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#i just love the subversion of tropes
soup-scope · 1 year
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i dunno if i said this before but it beats repeating ig
one of my favorite things about redacted and his writing is that erik takes seemingly common boyfriend asmr tropes and completely flips them onto their head and assigns a certain DEPTH to his characters that makes them feel so genuinely real
a ‘tsundere alpha wolf boyfriend’ is introduced in the form of david. he completely fits the bill in his first few videos. but as time goes on and he and angel’s relationship develops and deepens he lets down those walls, gives reason to why he was the way he way and how he was still attempting to overcome his grief and mourning over the passing of his parents. one of my FAVORITE david videos is the one where angel is comforting him on the summer solstice because it also happened to fall onto father’s day. the idea that angel *KNEW* what he needed by having him miss a day at work, let him speak on his own terms about what’s upsetting him, and just holding him while he cried. early david and current david are two completely different people due to erik gripping onto a relatively generic trope and going FURTHER with it
or like with vincent in the form of ‘flirty vampire.’ i literally ADORE vincent character development. with him falling into a ‘flirty and empty’ persona in an attempt to get what he needs in order to literally survive. and as SOON as lovely was seriously injured by being involved into the empowered world, he IMMEDIATELY drops this persona and tries to gently guide lovely into this world without pressuring them or making them feel unsafe. vincent has definitely taken back some of his flirting that he originally had, but he WAITED until lovely and him were at that point again.
god and don’t get me started on gavin
a common trope i’ve seen when people write incubus or concubus in general, is that they typically carry a sense of shame for what they are/feed on. and of course gavin 1000% has a problem with people only viewing him as his capability to have sex, he isn’t ashamed of what he is or what he does. gavin sees sex as a way to make both parties feel *good.* in his confession audio he literally describes it as bringing a joy to others. i mean, the freelancer and gavin have sex for the first time in an attempt to distract freelancer because they were emotionally exhausted from everything with kody and vega. even if gavin didn’t know everything at the time, he wanted to give them just a moment to forget about everything that had them ridiculously stressed.
these are just some examples that i can think of on the top of my head. i adore erik’s writing with these characters which is something i didn’t know to be possible with the audio rp format. there’s a lot of nuance that can be lost when just hearing someone speak, but even if i have a hard time with tone or lil nuances like that, i can’t recall a time when i’m ever really been completely lost when listening to redacted content. just. great writing 👍👍
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beanmaster-pika · 8 months
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Do you ever think about the fairy tale subversion of Silver and Malleus. Like yeah the time knife Maleficent cares about Sleeping Beauty and assisted in raising her subversion we’ve all seen it! But but but. Diasomnia is based on a fairy tale and out of all the dorms gives the strongest fairy tale vibe bc there’s a prince and his knights and also that prince is a dragon and one of his knights might be a lost prince, and that gives the opportunity to go directly for a classic trope beyond just the story they’re twisted from. The dragon loves the prince as dearly as if they were of the same blood. The knight would sooner cut his own throat than allow the dragon to come to harm. And yet they’re still being pitted against each other by the narrative now in book 7, Malleus casting a curse on Silver and everyone else because he thinks it’ll protect them and Silver fighting against him to save him from his Overblot.
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crplpunkklavier · 2 years
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less klavier changing his hair post-kristoph, more kristoph changing his hair post-klavier. that man literally came apart on the witness stand. i want to see him disheveled and deranged with his hair cut short because it was dirty and matted while klaviers perfect shiny over-the-shoulder twist is almost waist long now. do you hear me. klavier can get over kristoph with his hair and pride intact. i want him to think only once about cutting his hair and then catching a glimpse of what his brother looks like these days and knowing, OH, lol and lmao, he's good. do you HEAR me. kristoph cant break klavier. klavier breaks him. i want kristoph staring into mirrors. i want kristoph to look at himself and see klavier. i want kristoph to see, every morning, every day, the man who refused to be controlled. i want klavier gavin acknowledged as the last nail in the devil's coffin
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meeko-mar · 1 year
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"It's a shonen series though, it's not going to concern itself too much with romance! Romance isn't even important to the story of MHA"
and then Horikoshi, in the final hours of this story, brings in Toga talking about Romance and dragging our protag Deku WAY out of the way of his mission to push it on him, Ochako wanting to talk to Toga about real love,
And THEN brings in one of the few CANON romantic relationships for an encore, saying how "the time spent apart only made their love grow stronger," CONVENIENTLY right after the separation of Deku and Katsuki that resulted in Katsuki's death, right after Katsuki went into a trance state thinking about and silently calling to Izuku in a weirdly intimate death scene.
I MEAN OK
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mamamittens · 1 year
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Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 12)
Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (and others) & Reader-Insert
Main|First|Previous
Warnings: Yandere behavior, excessive use of force/fire, light injuries, and character death. At this point, need I remind ya'll to not tolerate possessive/toxic behavior in real life? Or murder/violence for that matter. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.
Ya'll about to lose your damn minds and I'm not sorry.
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(also, this gif is baller)
Word Count: 2,439
Ace leaned back a little as Striker sped off across the water. Ocean spray erupting in his wake as he veered towards the shoreline. Marco was checking the other nearby island while he checked this one. Discreetly.
Well… as discreetly as he could manage.
After several months of riding Teach’s ass, he knew they were close. Several times they went into a port only to find out that Teach had left only days before. Whatever crew he managed to get on such short notice was competent, Ace would admit that much. But everything he heard only made his fire burn hotter in his chest. He’d been practically spitting sparks for weeks now.
Particularly what he’d heard from Luffy.
‘They look cool. Though really tired!’
Thatch had woken up a couple of months back, though he was still strictly on bedrest. He was able to provide a better picture of what happened. As they had all suspected, you didn’t have anything to do with it. As far as Thatch could remember while bleeding out, Teach had kidnapped you with a sack. Not exactly ‘accomplice’ behavior. Thatch had also been devastated to learn that you’d been taken when he was right there.
Ace promised to bring you back home. At this point, the only reason for Teach to return was so Oyaji could personally punt him into the sea.
Ace ran Striker onto the shore and leapt out, boots digging into the sand as he jogged up the slight incline. Shards of glass breaking under his heel as he took a moment to control his temper.
He just wanted to go home already. He wanted all of this to be over with. To go back to teasing you for dodging parties and Thatch’s attempts to befriend you. Hell, he’d even take your awkward, concerned smiles for when someone tried really hard to talk to you about joining. Like they were confessing their plans to marry a sea king—actually, you’d probably be offended they thought they were worthy of Mao.
Ace sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself. Stalking through the shadows towards the center of the town. Ears primed for gossip.
“—they think I’d pay for that! Ugh!”
“—get ahold of your sister after last week? What she say?”
“—Did you see those pirates? Dragging around a slave, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—” Ace jerked towards the voice with narrowed eyes. An older lady gossiped with someone just a little bit younger, the two engrossed with their conversation. “—That Blackbeard fellow has no shame! All those rings! And his crew were just obnoxious! I feel so bad for that slave. I wonder if calling the marines would help or if they’d just be sold again?”
“I thought slaves just had the collar and brand. I didn’t even see a brand anywhere… do you think it’s a ransom?”
“Well, you’d think he wouldn’t be carting them around if that was the case! Poor dear looked exhausted!”
Ace grit his teeth, hissing as steam curled between his lips. After a moment, he put on his best, charming smile and stepped out.
“Excuse me, ma’am? I couldn’t help but overhear you… are they still here? My friend was taken by pirates and I’ve been trying to find them for months! Thick glasses, blue bandana around their wrist?” Ace asked with wide, sad eyes. The older ladies tittered at him as expected.
“Oh! Yes, actually, though it looked like they’re using it as a bandage now. That brute doesn’t look very gentle to me, you know. Last I heard they were readying for departure on the other side of town.” She replied. Ace bowed low.
“Thank you, very much, ma’am! Ah.” Ace looked up with a wry smile. “I suggest you ladies get a bit of distance. I’m afraid I’m going to make a bit of a mess soon.”
The ladies nodded and hurried off, warning others as they went.
Ace kept his smile for a few moments longer before settling his gaze in the direction they indicated.
Ace huffed, running up a wall and grabbing onto a rooftile. Hoisting himself up to run atop the buildings for a better vantage point. The colorful clay roofing blurring as he rushed.
He leapt on top of a house, crouched down low as he sneered.
Teach stood with his crew around him, organizing barrels. You swaying on your feet a little beside him. A dull, iron bracelet connected to a chain that ran all the way to Teach’s own wrist.
Luffy was right.
You looked fucking exhausted.
Ace cupped his hand, fire pooling between his fingers as he threw it down at Teach’s feet where it exploded. More light and noise than damage.
He didn’t want to hurt you.
It would be tricky to immolate Teach with you next to him, but Ace was clever. He’d figure something out. At the very least he could keep fighting until Marco arrives.
“TEACH YOU BASTARD!”
--*--
You yelped, startled by the sudden explosion just feet from you. Teach instantly backing up with his hand gripping your arm. His face turned up towards a roof.
You followed his gaze in shock as the figure stood up. Ace screaming furiously across the distance.
“TEACH YOU BASTARD!” Rather than be intimidated in the least, Teach laughed.
“Commander! Should have known it would be you.” Teach grinned, pulling you forward a bit. “Here for something? Why not join my crew? I’m going to be a warlord soon, you know. After I turn in Straw Hat, they’ll gladly give me the position.”
You couldn’t quite see Ace well, but he seemed more furious at the suggestion than before. His fruit flaring enough that even with your exhaustion you noticed. He’d clearly been burning so hot for a while now—your obliviousness to him was just further evidence for how weak you’d gotten over the past few months.
Teach had been getting a tad… desperate to outrun his pursuers until he could manage to get the warlord title. And it seems as though his luck had run out.
“I. Would. Never.” Ace spat, launching off the room in a hail of fire and landing several feet away. “Luffy is my little brother, Teach. You’re not hurting anymore of my family.”
Teach made a surprised sound and you couldn’t blame him. They didn’t quite resemble each other, nor did they share a last name. And seeing Ace now, face etched with fury, he looked about as far from the goofy, beaming Luffy as possible.
Teach clicked his tongue.
“What a shame. You’re pretty strong, commander. We could have done great together.” Teach bemoaned playfully, like they were still crewmates having a small argument over pie flavors.
“I’m not your commander, Teach. Not after what you’ve done.” Ace’s body lit up like a bonfire, flaring high into the sky and making you look away or risk blinding yourself.
The shadows beneath your feet writhed as the light flickered over them, powered by your fruit as a cold spot developed around you. Around Teach.
“Go. None of you are strong enough to fight him—” Teach warned before one of them shot a gun at Ace. The bullets flying through harmlessly, leaving only temporary holes in the blazing fire that constituted his body. Ace’s eyes were fixed on you like dying stars. “Now!”
The crew ran as a flashover spilled out across the area, scorching the earth and singing your lungs.
You wished you had the opportunity to run yourself. Never, have you ever, wanted to fight Ace. For a lot of reasons.
Mostly a lack of desire to know what being a burned marshmallow felt like.
Teach’s free fist was coated in smoke and shadows, curling around his fingers eagerly.
Ace reeled back his fiery arm, fist clenched tight as Teach mirrored him.
Fire and living darkness rushed across the space, suddenly not nearly enough space as they collided violently. Friction lighting where they clashed as it raced upwards and out, attempting to find a weak point. You felt your body being blown back, only held in place by Teach’s firm grip as his boots dug into the earth. Despite only being connected to Teach, you could feel how hungry the fire was. Eating away the oxygen as it exploded again and again, trying to outmatch the shadows.
The final detonation was high above your head and the shockwave took you down to your knees as you gasped for air. Shaking almost as violently as their first blow, your head ringing, skin tingling with light burns. You blinked hard, eyes crying out at the relief as you looked up.
Teach’s grip on your arm was the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the ground. Dust and debris clinging to your body.
You were horrified. Only realizing now that Teach fully intended to keep you right next to him for this fight.
And you genuinely wasn’t sure you could handle being this close to any of it.
Teach grunted, bending down to wrap his arm around your middle like a sack of potatoes. You didn’t even really have time to consider how painful the position was before Ace leapt forward with a feral howl of anger.
Sparks and flame erupting around you as you could do nothing but hold onto Teach’s arm and close your eyes. Your body jerking around as the two traded blows. Teach handicapped by you, as was Ace, who clearly wasn’t quite going all out like he wanted. The air was stiflingly hot and heavy as they clashed. Fire burning through your eyelids as you tried to focus on anything but the fight.
“Zehahahaha~! What’s wrong, commander? You don’t seem to be invested!” Teach cackled before he was cut off with a pained grunt. “I was hit!?” He mumbled just over the rippling sound of fire tearing through the atmosphere.
“You’re a fucking COWARD, TEACH! PUT! THEM! DOWN!” Ace screamed like he was possessed, explosions scorching you as Teach jerked around a touch desperately.
You gasped for air, lungs burning from heat and exertion. Exhaustion filling your head with cotton as tears slipped through your closed eyes.
You… you were so fucking sick and tired of this.
All of it.
Every last fucking thing.
Sick of the fucking pirates!
Sick of your fucking devil fruit!
Sick of the clammy, creepy shadows curling around your ankles every fucking second of the day!
Your senses focused on that sensation. How much you hated it.
Fire and shadows tearing up the earth as Teach occasionally pulled in debris to single-handedly hurl at Ace. Pulled in nearly the whole town only to eject it violently at Ace.
Every move taunting and teasing your senses as it pulled on your lingering energy.
“TEEEAAAACCHH!” Ace roared, the sound distant and dull in your ears.
Your heart beat in your chest. A distant drum that steadily grew closer. Louder until it vibrated in your blood and bones.
Ba-thump!
A mirage formed behind your eyelids. Less wavering and unsteady with every beat.
Ba-thump!
A dial. Almost like a pressure gauge. The needle vibrating near the red and jumping with every attack.
Ba-thump!
You felt a foreign vibration build in your chest. Your feet digging into the broken cobblestone, muscles screaming out as you forced yourself to uncurl from around Teach’s arm.
BA-THUMP!
Your nails dug into his skin as you pivoted. One hand curled around the illusionary dial before twisting. To. Zero.
“Dial DOWN!” You screamed, the pressure of his fruit on yours reversing.
Teach spun in your bloodied grip, body flying around as you threw him over your shoulder with more strength than you thought you’d ever have. Fueled by rage and desperation to make it stop.
The chain pulled taut. Yanking you with him as you screamed, the joint popping out of place from the force of your throw.
The electric pain made your hand spasm as you ‘let go’. Body pulled across the ground and nearly slamming your face into the ruined street beneath you. Your only free hand scrapping across the broken rock, leaving a trail of blood that was shared underneath your knees and side of your ribs.
You gasped, body jerking uncontrollably away from the taut chain but only abusing your dislocated shoulder further.
It was dead silent aside from your pained gasp and a low, startled moan from Teach.
He coughed.
“…zehahahahaha—"
Then he laughed. Shadows erupting around you both as he slowly sat up.
“HAHAHAHA! ZEHAHAHAHAHA! ZEHA—”
A burning, oozing hand slammed into his head, shoving him back down with a barely registered scream. The smell of burning flesh erupting as you looked up in shock.
Teach was dead in less than a second.
Admiral Akainu kneeling over him, one arm shoved to the ground where Teach’s head used to be. His foot burning through Teach’s arm, melting him slowly as lava pooled around him. The heat waving over you at a much greater temperature than all but the most devastating of Ace’s attacks. And he was several feet away.
“…S-Sir?!” You rasped, throat burning as you tried to sit up.
Admiral Akainu jerked at the sound of your voice. His stern features flickering for a moment.
“You did well, Ensign. We only have one last thing to take care of.” Admiral Akainu stated with cold eyes. Slowly standing before walking towards you. Deliberately stepping on the chain and melting it under his shoe.
“HEY! GET AWAY FROM THEM!” Ace screamed, throwing a fireball high. Admiral Akainu flicked his hand, batting it away as he moved to kneel before you. Gently helping you up.
Still in shock, you couldn’t say anything as he braced your back and shoved your shoulder into place. You screamed, startled as pins and needles went down your arm, though otherwise the relief was immense.
You panted, utterly confused as he picked you up with one arm under your thighs, pinning your face into his suit as he sneered.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, Fire Fist.”
You trembled as the air grew hazy with an overwhelming amount of heat. The edge taken off due to your devil fruit connecting with Admiral Akainu’s.
You were so tired.
You managed to look back at Ace, worry dragging you from the edge of consciousness. He looked horrified and infuriated all at once.
You felt the tears slip down your face, almost ice cold in the heat.
There was no way Ace could survive against Admiral Akainu with his devil fruit.
Even before you got involved, it simply didn’t burn hot enough.
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dragonologist-phd · 6 months
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while i do think that shadowheart's quest is well done for what it is (ie something that has to stay within the constraints of established worldbuilding) i still really wish the forgotten realms lore allowed more nuance in its pantheon of gods.
some of the lines shadowheart has in act 1 about shar are so intriguing and i wish they'd actually delivered on this idea of a goddess of darkness and loss who isn't necessarily as Super Evil as the world at large portrays her
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theclearblue · 5 months
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Help the thoughts of Kenjaku's twisted sense of motherhood displayed towards Yuuji is bouncing around in my brain like a dvd logo
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drewtanakagf · 9 months
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yah so cain and abel parallels. everyone give it up for cain and abel parallels
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yngai · 4 months
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what i like about ada's report, & i'll get into it more eventually, is that despite it being ada explaining the plot (& her motivations) to you directly, it presents an interesting relationship between ada, a known liar & manipulator, & the audience. while she withholds information from other characters & skirts about on mystery throughout RE4 & separate ways, there is one person to whom she doesn't lie, to whom she does tell the truth, at least a part of it, & that is you, the player. it is a very neat narrative device that wouldn't work as well in a different medium
#* file // : OOC — ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐄 . )#not that anyone's actually fucking read ada's report people still think ada was saving leon out of love#in direct opposition to wesker's orders in the original re4#i wish this didn't make me mad but it does it's right there in plain english the nikita pose is a misdirection#it's subverting the trope she's part of a bigger conspiracy leon is a necessary piece of her mission#like the subversion of the femme fatale isn't subtle#they either die or are undone upon reveal of their treachery ada survives & lives beyond the logical endpoint of her character#she isn't weakened or completely changed in fact she learns how to manipulate the hero better for their next encounter#she isn't working for the villain both in that she tells you that she's only been pretending to this whole time#& that she works for another organization that's been spying on wesker through ada this whole time#but also the fact that wesker is neither the villain of re4 nor resident evil as a franchise he is another cog in the machine#just another one of umbrella's leftovers#see i know people think ada despises chris because he mistook her for carla one time on the tanker#but i think they've got a lot more in common than either is truly willing to admit should they actually ever speak to each other#i just think it's neat that she gets his line addressed to wesker to use on mr. x (just another one of umbrella's failed experiments)#darkside chronicles & re5 were developed around the same time i'm sure it's a coincidence
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oldtvandcomics · 2 years
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You know, I think we had enough subversions of the “power of love means romantic love” trope that consists of the protagonists spending the whole story looking for romantic love in vain, only to be saved last second by a very helpless feeling friend/sibling/other loved one. I want a story where the prophet or whoever starts talking about True Love and Finding Your Prince Charming, and the heroine just deadass looks them in the eye and goes.
“I’m queer.”
“Oh... Well, that’s great! Progressive fairy tale! It doesn’t have to be a prince! Could be a princess!”
“No. Not a lesbian. I’m aromantic. Fuck you.”
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amphiptere · 11 months
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George R R Martin and Terry Pratchett both reframed fantasy/fiction tropes to be more realistic but by god they did it very differently.
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Madame Putiphar Read Along: Prologue
so it begins!! :D
(I am using the Valdemar Gótica edition in charge of Mauro Armiño, and the french text in gutenberg dot org)
Prologue
(The work is dedicated to L.P., Lucinde Paradol, an actress Petrus had loved since 1831)
The Poet sets the scene within his sombre heart. 3 Knights battle in it for its dominion, with ceasless fury. The Poet’s agonic cries only increase the knight’s bloodlust. The struggle will be lifelong, the Poet knows he has no choice in the outcome, and he knows the victory of one of the Knights will be his doom.
The knights represent a classic allegorical theme: the Three Ages of Man. But also three attitudes:
-libertinage and artistic glory,
-religious or intellectual seclusion,
-suicide, a clean death before the world and its ways forces the Poet to compromise himself
They also reflect in a general structural way, the vital paths of our characters. This pattern of the three possible paths, the three ages of men, is very ancient. In western culture we usually start with greek philosophers and matematicians considering it the perfect number, a number that encompassed the three narrative acts. It’s a recurring theme in most religions, fairy and folk tales, and mythology. It is also a number that seems to appeal to how our brains work, easing the comprehension of decades spanning events in narratives: in fairytales, we usually get 3 attempts at the same magical action before the character succeeds, in cinematic editing when a character coughs 3 times, we know the illness is grave enough to be deadly.
Closer in time to Borel, and worth mentioning since we know the author is one of his influences, there’s a Diderot book, The Skeptic’s Walk, that follows this same format. Finished in 1747 but like most of Diderot’s fiction, it was published posthumously, in 1830. In it a philosopher and his friends get lost in symbollic garden paths made of roses, thorns and chestnuts, each representing pleasures of the flesh ->roses, agonies of futile religious deprivation ->thorns, and finally chestnuts-> the wisdom of Philosophy. In a pretty anti-enlightenment move, Diderot’s character ends up running into “the type of blonde philosophers should avoid”(a line that seems out of a noir) an escapee from the path of the roses, she urges him to choose the palpable reality of sensual joys. He agrees, and occasionally picks sensuality over intellectual pursuits.
But enough preambles, let us present our allegorical knights:
Our first knight is “young, fresh and alert” He wears a steel corselet which glistens under a net of green cloth like a glacier glimpsed from between pines. His color, green like the verdant, fertile forest of Youth. But what this luscious fields hide is the frozen desert of the glacier. He is blond, beautiful, his eyes reflect love. His portrait is adorned with refernces to Spain: rides an Andalusian horse whom the the Knight of Youth makes shiver when manipulating his dagger and rondell like a vain toreador. (I don’t feel confident enough yet to try and say what Spain means for Borel, but his feelings towards Spain, the Spanish language and hispanic cultures are usually very positive)(so let’s say these allusions render him more appealing)
Enter the Second Knight. His characterization is compossed of references to christianity and the gothic: He looks like a reliquary. His donkey’s protruding bones make the animal resemble a rosary, covered with a shorn horse blanket that would catch the eye of an antiquary for it could be that of Queen Isabeau, travelling from Bavaria to France (her attire for the occasion was especially lavish)
He is fat, greasy, his breathing: laborious and loud. The anthitetic starving donkey carrying the heavy knight makes the spectator think of Shrovetide carrying Carnival on its back. However, the knight himself is made of anthiteses and contradictions. He looks like a glutton, but wears the attire of a penitent monk. (foreshadowing perhaps a priest in the novel who is not as chaste as he should be) He drags his habit through the ground, staining the holy clothes. He wears the hood because in order to “sell himself to the heavens” he has to conceal who he is or perhaps what he does. While he preaches virtue, sitting with his legs wide open (the expression Borel uses, à califourchon, is possibly composed of the ancient breton word for testicules) on his frail donkey, he is inspired by Sabaoth, the avatar of the Lord when leading the armies of the angels in Judaism. (there are many interpretations of this version of God and this name, and I am not well versed in Judaism, but from the context, he seems to be preaching virtue while sitting in a somewhat obscene manner, inspired by a war-like deity of another religion) He insults, curses and swears, arrogantly challenging his two rivals. These insults are backed by a huge mace. This second knight is completely drenched in blood and kisses a crucifix. To sum it up, he is older, dirtier, bloodier, associated with phallic and christian imagery, his appereance of weakness is decieveing. His attitudes span widely between the pious or the violent.
We meet, finally, the Third Knight. He is like the Comander in the Don Juan mythos, a man of stone. (based on the spanish folk tale of the “convidado de piedra”, the guest made of stone is the funereal monument of the Comander’s grave, who Juan Tenorio mockingly invites to dine after realizing he killed him when the Commander tried to avenge the rape of his daughter. The commander famously represents Death, shows up to Juan’s supper and invites him to dine with him in Hell instead.) He is horrifying and lugubrious. When hit by the other knights, he makes the sound of a hollow tomb. He is pretty much a grim reaper made of stone, he carries a scythe, which weeps streams of blood, carries a hunter’s trap from which a hanged man swings, grimmacing in a grotesque manner. Instead of a scimitar he carries a fisherman’s hook, from which tiny nets filled with worms and larvae hang. (is this a reference to the fisherman imagery in christianity? With an ironic twist because the paradise the stony knight offers is the absolute nothingness of the grave)
The 1st Knight, represents our tangible world. He attracts the narrator with crowns of flowers, and gallantly covers any puddles the poet finds in his path with his cloak, and wipes off his tears.
Now it’s the turn for the knights to address the Poet, and the language becomes erotic: the knight of Youth wishes the poet to give in to him completely, without restraints or remorse. He wants him to dive into his chest, abandoning himself to the oscilations of the vermillion waves within it. He is the joyous, smiling side of the world, which opens itself to the youth of the narrator, revealing a future of magic from which the days of his glory will spring. It’s the world of stars and dreams but also the world of prostitution and voluptuosness. The knight of Youth offers all the pleasures of the World, he will fullfil all of the Poet’s possible desires: voluptuos women, banquets, dances, glory.
The second knight with the kindly air, serious attitude and a face made sombre by loneliness, repressents the Cloister, where the love of the Lord emmanates in streams. The Cloister Knight claims the narrator for himself, because the tangible, sensual World is a mirage, everything in it vanishes like a dream, glory and the dream of posterity are only masks pride likes to wear. It is a vain entreprise to raise onseself a living monument, because the world forgets it all. Carnal love is impure. He must join the Second Knight in the Cloister to presserve the virginities of his soul. The Cloister is not only religious, if meditation doesn’t captivate him, he can always explore wisdom and science, but never Philosophy, (the enlightenment group were notably called the Philosophes, -a word that was used to design an intellectual- and they usually opposed organized religion) which defiles the wonders of Christ.
The third Knight, the eternal leverler, the implacable reaper, whom the narrator strokes and secretly honors, (the only one of the Knights the Narrator tells us openly how he feels about) is the Void: Death. As he is ancient, he adresses the Narrator as a child, and invites him to probe into his earthy body, to drown in his muddy, shadowy chrysalis. He forgets to harvest no grape of the vine of humanity, so why wait until pain has shattered his heart to blow out his candle? Death, the Knight claims, is Our Lady of Joy and Salvation! The grave: the Promised Land. He urges our Poet not to listen to the rhethoric of the Cloister, it promises rest but Man is trapped by his obsessions in it, like Saint Anthony, who suffered tempted like a Satyr in the desert: The Cloister is the same as the World without the posibility of fullfilment or satisfaction. Joy is only possible underground where one is safe from fake friendship, ambition or lost illusions. Absolute nothing is an abscense, a dead lightning, a botomless sea, a void without an echo.
Thus, capitulates the Poet, have combated the three knights for years without quarter. His heart is wounded by this constant struggle because it’s doubtful, religious, crazy, mondain, and unbelieving at the same time. But it’s a matter of time, one of the Knights will vanquish the others and the Poet will perish, a prey of either the World, the Cloister or the Void, and he has no choice in the outcome.
We know all the knights’s paths are fake, Youth appears fertile but conceals a heart of ice, Cloister preaches virtue and science but is a licentious, violent man, Death promises rest, but is shown torturing its victims. The Poet is harrased by the three incarnations of paths he knows are purposely deceitful, attempting to seduce him with mirages. Life, he tells us at the beginning of the poem, is pain in bloom, nothing in life is real or worthy, except perhaps this struggle, and the Poet’s realization that these options are deceitful.
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to be explicit about my biases I am of course a) choosing the interpretation that makes me want to kill Varric with hammers the least and b) erring on the side of what I think the writer's most likely meant to say with Bianca's lil backstory.
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octoagentmiles · 2 years
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i hate when people try to say one octonaut is better or worse than the others. didn't you watch the mudskippers episode they are equals in every way because they are friends and love each other thank you end post <3
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whumpy-words · 2 years
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random (un)helpful writing advice: you don’t always have to put a twist on a trope to make it interesting, you just have to execute it well.
and in my experience, the best way to do that is to make it as specific as possible to your characters.
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kirriu · 9 months
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mr lulu
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