RELAX GIRL WE GET IT THAT’S YOUR MAN….nobody’s taking him away from you
Show & Tell

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@sea-marina
RELAX GIRL WE GET IT THAT’S YOUR MAN….nobody’s taking him away from you
quiet mornings
I have come to the conclusion that the role of a queen genuinely suits Aloy, looking at her character.
This "free spirit" label is just a superficial stereotype that contradicts her true canonical image. If we strip away this fan romanticization, Aloy was never free and never aspired to be. On the contrary, her entire life is a story of total captivity, dependence, and colossal pressure. From early childhood, she grew up with the stigma of an outcast, and as soon as she rid herself of it, she immediately fell into the grip of someone else's legacy. A mission to save the planet, which she did not choose, collapsed onto her. The canonical Aloy is not a wild bird, but a hostage to her DNA, locked within the framework of a two-thousand-year-old plan.
Instead of "freedom," her character is driven by a compulsive sense of duty. She literally does not know how to rest, relax, or live for herself. Every attempt she made to get closer to people or to engage in something other than the endless repair of a falling world was met with the thought: "If I don't do it, everyone dies." In the role of the Queen of Meridian, this deep-seated trait of Aloy—her obsessive, childhood-rooted obedience and hyper-responsibility—manifests not as "submitting to a cage," but as approaching governance as another vital mission that she is obligated to execute flawlessly.
Her agreement to become queen and share the burden of rule with Avad in our story is not the "imprisonment of a free huntress," but rather a logical step for a character who did nothing but take responsibility for others her entire life, except now she does it officially and not alone. Previously, the world expected salvation from her; now, it expects the wisdom of a ruler. Internally, she has not relaxed for a single second. For her, the lavish silks and gold are the same heavy armor that she wears constantly, because behind it lies that same immense internal tension: "If I make a mistake, thousands of people will suffer."
Avad, in turn, would become the only person with whom she could share this unbearable weight of responsibility. While she used to carry everything on her own, his authority and diplomacy now evoke a complex mix of feelings—a sense of relief that she is no longer alone, blended with the familiar inner resistance of someone who has relied solely on herself her entire life.
Ultimately, Aloy and Avad turn out to be much closer to each other in spirit and destiny than it might seem at first glance: both are involuntary hostages to their duty, whose lives were abruptly reshaped by external forces and tragic circumstances. Avad, who never sought the crown and was forced to take the throne after the bloody overthrow of his mad father, carries an unbearable burden of responsibility for the well-being of thousands of lives, sacrificing personal freedom for peace. Their union is not a classic romantic cliché, but a partnership of two lonely leaders, exhausted by colossal pressure, who hide similar internal scars beneath the external armor of status and obligations. By sharing power, they gain a luxury unique to each of them—the opportunity to finally ease total control, knowing that a person equal in strength of spirit stands nearby, capable of holding this world together with you.
By embarking on this path, Aloy chooses not a crown, not status, and not the golden cage of Meridian—she chooses an equal, a person capable of understanding her inner loneliness and sharing the unbearable weight of the world that she carried on her own shoulders for so long. The duty of the crown itself is merely a new incarnation of her familiar routine, as Aloy has been fused with the burden of total responsibility since childhood and simply does not know how to live otherwise. After the inevitable victory over Nemesis, she will hardly be able to suddenly become "free" and sit idle. For a person who can function exclusively in "mission / rescue / responsibility" mode, the idea of simply walking into the sunset and picking flowers is mental death. Without a clear, large-scale task in the post-Nemesis world, she would simply shatter from internal emptiness and an existential crisis. In this new reality, Avad’s marriage proposal looks to her not like a restriction, but like a clear, understandable plan and a new large-scale goal amidst the chaos and emptiness that will inevitably arrive when her global debt to the world is finally paid.
Moreover, by making this decision, Aloy chooses not so much the salvation of the world, but herself for the first time in her life, allowing herself to finally receive the sincere love and unconditional acceptance that Avad so noblely offered her. No matter how much she suppressed these feelings before for the sake of the higher goal, his devotion was truly priceless to her as an outcast raised in isolation, and deep down she desperately wanted to believe that she deserved the right to this personal, quiet happiness after the storm subsided.
And it seems to me that, in the end, family will one day become a much higher priority for her than the rest of the world and her endless responsibility toward it, because it is precisely in these relationships, next to a loving person, that the former outcast Aloy will finally find her most important, unshakeable support. Now, she consciously accepts this new crown and the heavy burden of power no longer for the sake of abstract humanity, but for the protection of that very close circle and the loved one who gave her a reason to live on. This path allows her to gradually shift the focus from global survival to creation within the circle of loved ones, where her personal happiness finally becomes a rightful goal.
Horizon and Meridian
An intriguing sense of symbolism stands out here, opening up space for reflection.
The name *Horizon* literally refers to the line where the earth meets the sky. For Aloy, the horizon is constantly intertwined with the unknown, with journeys, and with everything that lies beyond the visible world. In the first game, her path begins with a longing to discover what is hidden past the borders of familiar life, and it culminates in unraveling the mysteries of an entire civilization.
Meanwhile, Meridian is the capital of the Carja people, named after the geographical term. In a physical sense, a meridian is an imaginary line stretching across the globe, while in astronomy, the sun reaches the meridian at noon—the highest point of its journey through the sky.
This creates a fascinating symbolic pairing:
* **Horizon:** A line extending into the distance, a path forward, a search for the future.
* **Meridian:** A vertical axis connected to the sun, the center of the world, and the present moment.
Delving deeper, the horizon and the meridian represent the two fundamental coordinates people have used since ancient times to navigate space and the celestial bodies. One indicates direction into the distance, while the other helps determine the position of the sun. Together, they form a complete navigation system.
Looking beyond literal canon to the core imagery of the characters, Aloy truly embodies the horizon: she is in perpetual motion, impossible to tether to one place for long. Her gaze is always fixed beyond the known world, driven by the question, "What lies further ahead?"
The horizon is beautiful precisely because it can never be reached; it recedes with every step forward. There is something profoundly characteristic of Aloy in this: having accomplished one goal, she immediately looks toward the next.
Avad, on the other hand, aligns perfectly with the image of the meridian. He is tied to Meridian not only as its ruler but as an individual. He provides a point of support and stability; his role is not to venture into the unknown, but to hold together and guide the state. He remains the center to which one can always return.
Interestingly, the horizon and the meridian are not opposites. They are required simultaneously for navigation. One grants direction, while the other offers a system of coordinates and a point of reference.
Thus, in a romantic interpretation, a touching image emerges: Aloy is forever reaching for new horizons, while Avad remains that rare presence existing as a reliable anchor in the world.
It feels exceptionally meaningful that their potential story is intertwined with Meridian. The horizon-woman meets the meridian-man in the city that literally bears the name Meridian. Within the world of *Horizon*, this association feels remarkably natural, even if the developers never intentionally planned it.
How does this dynamic function if Aloy eventually chooses to settle in Meridian permanently and become Avad’s wife?
In that scenario, the symbolism does not vanish; it transforms. While Aloy wanders, the image of the "horizon" remains literal—she is always moving further away. Yet, the horizon is more than just movement; it is also the capacity to see further than others, to look beyond the boundaries of the familiar world. If we imagine Aloy remaining in Meridian as Avad’s wife, she ceases to be the horizon as a traveler, but she remains the horizon as a person.
Avad can still be the meridian—the center, the axis, the point of stability. It is simply that a different geometry arises between them.
In astronomy, the horizon and the meridian do not exist independently of one another; they intersect. Any celestial observation is constructed relative to both the horizon and the meridian at the same time. One determines the direction of the gaze, while the other establishes the position of the observer.
In this reading, Avad provides stability, while Aloy provides perspective.
He helps sustain the state.
She helps perceive what lies beyond its borders.
He focuses on how to preserve the world.
She contemplates what this world might become.
A meridian without a horizon becomes a center of the world locked within itself. A horizon without a meridian remains an endless road without a home.
This phrase captures the core essence. Without a reference point, without a Meridian, Aloy’s eternal movement risks turning into an endless flight, where every reached goal merely exposes the next emptiness. Without breadth of vision, without a Horizon, Avad’s Meridian risks becoming trapped in a cycle of internal problems, celebrations, and courtly routine.
This is precisely why the image does not devolve into "Aloy sacrificed her identity for marriage." Rather, the opposite occurs: the horizon ceases to be a line of escape and becomes a line of vision.
Even while living in Meridian, Aloy is unlikely to become someone who sits in the palace, consumed entirely by courtly affairs. Instead, she would remain the one who brings new ideas, knowledge of other cultures, technologies of the past world, and unexpected solutions to the capital.
This yields a beautiful piece of symbolism. A meridian without a horizon becomes a center of the world locked within itself. A horizon without a meridian remains an endless road without a home. Together, they form a system of coordinates.
For a romantic narrative, this is even more powerful than the trope of eternal waiting. It is not a matter of "he waits for her to return," but rather "she has finally found a place where her distant gaze does not conflict with the desire to stay." Ironically, in this version, the horizon does not disappear—it simply stops being a line at the edge of the world and becomes a part of home.
I think fandom seriously underestimates how deeply Aloy is traumatized by social isolation from childhood. She’s often romanticized as a “free-spirited loner” who is simply more comfortable on her own, but psychologically her behavior feels far more complicated and painful than that.
Aloy did not choose loneliness as a lifestyle. She literally grew up as an outcast who, from birth, was deprived of normal socialization, connection with society, and even the basic sense of belonging. For a child, that is an enormous psychological distortion. People learn how to build relationships, trust others, and understand both themselves and other people through safe interaction during childhood. Aloy barely had any of that.
Yes, she had Rost, and he genuinely loved her, but one adult cannot replace an entire social environment. Aloy grew up constantly feeling that there was “something wrong” with her — that she was чужая, unwanted, fundamentally separate from the world around her. And that inevitably affects a person’s psyche even in adulthood.
That’s why I see many of Aloy’s traits not as the “personality of a strong independent woman,” but as the consequences of deep socialization trauma:
— hyper-independence;
— the habit of relying only on herself;
— emotional guardedness;
— difficulty trusting others;
— avoidance of vulnerability;
— a constant sense of responsibility for everything;
— the need to control absolutely everything around her.
She knows how to save people, inspire people, and solve problems, but it is much harder for her to simply be emotionally close to someone. Because saving the world is a clear and understandable task, while intimacy requires skills that nobody ever taught her.
And personally, this resonates with me deeply because I also have childhood socialization trauma. That’s why Aloy never looked to me like “someone who just loves freedom.” On the contrary, in many moments I see a person who became so used to emotional isolation and relying only on herself that she no longer even understands how to exist any other way.
That’s why her constant attempts to push people away don’t feel like arrogant independence to me, but rather a mixture of fear, hyper-responsibility, and simply a lack of healthy experience with close relationships. She feels like someone who is permanently stuck in survival mode, even around people who sincerely want to help her.
Because of this, I think her arc in the second game is especially important — not because of “saving the world,” but because it’s about gradually learning trust, accepting help, and allowing emotional closeness. And for someone with this kind of trauma, that may actually be harder than fighting machines and the end of the world itself.
I think fandom seriously underestimates how deeply Aloy is traumatized by social isolation from childhood. She’s often romanticized as a “free-spirited loner” who is simply more comfortable on her own, but psychologically her behavior feels far more complicated and painful than that.
Aloy did not choose loneliness as a lifestyle. She literally grew up as an outcast who, from birth, was deprived of normal socialization, connection with society, and even the basic sense of belonging. For a child, that is an enormous psychological distortion. People learn how to build relationships, trust others, and understand both themselves and other people through safe interaction during childhood. Aloy barely had any of that.
Yes, she had Rost, and he genuinely loved her, but one adult cannot replace an entire social environment. Aloy grew up constantly feeling that there was “something wrong” with her — that she was чужая, unwanted, fundamentally separate from the world around her. And that inevitably affects a person’s psyche even in adulthood.
That’s why I see many of Aloy’s traits not as the “personality of a strong independent woman,” but as the consequences of deep socialization trauma:
— hyper-independence;
— the habit of relying only on herself;
— emotional guardedness;
— difficulty trusting others;
— avoidance of vulnerability;
— a constant sense of responsibility for everything;
— the need to control absolutely everything around her.
She knows how to save people, inspire people, and solve problems, but it is much harder for her to simply be emotionally close to someone. Because saving the world is a clear and understandable task, while intimacy requires skills that nobody ever taught her.
And personally, this resonates with me deeply because I also have childhood socialization trauma. That’s why Aloy never looked to me like “someone who just loves freedom.” On the contrary, in many moments I see a person who became so used to emotional isolation and relying only on herself that she no longer even understands how to exist any other way.
That’s why her constant attempts to push people away don’t feel like arrogant independence to me, but rather a mixture of fear, hyper-responsibility, and simply a lack of healthy experience with close relationships. She feels like someone who is permanently stuck in survival mode, even around people who sincerely want to help her.
Because of this, I think her arc in the second game is especially important — not because of “saving the world,” but because it’s about gradually learning trust, accepting help, and allowing emotional closeness. And for someone with this kind of trauma, that may actually be harder than fighting machines and the end of the world itself.
Please take a moment to appreciate the existence of this majestic creature called Ka Koubun
I love how Kougyoku and Koubun are able to communicate even without talking.
“I always enjoy seeing interactions with Kougyoku and Ka Koubun in recent chapters. He really seems proud of her!”
– submitted by anonymous
close enough
— You are like the sun.
— And you are like the sky.
— Does that mean we can never be together?
— No. It means that wherever the sky looks, it always holds the light of the sun within it.
The sky may be clear, stormy, or overcast. Yet, the sun never ceases to be a part of it. Just as love sometimes means not being side by side, but remaining in the heart forever.
Staci Pratt 🫠
It is a fact that Aloy has never explicitly rejected Avad's love and feelings. Throughout their entire dialogue, she accepted his flirting and did not push him away, even though she has no reason to fear telling him to stop (she already knows Avad and is aware that he would accept her refusal and treat it with respect; Aloy is not the kind of girl who fears kings). She is simply not ready for a relationship or romance at that moment in general—not specifically with Avad, but with people as a whole. At that time, she was avoiding human society altogether and was occupied with her duty and saving their world, which was her main priority. I do not know why so many have decided that she finds Avad unpleasant. She also looks sad and upset when she leaves him and says goodbye.
It seems to me that as an outcast (she literally lacks the basic socialization that is formed in childhood and adolescence), it is difficult for Aloy to even imagine herself in a romantic relationship with anyone, and it seems like something not meant for her. And I do not think that some "right person" is capable of solving all of her problems. These are problems that are effectively part of her personality and character, and with which one can only learn to live, but never get rid of them completely or be cured by magical psychotherapy (I say this as someone who has similar problems and has lived with them all my life).
“I can’t believe I thought you were actually cool. You seemed so smart…but now I see you’re just another run of the mill terrorist. We are like so over!“
Brett Dalton as Tim Scam
Elena Satine as Samantha Simpson
Sam/Scam - Few of my fav screeshots of them with similar facial expressions.
At first glance, Avad and Aloy seem like a fairy tale, where a king dreams of freedom and a free-spirited huntress brings it to him. In reality, however, they are both bound by duty and responsibility, unable to be truly free or simply have the opportunity to love.
Avad dreams of freedom and of traveling with Aloy, but these are mere daydreams that will never become reality. Even if he were to renounce his crown, duty would not allow him to walk away; he would surely remain to help and support Itamen.
If Aloy chooses Avad, she finds herself drawn into yet another web of duty and obligation. Avad would obviously grant her the maximum possible freedom, understanding her and never passing judgment, but this creates its own set of problems for him, and I do not think Aloy would be pleased by that. Nevertheless, she finds a person by her side who loves and accepts her, and I believe the fear of losing him and that love would compel her to accept the rules and the duty to the crown. She will never be a perfect or conventional queen, but she is unlikely to want to cause problems for Avad.
Another thought: having been an outcast her entire childhood and youth, Aloy would hardly allow her child to bear the title of a bastard and would be ready to do anything to ensure they are protected. Likewise, it is unlikely she would ever be ready to become a mother and would constantly harbor doubts, yet the arrival of a child is simply an inevitable fact, as there is no access to contraceptives in their world.