – a light, blithe chuckle entirely out of place amongst her solemn words – though she did not know why.

“But that was a lie. My father did not save my mother. He killed her.”

Arianwyn tried to continue but stopped when the clamor rising amongst the crowd grew so loud that she could hardly hear her own voice. She looked frantically to Lady Arryn and Gerold for help, but neither seemed as concerned as she did – they did not seem concerned at all. Rather, they seemed more than happy to let the Lords and Ladies have their moment of panic.

It wasn’t until Arianwyn again looked to Jace that she understood why.

His face was twisted with shock and rage, all directed at Arianwyn. She had just accused the man he so admired of the vilest of crimes – kinslaying. The gravity of such an accusation was not lost on him.

Nor was it lost on the Lords and Ladies of the Vale. Those standing near Jace were now shuffling away, as if the crimes of his stepfather had tainted him as well.

Arianwyn did not pity him.

Why should she? For years, he had ignored Arianwyn’s fear of Daemon, even when it was abundantly obvious.

It was clear in how she blanched whenever her father would look at her. How she would avert her gaze and stand to the side when she encountered him within the castle. How she flinched every time he raised his voice or slammed a hand on the table at dinners.

What did Jace think happened when Daemon dismissed them all from dinner only days ago to speak to his daughter alone? Was he truly so blind he did not see her fear the next day? Had Daemon so thoroughly deluded him that he actually thought her bruises were the work of Aemond’s hands?

Even Jace could not be so stupid.

“Silence!” Jeyne called from her throne. But even she could not wholly calm the chaos that had erupted. “You will all be silent and let the Princess speak!”

Eventually, the room was silent again, as all assembled decided their desire to hear more outweighed their instinct to rage at the accusations.

“I confess I do not know his motivation,” Arianwyn said when she finally began again, “but my father came to the Vale that day to kill my mother. In his cruelty, he apparently decided he would rather her die slowly and in agony than kill her quickly. Raping her was just another insult. He never intended for his seed to find purchase or for me to be born. Indeed, he has made it quite clear to me that his only regret is that I did not die alongside my mother in the birthing bed.”

She went on until she had told them everything.

How Daemon never acknowledged her until Lady Laena’s funeral. The cruel words he had said to her then. How he had taken her to Dragonstone not out of fatherly duty but to punish her for fighting with his other daughters. The neglect she endured on the island and the threats he made against her there.

The details of how Jace and Baela had treated her, she left out. It would serve no purpose to share them. And besides, he knew as little of this story as the rest of them – that much was clear from the abject horror growing on his face with every passing moment.

But she did speak of Rhaenyra. How she ignored Arianwyn for years, even after she became her stepmother. What she had said in the garden at Dragonstone, revealing that she knew what Daemon had done while belittling it and calling it merely “regrettable.”

How the would-be Queen had only stood there when Daemon wrapped his hands around Arianwyn’s throat. How she said nothing when he called her a ‘whore’ and a ‘virgin cunt’ to be sold for his own advantage. How she had stared blankly when Daemon threatened to kill Arianwyn.

Just as she had in the Throne Room while Daemon spun his horrible little story about Aemond, trying to pass the blame for his own attempt on Arianwyn’s life to her new husband.

Rhaenyra had only stepped in when it became clear Daemon was coming dangerously close to exposing himself – and her.

Arianwyn fell silent then. She could have continued, released all her anger in one fiery burst, and shouted so loud the gods could hear that Rhaenyra was unfit to be Queen and that Daemon was an even worse choice for King.

But she did not.

Revealing the story to the world, at last, had exhausted her body and soul. Besides, there was nothing she could say that could possibly make her case more convincingly than the simple truth.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jeyne broke the silence. And with it, the spell of horrified shock that had enveloped the High Hall – perhaps the entire Eyrie.

“I will offer only one correction,” Jeyne said, her voice as raw as though she had been crying. Perhaps she had, and Arianwyn just had not noticed. “There was a miracle, dear Arianwyn. It was a miracle that Rhea survived long enough to deliver you.”

-

“Where’s Aria?” Aemond grunted as he slid off his borrowed horse once he was in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

Faintly, he could hear servants working, people chattering, and even the low bleats of sheep. But his ears were still echoing with the sounds of the storm.

He stumbled as he stepped away from the horse, cursing his mind for abandoning his body like this. Thankfully, someone was there to catch him.

“Aria?” he sighed in relief. That was Rune-etched bronze armor before his eyes, perhaps the most comforting sight in the world.

But the voice that came from his rescuer was deep and gruff.

Not Aria, then.

Aemond couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. It sounded as though it was coming from behind a thick wall of stone.

“Take me to Aria,” he commanded, pushing away from whichever of his wife’s guards had caught him.

He stumbled again as he climbed the steps into the Keep but caught himself before he fell. It would not do to let the servants and courtiers see him in such a state, to see him weak.

He was Prince Aemond Targaryen, son of King Viserys and brother to King Aegon II. He was a warrior. A scholar. The rider of the largest dragon –

Dammit.

The thought of Vhagar brought another bout of pain and nausea coursing through him. He dove into the first alcove he saw and doubled over, emptying what little was left in his stomach onto the stone floor.

An armor-clad hand came to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “My Prince?”

Aemond shook it off, growling. This time, he caught a glimpse of brownish hair – the guard had removed his helmet. Still, he couldn’t tell who it was. His vision was too blurry.

“Do not touch me,” he moaned half-heartedly. Then, summoning all his strength, he stood once more.

Every step towards his apartments took the whole of his concentration – every remaining drop of his strength to hold whatever was left of his mind in place.

He likely would have failed had each beat of his heart not whispered to him: “Aria. Aria. Aria.”

All he needed was to reach her, collapse into her arms, and all would be well. She would make everything alright again. She could wake him from this nightmare and banish the darkness from his heart.

He just needed to get to her.

After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the dark wood door to their chambers.

The Runes he and Aria had carved into them years and years ago seemed to be lit from within, as worn as they had become over the years. Aemond ran a hand over them, and with each line, his resolve seemed to strengthen.

He was so close. She was right behind the door.

The metal of the door handle was cool, just like her touch – the touch that would soon soothe him.

But as the door creaked open, his heart sank, and his stomach roiled.

The hearth was empty. The fire unlit. The curtains drawn. The room dark.

Aria was not there.

“Where is she?” Aemond hissed as his weak, traitorous, broken body began to tremble and shake. “Where is my wife?”

He turned slightly to the guard that had followed him here – or guards? There appeared to be three of them now. Or perhaps his vision was multiplying.

“The Princess has not yet returned, my Prince.”

Aemond’s body went unnaturally still at those words, as his mind returned to him for only as long as it took for his world to shatter.

-

A small but not insignificant number of Lords had immediately made an impassioned plea – or, more accurately, demand – for Jeyne to declare war upon Rhaenyra and Daemon, not for their false claim to the Iron Throne, but for the rape and murder of Rhea Royce, and for the mistreatment of her daughter.

They had flocked to the base of the Weirwood throne shouting their demand the moment Jeyne finished speaking, forcing Arianwyn to retreat back to her place by Gerold’s side.

“Is this… good?” she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the display before her.

Gerold wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “I think this is perhaps the best outcome we could have hoped for, my dear.”

“So, you aren’t upset with me for telling them?”

He laughed as they watched one of the Lords surrounding Jeyne, a man who looked as old as time itself, start brandishing his cane like it was either a sword, a magic staff, or both.

“No, Aria,” he assured her. “I was quite nervous about what it would prompt Daemon to do, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. And if he does seek reprisals against you, I think all we must do is send Lord Upcliff to defend you. Gods, I thought he could hardly walk any more – just look at him!”

Indeed, the once doddering old man looked as though he was ready to lead the Knights of the Vale into battle himself.

As amused as Arianwyn and Gerold were, Jeyne’s smile at the reaction from her men had long since faded.

“My Lords!” she shouted again as her guards tried to pull the men away from the throne. “There will be no war today! So please – calm down!”

While the guards continued dispersing the irate Lords of the Vale, Arianwyn let her eyes drift across the High Hall to Jace.

He had said nothing since she revealed the truth. He had not even moved. His eyes were wide with shock and horror, his mouth hanging slightly open, and his brow furrowed. When he met her gaze, his expression hardened into one of anger.

Not at Arianwyn, as it had always been, but for her.

She could not bear the weight of that look, yet she could not turn away from it.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne called, breaking him away from his ceaseless staring. “You are the only representative present from Dragonstone. In the interest of justice, I here offer you the opportunity to defend your stepfather against the accusations levied against him. Have you anything to say to the court?”

Jace’s mouth opened and closed, words forming and then dying on his lips. Finally, after a moment of fruitless scrambling for something to say, he glanced back to Arianwyn, and his face crumpled.

“Nothing, my Lady,” he whispered as he looked down to his feet, weakly shaking his head.  

“Then I think we can forgo any further debate or discussion,” Jeyne declared. “As well as the lengthy process of a formal vote on this matter. I feel that we have heard more than sufficient evidence to know what we must now do without a doubt.”

Jeyne pursed her lips before looking back to the Lords suspiciously. “But, of course, I have the utmost respect for our laws and traditions. So, I will tell you what I propose we do. And should any of you wish to disagree with me, I will allow you to explain why before I ignore you and do what I believe is right anyway.”

Arianwyn almost laughed aloud while Jessamyn sighed and rolled her eyes. But no one else acknowledged the humor, so they both remained silent.

“It is my intention to declare my support for Aegon Targaryen as King,” Jeyne proclaimed, her voice once more that of the Lady of the Vale. “While I have always believed that in this world of men, women must band together, I cannot reconcile myself with Princess Rhaenyra’s abysmally poor choice of consort.

“Even if the law were on her side, and the Iron Throne was hers by right, it is my belief that her willful association with Daemon Targaryen renders her unfit to rule. It is most unseemly for a woman to stand by a man who has mistreated women – women I love – as severely as Daemon Targaryen has. I cannot forgive her complicity in his crimes. That is in the hands of the gods, though I have my doubts that even the Father himself would pardon such sins.”

With a deep, steadying breath, Jeyne braced her hands on the arms of her throne and looked imperiously over the men she ruled. “Is there any who would oppose this decision?”

Lord Sunderland began to speak but swiftly changed his mind. Then, though it obviously pained him, he bowed his head in acquiescence.

“Then it is decided,” Jeyne proclaimed with a wide grin. “The Vale and all its people hereby recognize Aegon, Second of His Name, as the rightful heir to his father, King Viserys, and as the one true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She paused to allow applause – louder than it had been for Jace’s petition – to again sweep through the room as her steward led chants of ‘Aegon the King.’

But she did not move to dismiss the court. Instead, she turned to her godsdaughter. “Princess Arianwyn?” she called, only continuing when the girl was again standing before her. “You have presented yourself well today. You should be proud.”

Indeed, Arianwyn was filled with such pride and relief that she felt her chest would burst for it. But she tried to remain humble as she bowed her head. “Thank you, godsmother.”

“You are very welcome, my dear,” Jeyne cooed fondly before slipping back into her more regal demeanor. “But your mission is only half-accomplished, is it not?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Arianwyn said quickly. “The King has asked that I negotiate for the support of your troops, should they be needed to defend his crown.”

“I do not think ‘negotiation’ is necessary,” Jeyne laughed. “I have only two requests of our new King, and I do not imagine he will object much to either. Will you hear them?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“First, I ask that he use every tool at the Crown’s disposal to bring Daemon Targaryen to justice and ensure that he is punished in accordance with the severity of his crimes.”

Arianwyn nodded eagerly, too overwhelmed by the ferocity with which Jeyne spoke – a ferocity which suggested she would tear Daemon apart herself if given the chance – to say anything.

“My second request may be somewhat more difficult, I am afraid. Should war break out, it will be fought with dragons. Now, I have no fear of armies. Many and more have broken themselves against my Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie is known to be impregnable. But you,” she nodded to Jacaerys as well, “the both of you, have descended on us from the sky, as Queen Visenya once did during the Conquest, and I was powerless to halt you.

“The decisions I have made today, and truths that were revealed in my keep, will no doubt reach Daemon’s ears. Should he come seeking retribution, I must not be powerless to defend myself and my people. Send me dragonriders.” There was a flicker of genuine fear in Jeyne’s dark eyes as she spoke. Fear that her people would suffer the consequences of her actions – however righteous they were.

Arianwyn understood that fear. It was the same that had kept her and Emrys from escaping Dragonstone for all those years.

“I will do what I can, my Lady,” she said, hoping it would be enough. “I have little involvement in matters of war, but should it be necessary, Emrys and I shall come and defend the Eyrie ourselves.”

“Nothing would make me feel safer,” Jeyne agreed. Then, with a dramatic sweeping of her skirts as she stood, she descended her throne to take Arianwyn’s arm and begin leading her from the High Hall. “Speaking of your delightful dragon, I believe you are past due to fly home to your equally delightful husband...”

-

“Where is she?” Aemond demanded. His body had begun to shake again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Only one thing mattered.

Arianwyn.

He felt the uncomfortable sensation of hot, salty tears pooling in his empty eye.

Oh gods. The sapphire was gone, as was the patch.

How many people had seen his true, monstrous self?

Aemond’s feet began carrying him to the bedchamber before he heard the guards reply – if they had replied at all. He pushed open the door so hard the wood cracked, but he did not stop.

Not until he reached the mirror.

The one he had set into the eastern wall. So that he could see his sapphire every morning and think of Aria. So he could see himself as she would – as she did – as the man, not the monster.

There was nothing left of the man in his reflection now.

His skin and hair were stained with his own blood, only interrupted by the clean tracks left by his tears.

His one eye was wide, wet, and bloodshot – the eye of a cornered, feral beast, not a civilized man or Prince.

His lips were so dry they had begun to crack and bleed, and the remnants of his sick were still at the corners of his mouth.

The wounds he had inflicted on himself were savage and deep. They would likely scar, but he did not care.

Aemond recognized the monster reflected back at him.

It was him, as he truly was, behind all his masks and lies.

“Where is she?” he asked, though he did not know whether the guards had followed him. “Why isn’t she here? I need her.”

He needed her so badly.

He would die if he did not find her.

He would die and go to the deepest hell, where he belonged.

He would never see her again.

She was good. Her soul was pure – she would not be sent to the hells.

While he suffered for eternity, she would live in bliss alongside the gods.

She would forget him, the broken man she had felt enough pity for to shackle herself to him in life.

Aemond hoped she would forget him quickly. He did not want her to suffer on his behalf.

He did not want to shadow her beautiful soul with the darkness that lived in him.

He screamed, the harrowing sound coming from the very depths of his broken soul, as he threw his fist into the mirror with all his might.

It shattered into a million tiny shards of pure silver, exploding throughout the room.

Each new cut on his face and each sliver of glass embedded into his hand at once anchored Aemond to reality and pulled him further into his distant, dark soul.

Suddenly, a hand brushed his shoulder.

He was so entirely consumed by the monster staring back at him that, even through the mirror, he had not noticed anyone approaching.

His training kicked in, and he moved on instinct.

He shoved the hand on his shoulder away as he turned, reaching for his assailant. Finding another arm, thin and fragile, he seized it with all his strength and twisted, twisted, twisted. Until he heard them scream in pain.

But he knew that scream.

Kirin.

At once, Aemond’s mind came racing back, and he was what was before him – what he was doing.

His hand was wrapped around Kirin’s arm – his bad arm – bending and pulling it past its natural limits. His manservant’s face was distorted in pain as he screamed, but his blue eyes were filled only with concern for his master.

Aemond pulled away the moment the guards burst into the room. Ser Conin and Ser Christor grabbed Kirin as he fell, immediately rushing him out of the apartments. To the Maesters, no doubt.

Ser Warren remained behind, his dark gaze fixed on the Prince, assessing him as a threat. But then, the old man saw the wounds on his face, the tear tracks through the blood, and the fear in his eye.

“My Prince,” Warren said, his voice soft and careful, as though he were trying to soothe a rabid dog. “Princess Arianwyn has not returned. She is expected tonight. Is there someone else I can summon to… help you?”

Aemond took a step back into the broken shards of the mirror, wishing that one of them would break through the leather of the boot and cut him. He needed more pain, worse pain, anything to anchor him to reality until Arianwyn was back.

“Get out,” Aemond whispered, his voice too broken to shout again, as he wanted to. “Get out. Leave me alone. If anyone other than Aria comes in here … I will kill them.”

Not a threat, exactly, but the expression of genuine fear. If he could hurt Kirin – his trusted servant and friend – he was capable of hurting anyone.

Except Arianwyn. Never her.

Ser Warren nodded and left quickly, muttering something about stationing guards at the door.

Aemond staggered through the rooms to the door, falling against it and ensuring the lock was turned. Only Arianwyn held the key to unlock it – only she could free him from this cage.

Or perhaps she would leave him in here. It would be safer to keep the monster contained, where it could hurt no one.

But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even see him as a monster.

For once, the thought brought him more pain than comfort.

He didn’t want to be anchored to reality, he wanted to escape it.

He stumbled across the room once more. Not to the bedchamber, but to the cabinet he knew had been recently stocked with Arianwyn’s favorite wines. Flavored with fruit and flowers, their taste was as delicate as the woman who loved them.

His body was so out of his control that he ripped the door off the cabinet rather than opening it. It didn’t matter. He had what he needed.

He had always hated that loss of self and control. It was why he had always avoided wine for so long. And it was precisely why he needed it now – to hasten his mind’s retreat and keep him far away from reality until Arianwyn was here again.

Aemond grabbed the first bottle he could reach, ripped out the cork, and began to drink.

-

Jeyne, Gerold, and Jessamyn were the only ones to accompany Arianwyn to the gardens to say goodbye. Emrys, who had fallen asleep too quickly the night of their arrival to greet anyone, was thrilled to see Gerold again, and even more so to meet his rider’s godmother and her companion.

While Gerold was already acquainted with the dragon and knew how to approach him, Jeyne and Jessamyn wore twin expressions of equal delight and terror as they strode toward the great beast. Thankfully, Emrys was one of the friendlier dragons in Westeros, especially when the new people he met approached hand-in-hand with his rider.

Still, Jessamyn’s knees buckled when she first touched his smooth black scales, requiring Jeyne to catch her before she fell. Emrys immediately swiveled his head to check on her, prompting an outpouring of laughter from everyone.

Laughter that ended the moment Arianwyn spotted Jacaerys enter the gardens, lock eyes with her, and begin to walk her way.

“I’m leaving,” she hissed to Gerold as she started to climb into the saddle. “Right now.”

“Arianwyn,” Gerold scolded, grabbing the back of her armor to halt her. Even when he had not been training for many months, he was still much stronger than her, allowing him to hold her still despite her protestations and wriggling. “If he wants to say goodbye, you should let him. He is your cousin and stepbrother. And you all but humiliated him today. You owe him this.”

Looking to Jeyne and Jessamyn for support was useless, as they both muttered their agreement with Gerold.

“Please?” she begged pathetically as Gerold hoisted her from the stirrups and set her gently but firmly back on the ground, making her feel like she was no more than a ragdoll.

Again, it was to no avail. Jeyne stepped forward to tuck away a few strands of hair that had already come loose from Arianwyn’s braid as she whispered, “You have proved yourself a skilled diplomat today. Consider this but one final test, yes?”

“Will you stay with me?” Arianwyn asked, leaning into her godsmother’s touch.

Jeyne sighed and kissed her godsdaughter’s forehead. “No, my dear. I think you need to do this alone. There is more between the two of you than what happened today. If war is coming, you should make peace while you can.”

Arianwyn could not quite see the logic of making peace in preparation for war, but reluctantly agreed. Not wanting to show weakness, she held back her tears while she said goodbye to her cousin, godsmother, and whatever one calls their godsmother’s secret lover.

Then they left, passing Jace on their way back into the Eyrie. Jeyne and Jessamyn only politely dipped their heads to the Prince as they walked by, while Gerold stopped and grabbed his arm to whisper something to him before moving on.

Emrys growled as he approached, angling his head and wings to hide Arianwyn as best he could. At least he supported her.

“I want to talk to you,” Jace pled after several minutes of trying and failing to outmaneuver the dragon.

“And why should you ever want that?” she hissed, her voice muffled through the membrane of Emrys’ wing.

“I think after what you just said in there,” he huffed, “I deserve some answers.”

“Mmm,” Arianwyn hummed, fastening her bag to Emrys’ saddle a little too tightly. The dragon grunted, though he directed his frustration not at his rider but at the bastard Prince that was upsetting her. “I didn’t think I left any room for questions.”

Jace groaned in frustration. “Aria…”

“Do not call me that!” she shouted, abandoning her preparations for departure and bursting from beneath Emrys’ wing to round on her stepbrother. When she reached him, she shoved him as hard as he could. “You do not get to call me that!”

He stumbled back but did not move to retaliate. Instead, he held out his arms to try and dissuade her from attacking again. And to placate Emrys, who was viciously baring his teeth.

Arianwyn was disappointed. For a moment, she thought she might get to use the dagger Aemond gave her, now strapped to the belt of her riding leathers. She did have a better record with live targets, after all. But whatever her desires, she would not attack unprovoked.

She rolled her eyes as she stepped back to Emrys. “You may speak until I am ready to depart. I would be quick about it if I were you – I am anxious to return home.”

Jace scoffed as he took a cautious step forward, “To your one-eyed beast of a husband?”

That was provocation enough for Arianwyn.

She drew her dagger and whirled around. Rather than try and bring the blade to his throat, she grabbed his collar and pulled him to the blade. It worked much better than the lunging attacks Aemond had forced her to practice. She did not press hard enough to cut, only to apply enough pressure for him to think twice before talking again.

“My ‘one-eyed beast of a husband’ taught me how to use this,” she spat. Only partly true – he had taught her how to hold it. They had not had much success past that. But she understood the concept of the dagger well enough. She did not need much training to know which end would cut. “Would you like me to show you, bastard?”

At the pain that went through his dark eyes at the word, she almost regretted the insult. She had never used it before – she always thought she was in no place to judge someone on their parentage.

But she would not endure insults to Aemond. Especially not from Jace.

He and his brother were the cause of so much of Aemond’s pain. What was a single cruel and undeniably true word against what they had done to him? To what he had said to her on Driftmark over the past six years?

She could not decipher the expression on his face as he pulled as far away from her blade as he could. His eyes were sorrowful, but his mouth was curled in a sneer. “Do you really hate me that much?”

Arianwyn was taken aback, so much so that she released his collar and let him stumble away from her dagger. “What?”

He looked to be almost on the verge of tears as he looked at her beseechingly. “Do you hate me, Arianwyn?”

She expected him to accuse her of lying about her father and his mother. To demand she recant all that she had said. Or even to try and stop her from leaving.

But, true to form, he had asked her another stupid question.

“You spent our entire childhood making Aemond miserable,” she said, her voice thick with anger and confusion. He moved to refute or argue with her, but she raised her blade again to stop him. “He never did anything to you, yet you took every opportunity to torment him – whether Aegon was there or not. It was you who brought the knife to that fight!”

Jace looked away from her, lips thin with anger. But he said nothing as she continued her tirade.

“You had to know it was him.” she dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side as tears welled in her eyes. “When you came to the tunnel. Rhaena was with you, so who else could it have been?”

She began to laugh as her tears fell, and she waved her hand, in which the dagger was now only loosely gripped, as she spoke. “You saw Vhagar and knew it was Aemond. And you were not as desperate or ill-educated as Rhaena. You knew that he had not ‘stolen’ her,” she spat, the word that had long caused her animosity with her youngest half-sister disgusting her still. “You knew it was his birthright to claim a dragon.”

Arianwyn had never intended to say so much to him, having responded to his taunts with as few words as possible for so long. But he had somehow unearthed a rage buried deep within her, feelings toward him that she had not known were there.

“It had been his birthright to have an egg to warm his cradle – as you and I both did – but he was denied that, as he was denied so much by his father,” she laughed again. “But what would you know about that? Viserys always loved you and your brothers so well. And you have been blessed with an excess of fathers: Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong, and now Daemon.”

Her laughter faded, and her bitter smile fell. “It’s disgusting, you know. How you follow Daemon around like a dog, begging for his attention and praise. What is it you expect from him? You don’t really think he’ll let you inherit anything, do you? He has two trueborn sons with Rhaenyra. Not even you can be so foolish as to think he’d let a bastard take the throne before them.”

She took a heaving breath, fully intending to continue her tirade, but then Jace moved. He snatched the dagger out of her hand, sending it clattering across the flagstones and into the bushes. When her silver gaze finally left him to stare at it in disbelief, he grabbed her but the shoulders.

“Arianwyn,” he gritted through clenched teeth, “I just want to know – ”

“Why did you bring that knife?” she screamed with all the breath in her lungs, then fell silent.

She had not known it, but that question had burned in her mind for more than six years. It had fueled every frustration she ever held for him. It was the reason his every word grated on her – why she had always bristled under his gaze.

Luke’s hand had stolen Aemond’s eye, but Jace’s knife made the cut.

Jace did not answer, though he did let go of her. As she glared at him, he could not meet her eye.

“What did you plan to do to him?” She asked, as still as the stone of the mountains surrounding them. “If I hadn’t been there, what would you have done?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, his lip curled in a scowl. “I just… I wanted to scare him.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not like him.”

“He had never done anything to you, or anyone,” Arianwyn said, still not understanding. “He is your uncle – he wanted to be your friend. At Laena’s funeral, he tried to tell you he was sorry about Ser Harwin’s death. Why did you dislike him so?”

Jace released his grip and turned his back on her, so all she could see was his dark hair blowing in the breeze as he looked at the statue of Alyssa Arryn, only steps away.

“He had you.”

Arianwyn had never felt so lost. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him, desperate for him to say just one thing that made sense. “He ‘had’ me? What does that even mean?”

“You were always with him!” he shouted as he whirled around to her again, though he never met her eyes. “At meals and parties, in your lessons, in the library. Seven hells, you even came to watch him train even though you hate fighting!”

“He was – and is – my best friend. I was always with him because I liked being with him,” she countered, brow furrowing tighter. “Just like you were always with Luke and Aegon.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jace said, laughing darkly and shaking his head.

Arianwyn scoffed, “I don’t even know what the ‘thing’ is!”

“It – ” the muscles in his jaw were so tight they seemed about to snap. “It was… frustrating to me. That I could never talk to you without him being there.”

“Still, it never seemed to stop you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Or Aegon.”

He had the courtesy to look mildly regretful. “That wasn’t talking.”

“No, it was ridicule.”

“And it wasn’t you that we were – ”

“It might as well have been.”

“Can you please just – ”

“What do you want from me, Jace?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you, dammit!” he roared.

Arianwyn felt as though she had woken suddenly from a nightmare. She stumbled back until she hit Emrys’ scales, then slid down until she was slumped against him with her head in her hands. “Tell me this is just another of your stupid jokes, or I am going to vomit.”

Jace grimaced and kicked the tip of his boot against the side of a loose flagstone. “I’m sorry.”

While she didn’t vomit, Arianwyn let out a miserable, guttural groan that sounded quite close to vomiting. “How can you love me if you don’t even like me?”

“I do like you,” he answered, still not daring to approach her or her angry dragon. “I’ve always liked you.”

Arianwyn finally raised her head, leaning against Emrys’ hot scales as she looked up at her stepbrother. “You don’t treat people you like the way you’ve treated me. You’re cruel to me.”

“No,” he sighed, stepping toward her just enough to earn a warning growl from Emrys. “It’s not cruelty, I promise. It’s jokes, teasing – that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“But we aren’t friends, Jace,” she countered, hating herself for feeling badly when he looked hurt by her words. “We never have been.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t nice to me!”

“You wouldn’t talk to me if I was nice to you!”

“How do you know? Did you ever try?”

Jace opened his mouth, but what came out was more of a quiet squawk than an actual word. Arianwyn could do nothing but look at him in bewilderment as he recalled their every interaction. His face scrunched like he was trying to solve some great mystery.

“You didn’t,” she answered for him, lacking the patience to let him figure it out for himself. “Even once I was on Dragonstone, where Aemond couldn’t ‘have’ me, you were never nice to me. None of you were, except Rhaena. She’s the only one who ever apologized to me for what you did on Driftmark.”

He stared blankly at where Emrys had wrapped the tip of his tail around Arianwyn. A gentle touch of comfort, protection, and possessiveness from a beast capable of such awesome death and destruction.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine that the touch was not Emrys but Aemond. That it was his warmth she was feeling. But if Aemond were here, if he heard what Jace was saying to her…

Perhaps it was a good thing her husband was so far away.

“So, you do hate me,” Jace whispered as the revelation finally came to him, “and… I deserve it.”

Arianwyn rolled her eyes, prepared to say something cutting, but then she saw the devastation and self-loathing on his face. She swallowed the retort, along with the slight pang of guilt in her chest. “Well, maybe not ‘hate,’ exactly. Just… very, very strong dislike.”

“That is the definition of hate,” he replied with a sad laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Arianwyn said, and despite herself, she meant it.

He shook his head, shoulders drooping. “No, don’t do that. I should be the one to apologize to you. For how I’ve treated you, for the things I’ve said, and for… everything with Aemond.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. It was not forgiveness, for that would require more than a simple apology. All she would – could – give him was acknowledgment. That she had heard his words, that she understood him. That, perhaps, forgiveness was possible.

Sensing the tension disappear, Emrys rose from his protective crouch and flexed his wings. He stretched a bit, testing the weight of all the saddlebags – and the sword, Lamentation, carefully attached to the side of Arianwyn’s seat. There had been a place for a weapon built into his saddle, but it had never been used until now.

“I think he’s ready to leave,” Jace sighed.

Arianwyn stood and looked back to her mount. He certainly was. She could tell by how he leaned down on one side – his way of asking her to climb on. She smiled, stroking his side before gripping the first handhold of the saddle.

“Can I…” Jace started, making her stop her ascent for a moment. “Can I ask you one more question before you go?”

Emrys bristled at the further delay but did not make any other attempts to intimidate the boy. Arianwyn didn’t respond until she was settled in the saddle with the leather straps around her thighs fastened. “You may.”

Jace looked up at her, brown eyes pleading and shoulders squared. Arianwyn knew that whatever he was about to ask, the answer was monumentally important to him.

“If things had been different,” he began, never breaking his gaze from hers for more than a blink, “if I had been different – been better… could you ever have loved me? Chosen me, instead of him?”

Arianwyn froze. He had just given her the power to break his heart.

She knew she should think about her answer, should try and imagine a world where Jace had been kind and sweet. One where it may have been him to spend those long days in the library with her. Or one where, once they were on Dragonstone, he changed to her and became the Prince to rescue her from her tower.

But none of those imaginings could even begin to form in her mind.

For each time, her mind instead conjured an image of a story she’d so often been told. Two white-haired babes – one swaddled in green, one in bronze – meeting for the first time. Smiles breaking across their still-pink, chubby cheeks as they reached toward each other with clumsy arms.

They had never stopped reaching for each other. And they never would.

“No,” she said. She knew it was the answer he was dreading, but no matter what he had done, he deserved the truth. And this was a truth etched into her heart, her soul. “It was always Aemond.”

Though his eyes began to water, Jace smiled tightly as he nodded. “I am very happy for you, that you are so happy. And… I will try to be happy for him as well.”

Arianwyn knew that ‘try’ was the most important word in that sentiment, but she smiled back anyway as she grasped Emrys’ reins. “Thank you, Jace. I will pray that you and Baela can find the same happiness in your own union.”

She meant it. When the betrothal was announced, she saw how excited Baela was. How her half-sister had looked so deeply in love the night of the dinner. If Jace would allow himself to, they could find genuine love together.

He pursed his lips in a way that usually meant he was about to make some snide comment, but he bit it back with a twitch of his head. Then, he stepped away from Arianwyn and Emrys, giving the dragon ample space to take flight.

“The next time we see each other,” Jace called, his voice sodden with regret. “We may very well be true enemies. It will be my duty to hurt you. Or kidnap you. Or...”

“I think it is more than likely, I’m afraid,” she agreed.

Jace was silent for a moment, looking down at his shuffling feet. “Aria?”

Though she still bristled at hearing him call her that, she did not comment on it. “Yes, Jace?”

He took a deep breath and looked directly into her eyes. “Promise me that whatever happens, you will stay far, far away from Daemon.”

So, he did believe her story.

To her surprise, she felt no instinct to gloat. On the contrary, she was touched by how worried he was about her.

“Don’t worry,” she said in consolation, allowing herself a slight grin. After all, she was most comfortable around Jace when she was teasing him. But now, her tone was far more playful than spiteful. “I was planning on doing that anyway.”

Then Emrys took to the sky, hollering in delight that he was finally going home –where Arianwyn knew her husband would be waiting for her.

-

Aemond waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Still, Arianwyn did not come.

How long had he been sitting on their bedroom floor amongst the shards of shattered glass, just waiting?

Minutes?

Hours?

Days?

Years?

An eternity?

He blinked slowly, his eye dry and heavy. And far too blurry to see where he had put his bottle.

So, he reached out blindly, discarding the empty bottles he found and savoring the clattering sound they made as they rolled across the floor. The pain it caused his aching head reminded him that he was alive and served as the beginning of the punishment he deserved.

Finally, he found a half-full bottle and brought it to his lips. Then, after another long gulp, he rested it against his heaving chest.

Night had fallen – or fallen again, if he had indeed been here more than a day. Moonlight shone through the window, reflecting off the pieces of mirror sprawled on the floor as it had once reflected off his sapphire.

But Aemond did not look at the moonlight. He could not appreciate its strange beauty.

He could only stare at the impenetrable darkness in the corner of the room.

It seemed to have emerged from within his broken soul.

And from within, staring at him like a wolf in the night, was the horrible, simple truth that he felt infinitely more guilt for hurting Kirin than he did for killing Luke.

It was that truth that made him a monster.

“Aria…” he whispered, his voice hardly more than a breath. Even as he drank, he did not dare look away from the darkness as he called out for his wife.

And he did not stop.

Next Chapter

[rayclubs]

how do pronouns work in russian? like i know the standard he/she, but are there any gender neutral ones ?

Good question! It's a bit complicated and it's 3 AM right now, but hopefully I can do a decent job of explaining this.

Russian is a gendered language. That means that all nouns have a gender, which can be masculine, feminine, or "middle" - I'm gonna call it neutral for the purposes of this post, but you'll see it's not quite the same.

All feminine nouns fall under the pronoun "она", masculine - "он, neutral - "оно". Thisis your regular "he", "she", and... Not quite "they".

One big difference is that in an English sentence "they" can mean a he or a she. When we don't know someone's gender, we refer to them as "they", and it's always correct in any case. In Russian, on the other hand, all nouns have gender by default, so instead of using a gender-neutral pronoun, you would use whichever pronoun corresponds to the gender of the noun you are referring to.

In English, when I say "my doctor told me", the doctor's gender isn't clear. In Russian, a doctor is a he by default.

So, why "оно"? Well, mostly for objects that are grammatically in that third, neutral gender category, though I've seen people starting to use "оно" for themselves.

Another difference would be that "оно" is neither a he nor a she, but a complete third category. An apple is an оно. So is a window, or a towel, or the Sun, or some people - not me, I don't go by "оно" despite very well going by "they" in English - it's quite literally a third gender. You can't really be gender-neutral when you're literally making up an entire third gender, right?

Another issue is that everything kind of defaults to male in Russian. Most job titles, for instance, unless they have a feminine counterpart - very few, if any, don't have an original male version. We also have cases, six of them, but you can group them into nominative (he, she, they) and object (him, her, them). In English they're all different, but in Russian the neutral pronoun is the same as the male one in object case. Look: he, they (он, оно) - him, them (его, его). Identical. A big win for the he/theys! But not very neutral.

Some people have begun using "они" (literal plural "they") as gender-neutral, including myself. It's... Clunky. Very clunky. Russian nouns, adjectives and verbs all share a kind of "agreement" bond in a sentence, meaning they have to all "agree" with each other on case, quantity, and gender. Using a grammatically plural pronoun for a factually singular human is like trying to stick a lightbulb up your ass - you probably can but it won't be pretty and something will break on the way out.

So, does Russian have a gender-neutral pronoun? No, I'm afraid not. It has a pronoun that is neither male nor female, but it isn't neutral either.

I hope that answers your question!

[fleurbin]

a night in paris

hj drabble | masterlist

summary: what could be more romantic than slow dancing with your boyfriend under the eiffel tower?

pairing: hyunjin x reader

genre: non-idol au, romance, pure fluff

word count: 636 words

Paris, France.

The idea of visiting this gorgeous place is beyond spectacular. The feeling of love and desire is everywhere, matching the aromatic and sweet smell of pastry shops across the town.

Going here has always been your dream.

“Come on!”

It was 8 pm at night. The moon was shining so brightly, and the stars lit up sparkles in the sky. There is really nothing more exciting than finally witnessing the real Eiffel Tower with the man you’ve settled your heart with.

You hurriedly grabbed your boyfriend’s right hand and interlocked it with yours as the both of you fasten the pace of your walks.

“Slow down a bit, love. We might trip” Hyunjin chuckled.

“Oh, sorry” You looked up at him for a brief moment and flashed him a sheepish smile. “I’m just excited. I mean… it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for!”

“Yeah, but I still worry for you. You’re one clumsy baby”

“Hey! I’m not clumsy” You laughed at his remark while throwing a small punch at his arm. “And if ever I fall, I know you’ll be there to catch me”

Hyunjin squinted his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, so you won’t?” You let out a dramatic gasp, followed by the sounds of laughter.

“Of course, I’m joking. I’ll always be there for you, love.”

Despite the coldness of the air, you felt warmth traveling all the way up to your cheeks which eventually turned into a shade of pink causing Hyunjin to tease you for it.

In a span of 10 minutes full of giggles and nonsense topics, you’ve finally reached your destination.

The pace of your walk slows down as you admire the view in front of you. Thousands, or maybe billions of emotions came by to greet you while you were busy staring at the Eiffel Tower.

Hyunjin felt your hand slowly loosening from his grip. He whipped his head to look at you and he swore he saw stars in your eyes.

“This…” You started.

“Yeah?”

“Hyunjin, this is so—“

“Beautiful, right?”

You slowly looked at him to find him smiling right at you. His eyes hold lots of emotions and you can tell how happy he is right now just like you.

“Let’s come closer” Hyunjin spoke as he grabbed your hand again. Both of you walked together hand in hand, watching how the breathtaking sight in front of you getting closer and closer.

“There sure are a lot of people even at this time of the night” You heard him laugh.

“Mhm”

“Wanna dance with me?” He whispered, voice ever so gently.

Your gaze suddenly returned immediately back at your boyfriend when you felt his breath right on your ear. You nodded, looking around and scanned your eyes through the crowd. Luckily, everyone was in their own little world.

Hyunjin grabbed your left hand and placed it on top of his shoulder. Encircling you with his arm, he pulled you closer to him and intertwined your free hand with his.

“Wait… “ You removed your hands and stepped away from him a bit, fishing out your phone from your coat. You also took out your airpods and gave him one bud which he gladly accepted.

“It’s incomplete if there’s no music” You giggled.

Shuffling your playlist, the music started to play which also happened to be yours and Hyunjin’s favorite. You placed your phone back inside your pocket and renewed your hold on his

Hyunjin then slowly danced with you, twirling you and giving you kisses from time to time.

“There is nothing that could taint this night forever” He started, breaking the silence. “Everything is perfect, especially since I’m dancing with the love of my life”

“Okay, Mr. hopeless romantic” You smiled. “Kidding. I love you”

“And I love you too… so much”

a/n:

hi, i'm reese, and i'm a new author here ^____^

this is my first time posting an au muehehe. if you have any thoughts or feedbacks about it please do let me know ! also, english isn't my first language so kindly bear with it or feel free to correct me for any grammatical errors !

if you liked my work, please don't forget to leave a like or reblog because it is much appreciated <33

will be writing more soon ! i promise :D