More jerejean, people!!! Come on let’s move it. Fanfics, fanarts, playlists, random long posts about their love, diving into Jeremy’s trauma and how Jean will guide him through just like Jeremy does for him, more of them as a married couple raising Jab, more kisses, more growing. WHAT IS THE HOLD UP?! MOREEEEE
‼️posting this everywhere…The Sunshine Court audiobook will be out March 18, 2025 narrated by Alexander Cendese (who narrated the original trilogy)‼️ @korakos
by Nora Sakavic, read by Alexander Cendese. Nora Sakavic presents Book 4 in the All for the Game series.
I don’t why the sample chosen is the moment in the USC locker room before the Trojan/Foxes game but the narration sounds a tad more chill this time around vs the first 3 books.
no but imagine being the Palmetto State track team coach and learning about this kid who can run a mile in four minutes and so you go and check it out but surprise surprise the exy coach from the shit exy team has him already so you try to negotiate for the player because he might be the fastest kid you’ve ever seen but the exy coach keeps saying no and no and so you watch this kid that can RUN THE MILE IN FOUR MINUTES become the fastest exy player in history and you’re sobbing falling to your knees because you could’ve had him in the track team winning you gold medals in the olympics but instead you just stare from your campus office as this redhead short exy obsessed kid runs laps around the entire uni campus for hours on end without getting tired and just wishes all hell on exy
my favorite thing is when murderbot has too many things going on and replies to a question with a canned buffer phrase. its so funny to me. you stressed out this poor robot so much it had no choice but to go into customer service mode.
‼️posting this everywhere…The Sunshine Court audiobook will be out March 18, 2025 narrated by Alexander Cendese (who narrated the original trilogy)‼️ @korakos
by Nora Sakavic, read by Alexander Cendese. Nora Sakavic presents Book 4 in the All for the Game series.
In the predawn light, Edgar Allan wasn’t much to look at.
On paper it wasn’t far behind Palmetto State in terms of enrollment and campus size, but whereas Palmetto State was built on sprawling land with low buildings and open lawns, Edgar Allan had taken a compact, vertical approach. That wasn’t to say the architecture wasn’t to be admired; even Renee, who had no eye for such things, could see the meticulous and ostentatious care put into the school’s appearance. A pretentious coffin, Jean had called it a month ago, when Renee asked after it. Fanciful and grim, she’d thought then, but now she understood.
Her phone hummed in her hand, but Renee finished her slow sweep of the area before looking down at it. At this hour it would only be one person: she’d kept Stephanie up all night, needing another pair of eyes to guide her and lay the groundwork for this reckless stunt. Their call lasted most of the five-hour drive here from the cabin. Later Renee would apologize for the hours of lost sleep, and Stephanie would brush away her guilt and concern with the same easy care she always did. Now was too soon for any such kindness.
“It’s sent,” Stephanie’s text said.
Renee held down until a heart appeared and slid off the car to her feet. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she went for the front door. There was an actual knocker on the door, but it wasn’t likely to get her far. Renee put her thumb to the doorbell instead. The carved wood muffled most of the noise, but she heard the distant tones echoing down the hall. Renee let them fade, then pressed again. Two seconds later, again. And again. And again.
It took a few minutes, but at long last there was a sharp clack of the locks snapping out of place. Louis Andritch yanked open the door in a half-undone bathrobe, looking more like a harried professor than a campus president.
“Yes?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Jean Moreau is dying,” Renee said.
Andritch stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language, mouth still half-open on an abandoned tirade. She kept her stance neutral and her hands loosely folded in front of her as she waited for him to finally clue in on what she’d said.
“Excuse me?” he finally managed. “What did you say to me?”
“Jean Moreau is dying,” Renee said again, with an unhurried calm that ate away at her heart. Lashing out at Andritch prematurely would tilt this entire fiasco against her, she knew, but without Stephanie’s steady voice in her ear she had nothing to keep her fear at bay. Everything hinged on getting to Jean. If she could just do that, nothing and no one could stop her. This was the only part that Renee couldn’t control.
Renee held Andritch’s gaze as she said, “Exy team, your perfect Court backliner. He is dead or dying as we speak, and I need you to take me to him.”
“Listen,” Andritch said, putting a hand out like he could ward off anything else Renee had to say. “I thank you for your concern, Miss…?” She held out her student ID and driver’s license, but he only gave them a quick glance. “If there was a problem with one of my teams, my staff would have already informed me. I assure you I will look into it, but—”
Renee saw the door start to close and moved into the doorway to catch it. “Mr. Andritch,” she said, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage, “I drove through the night for the slim chance of saving his life. I would prefer you escort me to Castle Evermore now, but if you would rather wait until your school makes the morning news that is your choice.” He frowned at her, not following, but Renee didn’t wait to be asked. “An article is queued to send to a half-dozen sites, and the author is prepared to give Kathy Ferdinand the scoop for her morning show.”
“Where are you even getting this information?” Andritch demanded, and Renee tapped through her phone with her free hand to send a short X out. “These are some serious accusations you are leveling at me, young lady, and I do not appreciate being strongarmed.”
“I would rather not do this,” Renee said. “We both know how much money is riding on championships this year regardless of the outcome. Our schools have too much to gain by seeing this through to the end. But I will not sacrifice Jean. Help me save him, and we can both forget this conversation ever happened. Please.”
Andritch’s phone started ringing before she was finished. He ignored her in favor of answering it with a harried, “Yes?” He tried again to close the door, but Renee braced it with a hand and foot. He fixed her a warning look she wasn’t cowed by. “Yes, hello? Can you give me just a—”
Andritch went still and calm as he listened, and Renee stared him down as Stephanie went up one side of him and down the other. She counted seconds between his “This is highly irregular” and “What proof do I have that this is not some cockamamie prank” protests, and they added up to so many minutes of wasted time Renee was tempted to leave him here.
The first plan had been to bypass Andritch entirely and go straight to Evermore. Stephanie had talked her down from that, careful not to ask how Renee would circumvent the security system there. They needed Andritch on their side. They needed a credible witness. Without him they had nothing. Even if she could get to Jean on her own—they cannot stop me, Mom—how would she keep him? Renee knew Stephanie was right, just as she knew the nearest hardware store wouldn’t open for another hour. She was not above breaking into it, but the consequences would hurt them all in the long run.
At last Andritch hung up. There was a sour look on his face that didn’t match the fear in his eyes, and Renee saw the tension in his imperious gesture to enter his front hall. The what if had taken hold; whether Andritch was more worried about his student or his school’s reputation she did not know or care so long as she got the desired results. Renee stepped in with a polite “Thank you” and stood off to one side so he could close and lock the door again.
Andritch ignored her in favor of making another call. “Coach Moriyama, this is Louis. I need to have a meeting with one of your Ravens this morning, Jean Moreau.” He listened for a moment, and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “New York? Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Of course, family must come first. You have my condolences for your loss. Yes, of course. Yes, I can reschedule, it’s not that pressing. We can discuss it when you are back in town.”
Force, then, Renee thought wearily, but then Andritch hung up and pointed at her. “Do not leave this spot. I am going to get dressed and call security.”
And check his email, most likely, because Stephanie would have sent him a preview of her page-long exposé. Abby had reluctantly loaned them photographs from Kevin’s first night with the Foxes, leery of betraying Kevin’s trust by releasing them but trusting Renee and Stephanie to win Andritch over before they were forced to go public.
Andritch’s phone rang again before he was halfway up the stairwell. “Hello? Coach Wymack, you said?”
The rest of the conversation was muffled by distance. Renee hummed quietly to herself so she wouldn’t ask him to perhaps be a bit more urgent about the situation, and then her phone buzzed against her fingers. She opened it to a query from Stephanie and tapped out a quick update. She didn’t mean to click over to Jean’s message next, but a second later it was staring up at her.
Kengo is dead, first. And then: Thank you.
Two words that meant nothing, that meant everything, when just a few days prior Neil had offered Andrew a threadbare smile and Thank you, you were amazing. before getting ripped out of their lives with violent force. Thank you, goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Renee closed her phone and squeezed it until her knuckles ached. She looked toward the stairs again. She wasn’t sure if a “Hurry” or “I will meet you at the stadium” would make it out of her first, but then Andritch came down the stairs so fast it was a wonder he didn’t tilt forward and fall flat on his face. Renee made a note to gift Abby a spa day as soon as this was over.
“You will follow my car,” Andritch said, snatching his keys off their hook with such force he nearly pulled the rack off the wall as well. He got the door and shooed her out, and Renee went for Andrew’s car with long strides. Andritch needed another moment to field another call, but he pulled his car door closed so hard Renee heard it over the Maserati’s engine. Finally, finally Andritch got on the road, and Renee pulled out behind him.
Because Castle Evermore doubled as the home court for the national team, it was set a short drive from the rest of campus. Renee had never seen it before, but it was hard to miss the imposing building with its spired corners. There was no color on it; from the foundation to the towers it was painted a forbidding solid black.
Pretentious coffin, she silently agreed, and then, But not yours.
The entire thing was surrounded by a tall fence lined with barbed wire. Andritch passed a half-dozen gates before slowing to a stop at one, and he leaned out his window to tap away at a keypad. The gate remained closed, and Andritch tried again. After a few attempts he got out of his car, like somehow the angle of his arm was to blame for this. Renee assumed he had few reasons to come out this way, but that he hadn’t secured the codes on the drive over was frustrating.
Movement in her rearview mirror had her glancing back as an unfamiliar car pulled up behind her. The driver’s door opened, and she saw enough lettering to guess it was campus security. Perhaps Andritch’s incompetence was just show, then, a means of stalling her until he could eject her from campus. She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and waited for the guard to try her door, but he went past her without slowing. Andritch got out of his way to let him have a go at it, but he had no more luck than Andritch had. After two attempts, the guard had no choice but to phone his superiors.
Renee glanced past them at the fence. She gauged the height and tugged idly at her jacket, wondering if it was thick enough to protect her from the barbed wire along the top. Likely not, but before she could commit to trying it out the gate finally rattled open. The guard went jogging past again so he could get back in his car, and the three drove into the Ravens’ guarded lot at last.
The spots closest to the stadium were all taken by a line of identical black cars, so they double-parked behind them. The security guard sent a curious look at Renee as she joined him and Andritch at the door, but he was too busy trying to get them into the Nest to ask questions. Unsurprisingly he needed to call in for this access code as well, and he held the door open for both of them when he managed to get it unlocked.
Renee expected to find a hallway; what she saw was a dark stairwell leading down. Red lighting on the ceiling did nothing to chase away the shadows. Renee was tempted to ask Andritch if he had honestly signed off on this thinking it was a good idea, but he looked just young enough she assumed he’d inherited this madness. Andritch led them down without comment or hesitation, so Renee trailed after him. One more door awaited them at the bottom, but the guard hadn’t bothered to hang up his call and he called out a code to Andritch from the rear.
If Renee had expected the Nest to be an improvement, she was immediately and sorely disappointed. The rooms they passed through in search of a stray Raven were spacious, but the ceilings were too low and the entire thing was done in Raven black and red. It was a minor blessing that these ceiling lights were normal, but whoever installed the bulbs had chosen a weaker wattage that let shadows collect in all the corners.
Renee keenly understood why the Ravens spent so much time on the court, if this was their only other option. She had been here for only twenty seconds, and she was ready to never come here again. Jean had told her the Ravens only left the Nest for away games and classes, and she wasn’t sure if that made this better or worse: she couldn’t imagine coming back to this pit willingly, but the thought of being trapped here almost every hour of the day turned her heart cold.
Raucous laughter led them to a kitchen at last, and the conversation died when Andritch stepped inside. Renee looked past him to the four Ravens gathered around a square table. She had one moment to note their identical black clothes and another to take in their stunned expressions before one got up from the table with lethal intent.
“Who the fuck—”
“Your campus president,” Andritch cut him off. “I am here to see Moreau. Where is he?”
The four exchanged baffled looks before volunteering, “He’s in Red Hall.”
“Show me,” Andritch said.
No one seemed in a hurry to obey, but after a pointed, “You’re already up,” from one of the Ravens at the table, the first man scowled and crossed the room. He put a finger in Renee’s face as soon as he reached them.
“You’re a Fox,” he said. “You don’t belong here.”
She was idly impressed he recognized her so easily, but considering how sour things were between the teams now perhaps it was to be expected. “Neither do any of you.”
“Right now,” Andritch said before the Raven could respond.
He settled for giving her an ugly look and pushing her roughly out of his way. Andritch snapped at him for his aggression as he followed, but Renee let it go in one ear and out the other. Signage on the wall pointed out the directions to Red and Black Halls, and they went down the one that would lead them to Jean. Despite the name, there was no more abundance of color here than there had been anywhere else. Most of the doors they passed were open, but Renee only spared a couple glances at the dark bedrooms.
Finally their unwilling guide stopped in a doorway and hit the side of his fist against the frame. “Andritch is your problem now,” he said to whoever was inside, and he flicked a last annoyed look at the president in question. “Zane is Jean’s roommate. He’ll find him for you. I’ve only got ten minutes left of lunch before I’m due on the court, so I’m leaving.”
“Your name first,” Andritch said.
“Williams,” the man said. “Brayden. Striker, number nineteen. Done here?”
“For the moment,” Andritch said, with a tone that said this attitude was going to dearly cost Brayden when Andritch could spare enough time for him. Renee was expecting his shove as he went back down the hall the way they’d come, and she kept her feet planted so he couldn’t knock her over. She didn’t spare him another thought but followed Andritch to the doorway.
Identical beds were set against opposite walls, with two nightstands and tiny desks between them. Only one man was inside, and he wasn’t Jean. Renee glanced toward the empty half of the room and was surprised to see Jean had decorations up. Postcards were pinned to the walls, and the top of his nightstand was littered with either stickers or magnets. The urge to study his precious possessions was as fleeting as it was inappropriate, and Renee forcibly returned her attention to the greater problem: Jean wasn’t there.
“—he is?” Andritch was asking.
Zane didn’t answer immediately, but the look that crossed his face told Renee everything she needed to know. The Ravens they’d met in the kitchen seemed more annoyed and bewildered by this intrusion than anything; Zane’s hesitation now was a deeper understanding. He knew exactly why they’d come. Renee assumed he had a better vantage point for Jean’s ongoing trauma as his roommate.
“He’ll be with Riko,” Zane said at last. “They’re partners.”
“I don’t care whose partner he is,” Andritch said. “Someone is going to find him for me.”
Zane got up from his desk but sent a long look at Renee. “She shouldn’t be here.”
Andritch snapped his fingers to get Zane’s attention. “That is not your call. Move it.”
Zane led them to Black Hall. Another dormitory, Renee realized, with only one door closed at the far end. Zane knocked, listened, and knocked again. He checked his watch, tipped his head back to think, and said, “First shift, but what day is it? They might be finishing up on the court right now. Come on.”
As soon as he stepped past her, Renee went to the door. The knob turned easily under her hand. For one moment she was surprised at Riko’s boldness, that he genuinely trusted people to stay out of his space out of some semblance of respect. Then she had the door open, and the sight waiting for her erased every thought from her mind.
Zane caught her arm to haul her back. Renee didn’t even feel his skin under her knuckles when she put everything behind her fist. Zane wasn’t expecting it and wasn’t at all braced for it, and he nearly took Andritch down with him as he was thrown back.
The guard moved to intervene, but Renee was in the room and out of reach before he could get his hands on her. She let their outraged demands wash over her and was only distantly aware of how abruptly the shouting stopped when they followed her into Riko’s room. The only thing that mattered was the body on Riko’s floor.
Not a body, Renee thought fiercely, and willed it to be true, but how could it be true when Jean looked like this? That Riko had just left him here like this was almost as horrifying as the state he was in, and she was trembling as she knelt on the ground by his head. She took five seconds to calm herself to stillness before reaching for him, and she pressed her fingers to his bruised throat in search of a pulse. The relief it sent through her was almost sharp enough to bite away her grief, and Renee sent up a quick and desperate prayer of thanks.
“Jean,” she said softly, then louder: “Jean. Can you hear me?”
“Good god above,” the security guard finally said. “Is he—”
“Alive,” Renee said, and was just mad enough to add, “For now.” She looked toward the men standing across from her: the horrified guard who hadn’t signed up for this before he had his morning coffee, the Raven who looked uncomfortable but not surprised or upset, and Andritch, whose blank-faced horror could have been for his mangled student but was just as likely for his crashing career.
“What happened here?” Andritch demanded.
Zane lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Rough scrimmage, maybe?” At the foul look Andritch sent him, he scowled and looked away. “I don’t know, man. He hasn’t been my partner in a year now.”
“I am taking him home,” Renee said. “Help me get him to my car.”
Andritch didn’t move. “We need to call a doctor.”
“Josiah lives on campus,” Zane volunteered. “I’ve got his number saved.”
“He is coming with me,” Renee said.
“You can’t have him.” Zane flicked her a venomous look. “He belongs here.”
That he was angrier over her intrusion than had what happened to his own teammate shook Renee to the core, and for one frightening moment she felt all the years of anger management and therapy start to coil undone. Maybe Zane saw something change on her face, because he took a half-step back from her and tensed for a fight.
“You cannot stop me,” Renee said, in a tone far steadier than she felt. “If you try, I promise you will regret it. Mr. Andritch, you know the terms for my discretion.”
“Now listen,” Andritch started, but there was more uncertainty than bluster in his voice. If he actually had a coherent thought to follow that, he couldn’t seem to get it out. When Renee flicked him a hard look he was staring down at Jean’s broken, bloody form. “I don’t know if we can even safely move him. It would be best to get someone here first to make sure he’s stable. Josiah, you said?” he asked Zane.
“Head nurse,” Zane said, digging his phone out of his pocket.
“I left my team nurse at the hotel before coming over here,” Renee lied as she pulled out her own phone. She hated making Jean a spectacle, but she knew she needed evidence. She took a few pictures of his bloodied, broken face. “I can send these to Kathy Ferdinand for her morning show, or I can delete these in the parking lot. Give me one Raven, or I will take them all.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, young lady,” Andritch said. She half-expected him to try intimidating her to silence, but perhaps he knew it was useless. He could try to confiscate her phone and throw her off-campus, but she’d set too many pieces in motion already. She didn’t technically need Jean or these photos to destroy his school and he knew it. The best he managed was, “Let’s not jump to any rash action.”
Jean’s fingers twitched against the carpet as their voices finally started to rouse him. Renee carefully peeled his hair out of the caked blood on his face and smoothed careful knuckles over his temple.
“Hey,” she said, softening her tone immediately. “Jean, can you hear me? We’re going to move you just in a moment. I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt. It’s going to really hurt, and I can’t stop that. I need you to bear it a little longer, okay?”
At long last Andritch chose his side with a tense, “Let’s get him out of here.”
The guard dragged Zane with him as he approached, and Renee moved out of their way. It took them a moment to figure out how they were supposed to get Jean off the floor. He didn’t stir at the feel of their hands on him, but as soon as they hoisted him off the carpet, he made a wretched noise in the back of his throat that had Renee’s eyes stinging.
“It’s okay,” she promised him, unsure if he could even hear her. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“—ry,” Jean mumbled, so faint Renee could barely hear him. “Sorry, I’m—” the rest got swallowed up by another pained noise as the guard shifted his grip, and Renee locked her fingers together before she could reach for him.
Andritch sent Renee ahead of him so he could take the rear and focus on his phone. From the sound of it he was rounding up the Ravens’ other coaches and calling them back to Evermore for an emergency meeting. Renee kept moving, trying to ignore the agonized sounds Jean was choking on as he was carried after her. She wanted to ask them to be more careful; she knew just from looking at Jean that they couldn’t be careful enough.
Getting him up the steep stairs was the worst part, and Renee’s cheeks were damp with silent tears when she finally pushed open the last door. As soon as the men were clear of the door she hurried over to Andrew’s car. It took only a bit of jostling to slide the passenger seat back on its rails, and she tugged the latch until she could lay it as flat as it would go.
Jean was boneless when they finally got him settled. Renee saw the unnatural way his head lolled to one side and feared the worst, but when she squeezed past Zane to check on him, she could still find a pulse. Unconscious from the pain, then, which was only a half-step better. It was six hours and change from West Virginia to South Carolina. Abby had offered to meet her here, and Renee should have agreed, but she was desperate to get Jean out of the state before Riko and his uncle figured out how to respond.
“You’ll keep us updated?” Andritch said. He sounded calm, but she saw the nervous way he turned his class ring on his little finger as he studied her.
“Hourly reports,” Renee agreed as she pushed the passenger door shut. He was standing close to her, so she obediently tilted her phone screen his way and deleted her photographs in front of him. It wouldn’t stop her from taking more once she got somewhere safe, but it was a token of good faith and the best he could hope for. “We appreciate your cooperation. Please feel free to delete the email you received this morning and contact Coach Wymack if you have any additional concerns.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Zane warned her. “You will regret this.”
Renee met his cold stare with a cool look of her own. “Your captain is free to take his grievances up with me if he has something to say about it. I’m sure he knows where to find me.” She didn’t wait for a response but looked at Andritch. “If we’re finished here, I will take the code for the outer gate.”
The guard had to call his office again to get it for her, and Renee committed it to memory as she got in the car and pulled away. She had six numbers tapped into the keypad when the stadium door crashed open, and Renee glanced at her rearview mirror to see Riko in the doorway. He was dressed in full court gear minus his helmet, and the distance between them couldn’t hide the absolute rage on his face when he followed Zane’s pointing finger to her car. He took a couple steps in her direction like he wanted to chase her down, and Renee quickly put in the last two numbers.
The gate rattled open, and Renee flashed Riko a peace sign out the window as she put the pedal to the floor. Unnecessary, she knew, but she could worry about her attitude later. All that mattered now was getting Jean to South Carolina. She had the window closed before they reached the interstate and called Stephanie on speaker.
“I’ve got him,” she said. “We’re on our way south.”
“How is he?” Stephanie asked. “How are you?”
“Oh, Mom,” Renee said, and risked a glance over at Jean’s battered form. With the windows closed the smell of blood was thick enough to choke on. “I don’t know how he’s still alive.”
“God’s not done with that boy yet,” Stephanie said. “Drive safe, you hear me? I know you were up all night. If you start getting tired, you call me to keep you awake or you make sure you pull over and rest a bit. You can’t help him if you go off the road.”
“I know,” Renee said. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“I’m proud of you, honeybug,” Stephanie said. “I love you. Be safe.”
“Love you.” Renee clicked her phone closed and dropped it into the cup holder between the seats. She reached out blindly for Jean, needing to check his pulse one last time, and thought she felt a hum against her fingertips as Jean tried to stir. “Sleep, Jean,” she urged him, thinking of the lone packet of painkillers in the bottom of her purse. “Sleep, and I’ll get us home.”
“—ome,” was the slurred agreement, and Renee turned her attention back to the endless drive ahead of them.
2023 books a darker shade of magic by v.e. schwab (reread)
Magic was a living thing---that, everyone knew---but to Kell it felt like more, like a friend, like family. It was, after all, a part of him (much more than it was a part of most) and he couldn't help feeling like it knew what he was saying, what he was feeling, not only when he summoned it, but always, in every heartbeat and every breath. He was, after all, Antari.
i know it's been said many times before but i will never get over how jacob anderson, a british man with a british accent, not only nailed a louisiana creole accent but also developed a studiously (almost eerily) generic accent that louis uses in the present AND showed the first accent bleeding into the second accent at key moments as a way of aurally externalizing his character's inner journey. what did god put in this man when she created him.
Pardon me, but is someone praising Jacob Anderson without letting me praise him first?!
Backing up. It's October 2009, and my Dothraki is chosen as the official version for HBO's Game of Thrones. Absolutely the job of a lifetime. Conlangers were never hired to create languages for big budget productions, and language was central to A Song of Ice and Fire. The fact that this was on HBO guaranteed that it was going to be huge, and now I was going to get to be on the set of a TV show, work with actors, go to Hollywood parties, and create a language that would be as popular as Klingon.
June 2011, only one of those four things had happened, and of all things, it was going to a Hollywood party—the season 1 premiere event for Game of Thrones. It was very cool! None of the cast attended, but it was cool! But as for the rest, the idea that I would ever actually talk to any of the actors or be on the actual set was, apparently, laughable. And as for Dothraki, it had a very loyal following of about 6 or 7 people, all of whom I came to know personally. Dothraki was discussed in the press, sure, but nobody was going to learn it; there were never going to be any Dothraki conventions. It wasn't the next Klingon.
June 2012, and by this point I'd gotten used to seeing my work on screen—and by that I mean I'd gotten used to seeing it performed…so-so. Every so often it was really good, but for the most part, I got used to hearing jumbled consonants, dropped syllables, missed words… I've always been a perfectionist, so this was difficult, but I didn't have much choice. I had absolutely no control over it. I never got to work with any of the actors, so all they had were my recordings, and a series of dialect coaches who had absolutely no idea what they were doing with my stuff. (And, as I would learn later, just because an actor nails 9 out of 10 takes doesn't mean the editor won't like the one take they screwed up. Sometimes that's the take that makes it to the screen.) Basically, if someone has an English line on a TV show that goes "It looks like the mechanism got screwed up somehow", and what they say is "It locks like a manism got scroot up someho", they're going to reshoot the scene until the actor says it right. If that happens with a conlang, no one will notice or care. This was now my life.
July 2012, I get the opportunity to create High Valyrian (yay!), and then a "dialect" of High Valyrian to be spoken in Slaver's Bay. Knowing the history from GRRM's books, I knew this "dialect" was actually a full daughter language with lexical/phonological material from an extinct language (Ghiscari) that I wasn't being asked to create, so I was going to have to create two languages at once, and at least have an idea for a third one—and, in fact, there was going to be a lot of dialogue in this new daughter language. Consequently my focus was split. I can honestly barely remember creating Astapori Valyrian, because I wanted to be sure that High Valyrian was right (I knew book fans didn't care about Dothraki, but did care about HV). Despite the lack of attention, I did realize that Astapori Valyrian had a cool sound and a great flow (it really does!). I wish I'd had more time to appreciate creating it as a daughter language (I wish High Valyrian had been as complete as Dothraki was at that point), but I was pleased with the result. I was curious to see how the actors would handle it.
April 21, 2013. I am absolutely over the moon. I'd just for the first time saw a scene that I loved in the books because, for once, I predicted what was going to happen (as a reader, I'm sitting here thinking, "How do you trade your entire army to someone and not wonder if they're going to use it on you after they get it?!"), and it actually plays better in the show than the books, and it all hinges on a language I created. I still get chills watching that scene: Episode 304, Daenerys revealing she speaks Valyrian. To this day that's still the best thing I've done. The same issues I mentioned above were present, as always (watching thinking, "Did she say mebatas instead of memēbātās…?"), but they're minor. The scene is outstanding. I realized that whatever was going to happen after this, I would always have this scene. That was a good night.
April 28, 2013. After last week's episode, I wasn't really waiting for anything. In episode 305 there's only one scene with any conlang work in it—nothing really major. Introducing Grey Worm, characterization, etc. Everything in this episode is about what's going on in Westeros. At this point I'd heard a fair amount of Astapori Valyrian in Slaver's Bay. It was good! Definitely good enough. Did the trick. The prosody wasn't quite what I did with it, but it was good. I was somewhat interested in this introduction in 305. Grey Worm only speaks Astapori Valyrian at this point, so this actor wouldn't have had had any other speaking lines, and aside from one short line and saying his name at the beginning, his next line is a huuuuuge speech, comparatively speaking. I was curious to see how he would do.
Critters and gentlefolk, that night I witnessed a miracle.
NEVER had I heard ANYONE speak one of my languages better than me until that night.
Every word, every syllable, EVERY SOUND OF EVERY CLAUSE Jacob "You Heard My Name" Anderson uttered was ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS.
I was stunned. My mouth literally hung open—probably for the rest of the damn episode, at which point I went back and watched that scene—again, and again, and again.
And so you don't have to go searching, this is Grey Worm's line (not the first two short ones—the big one [note: j is [ʒ], except in Daenery's High Valyrian name, where it's [dʒ], dh is [ð], q is [q], r is [ɾ] and y is [y], in IPA]):
“Torgo Nudho” hokas bezy. Sa me broji beri. Ji broji ez bezo sene stas qimbroto. Kuny iles ji broji meles esko mazedhas derari va buzdar. Y Torgo Nudho sa ji broji ez bezy eji tovi Daenerys Jelmazmo ji teptas ji derve.
That was my translation of this English line:
“Grey Worm” gives this one pride. It is a lucky name. The name this one was born with was cursed. That was the name he had when he was taken as a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one had the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free.
That is a LOOOOOOOOOONG ass line. And go watch that scene. There is nothing on the screen but his face. It's a closeup the entire time. Any slight deviation would be visible as well as audible. Take a look:
This...KING just casually dropped the greatest performance I have ever witnessed on screen at a time when I had already given up on ever seeing a truly great conlang performance on screen.
And then he proceeded to do it again and again and again and again and again for the rest of the entire show. I don't think it's a coincidence that the very last conlang line of Game of Thrones is his. They knew how much I loved him—I told them. I told anyone who would listen and twelve people who wouldn't, along with their next of kin. He didn't take my language and make it his own—no, no. He is graciously allowing me to claim that I created his native tongue—the one he's been speaking since birth. THAT'S how good he is.
So yeah, accent work? In English? I guess I'm not surprised he's pretty good at that. Something like that to this…adonis, this living, breathing Master Class™ in perfection is like yawning to an ordinary human. Jacob Anderson can walk into my house in the dead of night, take anything out of my refrigerator, and then leave the door to the fridge and the house open when he leaves. He has earned no less.
Since twitter isn’t working and sharing images on Instagram is still basically a mess, have a photo dump of Hamilton (Phillip) tour in San Antonio - July 1, 2023.
Planning on doing a review on my blog, but we’ll see how that goes. ❤️
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