#a JUXTAPOSITION or opposing effect

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Narrative Foils

Foil. This term is specific to the contrasts between characters. Where a writer juxtaposes two characters so as to emphasize their opposing qualities, the characters are foils of each other. E.g., tortoise and the hare from the classic fable.

Foil Character. Primarily exists to bring the protagonist’s qualities into sharper relief. This is because the foil is effectively the opposite of the protagonist. In the Star Trek series, Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock serve as each other’s foils since their personalities are so notably different.

Foil Characters

Literary Foil - a character whose purpose is to accentuate or draw attention to the qualities of another character, most often the protagonist.

This literary term is named after an old jewelry trick of setting a gem on a foil base to enhance its shine.

Types of Literary Foils

Foils are most often secondary characters, but they can also take other forms.

Object as foil. A writer will sometimes highlight the importance of an inanimate object in a story by contrasting it with another. In Wuthering Heights, for example, Emily Brontë contrasts the grey, dismal, storm-battered estate of Wuthering Heights with Thrushcross Grange, a sophisticated, “splendid” neighboring estate that sits in the sunshine. The presence of the Thrushcross Grange stresses the darkness that hangs over Wuthering Heights.

Subplot as foil. Writers will often weave subplots throughout a story. These secondary stories can make the main plot more complex, escalate tension, and highlight information the writer wants to emphasize. In William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the subplots of Laertes and Fortinbras are foils to Hamlet’s story. All three want to avenge the murders of their fathers. As the more cerebral Hamlet writes a play to get his uncle to confess, Fortinbras and Laertes take the opposite approach: they draw their weapons and go to seek vengeance.

How to Write a Foil Character

Here are a few points to keep in mind as you develop this important character. 

Consider the conflict: Even if your foil is the protagonist’s best friend, they can’t just be a hype man—your story and the relationship need conflict. Why? Conflict is the basis for everything when it comes to good writing. This is where your opposite list (see below) will come in handy as it’s a built-in resource for creating conflict.

Establish wants and desires: During the character development phase, ensure your foil has clear wants and desires. They can be the same as the protagonist’s or in opposition; either way, they’re the driving force behind the conflict. 

Be careful with dialogue: You know the old saying “show, don’t tell”? Apply it to your foil by paying close attention to dialogue. Yes, a foil’s job is to highlight the character traits of the protagonist, but it shouldn’t be explicit. Subtext is key here: It’s not interesting if the foil just tells the protagonist they need to fend for themselves or toughen up. You’re more creative than that.

Writing Tips: Foil Character

Make an Opposite List. This is the easiest but most important step. When writing a foil, you need to remember they’re the opposite of the character they’re the foil for. (For the sake of simplicity, we’ll assume from here on out that the character they’re the foil for is the protagonist.) Juxtaposition is everything when developing a foil alongside your protagonist. So, make a list of your protagonist’s character traits—maybe the top five. Then, make a list of the complete opposite of those traits, and that’ll help with your foil. For example, if your protagonist is submissive or a pushover, your foil would be assertive. It will be through your foil’s assertiveness that the protagonist discovers they’re too much of a pushover and begins to change. 

Consider the World of your Story. While the point of the foil is to be the opposite of your protagonist, an effective foil still inhabits the same world your story—and protagonist—is set in. Are you writing a family drama? Maybe the foil is a sibling or parent. Does the story take place in a high school? Then maybe the foil is the protagonist’s classroom nemesis. Science fiction? Perhaps it makes sense for the foil to be a fellow member of the crew or a lab scientist. Truly knowing the world your story is set in is critical in establishing a believable—and useful—relationship between protagonist and foil.

Consider the Whole Plot. Yes, the purpose of a foil is to highlight another character’s traits, but this doesn’t mean the foil only shows up in times of the protagonist’s development. Could the foil also play a larger role within the plot? Example: You’re writing an action-adventure movie and your protagonist’s arc is going from timid to heroic. You’ve got a big action set piece and your protagonist buckles under the pressure. Perhaps your foil rises to the occasion and ultimately propels the plot forward. Here’s an instance that blends character and plot development.

Some Inspiration for your Opposite List

Here are some common contrasts in different kinds of character :

Intuitive vs. logical (Kirk vs. Spock in Star Trek)

Trusting vs. cynical (Forrest Gump vs. Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump)

Tyrannical vs. liberal (Napoleon vs. Snowball in Animal Farm)

Idealistic vs. pragmatic (Captain America vs. Iron Man in the MCU)

Cheerful vs. misanthropic (Donkey vs. Shrek in Shrek)

Daring vs. cowardly (Frodo vs. Sam in Lord of the Rings)

Noble vs. craven (Maximus vs. Commodus in Gladiator)

Examples of Foil Characters from Literature

Writers often use foils in their stories. Some of the most famous examples of foils throughout the history of literature include:

John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men. George and Lennie are best friends. They are also physical and emotional opposites: George is small and lean, Lennie is big and strong. Lennie is mentally disabled, and George is his caretaker. This contrast buoys their friendship, but is also a source of conflict between them.

William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar. The devious and cunning Cassius and the nobler Brutus conspire to assassinate Julius Caesar. Cassius is plotting the murder for pure jealousy, while Brutus wants Caesar dead because he sees him as a weak leader. Compared to Cassius’ petty reason, Brutus seems more honorable in his motives. Brutus’ honesty, as well as his naiveté, makes Brutus a foil for the deceptive and conniving Antony, a confidante of Caesar’s who takes power after his murder.

The Importance of Foils in Literature

Literary foils exist to reveal information about characters and their motivations. Foils can also:

Help readers get a deeper understanding of a character. The main purpose of a foil is to draw attention to and emphasize another character’s strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, this is done through contrast. For example, in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor Frankenstein shuts himself off from others, driven by his obsession to create a living being. As a result, he creates his own foil: a creature who craves companionship and connection, exhibiting the human characteristics that Frankenstein lacks.

Put a character in context. Creating a counterpart for a main character sets a gauge for the reader. Without Mercutio as a foil, Romeo might just seem like a boy in love, in William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Mercutio’s more casual approach to matters of the heart compared to his best friend’s helps illuminate the depth of Romeo’s obsession.

Take a different path. A foil might doe more than just offer insight into another character’s personality. Their different values and motivations may lead them to make different choices, illuminating an alternate “what if” plotline. In Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck is guided by his moral compass, and his foil, Tom Sawyer, by his sense of adventure. This causes the two characters to approach every situation in a very different way.

Differences Between a Foil & an Antagonist

Writers play characters off of one another to build drama and create conflict in a story. Foils and antagonists are 2 types of characters that serve very different functions.

An antagonist is a character who is in direct opposition to the protagonist. Their actions deliberately hinder the protagonist from achieving her goal. This relationship helps build conflict and propels a story forward.

A foil exists simply to shine the spotlight on certain traits of another character, without necessarily creating opposition or conflict. A foil can even be a friend of the character they are supposed to draw attention to: Dr. John Watson, for example, is a foil to Sherlock Holmes in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

I received this on my main blog. You can find more details and examples in the sources. Hope Anon sees!

[offsidetracked]

Don't worry @ven0moir you're not alone in the trenches, we're going crazy together in real time 💀

I have to admit that bychance felt mostly like a fun crack ship at first. Why not you know, he's attractive, Will deserves some fun, I like drama, let's go. But the more I twist and turn it around the more it feels like an actually... good and not at all farfetched subplot. Huh. Whaddaya know. Well, let's get into it.

For me it comes down to mainly one thing;

A bychance storyline would serve Will and Mike's individual character arcs and help pave the way for byler

@ven0moir has already made a great point about how Will having some prior experience would give him more agency when byler eventually happens. And Mike is long overdue for a rude awakening: his undisputed spot as Will's most important person will not go uncontested forever. One way or another, the show has to address how uncomfortable this realisation will make him. And force him to confront what that means for the nature of their relationship. Bychance is a simple and effective way to accomplish exactly that. And honestly, if Mike is going to be a jealous confused mess in S5 (it's for your own good Michael), give him something to be actually jealous about.

So far the show has given us mainly one flavor of internalized homophobia. Mike hides, he plays pretend at heterosexuality with a beard girlfriend that he, although he likes and cares for her, isn't attracted to. Bychance would be a juxtaposition to Mike's coping mechanisms by having Will go the complete opposite route.

Will already believes he has no chance at a healthy, mutual, romantic connection. So why not engage in a toxic situationship with someone he doesn't like or trust but is sexually attracted to? The world is ending anyway. Might as well.

It wouldn't be strange at all.

Will has been valiantly holding out so far; being happy for whatever kind of intimacy he can have with Mike. There's been cracks in that facade however. The rain fight, destroying Castle Byers, the argument at rink-o-mania... all point to the fact that Will, for all his valor and selfless behaviour, actually holds a great deal of frustration, maybe even resentment, because of the situation.

Would it really be so weird for him to act out and seek some sort of relief, if the opportunity presented itself?

We already know that temptation will most likely play a part in Will's arc this season. Vecna could very well be involved in manipulating a bychance situation. Separating Will from his support system would make him vulnerable and potentially more receptive to Vecna whispering promises in his ear later on. What better way than to lure Will away with a twisted version of what he actually wants? Juicy🧃

Throwing a wench in Mike and Will's relationship is also crucial if Vecna wants his plan to succeed. Those two have proven to be absolutely lethal when they join forces. Bychance could be a way to make Mike feel like Will has gone to a place he can't follow. At least not until he confronts the less than platonic feelings he has for his best friend.

Anyway, what it comes down to is Mike and Will showcasing two diametrically opposed but equally toxic coping mechanisms. Both being consequences of internalizing the belief that this is as good as it's going to get. Ugh my heart 💔

Bychance could, if played right, help deliver a really powerful message about the more insidious consequences of homophobia and what a hateful, intolerant society truly does to a person. Underlining one of the core lessons of the show;

When you betray who you are by trying to conform things go wrong

Forced conformity really is killing the kids.

We're also in the final arc of The Five Arc story structure. That means one thing and one thing only; catharsis.

Everything is coming to a boiling point and the lid will blow in a number of ways. Especially when it comes to byler. Things must implode, explode, for both of them. Only then will they have to stare truth in the face and actually deal with their feelings for each other. And what living a life that is truly their own would mean.

Sure, you could do all this without bychance.

But it would be a neat and simple way to do it. And there are things in the show that could be interpreted as hints towards it (@ven0moir and @cypherheartnokey have made posts about it). Some of it could be reaching, but not more of a reach than some stuff we bylers regularly parade around as evidence for our ship.

This is a show that goes crazy hard with foreshadowing and self-referencing after all so... yeah. You be the judge. Whether it will happen or not is anyone's guess.

But I actually wouldn't be mad if it did.

[romanceyourdemons]

released in the early days of found footage horror oversaturation, trollhunter (2010) uses its medium in a rarely-employed but highly effective way. generally, found footage uses its rough and entirely diegetic filming to get away with having an inimical force that is completely unknown, barely understood, and only marginally explained—for instance, the blair witch of the eponymous project, which is never seen and hardly even confirmed to exist. that could not be less true of this film. the inimical forces are clearly seen, thoroughly understood, and explained in far more detail than one typically gets in a horror film. and yet the horror is undiminished and in fact only increased by this, because it only highlights the fact that these forces—trolls, climate change and development of norway’s natural landscape, a callous and over-bureaucratized government—are simply too vast and powerful to be opposed. the found footage mechanism both emphasizes the vastness of the beautifully designed and tactfully deployed creatures, and provides a constant sense of juxtaposition between norway’s superstition-bound past and its modernity-bound present. the film’s pacing is particularly clever, getting over the hump of supernatural creatures existing relatively early in the film and dedicating the rest of the runtime to blending these classic folk creatures into the equally classic landscapes and problems of natural husbandry, resulting in a film that is high-stakes, fantastic, and grounded all at once. trollhunter (2010) is a triumph of found footage film as well as a very entertaining piece of norwegian cinema, and i would highly recommend it

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[sunboki]

— KOREA'S MOST WANTED (BLACKWATER) : TEASER

🎥 : The Cypher! Seo Changbin x fem. reader

TROPE. part of the “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, criminal! au, ‘The Gunsman’ (Christopher Bahng) is a coworker of ‘The Cypher’ (Seo Changbin), fwb

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k-10k words

WARNINGS. murder, guns and other weapons, descriptive violence, mature themes, alcohol, blood, lying/hitman activities (??), smoking, cursing allusions to sex/drugs

PLAYLIST.

AUG'S NOTES. and.. without further ado, the teaser has been posted! welcome to ‘Korea’s Most Wanted’, the second adaption!!!please tell me your thoughts! :))

SYPNOSIS. The Cypher leaves his mark even when his presence is gone. Though, you knew Seo Changbin, not The Cypher. Not until an act upon feelings led to unwanted discovery, in which the question lies: Who really is the man you’ve fallen in love with?

or alternatively :

If everything goes to doom, let it be with you.

CRIMINAL #0003 — SEO, CHANGBIN.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Changbin has been convicted of murder using a baseball bat and is described to be aggressive and out of control. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

There are many things you remember from him.

He smokes. You don’t like the smell.

His favorite shirt is a worn one.

He believes everything has a purpose, including the goldfish bowl he keeps below his bed, filled with used packs of Marlboro cigarettes.

You also remember his bad habits, and his good ones.

He is an intricate man, after all.

You remember his hands. Stubby fingers, bruised knuckles he never talked about. Dirt and grime smeared in the creases of his palm.

He has a ferocious temper, but is also kind hearted. A juxtaposition of many things all at once, scrambled together in the scars by his ribs, the details carving him physically as opposed to his mind—intricate and delicate, too frail to touch.

Amongst many things you could recall from him, after he left, you allowed him to take himself with it. You bought air fresheners to rid of his smell, and always donned new t-shirts, ones lacking holes gaping at the armpits, without stretched collars.

Slowly but surely, you got rid of him, and yet, he stays. 

Seo Changbin can never stay somewhere for too long, but he still resides in your apartment.

Like an apparition, roaming about whenever it pleases.

Here, and yet not.

Maybe that’s another bad habit you forgot to add.

“And as for the next week, we’re expecting warm temperatures in the east–”

Accidentally pulling the wrong cord, the weatherman’s voice abruptly cuts off. From your couch, a groan resounds in response.

Rising up from your squat on the floor, your slippers squeak as you walk across tile, stained and scratched a distasteful baby blue as you throw a kitchen towel at the man.

His hand covers a lighter, held up to the cigar dangling from chapped lips.

Leasing the cheapest apartment in Seoul came with a price. That, along with letting him linger around.

“I told you not to smoke in here, the ventilation sucks,” You grumble, wandering around to the window, trying to budge the halfway broken glass coverage up to no avail.

Of course, Changbin, the man in question, doesn’t listen, eyes drawn to the panties peeking from beneath your big t-shirt (his big t-shirt) instead.

Quickly snuffing the lit embers against his palm without so much as a hiss of pain, he stuffs the remnants in his pocket to dispose of afterward, walking on up to where you continuously try lifting the unwavering window.

“Bin, help.” Managed as a grunt between heaving breaths, your expression pinches in irritation.

Alternative to the request, he scoops you up, big palms wrinkling your shirt as his hands wander upward, effectively hoisting you into his arms. Wordlessly does his face tip down to litter kisses along your neckline, pulling you flush against him.

“Don’t wanna,” He grunts, humming along to your hand reaching behind for him, holding his kiss to your skin, lips parted whilst staring ahead dazedly.

Control. The one thing you hate when it comes to Changbin. The thing his lips render you unable to gain a semblance of.

As for him, he likes that face on you. Likes when he kisses you a lot, when your lips get all puffy and kiss-bitten. Likes when you drool while he stuffs your face into the mattress those nights you were supposed to ‘just have a drink together’.

He’s always been a fan of your lips.

Then again, if you’re listing his worst habits, you might as well confess one of your own.

You can’t say no to him, not even when the window remains unopened, smoke mogging the air when he takes you on the couch, ignorant to the thin walls as usual.

“Y/N, c’mon,” Changbin groans, his bottom lip jutting outward in a pout unfitting to the man’s disposition.

His hair’s a mess from your tugging, looking honorably disheveled. You can't say you look any different, if not worse, leaning against your doorframe.

“You know how we end up. I let you in and thirty minutes later we end up fucking,” You cross your arms over your chest, eyeing him up and down. 

Obviously wracking his mind for an excuse, he mimics your crossed arms, tongue poking into his cheek—an action that would’ve caused you to fold any other day if you weren’t attending a friend’s birthday party tonight.

It’s true, and serves as an additional factor keeping Changbin’s mouth closed. Each time, without fail; wrapped around your finger, you wrapped around his.

“But–” 

“Nope! Bye!” Interrupting his impending words, you hastily close the door, awaiting an entourage of incessant messages a few minutes later, full of frowny faces and helpless pleas.

Who knew such a man could behave so pitifully?

Yet, no such messages notify your phone, failing to buzz on the bathroom sink while you clean up your mascara with a q-tip, leaning over the faucet, face pursed with focus. 

It’s not often you get the excuse to go out, and with Dixie’s being the party spot in particular, you won't waste the opportunity of attending one of Itaewon’s most frivolous clubs.

As for you and Changbin, the understanding rests on your lack of commitment. He wanders, you wander. He isn’t one to put down roots, and you respect that.

Granted, the sex is mind-blowing, so it wouldn't be a surprise if the frequency of your nights are accompanied by him, but it’s never shackled that way. 

Although, that isn’t your goal tonight. Earlier today was enough to satiate, and your newfound goal consists of enjoying free drinks and the obnoxious bass blasting through your ears, numbed amongst the sea of bodies crowding every side.

Upon arriving at the entrance, you flash your phone in the bouncer’s direction, displaying an invitation before he unhooks an old-fashioned barrier rope—allowing passageway into masses of sweaty bodies and the nauseating stench of alcohol overtaking everyone’s inhibitions.

Navigating around to the private booths, it doesn’t take long to find the crowned birthday queen by the squeals of laughter and enthusiastic clinking of beer bottles, an expansive array of liquor displayed on any surface available the moment you walk inside.

It’s a relief, surrounding yourself by happy faces and busied chatter, senses buzzing each shot you take, unsure whether it’s vodka or water entering your system at a certain point.

“So, how’s that hunk of muscle doing?” Sabina piques, her overlined lips pursing, huge hoop earrings dangling from heavily pierced ears.

In the blue-tinged lighting, she looks ethereal, dark skin practically glittering with her recently applied perfume.

If you’re drunk enough, you might’ve considered switching sides for this absolute angel. This girl was gorgeous and quite literally everyone’s wannabe-with or wannabe altogether.

“You guys aren’t exclusive, right?” The birthday girl, Margerie, adds, slumping on the leather cushions, her stiletto heels propping on Sabina’s thighs. 

These two have been your ride or die since college, and you're more than happy to spill every aspect of your life’s complications and delights at any chance to who you like to refer to as your big sisters.

“Mhm, he stops by on a daily basis.” 

Swishing the clear liquid in its glass, you watch the deceiving concoction catch light, periodically looking back to them.

Sabina barks a loud laugh, one that ushers everyone else into laughter as well. Infectious.

“On a daily basis?” She chokes, slapping Margerie’s calf. “What? Gettin’ his daily head?”

Safe to say she earned a threat after that jeer.

“Well, I respect your decisions, but I think ya’ll would be great together, y’know. Don’t think we don’t see the way he looks at you,” Margerie snaps her fingers, the two sharing an agreeing nod you dismiss with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“Oh please, you met him once at a bar and he was already wasted, you can’t base his love for me on that!” You interject indignantly, immediately shrinking under the girls’ scrutinizing stares.

“Um, yeah, we can.” 

Your silence beckons either of them to burst into laughter again, assuring you their words were all in good fun while you playfully grovel, rising up to excuse yourself to the bathroom and assuring your giggling, now drunken messes of friends you’ll be back soon.

Unfortunately, you end up walking in on a couple certainly enjoying the booth’s privacy, earning your hand slapping over your face while blindly stumbling in the opposite direction.

Even better? The next room you accidentally approach leaves you dizzy with the overbearing reek of nothing short of hard amphetamines, the cherry on top in your sad pursuit of a simple bathroom break.

It’s just your luck getting lost, but at least you’ll have funny conversations to bring back to girls.

However, your continuous search is cut short when a booming echo is heard in the main club, and you watch in horror–having finally escaped the maze of the booth section to peer through the joint doorway–as a bartender’s head slams onto the countertop, a pool of blood cascading around him.

In a fit of panic, outrageous gatherings of people ram themselves out the doors, screaming as they go, trampling each other with only one goal: escape.

All you can do is stare, frozen in your spot, eyes frantically flitting between the now-dead bartender,—bullet-hole puncturing straight through his head— the surging crowd, and whoever the assailant is, where they may be.

Yeah, you’ve certainly lost a need for the bathroom.

Instantly, your heart ascends to your throat, wobbly, unsteady feet climbing back through the booths, desperately slamming open doorways in your search before a “Psst!” breaches your ringing eardrums.

Sabina, holding an utterly wasted Margerie against her shoulder, crouches down behind a door, gesturing for you to rush over and claiming a second exit should be near the back. 

Police sirens blare in the distance, and through repetitive words of encouragement to your petrified frame from the older girl, you escape from the first exit in sight, gasping for the air unwilling to enter your lungs.

“I already called a cab for this gal right after hearing the shots,” Sabina relays, rubbing soothing circles on your back as she regards a very much intoxicated Margerie. 

“You,” She points in your direction, brows lifted. “Call your man. And don’t tell me he’s not your man, he will come and get you.”

All you can do is nod, hands fervently scrolling through your contacts, pressing onto his number as you bring the phone to your ear.

The line crackles for a moment before you realize he picked up, sounding rather out of breath for some odd reason. Must have been at the gym, although it is pretty late.

Ignoring any questions, you get straight to the point.

“Binnie,” You urgently whisper, voice breaking a bit.

The man in question immediately perks up at your tone, nudging the screen closer to his ear with his shoulder, using his teeth to get rid of the gloves on his hands.

“Mm? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He quips, concern evident.

No matter your relationship status, he still cares. For you, for your safety.

Ah, he makes no-strings difficult.

“I.. I need you to pick me up, I’m really scared right now.”

Stifling, you wave a very wasted Margerie off in her taxi, craning whilst awaiting his response, Sabina remaining beside you.

“Send me the address, I’ll be there,” Changbin soothes, pulling the magazine from his pistol and stuffing it in his ‘gym’ bag, washing his hands in the sink of the exact bathroom you’d be searching for.

And when your text comes in after he hangs up, his face contorts into that of surprise upon finding you in the same location he was at: Dixie’s.

Because while you were partying, Changbin was completing a job.

No, The Cypher was completing a job requiring the death of a certain someone, a certain bartender who just so happened to be the murder you were a first hand witness to.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[samasmith23]

How Goro Akechi effectively serves as a dark foil to the Phantom Thieves' brand of rehabilitative justice

So... I understand that Goro Akechi is a pretty divisive character within the Persona 5 fanbase (especially his pre-Royal incarnation), but I have to admit that I honestly found his backstory and role as a sinister foil to the Phantom Thieves to be legitimately intriguing. Elements which are revealed during his boss fight in the game’s “Cruiser of Pride” arc!

When the Phantom Thieves infiltrate the Meta-Verse to confront the Shadow of the corrupt ultra-nationalist politician, Masayoshi Shido, who’s palace takes the form of a gigantic yacht sailing through the ruins of a sunken Japan, they are suddenly confronted by Akechi in the ship’s engine room. Having just betrayed the team during the previous arc, Akechi is revealed to not only be the true culprit behind the mysterious wave of mental shutdowns & psychotic breakdowns (which included the deaths of two Phantom Thieves’ member’s parents, Futaba Sakura’s mother Wakaba Isshiki & Haru Okumura’s father Kunikazu Okumura respectively…) that have occurred throughout the game’s narrative as part of Shido’s conspiracy to get elected as Prime Minister, but that he is also Shido’s illegitimate child. Essentially, Akechi was the product of a dubious affair between Shido and a sex worker whom the former later discarded when he discovered that she was pregnant, driving her to depression and suicide shortly after Akechi's birth. Akechi spent his entire childhood being passed around as a “problem child” between various foster homes (highlighting Japan’s problems with how the country treats its orphaned children) before later being granted the power of a "wildcard" persona-user, as well as knowledge about the existence of the Meta-Verse by the false god of control, Yaldabaoth.

While Akechi was a societal outcast similar to the members of the Phantom Thieves, he took the wrong message from his experiences. Akechi misguidedly believes that the only way to truly oppose the status quo that looked down upon him is to not only become a part of it (i.e. caring only about his good grades & celebrity status) but to destroy everything that he hates by reducing himself to Shido's right-hand assassin in the Meta-Verse, perpetuating mental shutdowns & psychotic breakdowns on Shido’s political enemies simply to get some semblance of recognition & validation from his abusive father before exacting revenge on him (whilst exploiting his "ace-detective" celebrity status to "solve" the crimes that he himself committed).

Essentially, once Shido finally became prime minister Akechi planned to whisper the truth about being the former’s illegitimate child, telling Shido that he was only able to get where he was due to the son he abandoned and labeled as a potential “political scandal” before murdering him.

Despite Akechi and the Phantom Thieves' mutual dislike of Shido, the former is so fixated on vengeance that he does not care about the innocent lives he ruins and destroys in the crossfire to satisfy his own personal bloodlust. Instead of legitimately trying to reform society like the Phantom Thieves do, Akechi becomes a pawn of the very same systemic corruption that was responsible for his initial suffering. Akechi cares only about his own hatred & jealousy instead of empathizing with others who were also victimized by society’s ills. This contrast is visually reflected through the juxtaposition between Akechi and the Phantom Thieves’ leader, Joker, when they confront each other in the engine room of Shido’s yacht. While Joker is portrayed as standing strong alongside his teammates & friends, Akechi stands alone in the opposite end of the room, confused & angry. While there is a part of Akechi that regrets his horrible actions and even recognizes the potential for him & Joker to be friends due to their similar backgrounds, he's too far gone into his obsessive vendetta against Shido that he refuses to turn back and now desires to kill the Phantom Thieves in a misguided attempt to ease his internal conflict.

During the boss fight with Akechi in Shido's Palace, the detective prince repeatedly dismisses the Phantom Thieves' efforts to appeal to his common senses, believing that concepts like friendship and teamwork are foolish "cliched bullish*t... in this eat or be eaten world."

While this attitude of Akechi's might seem unrealistically cartoonish on the surface, it actually makes sense when considering his background of being unfairly labeled as a "throw-away child" by Japan's foster care institutions. YouTuber LadyVirgilia goes into far greater detail about this in her excellent The Truth About Goro Akechi analysis video. There, she states that an overwhelming number of Japanese orphans are incapable of being legally adopted due to impoverished parents voluntarily relinquishing them from their care while still maintaining legal guardianship over them. Additionally, LadyVirgilia discusses how violent hierarchical power structures often form among the children within these foster homes, with younger orphans sadly being subject to bullying & abuse by their older peers.

While these facts are not explicitly stated about Akechi's backstory within P5 Royal itself, they can easily be heavily inferred due to the game's heavy emphasis on exploring themes related to Japanese sociocultural issues. It’s implied that the institutional failings of Japan's foster care system (combined with Shido's abandonment of his son while he was still in the womb), ultimately contributed to the development of Akechi's warped perception of the rest of the world. Due to being dismissed as a "throw-away child" and being forced to grow up in an institution that is unfortunately subject to high rates of systemic abuse & neglect, Akechi spent his entire life feeling unwanted & loved. Ideals such as friendship & companionship became foreign and unrealistic concepts to him due to having experienced nothing but society's cold & uncaring apathy.

Essentially, Akechi became deeply jealous & hateful toward the rest of the world, misguidedly compelling him to want to prove his superiority over the rest of society by manufacturing his status as "the celebrity ace-detective and honors student who ultimately brought down Shido." But when Akechi encounters the Phantom Thieves and befriends their leader Joker, he begins to experience his first genuine bond of companionship. Despite developing a legitimate appreciation towards Joker, Akechi is simultaneously confused & unable to fully process these newfound feelings. Akechi becomes envious of Joker's ability to rise above his similar status as a societal outcast by befriending & protecting others like himself. Consequently, Akechi projects his own failings & inability to legitimately rise above his tragic upbringing beyond his false celebrity status onto Joker & the Phantom Thieves, cruely dismissing them as "the trash of society" and blaming them for interfering with his revenge plot against Shido. This empty & hollow existence that Akechi chooses to live is further reflected by the sole two personas that he utilizes during his boss fight: Robin Hood, who represents Akechi's false celebrity & justice-abiding gentleman facade, and Loki, who embodies Akechi’s true personality as a deceitful trickster & psychotic murderer.

I personally couldn’t help but find all of these elements to be rather interesting & insightful about Akechi’s role as an antagonist/rival to the Phantom Thieves. It honestly highlights the tragic nature of Akechi's situation, since while he had the potential to utilize his deductive knowledge & skills as a "wildcard" Persona-user similar to Joker, he instead allowed himself to be consumed by his own hatred & madness.

The parallels between Akechi & Joker are further evident through the latter also being a victim of Shido’s abuse. Specifically, the corrupt politician wrongfully sued Joker for “assault” when he tried to stop Shido from drunkenly forcing himself upon a woman. In contrast to Akechi however, Joker is motivated by his negative experiences to fight against the unjust status quo that figures like Shido represent to prevent similar abuses of power from ever occurring again to others. Additionally, we also see dualistic parallels between Akechi and other members of the Phantom Thieves, such as Makoto Nijima who similarly previously upheld the misconception that “good grades and following orders are all that truly matters to be a worthwhile member of society.” Whereas Makoto outgrows this mentality by instead choosing to utilize her status as student council president to help her suffering peers rather than for her own academic career, Akechi conversely exploits his intellect as an “ace-detective” to perpetuate societal injustices for his self-centered vendetta against Shido.

In essence, if the Phantom Thieves embody the potential benefits of rehabilitative justice then Goro Akechi embodies the dangers of retributive justice (aka, revenge). To reference two of my favorite movies, Batman Begins and Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, not only is there a strong difference between justice and revenge (one is about altruistic harmony whereas the other is about personal satisfaction), but the most surefire way to victory is by fighting to protect what you love rather than fighting to destroy what you hate...

The distinction between justice & revenge is made abundantly clear at the end of Akechi's storyline in the baseline game (i.e. before the Royal exclusive Third Semester new content), where following his defeat at the hands of the Phantom Thieves Akechi is suddenly approached by a cognitive duplicate of himself that dwells within Shido's palace. In addition to the Cognitive Akechi emphasizing the futility of Akechi's quest for acknowledgment & vengeance against Shido by revealing that the latter always intended to dispose of his right-hand assassin once he was elected prime minister, the cognitive duplicate also reveals the true depths of Shido's depravity when he states that he only ever viewed Akechi as a puppet to fulfill his own ambitions. While it is true that Akechi was so obsessed with revenge that he allowed himself to become a pawn of the corrupt status quo, it is exceptionally cruel to learn that this is how Shido has always viewed his own son (which is further punctuated by Shido later revealing to the Phantom Thieves that he secretly always suspected that Akechi was his illegitimate child due to how much he reminded him of his mother). It is this revelation in particular that allows the Phantom Thieves to better empathize with Akechi's tragic upbringing & circumstances. Even though they still seek to hold Akechi accountable for the murders that he committed at Shido's behest, the Phantom Thieves simultaneously recognize that in a sense, Akechi was also a victim of both Shido's cruelty and the systemic injustices of larger Japanese society.

This effectively culminates in the bittersweet resolution to Akechi's storyline in the base Persona 5 game. When the Cognitive Akechi duplicate offers his real-world counterpart one last chance to "redeem" himself in Shido's eyes by killing the Phantom Thieves in his stead, Akechi for the first time in his life decides to be his own person instead of being defined by the labels Shido and society had imposed upon him since birth. Choosing to no longer be a puppet of Shido's corrupt machinations, Akechi rejects his cognitive duplicate's hollow offer by instead turning his gun on the duplicate and his Shadow minions before sealing the engine room's watertight doors between himself and the Phantom Thieves. At the very end, Akechi was finally able to acknowledge that his desire for false appreciation from both his abusive father and larger society was ultimately worthless. Akechi ultimately sacrifices himself to allow the Phantom Thieves to escape, recognizing their true justice while entrusting them to do what he was incapable of by holding Shido accountable for his crimes & reforming society.

From a certain point of view, one could argue that the Phantom Thieves indirectly inspired a change of heart in Akechi by proving to him the validity of their sense of justice.

Overall, while I was initially indifferent towards Goro Akechi at the start of my playthrough of Persona 5 (and even outright skeptical & suspicious of his motives given his vocal opposition to the Phantom Thieves), by the time I got to his boss battle in Shido's palace I ended gained a deeper understanding and appreciation for what the developers at Atlus were attempting to convey with his character. Akechi effectively functions as both a cautionary tale about the dangers of allowing oneself to be consumed with thoughts of revenge, as well as a dark parallel to the Phantom Thieves who seek to legitimately reform society for altruistic rather than self-centered reasons. It was these elements that ultimately elevated Akechi into becoming one of my personal favorite members of P5's cast (right behind Makoto, Futaba & Ann...) from both a narrative and character writing perspective (especially with the Royal edition's overhauled confidant line for Akechi, which better fleshes out the latter's rivalry with Joker, and the player now has to progress manually instead of it being automatic)! And I am definitely curious to see how Royal's exclusive "Third Semester" content further fleshes out Akechi's character since I'm aware that he plays a major role in the new story content.

[pacificwaternymph]

I. ADORED. S2 of Arcane.

Final thoughts on the season below the cut

Season two was incredibly emotionally fulfilling. The climax was amazing. I loved the constant butterfly effect throughout the entire show, starting with Jayce as a child in the snow and Vi and Powder pulling off a heist leading up to all of this. All of it felt like a natural progression, so many threads of fate being woven together into one.

But there is a part of me that almost wishes they hadn't raised the stakes quite so high.

I know it's literally the namesake of the show and therefore this was probably always the plan, but there's a part of me that wishes they had left the Arcane out of it and just focused on the class war that got kind of... brushed over in Act 2?

It feels like they had to brush aside the themes of classism and oppression for the sake of making room for this bigger climax. And I think a big part of the reason I feel like this is because season 1 chose to focus so much on that part rather than the Arcane plot. So maybe I would have felt this way no matter what they did. But in their defense, they didn't forget about it entirely.

The shot with Sevika joining the council and several councilors giving her disgusted or mistrustful looks is a wonderful way to show that while they may have temporarily joined forces to defeat a bigger threat, the tensions between Piltover and Zaun are not automatically resolved. And I do like how Sevika is still the only councilor from Zaun. Everyone else is still topside. It's a good way to show that while a little progress has been made, it's only the beginning, and Sevika will likely have to fight tooth and nail for any reform.

Jinx's death... well I suppose I should have seen it coming. It was a good conclusion to her arc. But I still wish it hadn't happened. I am of the personal opinion that it didn't need to happen, and now I'm just left wondering how the hell Warwick/Vander was still alive when every other construct or whatever the hell they were had already died.

Vi... my darling. Even at the very end, couldn't catch a break. She really did lose everything. I'm glad she has Cait. I'm glad we got the sesbian lex scene. I just wish she could have ended the show genuinely happy, after having suffered so much throughout her entire life. I know for Arcane it's kind of a long shot for anyone to end up truly happy, but... I still really wanted it for her.

And on a lighter note: just when I thought I couldn't be any more attracted to Mel, the character designers decided to take that as a personal challenge.

I LOVE that they gave Mel more attention this season. The whole witch plotline and Mel having magic came kind of totally out of left field, but I still really enjoyed it. It gave Mel an actual role in this season which was less focused on internal politics, which I am glad for. It meant that she wasn't pushed to the side when the final climax came up. And I liked how her being a black rose put her in direct opposition to Ambessa, as opposed to the subtlety both of them had been employing up until that point. I liked the juxtaposition between the two of them, and I liked how she became the leader of Noxus following everything. Returning home after a long exile.

The completion of Viktor and Jayce's arc together was so fulfilling. I wasn't even sad about their deaths, I was glad that they were together, and that they could finish what they started together, just as both of them had always wanted.

I know everyone ships them but honestly I don't. I don't think their bond needs to be romantic. It transcends the need for those kind of labels. What's important isn't the exact nature of the relationship, it's the depth of it. It's the fact that their destinies, their souls have always been and always will be intertwined. And honestly the fact that they weren't explicitly romantic is almost better to me, because it defies the idea that relationships that deep always have to be romantic.

Ekko, as always, was perfect. My only complaint about him at all this season is that we didn't get more of him. I so adore him, I loved his episode in arc 3, it felt so perfect for him. To see what could have been, having just briefly everything he could ever want, and then knowing he had to leave it behind in order to keep moving forward.

And gosh, what a way of tying his time travel abilities into the story. It does make me kind of question what was going on with his fight with Jinx in season 1, if it wasn't actually time travel, though? Maybe we were just seeing another timeline, and he wasn't? Idk.

I'm so glad that at the end of the day, it was him that managed to save everyone. It wasn't perfect. He didn't bring anyone back to life. He didn't reset any timelines (which I am immensely grateful for, I would not have wanted everything that happened to be erased, it would have been such lazy writing), but he turned back time just enough to let Jayce snap out of his trance and free Viktor from the emotionless shell he'd surrounded himself with. He gave them one last moment together. And that's all they needed.

I don't know how I'm ever going to be the same after this. I am so glad for Arcane's existence.

[thequeensjester]

There's a pattern of hand gestures and open arms, mostly connected to speeches. We've seen different forms of power outside the Rings. The power of words—affirmations, well-crafted speeches and lies—continues to be important.

I want to start with Gil-galad because in these two shots, we get the most basic speech postures in the show. Rousing speeches are coupled with outstretched arms. Solemn speeches coupled with arms at the side.

In ep1, Gil-galad celebrates the Galadriel and her company returning to Valinor. He isn't entirely truthful in this celebration—withholding the Elves' decline and the real reason to send Galadriel off. In s2, we return to this with a somber song instead. The elves have to face their decline.

Ep4 starts and bookends with speeches from Pharazon and Miriel. Pharazon rallies guild members, telling them that his hands were callused like theirs and swore that Numenor would never return to the ways of the Faithful or their alliance with the elves. He positions himself as their champion. His over-the-top showmanship works the crowd, including Earien, to his favor.

Miriel stands tall with resting arms when she speaks, which is consistent for her character. She tells her people that it was their moment to prove to the Valar that Numenor can and will raise to the occasion when needed, including herself so she'll also escort Galadriel. It's effective but it was also divisive.

It's a matter of life and death between the Southlanders and the orcs, so we see that reflected in their leaders.

Bronwyn is just trying to survive like the rest of the Southlanders. Although she grows in confidence as a leader, she is still scared. Her leadership is also a partnership with Arondir—the only true warrior left. I think their partnership is a juxtaposition of Miriel and Pharazon.

With Adar, his speech builds up to this low camera angle makes Adar's shot more powerful than Bronwyn's and Arondir's. Adar has to look strong for his children but his speech positions him as one of them. He rallies them together as "brothers and sisters."

Whereas, Forodwaith!Sauron's deems himself as the savior of the orcs. His showmanship is the wrong tone for the room, especially when the orcs were loyal to Adar, standing with rested arms.

I *think* the right shot is the only time we see the two opposing postures in the same frame in all the eps.

Sauron seemed to have learned something from his first folly because he takes a humble posture, similar to Miriel's and Bronwyn's, to sell his lies about Celebrimbor but Sanaa Hamri frames his true intentions in this scene.

When the siege begins, Sauron raises his arms in an indulgent display of his arrogance—celebrating in his plans coming together, the impending destruction of Eregion and soon, claim of the Nine. Bear McCreary revealed that JD Payne likened Sauron to a conductor of an orchestra.

Finally, we get the classic rousing speech from Durin when rallies the dwarves. Before this, Durin is nervous because he is asking them to unite and aid the Elves. Some of the Dwarves also didn't take him as anything more than a well to-do prince.

To defy their king and save their kingdom, Durin's impassioned speech calls on the might of all of Khazad-dum, similar to Adar's speech.

— credit: cap-that.com

[strawberrygiorno]

[Text ID:

YOU-What's the darkness like?

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Filled with vague shapes of woodwork. The sense of a great height.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - You know, in the middle of the last century, there was a group of Revacholian painters who famously disdained the use of black.

YOU - What did they have against black?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - They wanted to capture what it really felt like to look at the world -- to be *inside* colour, to be blinded by early afternoon light glittering on the crests of sea waves.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Such an effect is best achieved by using the juxtaposition of complementary colours -- rather than the addition of black -- to create contrast.

YOU-Seems unfair to black. I like black, look at it!

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Sometimes an encounter with an opposing aesthetic is required for one to truly grow into one's tastes and preferences.

YOU - Why only Revacholian?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Revachol was an overwhelmingly colourful place back then. They made most of the world's dyes here.

YOU - Can I use this to see through the darkness up there, somehow? (Proceed.)

ENCYCLOPEDIA - No, this is just an intellectual musing. In fact, it's probably dangerous to waste time like this. You should stop.

End ID]

Thanks encyclopedia ily

[molluskmirage]

The clashing contrast of Etoiles and Bad’s fighting styles are very fun as they’re on polarizing ends of the spectrum.

Etoiles is very much of the ‘bushido’ way. You train to be skilled but your skills have rules and codes and honor. Fights in pure brute to brute skill is considered both the right and the ‘fun’ option for Etoiles and lack of chance to flex these skills causes depression.

Bad is very much a hunter, in specific a ‘human’ type hunter. He uses his wit and tenacity (‘being a nuisance’) to overcome ‘prey’ much greater then himself. He thinks tactically and uses every resource to cause damage mentally, physically, and emotionally, no tool is left untouched. Points and fun for bad come from creativity.

In the ‘quiet’ moments not in combat Etoiles always eager to spar at any opportunity, playfully beating up on anyone in his vicinity. Bad always eager to discover a new elaborate way to trick or tease those he cares for.

how this plays out narratively is very fun as well for Etoiles’s fighting style and mentality it goes along with him achieving the greatest shield and greatest sword. To him only he can protect others for he has achieved the best, through his merit and skill.

for Bad upon hearing of the code sword’s effects immediately came up with a device (basically a weaponized battle backpack) of simple tools available to everyone that could counter the sword’s effects, because for bad when he hears of a challenge he lights up and schemes to overcome, never saying to himself that his weaknesses can keep him from competing.

Both Etoiles and Bad are persistent, for Etoiles it means becoming stronger for Bad it means defeating by any means by any source. For Etoiles Bad’s fighting style is considered ‘dirty’ ‘not honorable’ and ‘not fun’. Where Etoiles has high respect for Bad is that Bad is highly trained and puts a lot of effort into what he does, while an opposing end to Etoiles it still takes just as much effort to pull off in a substantial way and Bad does that, the love and passion and work put in are the same for both. Both reserve themselves against others that aren’t willing to partake in going against them in non combat settings. While Etoiles picks up on what is the same for him within Bad, Purgatory was a show of how there styles are in direct conflict with one another.

Order vs chaos.

Its very entertaining to have these two pairings as again in their respective fields they’re both very great at what they do but they both of course do so differently to one another the clash is fun.

They haven’t really had the chance to actually clash too much, purgatory being the biggest opportunity and kind of realization moment thus far but the chord that is similar is still too strong for them to have a chance at opposition just yet (I feel theres plenty of opportunity for it to happen at some point down the line which Id be happy for because I love juxtapositions particularly in ones where neither is right or wrong just different. Very cool stuff!)

[ang3lwithapen]

hello! i have an Ask i wanted to send you that i realized would be better done as two Asks and thereby reformatted them, so here is (part 1/2) where i babble about my MC's personality that i hope you enjoy reading! im p sure its obvious they used to be all one Ask though, so thats why im confirming they were originally joined together lol

---

i love so much playing a sweetheart MC who is jumpy/easily startled and also physically weak. thank you for giving me that as an option lmao

for one, because the juxtaposition of being all easy-to-scare (and it's okay if it is on accident) and sunshiney to only then give S an "unimpressed look" at their joke of murders and whatnot is just?? so hilarious. a part of me feels like, as my MC gets more comfortable, the Blackwoods being like "....don't piss MC off" over bringing in mud or making a joke that upsets my MC is hilarious. bc it's true to real life. my friends, family, and i all wholeheartedly agree that it is way more effectively scary when the smiley person gets angry than when an often-upset person gets angry. the 180 is scarier, and makes you appreciate how normally laid-back and giggly the smiley-person is as a result too

but yeah, i cant wait to have a route dedicated to each Blackwood sibling. i typically play one MC to all ROs, to see how the difference in romance changes the MC and how different ROs respond to the same person (plus: easier on my brain than creating and remembering a MC per every/almost-every RO), i just have different save files for different ROs. its not one whole messy route, even though i suspect that, in this game, until lock-ins, it will be harder to accomplish any route-differences lol (as in, my MC is always going to choose to have A show them around instead of R, even in my MC's romancing-R-route. bc getting to know the top-employer and getting a break from being flustered would motivate my MC to pick A, no matter the route. fair enough lol)

i think my MC is the most interested in R out of all of them. my MC gets easily flustered and startled, and R seems to enjoy that, while my MC is baffled by it and doesn't really know how to react or what this relationship is. this is as opposed to how my MC is assuming A isnt interested and ergo my MC does not see A that way (still gonna play A's route tho, and thatll be fun); how my MC is becoming tentative friends with S, and has yet to see S's mutual flustering over my MC's niceties as romantic (fair); and H, my MC is just fully scared of after having gotten lost, gotten a knife to the throat as a result, gotten cackled at unsympathetically the life-or-death panicking, then basically tackled for tentatively accepting the detective's card, and is just overall is trying to appease H out of a state of terror (hence, my MC keeping her manners (and also pleading) despite the fear of said blade, my MC lying that H was kind enough to help with the lostness, and my MC saying the card from the detective could be gotten rid of if it caused tension in the household, really, she doesn't mind, please). so. considering my MC's reactions: slim pickings, honestly. since my MC is boss-zoning one, friend-zoning another, and petrified of the "missing stair"-theory/metaphor of the third. like. of course, in terms of romance, my MC is the most intrigued by R. my MC has no idea what their relationship is, so by default, it has the most potential to become a crush (even though, i believe you in all 4 being slow-burns lol)

hilariously, the one IM most excited for is H and my MC. for multiple reasons. one, because i think the eventual 180, into almost hypocrisy from H, will be hilarious. like "Who threatened you?! Nobody's allowed to scare you!! You're so defenseless, who could ever attack you?!" like. H. you did. the first night my MC was in the manor and several after, you did that. the second reason im excited being because of the journey itself to get to that point, of H softening, of my MC learning to appease less/be less fearful, of MC transitioning from "threat to protect against" into "to protect against threats". i think H will have the hardest time moving from the position they are currently in (as is deserved, H shot themself in the foot there) and into being percieved as a suitor by my MC. like, again, respecting the slowburn; but i think with my MC and H's current dynamic (and of course, you know H better than i), out of the options of "who fell first? and who fell harder?", it will likely be a case of "H fell first AND harder". so. that'll be fun to discover if thats what happens or not lmao

which like. ill admit the anime/manga "Fruits Basket" is part of why i am affectionate for H/my MC despite my MC being so scared of H, because Tohru once said (im paraphrasing and summarizing heavily for Tohru btw): "I'm scared... But only because I don't understand, I don't know what's going on. I'm scared but, from now on, I want to understand. I want to keep living together, I want to continue to live life with you." to which Kyo replies (both to Tohru aloud and in his head, it's a mix), eventually, to with: "You know, if my mom didn't love all of me, that would've been fine. Or even if she was scared, I'd get that. Because being scared would have meant she was looking at the ugly part of me, and she never did. My mom used 'love' to avoid seeing the truth, to avoid even thinking about it. But I wanted her to understand. I just wanted her to say we'd face it together, to say she wanted to stay. Even back then, I knew it was stupid. A kid's dream that would never come true. Because who would ever say something like that to me? That's what I thought until... until Tohru." (with a past line that Kyo thought to Kyo's mom being: "How can you love someone when you never acknowledge who they really are?!" because his mom having always lied about how she "needed to keep him all to herself" when really she kept him hidden out of shame) which obviously isnt a 1-for-1 by any means for how i... i guess the word is "predict"(?) how H×my MC will turn out? (esp bc Kyo is dealing with a monstrous form, and not necessarily scary behaviors) but i mention "Fruits Basket" monolog bit because it shows how you can be afraid of your partner in a healthy way(?). idk, i feel like not everyone is on-board for "H×MC where MC is scared of H at first" and that's my lil explanation as to why i am already biased to be in favor of it

plus, considering H used to scare my MC, it would be funny for H to be among the ones to eventually shiver at the thought of making my MC mad. be a nice change of pace, esp since my MC's being mad isn't life-threatening to anyone, it's just "nooooo, ive grown accustomed to your affection, dont be disappointed/angry with meeeee" i assume lol

and then, of course, in addition to R and H, i am excited for A and S. im eager to see each of them to have their "Oh. OH." moment about their too-nice housekeeper. and am just so very excited for more of the game in general! im so curious what happened to Bertha and whats going on with the family. i hope you enjoyed my babbling about it lmao im very excited to see how each RO slow-burn falls in love with my specific MC lmao

You genuinely have no idea how flattering this is to me as an author, the fact you've been putting all these thoughts on characters i've written makes me so happy and amazed. Thank you so much for taking the time to write all of this down, it really does mean so so much and it's things such as this that make all the hours spent in crafting Blackwood Manor worth it. I've read this ask twice already, and I still have to read the second part (which i will be doing now!).

[traincat]

Ms. Cat, Ms. Cat! You've talked about how great the Waid and Hickman runs are before, so I wanted to ask: what are some things about these runs that you didn't like? Is there anything you would've added, dropped, and/or rewritten, if you were magically granted the ability to do so?

Ooh okay NEGATIVITY. my actual favorite. and I can do it off the top of my head! (I found the 2018 copy of my refs folder, but not the hard drive I know has a 2022 copy.)

So I have talked a lot about what those runs do right, and I think Waid especially is a really good beginner run, like, if you want to start reading Fantastic Four comics, his run is as close to a perfect modern starting point as we have. (I was talking to someone recently and the conversation segued at one point into how, for a lot of comics, there's no such thing as The Place Where You Start Reading, you kind of just have to hop in.) Hickman... is not an ideal starting point, but if you want to read an interesting, coherent Fantastic Four story that's plot heavy, the first half of his run is excellent for that. (Note I said first half. I'll come back to that.) As opposed to, say, Claremont's run, which is completely incoherent in terms of plot but has the best character work in probably any Fantastic Four run ever. Just don't pick it up if you want the story to, you know. Make sense.

Waid's run -- I would never say Waid's run is perfect, although I do think it's good, which is sort of all you can ask for a lot of the time. The beginning of it definitely falls victim to what I kind of privately call the Johnny Effect: I think a lot of writers have trouble writing Johnny at the start, whether because they don't entirely understand his character or because they're less interested in him than the other three. I literally have a rule where I'll give a new Fantastic Four run like, seven or so issues for the writer to settle into writing Johnny, because a lot of people will fall back on these very shallow perceptions of him, namely that he's irresponsible. (I also think Hickman fell victim to this a little bit at the start of his run, although like with most Johnny Effect cases I'll let it go because both Waid and Hickman wrote incredible Johnny-focused stories that absolutely nailed everything about the character. Whatever Happened to Johnny Storm? and Storm Rising are two of my top Johnny story picks, so they do both get him. It just takes some time sometimes.) Waid's not that bad about it, and he did attempt to spin what I think are traits Johnny doesn't really possess (the playboy nature, the emotional immaturity) into a character arc that does have some good payoff, but if you compare Johnny at the beginning of his run to Johnny in, say, Claremont's run, there's a big difference in terms of characterization. I also don't think Waid is anywhere near the top ten Doom writers -- he goes too hard into utterly cartoon villainy. (Waid's run is, after all, the origin of the Childhood Love Skin Armor of infamy.) His Doom lacks the nuance of Hickman's take, or even the iron willed commitment of Miller's. (I will say whatever I want about the rest of that run but Doom getting eaten by a prehistoric shark and then pulling himself back together atom by atom out of sheer spite is just so fundamentally Doom.) So his characterization can be shaky. He can also pull out really strong moments! I think his depiction of Johnny and Reed's respective grief over Ben is really powerful stuff, although I don't like, love the "journey to heaven" arc. (God is Jack Kirby is pretty funny, though.) If anything, I think it's the juxtaposition of the really strong moments that make the weaker characterization more obvious. I think the Doom characterization is probably my biggest criticism of Waid's run, overall. (I also didn't like his recent Invisible Woman miniseries like, at all. I thought it was boring! Sorry! I wanted to like it!)

Now Hickman, I'm going to complain about. So Hickman's run comes immediately after Mark Miller's run, which I never recommend for the simple reason that it's not good. It's not a good run. Miller deserves his general reputation as one of those overly bro-y comic writers who mistakes sprinkling in sexism for hard hitting realism. Do I kind of want to reread the run right now? Yeah, sort of. Despite it being Not Good, I think there's genuinely interesting stuff in it. Hickman spends the first few issues of his run utterly trampling on Miller's run, like, Godzilla on a miniature city style. It's a little amazing to watch, honestly, like I admire the spirit of spite -- that's what I want to do to both Spencer and Wells' ASM runs -- but it has some intensely negative side effects, namely when it comes to Alyssa Moy.

Alyssa Moy is a character Claremont created back in his run -- she's Reed's old college friend/sometimes flame depending on what writer you ask (they kiss in greeting in Claremont's run, but it could be viewed as a friend thing -- and she's pretty blatantly romantically interested in Ben in Claremont's run), a super genius adventurer who can intellectually hold her own against Reed. In short, she's SUPER fun. Every other writer since Claremont, save for Peter David in Before the Fantastic Four: Reed Richards, has been really fucking weird about her. Whether it's making Sue jealous of her because she's so Intellectually Compatible with Reed (this is nowhere in Claremont's introductory run, where Sue and Alyssa get along really well -- Alyssa was LIVING with the F4 for a while) or having her comment on how she and Reed would have intellectually superior kids while she's married to The Most Boring Man Ever Created, Ted Castle (Miller's run). Hickman is NOT immune to being weird about Alyssa. Where Miller's run leaves Alyssa with her Boring Fucking Husband on Planet Future or whatever (it's dumb, it's a dumb plot), Hickman's opens by saying Alyssa is now... a brain in a jar. A talking brain in a jar on robot spider legs. And then she gets murdered like five pages later. But don't worry, because her Boring Fucking Husband creates a robot version of her, and everyone is fine with this and it's cool actually and we don't have to look too closely about the problematic elements of replacing an Asian woman with a robot version of her built by her freak tech guy husband. And then they blast off to space and have not been seen again. I would SO BADLY love to retcon everything that happened with Alyssa post-Claremont because she's such a fun character and the way she's been treated since in the main book is disgraceful. That's my top pick for what I would fix if I had unlimited editorial power: Alyssa Moy solo.

(Is Hickman great about the depiction of women within the sole context of his Fantastic Four run? I think his greatest triumph with any one female character is Valeria, where he took Miller's depiction -- of a super smart toddler -- and honed that characterization into what's now very solidly Val, with all of Reed's intelligence and a lack of his emotional comprehension, with her strong emotional bond with Doom, with her pragmatism. Can I say he did equally for any other female character, again, solely with the context of his F4 run? Not really.)

I'm not gonna address the renumbering/retitling issue with Hickman's run because I don't think it's fair to put that on the writer, but I do think it's detrimental to the run overall, considering how you need a GUIDE to figure out how to read it. I will say that I think Hickman's run falls off HARD after he wraps up the Negative Zone plotline. And I LOVE the Negative Zone plotline, I think it's really a crowning moment in Fantastic Four canon, but Hickman doesn't seem to know what to do with his run after that point. And I love the roommate issue, it's given the Spideytorch community so much, but I genuinely do think we would have been better served exploring Johnny's emotional state after his two year long death and resurrection cycle, and that was mostly left for other writers to deal with after the fact. Which is kind of the flipside of Hickman's greatest strength -- Hickman is just, like, utterly great at blowing stuff the fuck up. You cannot hand that man a fictional universe he wouldn't gleefully explode and it's great, I love that, I love watching him blow stuff up. I think he really gets into the destruction of fictional realities in a wonderful way that gives you lots to think about. But in the case of his F4 run, there's this weird period between wrapping up the Negative Zone plotline in his first Fantastic Four run and his other Fantastic Four comics (his New Avengers run and Secret Wars (2015) are Fantastic Four comics) where he doesn't quite seem to know what to do, emotionally, with the fallout of everything he set up. Which is disappointing! His depiction of grief in the wake of Johnny's death is so powerful, and I love the message about LOVE (what saves the Fantastic Four and by proxy the world? LOVE) in his FF runs, but he doesn't seem to know what to do with it in the in between issues. That being said, I think the last issue of his FF run, the one with Franklin, is just a triumph. It's hard to be overly negative about the pacing problems in the wake of that, but they are there and I do think they should be addressed.

[srs-deep-dives]

Tifa's Theme: A Musical Deep Dive (Part I)

(A repost from my old side blog no longer in use. All future analyses will be on this one.)

Greetings and welcome to a deep-dive into Uematsu-senpai’s masterpiece of a character theme. We will examine the rich marriage between composition and storytelling – i.e. how its musical elements express Tifa’s personality, conflictions, relationships, and story motifs. If you’ve come with zero knowledge in music theory, then my hopes are that you will leave here somewhat enriched (no prior knowledge is required). If you are a fellow geek for music, then I hope this adds insight in a storytelling sense. Ultimately, the goal of this post is to more deeply understand Tifa Lockhart.

I have divided this analysis into five sections each built on the prior: (A) the key; (B) the intro; (C) the leitmotif; (D) the original game’s use of the leitmotif; and (E) the compilation’s use of the intro and leitmotif. (The leitmotif of course being Tifa’s recurring melody, of which the first subphrase is sampled above.) Because Tumblr allows only 5 videos per post, some sections are spread across two posts.

So have your headphones/audio ready, and let us commence.

Disclaimer: these are simply my own interpretations offered with supporting evidences. I can only, to my best limited efforts, speculate as to what Uematsu did or did not intend when composing the piece.

Section (A): The Key

Tifa’s Theme is composed in the key of F major, one of the happiest keys in music. It is argued by many, in fact, to be the happiest key (though this is subjective).

“F major is at once full of peace and joy…” – Ernst Pauer (19th C. composer).

This is a reason, I presume, that Uematsu-san chose F major for the track which represents home.

“Welcome home, Cloud,” is the first line that Tifa speaks to Cloud in the game. “I’m home” (from the Japanese dub, 唯今 – “Tadaima”) is the last thing Cloud says to Tifa at the end of Advent Children. Home is our first story motif embodied by Tifa’s character.

But of course Uematsu’s decision likely only began there.

“F major is at once full of peace and joy, but also expresses effectively a light, passing regret – a mournful, but not a deeply sorrowful feeling.” – Ernst Pauer (quote continued).

So we have peace and joy with an undertone of mournfulness; a juxtaposition between two opposing ends of the emotion spectrum. To appreciate how the key of F major achieves this, we can benefit from a quick comparison with two other tracks.

It might surprise you that Tifa’s Theme – our warm song of home – shares the very same key notes as the tensest and most sorrowful track in Final Fantasy VII. Listen to the Cries of the Planet is composed in F major’s relative minor key: D minor. It has the same key chords as F major, yet the chords serve different functions (something we will get to later). Put another way, it has all the same notes, yet they are arranged differently. Where F major is (argued) the happiest key in music, D minor is almost universally called the key of “true sorrow.”

Let’s compare the two tracks here:

I wanted to begin with this little contrast for three reasons. First, to excite you non-music-theorists about the emotive power of music. Here, from our two related keys, come two completely contrasting moods. Second, we are concerned with what and how the notes will speak. Third, well… that’s a little more selfish. Listen to the Cries of the Planet is one of my favorite tracks in the game.

Our other track is One-Winged Angel – the main passage, for there are three keys in this track. It is curious that the foil villain to Tifa has his fighting theme in the relative minor of hers. Like a mirror – for as Sephiroth is Cloud’s despair, Tifa is Cloud’s home. Or, to borrow a Kingdom Hearts metaphor, we’ve Cloud’s darkness against Cloud’s light. D minor is also the key of Sephiroth’s main theme: Those Chosen by the Planet.

And now, onto our deep-dive into Tifa’s Theme, which features in the original game, Advent Children, and 2020’s Remake. For now we’ll be using the piano sheets from Advent Children.

Section (B): The Intro

Tifa’s Theme begins with a tonic chord (the ‘home’ chord of our key). The further we move away from our tonic, the greater the tension (instability) will be.

By ‘home’ here I am referring to the music’s tonal center – not ‘home’ the story motif which Tifa embodies. In light of that distinction, however, with the tonic being the home point of the track and home being a story motif central to Tifa’s character, we are simultaneously referring to both.

So we begin with our tonic (the F major chord) which draws us “at once [into] peace and joy.” Yet there is concurrently the hint of a mournful undertone. Only a tiny, tiny allusion – perfect for our introduction to Tifa. When we first meet her after all, we’ve no idea of the burdens locked in her heart.

This opening tonic is presented in whole notes (the longest kind of note in common composition). In our piano version, these whole notes are arpeggiated (see the squiggly lines to their left), meaning that the chord is ‘spread’ or ‘rolled’ – the notes are played and held one after the other from the bottom up. We are at once drawn in by Tifa’s inviting warmth and we linger there.

Our tonic is immediately succeeded by a chromatic chord (a chord composited of notes outside the key; notes that ‘don’t belong’). This second chord, in fact, is the sort we would expect to find in F minor. It does not ‘belong’ in our key of F major – thus the mournful undertone which would have been further hinted is brought into direct statement. Foreshadowed is the revelation of Tifa’s burdens. She is carrying deep and unsettling secrets.

How does this work? Uematsu-san has effectively ‘borrowed’ the second chord of the F minor key and inserted it into the track’s opening chord progression. This subverts the natural expectation of our ears and creates instability – a trick he will frequently pull to toy with our emotions.

Uematsu-san then extended this borrowed chord to heighten the mournfulness by adding a 7th (a note seven intervals above the root note which further colors the mood). This enlarges the magnitude of Tifa’s mournfulness: we feel that her burdens are heavy.

The next two bars instantly carry us back to the tonic (see the harmony on the bottom stave below). This occurs in a slow fall, a faster fall, then a faster, now extended lift: the intro’s re-establishment and emphasis on the motif of home. We are never to stray from feeling at home when we are around Tifa. Simultaneously, these bars speak the ‘locking away’ of Tifa’s burdens. Her sufferings are buried quickly as her love for others is brought to the forefront.

Where our chromatic chord had an added 7th to heighten the mournfulness, our tonic build is extended with a 7th and 9ths in its lift – heightening home in a stronger comparative sense. Tifa being a home to others, in other words, overpowers her own sufferings.

There are three things we can grasp from this sequence of slow-fall to faster-fall to faster-extended-lift.

First, Tifa holds a profound motherliness toward others which outweighs thought for her own wellbeing.

Second, Tifa is insecure in dealing with her emotions, and thus strives to keep herself distracted from them. We will see this displayed right from the time of her childhood:

At 8, unable to cope with her mother’s death, she treks up the perilous mountain to try and ‘find her’ on the other side;

At 15, unwilling to face the grief of her father’s murder, she recklessly rushes to confront Sephiroth;

At 17 (in Traces of Two Pasts), she confesses to Jessie that she has been “running” from learning the truth about Nibelheim;

At 20 (in Remake), she admits she’s not even allowed herself time to decorate her apartment;

At 22 (in On the Way to a Smile), she avoids being alone in keeping extra busy with the bar and the kids during Cloud’s absence.

Thirdly – and perhaps most jarringly – Tifa embodies home despite her life being plagued by suffering.

Tifa, who lost her home and had to rebuild her life from scratch, provides a home for Cloud, Marlene, Barret, Avalanche, and later, Denzel.

Tifa, who lost her mother as a child, mothers everyone else, is for all intent Marlene’s mother, and becomes the mother of a family unit with Cloud.

We have now travelled through the first subphrase of the intro.

We begin Subphrase Two with our opening tonic again, but this time in a quite surprising extension. Rather than adding a happy 7th or 9th to accentuate the warmth of our home chord, Uematsu-san gives us an E note which clashes with our F. Moreover, he builds the chord from this E as the bass (bottom) note.

What does this mean? Dissonance. Home is re-emphasized, but now directly with mournfulness. Although Tifa’s burdens are locked in her heart, they are ever lingering in the picture.

Compare this tonic (with the clashing E) to our opening tonic in Subphrase One. We now also have an additional climb in the harmony, which includes an added 9th. So while we can more deeply sense Tifa’s mysterious burdens (even though she’s our place of peace), extra emphasis is placed on her warmth and motherliness.

Subphrase One opening vs. Subphrase Two opening:

And so we continue Subphrase Two, following the pattern from Subphrase One. A chromatic chord follows the tonic – again ‘borrowed’ from the key of F minor – bringing Tifa’s plights to bubble once again. But before we can linger on them, we are taken back to an extended tonic chord – this time with an ‘unbelonging’ note.

From the next bar, however, things begin to shift…

Before moving onto this shift, let’s consider what we’ve covered so far. We began “at once full of peace and joy” (Tifa’s warmth pulled us toward her, pulled us home), to be immediately carried into an expression of suffering (Tifa’s secret, unsettling burdens were glimpsed). That suffering was overpowered – but not entirely suppressed – by a magnified emphasis of home (Tifa locked her burdens away behind her nurturing kindness). The suffering surfaced briefly again, and again home was accentuated (Tifa’s endless heartache continues beneath the bounds of her love).

As is very clear by now, Tifa is facing great internal conflictions. Let us dig into what the music so far has conveyed of those conflictions.

Spoken in long-value notes, our Subphrase One melodic chords convey: our peace when we are with Tifa; and Tifa’s hesitance in expressing her burdens. That they shift and waver between tonic and chromatic conveys her uncertainty.

Subphrase One conveying hesitance (in long-value notes):

Subphrase One conveying uncertainty (tonic > chromatic > tonic):

Tifa is longing to confront Cloud with the truth of his psyche. At the same time, she is uncertain of both what that will bring and what the truth is: she fears losing Cloud; and she doubts the validity of her own memories from the events he is recounting so accurately. These hesitancies, fears and doubts are gnawing at her heart, buried from the rest of the world under the forefront of home.

Subphrase Two contains less long-value notes and more wavering than Subphrase One, building the intensity of Tifa’s conflicts clashing within her. Rather than wavering from tonic to chromatic to tonic, we go from a dissonant tonic to a chromatic chord to a tonic with chromaticism to more tension in a predominant chord. I’ll get to what this means in the next post, but for now, just know it is a chord of tension.

Subphrase Two (less the final bar) building instability:

Following our new tension chord (the predominant G minor in blue) we have just one bar left to end the phrase. As it is the end of the intro as a whole, we expect to return to the tonic. But (bless Uematsu and his subversions)… the opposite happens.

Our ears expect resolution, but we are instead dragged right into the highest point of tension. Here, we are pulled into the world of the dominant chord.

Continued in Part II here.

[rhetoricandlogic]

Jake Casella Brookins Reviews House of Open Wounds by Adrian Tchaikovsky

March 10, 2024 fantasy, Jake Casella Brookins

Although it is set in the same world as City of Last Chances, Adrian Tchaikovsky’s House of Open Wounds is very much a standalone sequel. The previous novel introduced us to a large cast of characters in Telmark, a formerly independent nation conquered by the aggres­sively expanding Palleseen Sway. Among those characters – and the only one to appear in this novel – was Yasnic, last priest of a healing god. Fleeing persecution and probable deicide, Yasnic – redubbed Maric Jack – finds himself recruited into a motley crew of healers and battlefield medics in the Palleseen army. The ideologically motivated Palleseen are opposed to irrational magic of all kinds, but aren’t above some leeway if it keeps their soldiers alive. Along with the other misfits in the hospital unit, Jack struggles to survive, and to somehow stay true to his ideals, while caught up in the cogs of a vast military machine.

Like its predecessor, House of Open Wounds is a mosaic novel, with chapters told from a range of perspectives across its sizable cast. Tchaikovsky is particularly deft at using this technique: This novel doesn’t feel like it’s forc­ibly hopping heads in order to flesh out one unified plot. Instead, it genuinely feels like it’s sampling, almost a sociological study of a mo­ment, a movement, in which the characters do not in fact agree on what’s happening or what’s most important. And the range and substance of his characters here are delightful – scheming necromancers, irreverent irregulars, orphan priests of gods with strange powers.

I really enjoyed the world of this novel, how it all works – a fantasy world, to be sure, but one that’s in an early industrial age, and one whose magic is yielding to forces of empire and ratio­nality. The Palleseen ‘‘decant’’ the magic they encounter – including that found in local gods – into a sort of all-purpose energy that powers their machinery and weapons; there’s a particu­larly poignant subplot here about Divinati heal­ing magic, based on a careful sense of cosmic balance, being perverted into a weapon of war. Many of the technological-magical flourishes here reminded me pleasantly of Robert Jackson Bennett’s work, as well as China Mieville’s (City of Last Chances particularly showed the influ­ence of The Scar, I thought).

House of Open Wounds, though, with its social concerns and its keen ambivalence about technological progress, constantly brought Pratchett to mind. Small Gods is obviously a touchstone, with Jack literally carrying around a little house for the much-diminished dei­ties he encounters, and dwindling faith and disrupted communities are a major theme, but the Pratchett connection feels even deeper. Not just so much the humor of Discworld – though there is a nicely understated comedy in much of Tchaikovsky’s work here, particularly in the character juxtapositions he engineers – but the way that Pratchett often seems to be balancing a sense of decency with a sense of righteous rage. Because, fun worldbuilding and colorful char­acters aside, House of Open Wounds is about the injustice of war, about the mechanisms of empire and appropriation, about what happens to people caught up in them.

Where the setting of City of Last Chances somewhat distracted from this aspect, House of Open Wounds takes place in thinly described venues: Jack and his cohort are just focused on staying alive, and keeping others alive if they can, in a confusing-but-constant world of tents and orders. And, where City of Last Chances presented us with an occupation in the context of a politically complicated, morally grey city with its own long histories, House of Open Wounds situates its story almost entirely in the field, with a war being fought between two su­perpowers, neither of whom garners sympathy. This focuses narrative attention on the empire itself, the effects of perpetual war-making – the way it reinforces hierarchies and racism, how it rewards channelized greed, how it reduces and perverts noble impulses.

Ranged against these forces of violence is just – Maric Jack and his friends, trying to survive, trying to find a way out of an impossible system. There’s something kind of fascinating about that, and in how the novel constantly circles questions of complicity and noncompliance, rather than some grand plot to defeat the giant evil em­pire – there’s a whiff of Heller’s Catch-22 in the novel’s focus on survival in absurd and horrific circumstances. Jack’s God, in a semihumorous mechanic that grows ever more serious as the book continues, is able to heal anyone of deadly wounds, but with a caveat: if they engage in violence ever again, their wounds will instantly reappear – leaving a growing number of soldiers figuring out how to be pacifists. All the contra­dictions and hypocrisies confronted here are not so stark as that, but that theme – of trying to figure out how to completely change, or how to stay true to an idea in a fundamentally hos­tile environment – resounds throughout every character.

There’s much more to this novel than I can sketch here – Tchaikovsky once again turns an apparent door-stopper into a page-turner, crammed with interesting asides and memorable scenes. More practically, less romantically than many fantasies, it’s a novel pondering disen­chantment – how industrial (or military-indus­trial) forces strip away wonder from the natural world, and wondering what re-enchantment would look like; and, although it’s not as vocally anti-imperial as many recent speculative works, it does a fantastic job of situating the horror of empire and of war in the personal, in the banal­ity of going along with a horrific system. Quietly humorous and hopeful, House of Open Wounds hit me hardest in how it prioritizes healers over warriors.

[alexanderwales]

Do you have any posts where you elaborate on this?

"My thesis is that to understand storytelling, you want to understand root issues and classes of solutions ... There are a lot of writing problems that are parallel to each other, and there are a lot of structural elements that are mirrors of each other, so why not try to put it all together that way?"

I don't think I do, so I'll do that briefly here.

Here's the thesis: I have a strong suspicion that there are only a handful of elemental aspects of storytelling that all have their root in human psychology. The easiest ones to name are "engagement", "investment", and "surprise", but once we start looking at these things, I think we can start to understand how "different" writing problems are actually the same writing problem in disguise. Knowing this, we can start listing out solutions to those problems, and solutions that work on one type of problem can also work on a different type.

The brain is good at pattern-recognition and pattern-completion. When we read fiction, we're always trying to complete the patterns, consciously or otherwise. This isn't some LLM-style "predict next token", it's a matter of having an internal model of the characters, the setting, the narrative, etc. But humans don't like the ability to perfectly predict things, at least usually, they like there to be some measure of surprise.

So this is one fundamental aspects of fiction: the tension between predictability and surprise. There's a lot of writing advice that flows from this, and a lot of tools of writing come from here: foreshadowing, plot twists, punchlines, the effective use of tropes. When something isn't working, it's often on the predictability-surprise axis, and a lot of the tools there boil down to "make this more predictable" or "make this more surprising". And this extends from the micro (individual sentences) to the macro (the whole plot). It's why we write cliffhangers, it's how we manage suspense, it's how we structure a paragraph for maximum impact. This is, in part, where the fundamental concept of "tension" from from.

And I think there are a few things like that, relatively atomic concepts that we want to look at, that a good book on writing would interrogate and give advice for, with the understanding that these things overlap with each other.

I don't have time to write a whole book (or 4-5 longish blog posts), and wouldn't trust myself to actually nail it, but here are some of the things that I think ought to be in there:

Conflict and cognitive dissonance, jarring the brain with opposing statements that grind together like mismatched gears, includes juxtaposition

Unfoldingness and picture-painting, forcing the reader to use cognitive load to render the world through words, character actions, descriptions, etc. Includes most of "show, don't tell" and also explains why that's sometimes not good advice.

Emotional resonance, how to create and maintain empathy with a character and activate mirror neurons. Includes both empathy cultivation and empathy discharge.

Pacing and rhythm, and making sure you don't hit the same note too many times, allow the brain to rest, use all parts of the brain, etc.

Meaning and connection-building, how to weave a theme, how to say something, how to have disparate elements come together, because people love when disparate elements come together and the parts become a whole

And so my problem with a book like Save the Cat!, where I think this ask comes from, is that it gives a bunch of very narrow advice, and you walk away with an understanding that yeah, you need a moment early on that establishes this character as someone to root for, and then gives a bunch of weird contradictory examples of what that means, and some of those examples are actually tying in other bits of fundamentals, like surprise, having something unfold in the reader's head, empathy, etc.

I'm actually going to give one example of what I mean, directly from the book, though I had packed it away on my shelf never to be seen again:

Save the what? I call it the "Save the Cat" scene. They don't put it into movies anymore. And it's basic. It's the scene where we meet the hero and the hero does something — like saving a cat — that defines who he is and makes us, the audience, like him. In the thriller, Sea of Love, Al Pacino is a cop. Scene One finds him in the middle of a sting operation. Parole violators have been lured by the promise of meeting the N.Y. Yankees, but when they arrive it's Al and his cop buddies waiting to bust them. So Al's "cool." (He's got a cool idea for a sting anyway.) But on his way out he also does something nice. Al spots another lawbreaker, who's brought his son, coming late to the sting. Seeing the Dad with his kid, Al flashes his badge at the man who nods in understanding and exits quick. Al lets this guy off the hook because he has his young son with him. And just so you know Al hasn't gone totally soft, he also gets to say a cool line to the crook: "Catch you later..." Well, I don't know about you, but I like Al. I'll go anywhere he takes me now and you know what else? I'll be rooting to see him win. All based on a two second interaction between Al and a Dad with his baseball-fan kid.

And this, to me, is only half a diagnosis of what that scene is doing. It's a good scene, but there's a setup and payoff within it, an inherent tension to whether Al Pacino is going to cuff this guy, it's prediction-surprise stuff, it's "show, don't tell". There's a lot going on with it, and if you don't come at it like that, if you just say to people "oh, you need to give us someone to root for" they're going to do boring things like having the hero literally save a cat.

And then this also doesn't help them later on when they have to write other scenes!

I hope this answers your question, possibly I will find the will to write an essay series later on, but this is at least some fraction of my (current) view on craft.

[sunboki]

— KOREA'S MOST WANTED (BLACKWATER) : SUNBOKI

🎥 : The Cypher! Seo Changbin x fem. reader

TROPE. part of the “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, criminal! au, ‘The Gunsman’ (Christopher Bahng) is a coworker of ‘The Cypher’ (Seo Changbin), fwb

WORD COUNT. 8.2k words

WARNINGS. murder, guns and other weapons, descriptive violence, mature themes, alcohol, blood, lying/hitman activities (??), smoking, cursing allusions to sex/drugs

PLAYLIST.

AUG'S NOTES. one of the many pieces in the ‘Korea’s Most Wanted’ universe, please welcome ‘Blackwater’!! the story of binnie, our skilled hitman known as The Cypher! i hope this is enjoyable, though i know it certainly won’t hit as hard as channie’s!!! enjoy :)

SYPNOSIS. The Cypher leaves his mark even when his presence is gone. Though, you knew Seo Changbin, not The Cypher. Not until an act upon feelings led to unwanted discovery, in which the question lies: Who really is the man you’ve fallen in love with?

or alternatively :

If everything goes to doom, let it be with you.

CRIMINAL #0003 — SEO, CHANGBIN.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Changbin has been convicted of murder using a baseball bat and is described to be aggressive and out of control. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

There are many things you remember from him.

He smokes. You don’t like the smell.

His favorite shirt is a worn one.

He believes everything has a purpose, including the goldfish bowl he keeps below his bed, filled with used packs of Marlboro cigarettes.

You also remember his bad habits, and his good ones.

He is an intricate man, after all.

You remember his hands. Stubby fingers, bruised knuckles he never talked about. Dirt and grime smeared in the creases of his palm.

He has a ferocious temper, but is also kind hearted. A juxtaposition of many things all at once, scrambled together in the scars by his ribs, the details carving him physically as opposed to his mind—intricate and delicate, too frail to touch.

Amongst many things you could recall from him, after he left, you allowed him to take himself with it. You bought air fresheners to rid of his smell, and always donned new t-shirts, ones lacking holes gaping at the armpits, without stretched collars.

Slowly but surely, you got rid of him, and yet, he stays. 

Seo Changbin can never stay somewhere for too long, but he still resides in your apartment.

Like an apparition, roaming about whenever it pleases.

Here, and yet not.

Maybe that’s another bad habit you forgot to add.

“And as for the next week, we’re expecting warm temperatures in the east–”

Accidentally pulling the wrong cord, the weatherman’s voice abruptly cuts off. From your couch, a groan resounds in response.

Rising up from your squat on the floor, your slippers squeak as you walk across tile, stained and scratched a distasteful baby blue as you throw a kitchen towel at the man.

His hand covers a lighter, held up to the cigar dangling from chapped lips.

Leasing the cheapest apartment in Seoul came with a price. That, along with letting him linger around.

“I told you not to smoke in here, the ventilation sucks,” You grumble, wandering around to the window, trying to budge the halfway broken glass coverage up to no avail.

Of course, Changbin, the man in question, doesn’t listen, eyes drawn to the panties peeking from beneath your big t-shirt (his big t-shirt) instead.

Quickly snuffing the lit embers against his palm without so much as a hiss of pain, he stuffs the remnants in his pocket to dispose of afterward, walking on up to where you continuously try lifting the unwavering window.

“Bin, help.” Managed as a grunt between heaving breaths, your expression pinches in irritation.

Alternative to the request, he scoops you up, big palms wrinkling your shirt as his hands wander upward, effectively hoisting you into his arms. Wordlessly does his face tip down to litter kisses along your neckline, pulling you flush against him.

“Don’t wanna,” He grunts, humming along to your hand reaching behind for him, holding his kiss to your skin, lips parted whilst staring ahead dazedly.

Control. The one thing you hate when it comes to Changbin. The thing his lips render you unable to gain a semblance of.

As for him, he likes that face on you. Likes when he kisses you a lot, when your lips get all puffy and kiss-bitten. Likes when you drool while he stuffs your face into the mattress those nights you were supposed to ‘just have a drink together’.

He’s always been a fan of your lips.

Then again, if you’re listing his worst habits, you might as well confess one of your own.

You can’t say no to him, not even when the window remains unopened, smoke mogging the air when he takes you on the couch, ignorant to the thin walls as usual.

“Y/N, c’mon,” Changbin groans, his bottom lip jutting outward in a pout unfitting to the man’s disposition.

His hair’s a mess from your tugging, looking honorably disheveled. You can't say you look any different, if not worse, leaning against your doorframe.

“You know how we end up. I let you in and thirty minutes later we end up fucking,” You cross your arms over your chest, eyeing him up and down. 

Obviously wracking his mind for an excuse, he mimics your crossed arms, tongue poking into his cheek—an action that would’ve caused you to fold any other day if you weren’t attending a friend’s birthday party tonight.

It’s true, and serves as an additional factor keeping Changbin’s mouth closed. Each time, without fail; wrapped around your finger, you wrapped around his.

“But–” 

“Nope! Bye!” Interrupting his impending words, you hastily close the door, awaiting an entourage of incessant messages a few minutes later, full of frowny faces and helpless pleas.

Who knew such a man could behave so pitifully?

Yet, no such messages notify your phone, failing to buzz on the bathroom sink while you clean up your mascara with a q-tip, leaning over the faucet, face pursed with focus. 

It’s not often you get the excuse to go out, and with Dixie’s being the party spot in particular, you won't waste the opportunity of attending one of Itaewon’s most frivolous clubs.

As for you and Changbin, the understanding rests on your lack of commitment. He wanders, you wander. He isn’t one to put down roots, and you respect that.

Granted, the sex is mind-blowing, so it wouldn't be a surprise if the frequency of your nights are accompanied by him, but it’s never shackled that way. 

Although, that isn’t your goal tonight. Earlier today was enough to satiate, and your newfound goal consists of enjoying free drinks and the obnoxious bass blasting through your ears, numbed amongst the sea of bodies crowding every side.

Upon arriving at the entrance, you flash your phone in the bouncer’s direction, displaying an invitation before he unhooks an old-fashioned barrier rope—allowing passageway into masses of sweaty bodies and the nauseating stench of alcohol overtaking everyone’s inhibitions.

Navigating around to the private booths, it doesn’t take long to find the crowned birthday queen by the squeals of laughter and enthusiastic clinking of beer bottles, an expansive array of liquor displayed on any surface available the moment you walk inside.

It’s a relief, surrounding yourself by happy faces and busied chatter, senses buzzing each shot you take, unsure whether it’s vodka or water entering your system at a certain point.

“So, how’s that hunk of muscle doing?” Sabina piques, her overlined lips pursing, huge hoop earrings dangling from heavily pierced ears.

In the blue-tinged lighting, she looks ethereal, dark skin practically glittering with her recently applied perfume.

If you’re drunk enough, you might’ve considered switching sides for this absolute angel. This girl was gorgeous and quite literally everyone’s wannabe-with or wannabe altogether.

“You guys aren’t exclusive, right?” The birthday girl, Margerie, adds, slumping on the leather cushions, her stiletto heels propping on Sabina’s thighs. 

These two have been your ride or die since college, and you're more than happy to spill every aspect of your life’s complications and delights at any chance to who you like to refer to as your big sisters.

“Mhm, he stops by on a daily basis.” 

Swishing the clear liquid in its glass, you watch the deceiving concoction catch light, periodically looking back to them.

Sabina barks a loud laugh, one that ushers everyone else into laughter as well. Infectious.

“On a daily basis?” She chokes, slapping Margerie’s calf. “What? Gettin’ his daily head?”

Safe to say she earned a threat after that jeer.

“Well, I respect your decisions, but I think ya’ll would be great together, y’know. Don’t think we don’t see the way he looks at you,” Margerie snaps her fingers, the two sharing an agreeing nod you dismiss with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“Oh please, you met him once at a bar and he was already wasted, you can’t base his love for me on that!” You interject indignantly, immediately shrinking under the girls’ scrutinizing stares.

“Um, yeah, we can.” 

Your silence beckons either of them to burst into laughter again, assuring you their words were all in good fun while you playfully grovel, rising up to excuse yourself to the bathroom and assuring your giggling, now drunken messes of friends you’ll be back soon.

Unfortunately, you end up walking in on a couple certainly enjoying the booth’s privacy, earning your hand slapping over your face while blindly stumbling in the opposite direction.

Even better? The next room you accidentally approach leaves you dizzy with the overbearing reek of nothing short of hard amphetamines, the cherry on top in your sad pursuit of a simple bathroom break.

It’s just your luck getting lost, but at least you’ll have funny conversations to bring back to girls.

However, your continuous search is cut short when a booming echo is heard in the main club, and you watch in horror–having finally escaped the maze of the booth section to peer through the joint doorway–as a bartender’s head slams onto the countertop, a pool of blood cascading around him.

In a fit of panic, outrageous gatherings of people ram themselves out the doors, screaming as they go, trampling each other with only one goal: escape.

All you can do is stare, frozen in your spot, eyes frantically flitting between the now-dead bartender,—bullet-hole puncturing straight through his head— the surging crowd, and whoever the assailant is, where they may be.

Yeah, you’ve certainly lost a need for the bathroom.

Instantly, your heart ascends to your throat, wobbly, unsteady feet climbing back through the booths, desperately slamming open doorways in your search before a “Psst!” breaches your ringing eardrums.

Sabina, holding an utterly wasted Margerie against her shoulder, crouches down behind a door, gesturing for you to rush over and claiming a second exit should be near the back. 

Police sirens blare in the distance, and through repetitive words of encouragement to your petrified frame from the older girl, you escape from the first exit in sight, gasping for the air unwilling to enter your lungs.

“I already called a cab for this gal right after hearing the shots,” Sabina relays, rubbing soothing circles on your back as she regards a very much intoxicated Margerie. 

“You,” She points in your direction, brows lifted. “Call your man. And don’t tell me he’s not your man, he will come and get you.”

All you can do is nod, hands fervently scrolling through your contacts, pressing onto his number as you bring the phone to your ear.

The line crackles for a moment before you realize he picked up, sounding rather out of breath for some odd reason. Must have been at the gym, although it is pretty late.

Ignoring any questions, you get straight to the point.

“Binnie,” You urgently whisper, voice breaking a bit.

The man in question immediately perks up at your tone, nudging the screen closer to his ear with his shoulder, using his teeth to get rid of the gloves on his hands.

“Mm? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He quips, concern evident.

No matter your relationship status, he still cares. For you, for your safety.

Ah, he makes no-strings difficult.

“I.. I need you to pick me up, I’m really scared right now.”

Stifling, you wave a very wasted Margerie off in her taxi, craning whilst awaiting his response, Sabina remaining beside you.

“Send me the address, I’ll be there,” Changbin soothes, pulling the magazine from his pistol and stuffing it in his ‘gym’ bag, washing his hands in the sink of the exact bathroom you’d be searching for.

And when your text comes in after he hangs up, his face contorts into that of surprise upon finding you in the same location he was at: Dixie’s.

Because while you were partying, Changbin was completing a job.

No, The Cypher was completing a job requiring the death of a certain someone, a certain bartender who just so happened to be the murder you were a first hand witness to.

As you said before, Changbin isn’t someone to lay down roots. Soon enough, he leaves again—claiming he has extra work to do where he can’t stop by. 

You let him. Let him grab his things, give you a tiny kiss on the cheek, voice all gruff and gravelly from his early wake-up.

And then, like he was never here, he’s gone.

It’s a rhythmic pattern, in and out, in and out. You’ve never discussed his occupation nor what it entailed. Then again, why would you? What he does isn’t your business, your relationship isn’t like that to begin with.

After Dixie’s, you’ve been distracting yourself from the thought of what happened, not discussing nor bringing up the instance as if it never existed. You think it’s better that way. 

Busying yourself with grocery shopping, you nudge the cart forward, debating on picking up a specific bag of chips Changbin favors. 

Shaking your head and dismissing the thought, you stay ignorant to your inner contemplation—also ignorant to the man you were thinking of who stood right outside, leaning against the brick wall on the side of the building, phone lifted to his ear. 

.

.

. 

“Bahng, get to the point, you know I hate this entire collaboration,” Changbin sighs, crushing his cigarette below his heel.

“Get over it you big baby, you aren’t The Cypher for no reason,” Bahng replies, voice filled with amusement, earning Changbin’s frown.

“I took care of Hyeonseok, but his group will be after me soon.” 

Huffing into the phone, Bahng cracks a laugh, leaning back in his office chair, heeled dress-shoes propped on the oak desk. 

Hyeonseok has been his target for a while now; title of the bartender he disposed of a few nights before. Part of an underground trafficking deal The Gunsman, real name Christopher Bahng, dealt with. Hence why, when Hyeonseok’s organization dropped in stock, they fled the agreement and left The Gunsman to hire Changbin, his alias The Cypher, to hunt them down as a result.

Messing with The Gunsman’s plans never ends pretty, Changbin knows this over the time he’s worked with him, responsible for the majority of the messes. A joint collaboration for mutual benefit. No master and his servant, no owner and his dog. The flesh-colored scar along Bahng’s back serves as that reminder.

“Don’t worry, ‘got my friend to take care of that.”

Changbin raises his brows, flicking his lighter on and off as he watches the lit toe of his shoe burn before stomping it out all the same.

“Oh? Gettin’ tired of me?”

Bahng snickers. “I’m throwing out bills at this point, ‘paid an assassin this time—he had a ball with it. Strange guy named Lee Minho.”

The man grunts in response, simply marveling at the many connections he hones. If anything, Bahng might have a bullseye fashioned on his face—such a prowess not going unnoticed in the world of crime.

Another reason why Changbin kept his work strictly solitary, not wishing to rise to such heights in a dangerous market leaching to wipe him off the radar nor place you in a threatening position whatsoever.

From the start, he vowed not to become carried away with someone else. Roaming here and there, resting overnight at old motels or at bus stops left ample time for love. 

Then he met you, and bits and pieces of that philosophy sank down the drain.

If possible, Changbin wouldn’t mind making things official, but of course, that thought was a fever dream, an unachievable feat for a person like himself. Get yourself in this mess, don’t expect to get out. 

That was a lesson he learned when he started work as a hitman. You don’t shed remorse, don’t sympathize. Complete the work, get paid. Failure to do so results in death. 

Simple instructions. Some clients prefer leaving traces, others a quick shot to the head—like Hyeonseok. Changbin doesn’t mind. Though, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like to make things messy.

Within the course of his work, he’s included many additions to his collection. Customized masks and gloves, a nail-embedded baseball bat (his personal favorite). 

Yet, the one thing he’s stressed was keeping you out of it. His business, his job, his past. For your safety as much as his.

Sure, he does gain identity crises when thinking about it too much, but then again, there’s no getting out of this mess—might as well quit fretting.

He’s never liked how feelings affect a person anyway.

Tonight, he’s got a job in Hongdae. Thirty year old man, responsible for meddling in government business.

That’s another funny part of his job, the concept that even those who hold a high and mighty position hire The Cypher.

It gives him a good idea of the evil within people—a delegate the public say are “too kind to kill” despite hiring him to sand down the other party’s delegate’s kneecaps the evening prior. Petty business owners getting back at their opposing forces, people holding grudges.

Changbin has seen it all.

Assumed to be another delegate murder, he makes his trip quick, arriving at the front desk of the apartment complex, pushing a business card toward the woman working there. 

“Here for Mr. Gun-il,” He quips, the woman quirking a brow as she studies his fake ID before gesturing toward the elevators where he nods in thanks, pulling the puffer jacket over his concealed holster, black in color like the rest of his outfit.

Slipping the mask over his face and pulling the hood over his head, he knocks on the man’s door, cocking his gun hidden by his forearm.

Make it quick, he repeats to himself, allowing his victim to open the door with a confused expression prior to lining the weapon with his head, no later his target dropping to the ground in the doorway, bullet hole punctured directly through a once-intact skull.

Boring, he thinks. Using the nail embedded bat usually strapped to his back would be preferred, but then again, the only authority granted belonged to the one paying. Receive the cash, do the job, move along. Bahng usually condones his gallivanting when it comes to victims, another reason he lingers as a vulture to his picking of corpses.

Tonight’s score is a nothing less than exorbitant. 800,000₩ (600$).

Changbin stuffs the gun back into his holster, beginning off to disappear behind a corner before a different door opens, a loud scream ringing through the hall. 

Walking past police cars on his way out, he fishes his phone from his pocket, texting the client his request has been completed.

And just like that, The Cypher begins his cycle again.

Ignorance is only bliss until the afterglow fades, and then you’re sticky and sweat-ridden with lies.

Or, bloody and sweat-ridden with lies. 

Though, that was a truth yet to be uncovered, hidden between careful folds of sheets layered around your frame — cheek currently slumped upon your pillow as you sleep.

Peaceful, if only.

Divergent to your rest, The Cypher returned in the midst of your sleep after his earlier job, utilizing the tiny silver key you’d scolded him to keep in his pocket to carefully ease open the door.

Usually, you’d be the one out here, reprimanding him over not getting enough sleep.

Careful footsteps make through the oddly silent household, tentative hands long-since cleaned of their earlier grease stains from gun-cleaning nudging open your door.

And then, he sees you.

Ah, so pretty.

You look.. so soft. So perfect. The prettiest thing, he believes. Fast asleep, precious.

And then, if only for a moment, a fretful thought breaches the forefront of his mind.

Love. That unintelligible feeling starting to gnaw at his heart.

Love when he sees you sleeping, that’s what it is. Love even when you’re angry at him, or when he slips up. Love at your scolding for his smoking (which, of course, only makes him purposefully smoke more).

A feeling he can’t allow himself to feel, forbidden within his line of work. A reopening to the healed and healing scars littering his body, and, worst of all, a feeling he can’t find himself hating.

Equally careful footsteps crouch to sit upon your bedside, mattress dipping beneath his weight.

A heavy index reaches to carefully drift down the slope of your nose, a perfect nose, then to your perfect lips, smiling at the warm plume of air sifting upon his finger when you exhale.

“‘Morning, sweetheart,” He whispers gruffly, watching your brows scrunch together, that telling sign you’re fighting against awakening — something that makes his grin widen.

“Nn..” Huffing your dismay, you shift to your side with a grunt.

And again.

Thump. Thump.

He can’t be… this happy. Seeing you in the morning; watching you, someone he loves, waking up.

No, no, this isn’t right.

But then again, he’s always been a troublemaker. What makes this situation different? What makes you different?

Easy. You’re you. No, you’re everything. All of it accumulated into a heart bigger than any person he's ever met. 

A heart that now lies in your chest, in his love, whose hands currently reach up for him. Wordless, beckoning.

He obliges.

Tender hands reach right down after you, letting your fingertips feebly hold his face as he wraps his arms around your body, ushering you into his chest.

“Hey.. Hey, waking up f’ me?” He hums, head tipping down to press light, chaste kisses along your jaw, one hand thumbing at the skin of your lower back, the other holding onto your head, carding through soft tresses with a tenderness terrifying to even The Cypher.

“Binnie..” You breathe dazedly, eyes fluttering open to gaze at the man before you, bleary from sleep.

“Just woke up?” He murmurs, as if he hadn’t watched you rouse. An excuse just to hear your voice again, ridden with grogginess.

Mm, so pretty.

Your hazy nod serves as a reply, head burying into his shoulder as he hoists you up into his arms, clinging to him like a koala while he makes for the kitchen.

You’d like to say he fixed a decadent breakfast, wearing an apron tight enough it fit snug around his biceps — but you’d be lying about both. In fact, he sucks in the kitchen, bad enough you had to overview eggs to ensure a fire alarm didn’t go off or your apartment wasn’t reduced to ashes.

So.. leftovers from your dinner are arranged beside a burnt platter of eggs, spanning the counter in takeout boxes and the low rumble of a microwave rotating in endless circles.

“Don’t give me that look.”

Grunted between spoonfuls of rice, the stare he fixated you with made your urge to ram your head into the nearest wall unbearably tempting.

“What look?”

“You know what look.”

“..No, I don’t.”

“The ‘come hither’ look, ‘let me get between your legs for just five minutes’ in which turns into twenty, then an hour. No.”

The pouty face you’re granted from The Cypher is more than enough indication you were right.

Purely physical was the initial agreement. No strings, just sex. And you were okay with it.

Yet, ignorant to his identical predicament, the side of your bed is unusually cold at night without him in it.

It should be normal, a way to cool down on hot nights.

But the breeze now has a chill to it as the evening comes to its close, and oddly enough the stench of cigarette smoke drowned in poorly applied cologne becomes a smell you miss.

And, ah, it’s become so easy to miss him. The wandering visitor who became someone missed. Someone important the moment you learned his name.

And maybe; maybe the next step is now. Without thought of repercussions.

Reckless, just as he always preferred it.

That’s.. what your afternoon consisted of. Pacing about the flat, brows drawn in mixture of frustration and contemplation. 

As usual, just as quick as he visited did he leave once more — the untouched plate of noodles the only indication of his presence.

If he isn’t going to make the move (which, by your standards, would like never happen), why can’t you?

Burst in and shout your feelings? And then what? He replies?

And fearfully, if only for a second, you wonder if your belief in him feeling the same way was foolish all along. A daydream of yours. 

It may all end or begin in a flash. 

Scribbling on a piece of notebook paper ripped from some unused sheet, you decide to take that chance.

When he gets home from wherever he’s off to, he’ll see it. He wouldn’t have to reply if it wasn’t reciprocated, and if he did, he could simply say the words back.

Yet, your intentions were quelled just as quickly as they configured. For when your hands anxiously unzip the gym bag, every ounce of thought simultaneously evades your head.

Blood.

Horrifically dark, oozing. Some fresh, others dried.

Guns, more guns. A baseball bat once porous, now drenched in old blood.

Weapons.

Fresh. Why would it be fresh? 

The tremble of your fingers is instinctual, involuntary in each prickling nerve sending your mind into overdrive. Questions, questions, questions. 

He doesn’t cook, no animal blood. No butchering job, no accidental cut upon his body.

No, this isn’t his blood, but someone else’s.

And realization hits harder than a freight train.

It’s hard to register a scream ripping from your throat, the croaking utterances of disbelief and horror nearly foaming from parted lips a mere fairytale to the epinephrine pumping through your veins. 

Fingers doused in a cold-sweat, it takes you far too long to hold your phone in your hands, shaking grip scrolling blindly to his number.

Where are you? Your text demands, heart pounding as his typing indication begins to bubble.

Hm? I’ll stop by later, angel.

I wasn’t asking.

You’re unsure if the bile rising in your throat was from his nonchalant answer or the dread numbing your bones at the thought of seeing him again. A thought you staunch to the back of your brain along with any other sensible ounce of logic as he sends his location without another word.

.

.

.

Just where the hell is he?

You’ve been driving for at least forty minutes, nothing but densely packed cornfields occupying either side of you, the almost eerie illumination of a harvest moon bathing your vehicle in an orange glow. Expansive, yet desolate. 

Each mile passing feels like those cornstalks leer closer, staring you down, taunting your anxiousness to their utmost extent as dusk falls into a blackness and you continue onward, finally able to take a deep inhale upon turning into what appears to be a parking lot.

Parking lot to a warehouse, more specifically. And suddenly, the loom of cornstalks feels inferior to the ominous atmosphere this building exudes. A random warehouse in the middle of nowhere? Both trusting your gut and logical thinking keeps you on edge.

Angling into a vacant spot closest to the exit, your hands flex upon the steering wheel, an essentially fruitless attempt to ground yourself.

But each time your eyes close you’re met with that same blood spatter that irrevocably sends your mind into a nearly unheralded spiral, responsible for your footsteps surging to what you believe is the entrance.

“Excuse me– -ma’am you can’t–” One of the assistants begins as you storm inside, your trembling fist grabbing the man by the back of his shirt and yanking him around to smack him hard across the face, an action garnering collective gasps erupting from witnesses alike.

“You lied to me,” You seethe, teeth clenched, tunneled into an inferno of fury. “Seo Changbin, you are a liar! A sick, sick liar! A sick,sick man!”

Screaming without resolve, Changbin grasps your arms in an attempt to steer you away from a highly confused Gunsman, observing the scene unfold.

“Y/N, sweetheart, can we talk about this a little late–”

“You were the one at Dixie’s, weren’t you? You killed him, the bartender.”

Your words stop him in his tracks, and right then and there, every suspicion of yours is confirmed. 

“I’m not stupid, I see the random bruises you get, the wounds. And your gym bag is a fucking joke! You hide your guns and weapons in there, huh? So what, you wanna take this somewhere else? Give me a real good explanation of how this is all a coincidence, how your disappearances for days just so happen to align with new murders?”

Caught in a fit of hurt and panic, your hand fastens on the pistol you’d snagged from his bag, currently hidden under your shirt, strapped to your side. A precautionary measure in the midst of your concussed mind’s haggard state. 

Pulling the weapon and extending it in front of you, you bite your lip between your teeth, fighting back the tears filling your eyes.

“No more. I won’t let you lie to me any more,” You whisper, watching Changbin’s pained expression as he glances from the gun to you, well capable of disarming you in an instant.

Yet, he doesn't move, doesn’t grab your wrist and propel himself forward, twisting the appendage out of socket and pummeling the enemy to ground as he would anyone else. Instead, he simply stands there, fixing you with a stare you can’t bear seeing.

“And you,” You abruptly begin, turning to point the gun at The Gunsman. “What? You two discussing who’s next? Who gets in the way of this operation of yours?”

With horror, Changbin rushes toward you, well aware having you get on the wrong side of Christopher Bahng is a one way ticket to hell. But his attempt is futile when you spin back around, pressing the muzzle to his chest, eyes blazing wildly.

Slowly, The Gunsman stalks toward where you hold the gun against Changbin, surveying your internal debate on who to point to.

“You won’t do it,” He begins, and you redirect your attention for only a split second before the man’s hand grabs the barrel, the strength of a single hand alone nothing less than chilling as he pushes down on the gun till it rests down, facing your feet.

Changbin spares his superior a testing look, one warning the man to go easy.

This time, Bahng emphasizes his words again. 

“You. Won’t. Shoot. Him,” The Gunsman murmurs, expression neutral despite how intimidating standing before him feels.

Whatever this man’s association is, he is not someone to be messed with. You can tell that part right off the bat.

And somehow, as much as you would’ve loved lifting up the gun to his head, both his terrifying stare and your internal knowledge you can’t manage to pull the trigger keep you at bay.

“Now,” He presumed, sparing Changbin a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what your relationship is with him, but I assure you, this operation of ours is running just fine, and will continue to do so with or without your existence.”

You swore you’ve never heard such a harrowing threat in your life, Changbin murmuring an irritated “Bahng..” you could barely hear with how loud your heart beats in your chest.

Changbin’s gaze flitting over to you as you back up, he reaches forward again only for you to beat him to it, gripping his collar and dragging him inches from your face, noses mere centimeters from touching.

“If that’s the case.” Regarding The Gunsman with a sharp glare, you peer back to Changbin’s eyes. Eyes you swore you knew in and out, when he kissed you, comforted you. When he cried, when you cried. 

Turns out you had no idea what rested inside those eyes after all.

“Then I guess you don’t need me here anymore, right? Had your fun with me, huh Seo Changbin?”

Ah, you hate how his brows crease, a sadness you refuse to pay mind to painting his features.

“Good.” The word interrupts his sentence. “Hopefully I don’t get in the way of your work and you don't get in the way of mine.” 

Your grip tightens.

“Because show up in front of me again and I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Uncharacteristically, you’re the one setting fire to things tonight. 

The drive back fills with an unnerving silence only you could break, but your lips refuse to open, and you won’t force yourself to speak.

Photographs, traces, all of it flickered into ashes, consumed by embers in a once clean trash can, now a hell-pit engulfing everything thrown into its belly. You don’t bother to keep what’s left behind. 

Location turned off, number blocked on each and every device.

So it’s hard explaining why you went back again. Staving down any ounce of nervousness in your frame while stepping through those warehouse doors once more, turning to that same assistant from last time who fixes you with a stunned look as you demand to see Bahng. 

His name you remembered without trying, those muddy pools for eyes not as dark as Changbin’s, yet littering goosebumps overtop skin lacking cold.

.

.

.

“And why should I do that?” He utters, cocking his head.

This place is nothing short of a luxury resort. Though the things likely occurring behind closed doors deems unspeakable.

Seperate floors kept specifically as parking lots for foreign cars you can’t name, expenses of such a place a number uncanny for any even slightly wealthy person to wrap their head around.

Bahng adorns that same white collared shirt rolled to his elbows, long black pants drifting down to shined dress shoes, the first few buttons loose to unveil milky glimpses of his collarbones. 

However little you may know of him, it feels as if he can read you like a book—all your secrets, your thoughts, laid bare. 

Your request? Keep Changbin away. Out of your life in hopes his name will be something you forget.

Hopes.

A futile wish.

“What’s there to lose? My life? You’ve seen how little he cares, and I doubt you do either.” You hiss, denying the ache in your chest when you say that, the way your lungs squeeze for more air despite breathing normally.

The Gunsman pokes the skin of his cheek with his tongue, leaning his head back. From this angle, a prominent Adam's apple protrudes from his skin, strands of dark hair falling back at the action.

Abruptly, he breathes a laugh.

“Sure.” 

You have to crane to ensure you heard him right, his expression saturated with an unsettling levity. 

“I’ll keep him busy for a while,” He adds, eyes surveying where you begin backing up with a short nod.

“And Y/N?”

You turn.

“If he didn’t care for your life.” He points to the deer-head mount on the wall. A burly stag with curling antlers, gazing ahead in its eternal puppetry. “He would’ve gutted you long before now.”

Perhaps that’s his way of assurance.

You make an effort to swallow. 

It seems The Gunsman was true to his word, oddly enough. 

Changbin doesn’t haunt you every step, doesn’t rest as the factor keeping you inside for the day in fear of confrontation. The Cypher is gone. At least, gone from your world.

Any text hasn’t been received, no phone ringing when you arrive home. 

Your bed is cold, your nights are lonely.

And you’d be a liar saying it was enjoyable, saying each day was like a breath of fresh air without him by your side. 

Because just as you’d spoken before, with ease Changbin became someone important the moment you learned his name. The first person your eyes land on when gazing through hundreds of others. The hands you crave to be wrapped around you as winter dawns, ones you can complain about in the summer months when it’s already hot.

Was it selfish to want forever?

Was it idiotic, sitting outside your car at the gas station, scrolling through old texts and willing yourself not to cry?

How troublesome that he’s become someone missed.

“Don’t go looking for him.”

Your head whips from where you stared at your phone, landing upon the man leaning against the gas pump. 

If anyone was supernatural, it’s him.

Black Trench Coat, always shined shoes. A bit taller than Changbin.

The Gunsman.

“You told me you didn’t want to see him again, right?”

Your mind fumbles for an explanation. How he found you, how he knew your finger hovered tentatively over the keyboard of a number you swore to stay blocked.

How hypocritical. All of it.

His voice is low beneath the streetlight, barely gracing audible volume. Yet, you hear every word clear as day.

Keeping your gaze trained on the man, you watch him walk forward, watch your skin crawl as he nudges his coat to the side, revealing a pistol his hand fastens upon.

“And I’ll let you know I don’t like people who go back on their word.”

The remark coming from barely moving lips, you flinch back at the feeling of the cold muzzle pressing against your abdomen, gulping down your fear.

“..Why?” You stifle, trying your hardest to stave down the deafening trill of your heart in your chest. “Why are you dealing with his business for him? Why.. Did you agree to help me?”

The gun clicks and you close your eyes.

“Think of it as a favor, for both him and yourself since I’m feeling generous. As for my advice,” He leans forward, his breath fanning over your cheek.

“Take it.”

Just then do you hear the shot ricochet, and your hand rushes to your side, waiting to feel the warm blood, inhale the metallic stench.

Except, there’s no blood, no pouring bullet hole, and your mouth gapes when he lifts the gun up, a crooked smile fastening on plush lips as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Looks like it landed on a blank, lucky you.”

And like that, he turns on his heel and begins walking off, hurried departure willing the words from your throat. 

“Is.. Is he okay?!” 

Your hands clutching your clothing, The Gunsman spares a glance over his shoulder, cocking a brow.

“You should be worried about yourself, The Cypher can handle himself just fine. You’ve seen it firsthand yourself, no?”

Of course you had. In the lies, the deceit. Changbin would’ve lived his life just fine without you. But love can float a boat just as fast as it can sink it, and you overflowed those gaps in his boat enough he drowned down with you.

Voluntary or not you’re unsure.

And the man walks away. No update nor reminder. Characteristic of The Gunsman. Or, what you know of him.

Concise and chilling. 

Smoothing a bloodied glove through his hair, The Cypher sits down on the leather chair, sifting through his pockets for a lighter to spark the cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Went well I see,” Bahng acknowledges, surveying the crimson stains blanketing his clothing, a few drops clinging to his forehead.

Changbin only grunts.

“And the lady?” He mutters, a hoarse intone.

“Still wanting nothing to do with you,” The Gunsman snickers in response, reveling in the glare he’s given.

“How ‘bout the spitfire? That new hire you got, The Assassin?” Changbin is hasty to change the subject, observing his superior lift his arms behind his head, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

“Lee Minho’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.” Is all he ends with, an amused sort of coil winding his lips upward. 

“He’s got a new job at those apartments by Dixie’s Club, actually. ‘Higher ups assigned it to him the other day, said they needed to cut off loose ends.”

Changbin feels his heart stall in his chest. 

“Who’s the target?”

Though he wouldn’t normally inquire upon other’s missions, he can’t help the inkling of anxiousness constricting his chest from voicing itself louder than routine.

So when The Gunsman mentions the floor you’re on, nonetheless your room as the apparent locations he overheard, The Cypher’s never moved so fast in his life. 

He made a point to stay out of your life, to keep you from seeing him, thinking about him. That’s what you wanted. Or, what he knew you wanted.

And as much as Changbin’s never been one for the rules in the first place, he can’t help but think he’d make an exemption to those few laws he followed if your name was involved. 

This case was no exception. 

All reasoning rushes past deaf ears, the engine of Bahng’s Bugatti Divo roaring to life, blue underlights nearly glowing in October’s night as he presses down on the accelerator, watching the speed race up.

Though no speed can beat the rampant pace of his heart, the rush of his mind.

Despite Bahng’s evident profit, just like Changbin himself, the two still serve as pawns of a chess match. There will always be an overseer, a Higher-up.

The word makes Changbin’s lip curl.

This world is cruel, that’s been known.

138 mph.

His eyes catching high skyscrapers of Seoul’s inner city bring the tiniest glimmer of hope spurring in his ribs, already aching with each breathless squeeze of his lungs beckoning every ounce of oxygen possible.

Urgency accompanies that hope.

162 mph.

The squealing of tires barely register in his mind, soaring past traffic and pedestrians alike.

198 mph.

He couldn’t begin to explain why or how you’d become a target. Who had taken the deal, who promised the pay. Maybe you were a witness, an accidental eye caught by an unfortunate stare in return.

He sure as hell knew they’d be disfigured till unrecognizable if Changbin got his hands on them.

214 mph.

His thoughts are stilled as his foot slams upon the break, lurching forward so hard in his seat he’s surprised the airbags hadn’t inflated. 

Without even looking, he was led straight to your apartment.

Lacking directions, instructions. Muscle memory. Instinctive.

His calves burn running up the stairs, failing to register whether he even locked the car upon ramming himself through your door. Partly open upon arrival.

Shit, he’s too late—

No lights illuminate the iron of knives apart from moonlight streaming through the still unbudging window. For a moment, he’s eternally grateful for never having it fixed.

On one side of the room do you stand, kitchen knife held in a trembling, white-knuckled grip. At the other, stood right beside the tiny kitchen table he could remember like the back of his hand is Minho, The Assassin, wielding a blade. 

Meager light glints off a metal spine, and, amidst his once unwavering focus does Changbin serve as an interruption.

Right on time. 

A slash aims his way instantaneously.

Trained well.

But Changbin had anticipated it, and the strength of his forearm subdued the extended tip, poised and ready for nothing short of a kill.

“Sorry to ruin your party, but this one’s mine,” Changbin gives The Assassin a nod, met with feline-like eyes narrowed his way.

Think.

Think.

In the many pawns, The Gunsman, The Cypher, and The Assassin are irrevocably equals. A term he’d once cut his tongue off using, no less thinking of.

Although, just like before, he’d make an exemption to those few laws he followed if your name was involved. 

Attacking would be too obvious that there were personal matters involved, and after all, this was simply for profit, a matter Changbin should know better than anyone.

Eyes perceptive, he has to violently wrack his head before words come pouring out.

”The pay is yours. I want to be the one to kill.”

A silence, nearly unnoticeable nod, and he’s right out the door as if he was never there to begin with.

The Assassin.

Fitting.

The moment his eyes aren’t locked on Minho, they’re on you, watching your knees buckle beneath your weight as you begin for the floor.

His hands are scooping you up synonymously, hugging your temporarily unconscious figure closed prior to a hasty—yet fretful—once over for any injury.

None.

His eyes flutter closed, a barely perceptible: “fuck” in utmost relief resounding around the now hushed apartment before your eyes spring open, the cacophony of your knife tumbling to the tile and unsteady inhales and exhales disrupting believed peacefulness.

Wide eyes, a visage too panicked to register a thing as you hyperventilate.

“Y/N, Y/N!” He shouts, grabbing your shoulder and causing your inhale to catch in your throat for a moment, mouth hanging open, eyes stuck fearful.

“I need you to breathe, okay?” He nods, making a point to keep eye-contact as he demonstrates for you. 

“In through your nose.” He breathes in, and you mimic the action, barely registering who crouches in front of you. “Out through your mouth.”

Again, you mimic. Again and again and again for nearly thirty seconds till your brain calms itself, if only slightly.

Coughing, you lean over, The Cypher patting your back as you come to your senses, blinking up at him in an attempt to understand what, how, why everything happened.

The man invading your apartment, trying to kill you. How, in the end, the one you’ve avoided most came to your aid, now sitting in front of you.

”Alright, sweetheart. ‘M gonna need you to close your eyes for a moment, okay?” 

This, you can understand. And whether it’s the adrenaline, exhaustion, or both, you comply.

Lip bit between his teeth, The Cypher lifts your knife from the floor, slicing his palm with only a stifled exhale and letting the blood drench between tiles, splattering the floor. From behind him do you whimper, and his uninjured hand finds your hair to stroke in assurance.

Pretend.

The thought he used to get The Assassin away. Now he just had to convey a convincing scene. 

His blood proved suitable.

Tying a piece of torn clothing from his shirt around the wound does he crouch down right in front of you, hands forming makeshift blinders on either of your face.

”Listen to me carefully, hm?” He whispers, watching those beautiful eyes blink at him worriedly.

Even after only a few weeks, it seems you only grow more beautiful.

”I’m going to back up, and you’re not going to take your eyes off me, okay?”

Fervent nodding earns a feeble grin cracking at his lips, and with that do you exit the room, ending up on the rooftop of the complex — brain scurrying to catch up with past events, nevertheless one foot in front of the other.

The Cypher, usually unmoved, nervously fidgets with his fingers, breaking the silence as he backs up. Wind gusts strands of hair in his eyes, but they stay on you. 

As if they’d look anywhere else, anyway.

You’d been glued since leaving the apartment, and he’d grown accustomed just like always. Cruelty belongs to the world, burns belong to reality.

Must everything good hurt so horribly?

“I know the last thing you wanted to do is see me after everything I’ve done, and I’m sure you think I was the one behind it but I want you to kno-“

His words are cut off in your kiss, melting into the contact, hands unsure of whether to touch you as his index lingers centimeters from your jaw. 

However, your arms snaking around his neck, pulling him closer atop the rooftop is enough indication, and Changbin spares no expense, feeling like a starved man as he chases after your lips. Teeth tugging the skin of your bottom lip, he finds himself savoring the sigh you echo against him.

Resting there for a few seconds, he finds himself involuntarily smiling when you pull apart and smack his chest, a frown contorting your features.

“Don’t ever do that again,” You grumble.

“What, save your life?”

This earns a roll of your eyes, something he hadn’t realized how much he missed. That, amongst other things.

“I’m.. gonna stay over at Sabina’s till I’m sure that guy’s gone,” You spin on your heel to look at him, and he merely nods his head, quick to catch the keys you throw his way.

Yours. The keys you ensured he kept with him at all times before.

Seems you kept a spare.

So it’s a simple phrase that grasps your footing still. Steps that are usually so sure, confident.

“I love you too.”

For a moment you wonder if your psyche is playing tricks on you. If he really said it, really responded to the note you never got to give him. The note meant to reside below a dumbbell, not weaponry.

Because written on that note in scribbled, anxious ink, we’re three simple words. And yet, they weren’t simple at all. 

I love you.

“When all this shit’s over,” You whisper, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him into your lips if only for a second.

A second too short.

And he thinks, gazing at you while you walk away, you’re likely the only person capable of rendering The Cypher speechless.

There will be a lot to go over, a lot to think about. His kindness doesn’t change the fact he’s a hitman, The Cypher. 

His kindness doesn’t change the fact you love him either.

That much is known, shared.

Odds.

“Pay me a visit.” 

sunboki, may 2022 ©