I have been mulling over this analysis for a while now, and finally, I have decided to make it—a definitive and coherent explanation regarding Durin's general age and the writer's intentions for his age within the story of Genshin Impact.
This analysis was created as a response to the rather heated discussion on whether or not Durin is intended to be a minor, or is "minor coded"—and the answer I have come to find is that, within the narrative of the game itself and even legally speaking, Durin must be considered over the age of 18 by the developers and writers of the game, and was written with those intentions.
There will be two main sections of this analysis: the first being the definitive, legal side regarding Chinese law and how the law mandates media handle certain subjects within fiction, followed by a more comprehensive analysis of the narrative itself.
[There have been little glimpses of a man with long, reddish hair around London, strikingly familiar to anyone who knows Ellery Hart. But... it can't be him, can it? The hair is too long, and he's much too thin, and he seems to be avoiding Ellery's usual haunts... How odd...]
>>> One Year, One week. Time can work differently on a Parabolan Hunt.
He told them he was going to be gone a week, give or take a few days. This time, when he left, everyone knew where he was going and when to expect him back. Dinners, drinks, a few letters. Some time spent with with friends and lovers and partners. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten so lucky, but his mistakes had been made, and he'd learned from them.
He told them where he was going, and when to expect him back. He'd told them that, right?
He absolutely told them that.
Of course, the longer he was here, the less sure of that he was.
The Lieutenant could get here. When he realized --if. If he realized. If he realized, and if he cared to come. Surely he would care to come. Surely his claim on Ellery meant something. Even if it never meant as much to him as it had to Ellery. Surely he would come after what was his, if only to claim it. To claim him.
And if he didn't care to come?
Weeks stretched.
Lyra loved him. Lyra loved him and she was strong, but he wouldn't wish this place on her. Not as the weeks became months. Not as the nightmares took hold. Would she send someone after him, or would she assume, as before, he'd gotten in too deep? Would she remember the time he died at Zee and decided, finally, she'd had enough of his stupidity?
Six months in, he couldn't blame her for having given him up.
Merry had a lab. Merry had a lab, and he swears he could remember a covered mirror in their home. In the first month, there was little expectation of anything on that end. Merry often got so busy with their own work that they needed to be dragged away. But they also had their own mysteries to solve, meetings to attend, and they had to figure out who was impersonating them.
At what point did they notice he was missing? At what point did they decide they weren't coming either?
Time stretched, and loneliness turned to bitterness.
Eckil was strong, but they were no hunter. Ellery knew that Eckil could come here, but that was nothing in tracking him down. Ellery was so damnably lost. He couldn't rely on the thought of Eckil being able to seek him out. Or having the time. Or the desire. Eckil would move on. The rest of them had.
Jin, also, was not a hunter. Still, with the way they had been looking out for one another, and after their talk, Ellery had hoped…
What a joke. What a mess of a joke. When had he begun to think of himself as someone who could rely on others? Was he a sucker? An idiot? When he was having worse day than normal his thoughts of his friends, the people he cared about, were less kind. On better days, he hoped they were alright. He hoped they were happy. He wanted them to be happy, even if he was pretty sure he never would be again.
Eight Months. Eight god-be-damned months in this nightmare.
Professor Shaw --that one hurt more than he cared to admit. He realized he'd come to think of the Professor as endlessly powerful, and someone who would care if something happened to him. He'd held on to the hope longer than he should have that the Professor, a killer of kings, would be able to find a way to pull him out of here. But there's a difference between pulling the strings of a local corrupt power and launching a rescue mission into Parabola for… what? For him? His bitter laugh was all that surrounded him. He'd gotten too comfortable there.
Ten months. Give or take, anyway. When it had mattered, he'd gotten better at keeping track of the time that had passed. When it had mattered, he knew how many days it had been since he saw one partner or the other. He'd learned to count the days in a way that he didn't need to anymore, but habits, once they were habits, could be hard to break.
He'd stopped trying to reach Chiasmus in the first couple of months. He couldn't reach it, couldn't feel it. Still, he was strung along by messages, small bits of gold writing. Assurances, encouragements, platitudes that Ellery desperately wanted to believe. Those didn't stop. Those don't stop, and they're probably the only damn thing by the end that keeps him looking.
One damn year. Maybe more than that. Probably more than that. One year, and finally, finally a mirror back. He wasn't sure where he was coming back. It wasn't the steamer he had lived in with Jin. It wasn't his lab, either, if that even still was his lab. Still, London seemed much the same, once he was back. Not much had changed, even if he had. A not-so-small portion of him longed for the surface, the ability to leave once more. To start over somewhere else. He wondered if his Clay Zailors were alright. Had they sold the Might? Maybe he'd check on that in a couple of weeks, once he figured out where he'd be staying, and what he would do now.
His hair was longer. Maybe he'd cut it soon, shave it off. He had a few new scars, his clothes were falling apart and his makeshift belt would need to be replaced soon. His glasses were broken. He still had the pieces to hold up if he needed to see, but it's not like there was much to read where he had been. They'd need repairing now that he was back. Food first. God, but he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he felt sated. Food, shelter, and then he could see to his looks, his clothes, his eyes. He missed his bed, but he couldn't go back there. He made well sure he was shut down --the Scrimshander would know he was back, he couldn't prevent that, but it would not feel a thing from him otherwise.
Food, shelter, and then he could decide his next move.
As Emperor, I can’t have any of those ‘flaw’ things!
[ another flashback / He’s about 11/12 here ]
Tense, judgy faces stare back at him from across the room, each expression more hard and unyielding than the last. Yzma is amongst them, sitting at the end of the table with a look of cold disinterest on that ancient, wrinkled face of hers that only she could be capable of. “It’s an outrage! He can’t go out like this.” She spits with venom in her voice as she gestures at him before turning to face the council member directly opposite of her.
“What will the peasants think? That our Emperor, a descendant of Inti, is unable to tend to himself for an hour alone outside, even with the assistance of royal aid? That he goes out looking for fights? How can they think someone so careless can rule the Kingdom?!”
Low murmurs of agreement sound around the table, and Kuzco casts his gaze towards the floor in an uncharacteristic display of shyness, with one of his hands coming up to rub his opposite arm. He can feel the Royal Records Keeper’s presence behind him, along with the nanny who had been tasked to keep track of him, and the scribe who is transcribing this entire ordeal. In a room full of people, he feels completely alone as the council talks amongst themselves about what they should do with him.
Kuzco had tried to defend himself earlier, insisting that it wasn’t the nanny’s fault and that he purposely got away from her, but how could he have possibly known what would happen if he went into the city on his own when he’s always been kept safe to the point of mundane boredom within the confines of the palace. Almost immediately the council shut him down, their faces stoic as they told him in no uncertain terms that she had been tasked with the responsibility of keeping an eye on him and that this entire mess was her fault.
From the moment he was old enough to speak, Kuzco has had it beat into his head that he was the next in line for the throne; the true Emperor, set to take over the Kingdom as soon as he came of age with his father missing from the picture. It wasn’t until he hit double digits that the true grooming began, and all of his time began to be spent undergoing lessons, rituals and meetings to prepare him for his inevitable future role. Like any adolescent, Kuzco found it hard to focus and preferred to be on his own, especially if it meant being outside. He regularly threw fits when a meeting went on for too long, or he started to get tired of listening to Yzma overseeing the peasant complaints and trying to follow along. It was necessary, of course– one day it would be him on that throne, but it was sooooo boring.
Yzma never had any issue giving him what he wanted if it meant getting him out of her old lady hair, ordering nannies to keep him busy so she could uphold her agenda for the day. As long as he was content and more importantly NOT her problem, she was happy– and so, he had learned early on not to bother her with aimless requests, and instead found his way around curfews and pestered the nannies into letting him do what he wanted when he could get away with it.
Which is exactly how he had ended up in this mess.
In a droning, uninterested tone, the Royal Scribe had been going over the ‘schedule’ for the day, what meetings or lessons he has, when he will need to meet with Yzma to discuss what she plans to do with a new tax (that he ultimately has final say on, even though he understands exactly NOTHING about it) and the upcoming plans for the festivities taking place in a local village. Something about a potato growing contest? No thank you. Kuzco decided rather quickly after that, that he would rather put pins in his eyes and had waited only as long as it took for the scribe to leave to sneak out of the room, and then the palace. Warm, somewhat balmy early morning air greets him as he first steps outside, and Kuzco takes a moment to breathe it in while he contemplates his options. Complete and total freedom is at his fingertips, there’s a whole Kingdom to explore without the guards trailing him or official matters to bore him to tears and he intends on enjoying it to the fullest.
Despite how often he’s been seen in public with Yzma and boasted about as the future Emperor, very few people take notice of him as he finds his way into the Imperial city, and starts to wander through the busy city streets. Peasants sell their wares, haggling with each other over everything from pottery and foods to farm animals, and Kuzco is in awe as he watches them and takes in all of the intricately designed items for sale. The occasional person turns to their neighbor to whisper about the unaccompanied child, but he pays them no mind and for the most part is left alone. It’s his first time in the city, and one of the first times in his life he isn’t the center of attention, and the longer he can keep it that way, the better.
Kuzco watches as a fight between two peasants breaks out over a llama, and he stares openly at them as their raised voices turn into flying fists and a scuffle that quickly becomes reckless. While other peasants cleared the way for them as they threw each other around the street, Kuzco moves closer– which is exactly how he ended up slammed into a wall himself, with a hit to the face by an arrant elbow that will most certainly cause a darkening bruise and open a small cut above his eye. Two female peasants gasp and rush forward to pull him away before he can be pulled back into the brawl, but that’s the exact moment that the Royal Guard appears, and — recognizing Kuzco immediately— head straight to his side to pull him away from the confrontation themselves.
Lips twist in a grimace as he struggles and fails to hold back the sobs threatening to escape him from the pain, and his hands press over his face to hide his injury from the guards who try to check him over. It must be obvious who he is at that point, as the peasants fighting stop to stare, and the few that were rushing to his aid all take several steps back and away to give them space. Before he can so much as give any of them another passing glance, he’s being whisked away to the palace by the guards to tend to his injuries and resume his Royal duties for the day.
One visit from the Royal Healer later for a few bandages and some salve, and Kuzco is back in his robes and standing before the council, wringing his hands as he awaits his judgment. It isn’t fair that the nanny is being punished for his insolence, but he’s hardly in a position (at least, in this current moment) to argue with the council who is already disappointed in him.
“Kuzco!” Yzma’s shrill voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and Kuzco blinks himself back to awareness as he stares up at her. “You cannot behave like this. Do you understand? As Emperor, it is imperative that you appear to be perfect to your constituents at ALL times. You are a descendant of the Sun God; that makes YOU a God, and God’s do not have weaknesses, or imperfections!”
He swallows and nods his head, wincing when the movement makes his head ache and dutifully ignores the murmurings from the council at the table. “I need an answer Kuzco; DO you understand?”
“Yes, Yzma. I get it.”
Yzma scowls, folding her spindly arms over her chest rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Very well. Go get cleaned up; you will NOT be able to make your appearances today with that bruise on your face, but I expect you to be ready for your lessons later on. Go away now.”
Without another word Kuzco turns, huffing as he strides out of the room with a different set of servants trailing behind him. At least he got out of seeing the winner of the stupid potato contest for the day. Next time, he’ll make sure to plan it out a lot better.
Varon appears to be writing in a journal, documenting his time in the free company house that apparently contains Eorzea’s finest heroes.
Day 5:
After being here for a few days, I’ve come to the conclusion that while everyone here definitely has some level of intellect- they also happen to be... very chaotic. Lapses in judgement are frequently made- it always seems there’s someone yelling somewhere in the house.
Four times now I’ve made eye contact with a small runt of a miqote man who immediately hissed at me and told me to fuck off. One of those times, he nearly tripped down the stairs and ended up catching himself on his hands in a handstand, looking terrified for his life.
I’ve noticed in particular that, when left unattended, Hottataru is an agent of chaos in his own right. Perhaps it has something to do with the currently abnormal density of his aether, his creeping fever, and his strange, beastial habits? Either way, I’ve now observed him:
Making an entire pot of stew, only to eat most of it and save a single bowl for Veneficus
Break into Twiggen’s room to try and play with her cats, only to come back looking rather melancholy and covered in scratches
Stalk birds in the front yard
Make eye contact with me while carrying a pile of clothes that very, very clearly was not his own, only to growl and scamper off like some strange little creature
Sleep anywhere from the stairs, to draped half over a couch arm, to the rock outside near the gardens
Wrestle with a character named ‘Ama’ like they were trying to rip one another to shreds, only to immediately resolve their grievances and share some snacks
Extending his rather generous tongue to try and lick up crackers left on the table (foul)
The list goes on.
Veneficus treats all this as normal- but he does seem to be keeping a very keen eye on his lover. I cannot tell if this is because of how attached he is or if he’s anticipating something. Perhaps both?
Ama, Hottataru’s apparent frequent sparring partner, is a very elusive character. However, I feel as though I can detect her aether in the walls at times. I’m not sure what to make of this. She doesn’t seem to really pay much heed to my presence, which makes her an easy person to deal with. I’m unsure if this is because she simply doesn’t know if I’m here, or if she doesn’t know me.
Twiggen, the object of interest for me even being here, seems to be very much an enabler of chaos should it amuse her... and if it doesn’t amuse her, she seems to quickly find herself very fed up with it. I’ve seen her watching me like she’s rather suspicious of my presence. Which, to be fair- is a smart thing to be towards me. I have a feeling she’s someone very good at reading character.
Another surprising character I’ve run into here is Roman. A thief I encountered quite some time ago. He definitely seems to remember who I am, as he quickly absconds the moment he notices me in the same area as him. It’s a bit amusing. I apparently left an impression.
Sunano is an interesting figure, but I have rarely encountered her much- she seems to be a bit of a busy body. Her new prosthetic arm is quite interesting- I’d wish to study it, but perhaps another day.
As for Feo Sul- I get the distinct impression that while I should be wary of her, she also seems to be a very curious figure in the household. There’s a room downstairs that I’ve no plans on entering, but there is a bizarre enchantment within it that tells me of complex magic- similar to something a voidsent would weave to catch prey. The fact that this little ‘lalafell’ wove it tells me all I really need to know about her- she is a being of power that would be very fun to study, but I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to with both Veneficus and Hottataru alike watching me.
Lisanna seems to be rather interesting as well, but I sense that she’s yet another character that I shouldn’t investigate too closely for my own safety. She reminds me of a mischievous spirit, with wisdom behind her eyes. I get the impression that she sees right through my character, and considers me a speck before her.
The only truly tolerable people here are Veneficus and K’vishu, and K’vishu isn’t even here most of the time. And while I would at least sometimes enjoy the company of Veneficus in her absence, his ‘lover’ (he is more like a pet, at this point) seems to not like me being near him in the slightest as of right now. So I’ve been left with my own thoughts... festering.
mayhaps some tua opinions 😔
warning for general character crit (no bashing, just light criticism) and several mentions of abuse.
none of the siblings are free from blame. imo the siblings all being morally grey (or, at least, morally questionable) is one of the most important points. luther is impulsive and thinks with his emotions, diego is bitter and doesn’t know when to back down, five is standoffish and stubborn, vanya is motivated by spite, etc etc. none of them are perfect.
pitting luther fans and vanya fans against one another is stupid. you can like a character whilst acknowledging their flaws. i personally am more emotionally attached to luther, bc i see a ton of myself in him (more on that later), but i don’t dislike vanya at all!
five is not a “cold-blooded killer”. people seem to always write five as a cold, hardened killer, who doesn’t care for his family - he, much like ben, was forced to kill people. it was his only choice besides hopelessly wandering in an apocalyptic wasteland. the entire show is driven by five’s devotion and love for his family; if he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have came back.
i shouldn’t have to say this, but shipping the hargreeves siblings together is still incest, lack of biological relations aside. block me if you disagree with this one.
luther and allison are both to blame for their relationship. this should be obvious, but i’ve seen a ton of people acting as if it’s solely luther’s fault - iirc in the comics allison rumours luther into loving her, but since we thusfar haven’t been shown that in the show, both siblings are assumedly willingly engaging in this.
shipping five in his current state with literally anyone (bar delores) is bad. he’s mentally an adult, so shipping him with kids is gross. he’s physically a kid, so shipping him with adults is gross. if u absolutely have to write a shipfic, use the time where his mental and physical ages aligned; aka when he was working for the commission.
comparing the siblings’ trauma to one another is terrible - and yes, that includes luther. they were all abused by reginald. just because they weren’t all locked in a mausoleum like klaus or isolated like vanya doesn’t mean they weren’t all abused.
if you act like luther is “just like reginald”, ur being shitty. believe it or not, mirroring your abuser’s behaviour and being in denial about their abuse is an actual thing that abuse survivors do - and you can believe me on that one, because i’ve done it. it’s subconscious and unintentional, and whilst he absolutely should be held accountable for hurting his siblings, saying he’s “just like” his abuser is so fucking shitty. (and, uh, he isn’t the only one to hurt the others.)
luther isn’t a villain. please stop writing him as if he is one. if i have to scroll past 1 more “luther is every terrible bigoted thing on the planet” fic on ao3, i may actually scream.
vanya isn’t innocent. you can be a victim and still held accountable - hell, look at luther. she seems to blame her siblings for things reginald did - things they were also victims of - and that just doesn’t sit particularly right with me, personally. (don’t misinterpret this as vanya bashing. i can like her and also criticise her.)
hazel is better than cha-cha, but he isn’t innocent. hazel has still murdered and tortured people. i love the guy, but he’s still done some terrible shit, as cute as he and agnes are together.
i don’t mind not knowing how ben died. it’d be cool to find out, sure, but it feels more natural for his family to just glaze over it, since they’d all assumedly know how it happened. i won’t be mad if we’re told, but i also won’t complain if it remains a mystery for a while. it’s fun to theorise about.
all of the siblings’ reactions to their trauma are valid. definitely not entirely healthy, but valid, and similar to real-life trauma responses. luther’s denial, diego’s anger, klaus’ self-destruction, etc etc - they’re all normal and understandable responses to abuse, even if they aren’t necessarily healthy ones, or aren’t immediately visible to the viewer (e.g. luther being in denial is often misread as him supporting reginald).
that’s all i’ve got for now, but if i think of any more i’ll be sure to continue uwu
Unpopular opinion: Vivenna's character is a little bit weak, not as a person but as a character. Her plot seems pointless and she comes across as boring.
Siri and Lightsong are my babies. Love them both!
This book is a mix of original fantasy (everything color related) and classic fantasy (a sword with conscience that speaks and kills).
It is clearly targetted to a more mature public. The word "sex" has been said in the first pages at least twice, while in the two mistborn books I've read there is no talk about it (and there's a married couple).
You know you've read a lot of books when Siri's hair reminds you of Rapunzel and Vasher's sword of the one Magnus Chase (by Rick Riordan) has.
THE WITCHER SPOILERS ! [SPOILERS /Siri and the husband that doesn't wanna bed her sounds like Ciri of Cintra from The Witcher, if you know what I mean./ END OF SPOILERS]
Talking about Vasher, he's my baby too. But I'm scared of what this baby's intentions.
The Gods are fake but that's okay. Let's overthrow them.
Raised voices alert him to the presence of others just outside of his chamber doors, including the distinctive voice of a certain dinosaur which rises above the others. “What do you mean he’s still in bed? He’s late!” Kuzco gasps, turning to shove his comic scroll beneath his pillow and out of sight before sliding down to his back and pulling the covers up to just beneath his chin. Mere seconds pass before the doors slam open, with Yzma appearing in the center of them with her arms outstretched like some kind of harbinger of doom, as harried servants scuttle in around her.
“You’re sick?!” She demands, striding up to his bedside and taking a seat on the edge of it. “You’re too busy to be sick today, Kuzco. You have meetings to attend, and a ceremony later on. There’s also preparations for the Clash of the Families–”
In his defense, every time he’s faked this previously, Yzma had always left it up to the servants and brushed him off as not her problem. She had no issue taking sole ownership of decision making in the future Emperor’s stead, and told the servants to take care of him by whatever means necessary so she wouldn’t have to risk getting sick herself.
Kuzco found it incredibly easy to fool the servants, learning to feign a cough and being too weak to get out of bed so they would bring him things and then leave him alone, but not acting quite sick enough to necessitate getting the Royal Healer involved. It was a piece of cake.
He coughs, his smaller hand moving to cover his mouth and sinking deeper into the lush covers on his bed. “B-but Yzma, I’m sick. Super sick, yep. I can’t even eat without feeling like I’m gonna hurl it all up again! I actually think I’m dying.”
A mischievous gleam lights up Yzma’s eyes, one that an older Kuzco would recognize later as an opportunity and something he would learn to mimic himself, but she schools her features and adopts a concerned frown, leaning forward to press one of her cold hands against his forehead. “Dying? You can’t be dying! Whatever will the Empire do without its Fearless Emperor?”
Servants flitter in and out of the room in droves, some of them bringing in blankets and other necessities, and some removing old clothes and his abandoned tray of food. “Crumble and fall apart? Wither away to nothing? Build statues of me in my honor– wait, they already do that. Either way, it's tragic! That’s why I think I need to stay in bed, and rest as much as possible.” He tells her matter-of-factly, nodding his head along with the statement. “I might even need to cancel the tutoring session scheduled for later on– oh, but I can keep the massage! It’ll probably help me heal faster.”
As if to emphasize how weak and helpless he is, Kuzco flops back against his pillows with a sigh, lifting an arm to press against his forehead; his best ‘woe is me’ attitude on full display.
Yzma tuts and pulls the covers up a little further once he’s done, smoothing her hands along them and tucking them in against his sides– and Kuzco does his best not to squirm from how hot it makes him. “Why of course! Rest and relaxation are key to a quick recovery, but if you’re dying we’ll also need to have the Royal Healer in as soon as possible to examine you!” She turns to look at some of the idle servants, and snaps her fingers for their attention. “Someone summon the Royal Healer right away! Prepare our young king a bath, and have someone in the kitchen make him some of that special stew for rare ailments.”
While Kuzco is no stranger to being pampered, and enjoys letting the servants wait on him hand and foot – the thought of so much attention when all he really wants to do is read his comic scrolls makes him itch. “Hah, n-no. That’s okay! Don’t bother the Royal Healer, there’s no need to go through all that trouble.”
“Nonsense! You are the future Emperor, your health is paramount Kuzco. We need to get you better!” Yzma stands, smoothes her hands over her robes and heads to the door to wait for the healer when Kuzco speaks up again. “No, really! I think I’ll be okay if I just, you know. Sleep for a while.” He sits up, stretches his arms over his head and over-exaggerates a yawn. “Yep, I think a nap is exactly what the royal healer would suggest! Better get on it–”
Hiding an amused snort behind a scowl, Yzma spins around to face him with her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter Kuzco, don’t you want to get better as soon as possible? Unless of course. . . you aren’t really sick.” She offers, leaning forward a little and letting her grin show if only to see his reaction.
Little Kuzco’s eyes widen, panic setting in and he realizes he’s stuck. “. . . N-no! Of course I am! You really think I would lie about this kind of thing?!” He scoffs.
After a moment in which they both just kind of stare at each other, he sighs and accepts defeat. “Fine, bring the Healer in. I’m going to try to get some shut eye..” Kuzco waves a hand in the air in dismissal, mind already reeling with ideas for how he can escape getting found out. Maybe he can hide out in the Royal Gardens for the day– that should work.
Yzma rolls her eyes but forces a smile on her lips as her hands clasp together in front of her. “Great, thank you, your majesty. I’m so glad to see that you’re taking your health so seriously.” If it’s obvious that Yzma knows what he’s up to, she doesn’t say anything else about it– only flashes him a cold smile as she turns to leave.
Later on when she and the Royal Healer find him and discover that he was, in fact, faking his illness, Yzma takes pity on him and lets him rest for the rest of the day– though she makes a point not to advertise the fact that she’s being nice. It’ll ruin her heartless reputation. The only ones who have to know about that are the two of them. But make no mistake, she’ll be far wiser to his schemes in the future.
