#i assume this also applies to such deeds

[rohirric-hunter]

.

[phddyke]

Do you know what I love about Hazbin Hotel though?

That the angels are clearly sinners too.

Not only the fact that Adam curses all the time and talks about casual sex (which, he’s possibly even cheating on his wife then??) but also, the angels kill demons and Adam even admits they enjoy doing so. He calls it entertainment.

And Vivienne’s making an excellent point: when you do something bad to a group of people who are considered beneath them, minorities, everything else…

What you do to them suddenly isn’t bad. It’s okay now, it’s righteous, because you’ve dehumanized these people.

And then when they try to fight back? Like the single slain angel exterminator? Well then magically it’s a problem.

When Lute said that “the only reason [Charlie’s] still around” is that Lucifer gave her and all the hell-borns some kind of pardon or protection from being killed in these exterminations, I was like ok, that makes sense. I was starting to wonder/assume that the extermination was something that only applied to sinners because it didn’t seem to affect any of our Helluva Boss cast.

But then I was like, wait, why would they want to kill hell-borns anyway? For sinners you could argue that they “earned” it through their bad deeds, but hell-born have no choice but to be born there? And they seem to have a functioning society, just one that’s “edgier” than human society. Also, plenty of the hell-born are good people?

But THEN, I remembered that is a fundamentalist Christian belief: that you can already be born bad, and that the same deeds can be good or bad depending on who’s doing them. Lute taunts Charlie that her life doesn’t matter…that’s a sin, right? Except no it isn’t, because of who’s doing it and to whom.

I love queer people’s takes on Heaven and Hell, they’re always great.

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 15.1k+

warning | mentions of cheating, blood / occasions of toxic marriage / one instance of violence / not edited since the first time i posted this story​

note | the ending is essentially the same. i changed very little of the original story, only nearing the end. / forcing me to put fic into parts is heinous.

parts | one, two, three

You have had a fair share of envious moments before.

Whenever you see adorable and loving couples wandering across the streets, sipping a hot drink while letting their shared scarf do the deed of warming them up on a cold winter night, you want to gouge your eyes out to save yourself from the public display of chaste affection. But, at the same time, you cannot stop staring. If you stare long enough, you might just be able to replace the couple with you and your perfect, imaginary boyfriend. 

You have prayed for a significant other at one time or another. Who hasn’t? Discreetly whispering towards the birthday candles, the new year’s fireworks, an abrupt desperation appearing in the middle of the night when you were jolted awake. Yet, for years, the odds were not in your favor until at this exact moment when you opened your eyes after long hours of sleep you could not remember yourself ever heading to.

The sunlight was seeping through the white mesh curtains that mirrored the fabric of an expensive wedding gown, the kind that makes you gasp in awe at the bride when she wears it down the aisle. It did nothing to help with the glaring morning gaze but you could understand why people would buy it as a decoration. Those useless and overpriced curtains, no matter what, do give the room a whimsical atmosphere. If only you ever got one.

The second you laid eyes on those mesh curtains, your eyes snapped open and the grogginess you felt from just waking up vanished immediately. Those were not yours. No, definitely not. You cared too much about sleep to allow yourself an aggressive wake by the sun. Besides, you would not be caught dead spending hundreds of dollars buying a home decoration that serves no purpose other than looking pretty.

You clenched the bedsheet and gasped in both shock and awe. Talk about the softest bed sheets you have ever felt! The blanket covering your, thankfully, fully-clothed body felt like silk yet the material was thick enough to make you feel warm like you were taking a steamy hot shower and make you sleep like you were in a coma. But the same thing applied: these bedsheets never belonged to you and possibly never will.

“Oh god,” you breathed out in a whisper as your eyes rolled around the unfamiliar room.

You were stalling at this point. The heavy presence laying next to you was far too obvious for you to ignore but you were also too afraid to look. Who could it be? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You couldn’t even recall exactly what happened last night! Did you make any plans? That would be extremely unlikely. You’ve got no friends who would invite you anywhere and you’ve got no motivation to go anywhere but slack around in your apartment!

Nothing else could explain the current situation you’ve gotten yourself in, though. Nothing but you getting very drunk and possibly handing all that was sacred about you to a complete stranger.

Slowly turning your head to the side, you let your squinted eyes fall open slowly for the big reveal. The man sleeping next to you had his body turned towards your side. His lashes fluttered even when he was unmoving and his brown locks fell just above his closed eyes in the most boyish, attractive way. The bridge of his nose arched perfectly to welcome to button tip. His lips have a natural pout to them and they somehow appeared to be glittery under the sunlight.

Oh yeah, you must be drunk last night. You were sure this man was too because no way in hell would he ever want to have anything to do with you.

You stared at the man for a brief moment. Your internal thoughts went through all five stages of confusion, with all first four of them being pure confusion and the last stage being acceptance. You felt like you opened your long hidden psychic third eye after the stage of acceptance and you have never felt smarter than before. Acceptance should have been your first instinct. What else should you have done when you wake up to find yourself sleeping next to one of, if not the most, handsome man you’ve seen on Earth?

After giving your mind a nod of approval for creating such a beautiful man, you turned on your back and closed your eyes. You went back to sleep because, obviously, this was just a lucid dream.

I would let you think you were smart for a moment, [Name], but I do believe it is about time we progress with the story and learn about who the man of your dreams was, so–I’m not sorry but up we go!

You jolted awake as if you just had a nightmare, which you did not. Your body just wanted to keep you awake, it seemed. It was as if it knew you were not in the right place, or you were in a place you have never been to before, and it wanted you to stand up and discover an escape route. Sighing in defeat, your eyes blinked at the unfamiliar room you had gotten a glimpse of before you concluded that you were in a dream.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes welcomed the sight of the man you had previously admired. The only difference this time was that he was very much awake and was blatantly staring at you with a look of utter distaste that felt more common than ever. He was not the first person to give you that unamused frown and wickedly condescending gaze but it really did add more impact to it when it came from someone as good-looking as him.

“What the fuck?” you muttered out with a hasty, croaked voice.

Minho tilted his head to the side at your obnoxious reaction, then he spoke, “Why are you on my bed?”

You furrowed your brows at him, both at how nice his voice was early in the morning and in confusion to the fact that he asked you the million-dollar question. Breathing out a short laugh, you looked away from him. “I don’t know, man. I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything aside from the rules we established the first day of our marriage,” he wasted no time to say, his tone getting duller and duller as if he was really getting mad over you being on his king-sized bed.

“Oh, you’re crazy.” You rolled your eyes as you reached your hand up to ruffle your hair. 

Upon the subject at hand, it was slowly coming to light the faint weight that has been resting on your fourth finger and was completely neglected by your confused state of mind. Your ruffling slowly came to a stop and, stalling time once again, you turned over to look at the stranger who was still staring at you with distaste. Something about his lack of expression, and the weight on your hand, told you he was being honest.

“Are we married?” you asked. “The thing I am feeling on my finger is not a ring, is it?”

Minho’s gaze shifted for a moment. You seemed genuinely confused, out of your usual element if he could say so himself. Truth be told, he never really paid that much attention to you. He did once in a blue moon, never enough for your presence to stick in his head. But he could definitely tell when you weren’t being yourself, when you didn’t feel like you.

“Don’t joke around with me, [Name],” he said when he regained his usual demeanor. The theory he thought about was discarded with ease. There was absolutely no way something so fiction-like could ever happen to him. The arranged marriage aside, of course.

“You know my name?” you questioned slowly, finally sitting up now that this situation was becoming creepier. Your legs inched toward the edge of the bed to leave the soft blanket and were ready to bolt out of the room for good. “I don’t even know yours.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said, sitting up as well. “Stop messing around. Just admit that you broke the rules and slept on my bed. This amnesia act is a waste of my time.”

You squinted your eyes at him, jaw hung open in utter disbelief. His attitude fueled nothing more than the distaste for him that was currently brewing inside you.  “Dude, I don’t fucking know who you are? Am I supposed to just guess your name? Something generic like Lee Minho?” 

He showed you a deadpan expression immediately after your voice fell. Judging by the way his shoulders dropped in annoyance, you knew for a fact that you had guessed his name correctly. That was a generic name as you mentioned. You cursed under your breath then, recognizing how your luck was completely working against your favor. 

“I–I gotta go. I have to leave!”

You let the anxiety in your body do the job as you stumbled backward and out of the bedroom. You were immediately greeted with a long and bright hallway that looked way too familiar for you to not be able to navigate around it. 

You have never been here before, but you just knew. It looked like a house straight out of a drama. With the opened curtains, the velvet carpet, the random Chinese vases located in the awkward middle, and the giant wooden patterned doors—oh god, were you on secret camera right now? Did you sign some ten-page long contract you never took the time to read?

Moving to a random direction of the hallway, you grabbed the handle of the next door you could find and opened it to head inside. The lights automatically turned on when it noticed a presence, and you found yourself in what appeared to be a walk-in closet.

It was a black and white. A very minimalistic color scheme. The orange lights made you wince because it didn’t match the atmosphere. Clothing racks lined up against the wall and eventually met each other at the end, where a tall mirror stood waiting to be used. There was a door that you guessed might lead to a bathroom and a few shelves of expensive perfume and shoes. Sitting oddly in the middle was a small round desk and a cushioned chair.

You grimaced at how obnoxious and luxurious the closet was. It was everything you could have dreamed of having. Maybe even a little beyond that. There was such a thing as too big of a closet, and the idea of actually spending that much money made your skin all itchy and irritated.

Oh, [Name]–what are you doing? You have got no time to give criticism to a rich person’s closet. You have got to figure out what the fresh hell was happening!

“This makes no sense.” You clicked your feet against the carpet floor before you started to pace around.

Marriage? Minho knowing your name yet you needed to guess his? This foreign rich land you stumbled upon? There were only four solutions you could think of after having rethink every single detail.

Exhibit A: This is still a dream.

You slapped yourself after much preparation. The pain stung you like your bare hand to a burning stove. This is not a dream, it has never been. 

It was funny to watch you slap yourself though, I have to say. 

Exhibit B: This is a television prank.

Your drama-loving, variety-show-watching freak would definitely be able to tell. Each pranking show has its distinct element to the way they execute their plan—from the setting to their actors to their fake scenarios. This was far too obvious and far too risky for any pranking show you have watched. You could cross the option off the chalkboard!

Exhibit C: Minho is madly in love with you and has kidnapped you to be his spouse!

Interesting and unbelievable. Why would someone like him need to kidnap you to keep you with him? With that face and this kind of money? You would have caved within seconds judging by how shallow your heart could be sometimes. Besides, why would someone like you intrigue him? No way. This option is off the chalkboard too.

Well, what remained was your last resort, I suppose. May I proudly present you—Exhibit D!

The door to the closet swung open, abruptly disrupting the deep-voiced narrator in your head and pulling you back into the real world… as real as it could get, at least. Snapping your head to the side, you were greeted with an unamused Minho by the doorway and your frown deepened at his unwelcoming presence.

“Why are you in my closet?” he asked, approaching you slowly.

You blinked at him and looked around. The clothes on the racks finally made themselves clearer to you, and for the first time you could see that those were men clothes. Or, at least, pieces you would never wear outside. This wasn’t your closet, but you’ve had enough to him to admit your wrongs, so yous scoffed instead.

“Is everything yours?” 

Minho raised a brow. “Besides you, yeah. I would say so.”

You closed your eyes to concentrate on holding down a fiery breath threatening to escape. Whether it was Minho or yourself it planned to head toward, exploding in the middle of a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar situation was the last thing that could help you. As much as you hated how Minho seemed to make perfect sense every time, you remained (as) calm (as you could be). 

“Whatever.” Classic comeback.  

“Whatever? No, this isn’t whatever,” Minho said, grabbing a fistful of a discarded topic and throwing it at your face. “Do we need to have another talk about boundaries?”

You furrowed your brows, but you weren’t confused this time. You were annoyed and in disbelief. His condescending tone scratched the part of your brain you learned to turn off during work hours, but since he wasn’t in charge of your finances, unlike your boss, you’ve had it up to the tip of your head with him. On second thought, you were better than this asshole! You would never agree to marry someone with this kind of shitty attitude! Exhibit C is back in the race!

“Did you kidnap me?” you asked with no reluctance.

Minho tilted his head at you, bewildered but not enough to lose his stoic expression. “Kidnap you? Why would I do that? You are the one head over heels for me ever since we got married.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you snorted loudly as you turned away from him. Then you pointed a finger at him, wanting to spat something with menace but you were stopped immediately by the diamond ring on your fourth finger.

Oh, that—that is heavy. That looked heavy and it felt heavy. How did you not feel it? You wanted to take it off and keep it in a glass box on display the second you laid your eyes on it.

“Did you force this on me?” you asked, pointing at the ring and discreetly feeling the rough diamond on your skin. Your eyes shifted slightly to glance at it and they widened on instinct. You couldn’t even begin to guess how expensive that piece of rock is and having it weighing down on your fourth finger felt like too much responsibility. “You freak! How much did you pay for this?”

Minho shook his head, continuously bewildered at the sudden questions fired towards him. “About five hundred–“

You held up your palm to shut him up. That number was all you needed to know. Judging from the way he was still trying to speak, the ring was definitely not just a mere five hundred dollars. And be it the word ‘thousand’ or ‘million,’ whichever comes out of his mouth would still make you fake barf and your heart pour blood. The only thing you could feel remotely glad about was the fact that he bought the ring.

“Also, for your information, I did not force the ring on you. We both agreed to get married. Besides, I didn’t need to force you to do anything,“ he replied. "Our parents did.”

"Our parents? What do you know about my parents–my mom and dad will never force me to marry anybody even though that is all they ever urge me to do these days!”

“[Name].”

For once, Minho’s deep and quiet voice was laced with something other than spite. His eyes were solemnly melancholic. They dropped like shadows as he gazed at you carefully. Without moving an inch, he spoke, “[Name], your parents have been dead for a year.”

Dead parents. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a trope you could work with. At least it has the capability of bringing your theory somewhere. Maybe on a path to insanity but still a route nonetheless.

Let me humbly do a recap of everything that went down. 

A big house. A rich man, a rich and handsome man, a rich and handsome man who hates you, a rich and handsome man who hates you because you two were stuck in an arranged marriage. Dead parents.

"Oh my god,” you gasped under your breath as the reality dawned upon your once clueless mind. Everything was so clear after you figured out all the key elements, it almost felt like you could calculate the physics of the parallel universe and the meaning of existence!

You are stuck in a drama!

After some wild stumbling about in Minho’s big mansion, all thanks to your pride preventing you from asking him the exact location of ‘your’ closet, you finally found the fashion wonderland you were looking for—your walk-in closet, that was somehow separated from Minho’s even though you two were supposedly holding hands in marriage. This degree of hated in an arranged marriage wasn’t uncommon, but you thought it hard to deal with when you’re stuck in the position.

Bursting through the door, the lights automatically turning on in here as well, you gave yourself no time to admire the inner structure of how the closet was built and decorated. Instead, you immediately went for the first mirror you could find, which was just hanging on the wall above a little table.

You heaved a short sigh when you recognized your own face and body in the mirror. That fact alone reinforced the drama theory you’ve got spinning in your head. If you were to not look like yourself, there would be a possibility that your soul got switched with someone else’s and you were actually still stuck in real life. However, the person you were looking at in the mirror was you in the flesh, therefore this was not a soul-switching experience but a teleportation experience.

You got stuck in a drama. Yeah, that was it. Either that, or you got transported to yourself in an alternative universe. To you, they meant the same thing. Anything that wasn’t your reality would be fake. That was your answer. But how did you get transported here? Flipping through the television department of your memory, not once could you remember yourself ever going through anything that happened to protagonists who were teleported somewhere else.

You weren’t almost hit by a car, you didn’t almost freeze to death, you didn’t almost drown in the ocean—oh there, wait a minute. There was a pattern there. The key to the sequence is not a near-death experience. The key to all of these is only the 'near’ of the experience, not necessarily the 'death’ part of it!

“But that makes no sense?” you mumbled to yourself as you tried your best to remember what you were doing before you woke up next to Minho, but it was to no avail. All you could remember was falling asleep on a phone call with your friend. “Everyone almost does something all the time. How do you determine which one is significant?”

Marching over to pick up a random pair of shoes from the shelf, you raised it high in mid-air and let go of it. Before it could hit the ground, you immediately caught the shoes again, then you looked around the place with the most paranoid eyes. “Oh, oops! I almost dropped these shoes!”

Nothing happened. The only thing that welcomed you were the static in the air and the realization of your stupidity.

Alright. Perhaps the ‘death’ part of it was, in fact, necessary after all.

Putting the shoes back, you puffed out some air to replace a frown that would inevitably help you gain more wrinkles than needed. Walking back to the table, you stared at yourself in the mirror and gave yourself a few pinches here and there. Both to make sure you were not dreaming and to give yourself some encouragement that things would turn out fine somehow.

One thing you did come to realize after the momentary idiotic trance you got stuck in was that while you were stuck in a drama (at least a universe that seemed to act on its principles), you were also taking the place of someone else’s life. Your position belonged to a character once. You just came in and took their place. You still looked like you, for some reason, but this position was not yours to freely maneuver.

Besides, whoever ‘you’ used to be must have been transported to your body in your world. Unfortunately, judging from the kind of life they’ve led thus far, you should pray against that case because your life wasn’t the kind of suffering they could handle. You didn’t think so. Working a full time job, not being married, and being dirt poor? Your life would suck for them. You may have to be ready to find a new job when you figure out how to go home. 

Nonetheless, you’ve got to be careful. You have no idea when you would magically disappear from this place, and you would hate to have someone pick up your pieces.

“Just live for now and don’t mess up,” you told yourself lazily, grimacing at the fact that you might have to comply with what Minho says from now on because, according to him, you were in love with him.

Now that the troubles were all set aside. It was finally time for you to bask in the big, extravagant closet of your dreams. You turned around and beamed at the clothes that lined up the walls and at the shoes all carefully placed in a row. This! This was much better than Minho’s closet, you knew that for certain!

Making your way to the other side of the room, you skipped with your bare feet happily. All that excitement only to have you trip on your own feet and fall forward. Your eyes widened in shock, your mouth hanging open to let out a small scream.

Your head banged against the wooden column that held up the clothing rack, and immediately you blacked out.

Opening your eyes was quite the scare for you.

Oh, how horrible it would be if you found yourself waking up next to a handsome man who happened to be your husband and also does not love you whatsoever but is extremely rich and is putting a roof over your head? You sniffed in distaste. You weren’t one for gold diggers. Money was never a big problem for you. You were poor, but you’ve got enough to get by. Loneliness and the lack of intimacy were the main issues! Not that you would outrightly acknowledge it, though.

The room you woke up in was different than the previous one. It was just as big as Minho’s bedroom but it had a more natural tone than Minho’s royal-like room. Holding your palm to your forehead, you winced in shock at the bumpy surface on your skin. You did remember tripping and falling head-on against the clothing rack but you did not think it would create that much damage. All you thought would happen was a small red spot and eternal suffering of you acknowledging how stupidly clumsy you were.

Aside from that, at least you gained a little information about yourself: you trip easy, you faint easy, and you scar easy. It was unlike your regular body; your threshold for pain and fatigue was high due to constant working, and you definitely did not use to trip on solid ground. Being teleported here has turned your body into a typical romantic drama protagonist. 

Your feet touched the cold tiles. Surprisingly, there were no fluffy slippers for your them to slip into. You got out of your bed and immediately went out to the hall in hopes to search for someone. There has got to be a soul working in this mansion. You could not have possibly smeared vaseline on your forehead and tucked yourself back into bed in a state of unconsciousness.

The atmosphere was eerie as you made your way down the hall. The sound of your bare feet tapping against the carpet could be heard in this quiet house and for once, you thought perhaps having such a giant home was not the best idea in the world. It has got you missing your small and cozy apartment where most things were within reach and sight. If only it didn’t take half of your pay check every month. 

“Oh, I see you’ve woken up!”

You flinched at the sudden voice, albeit it being very gentle and harmless. Turning around, you found a middle-aged lady dressed in casual clothes holding a basket of crumpled up laundry. Not wanting to act too suspicious and out of character, you gave her a small smile as you accessed her figure as quickly as you could.

She was not wearing one of those maid costumes, which was not surprising. You wouldn’t say you want to see an old lady in one either despite hoping to see an actual maid in a rich household just to experience that drama dream you’ve got stored in your head. But looking at the laundry basket she was holding, you were pretty sure she was only here to do the chores and she would leave once the day gets darker.

“Um… yeah, I have,” you replied to her as your hand reached out to softly touch the nasty bump on your forehead. You grimaced a little at the texture before you looked back at the lady, “Uh, is–is dinner ready?”

She nodded her head with a faint laugh, happy to know you haven’t lost your perception of time yet. Nudging her head to the end of the hallway, she said, “Mr.Lee went and bought home some takeout from your favorite restaurant after he got off work. They are in the kitchen if you are feeling hungry.”

You arched your brows pleasantly. Alright, that was very nice of him. Considering you weren’t holding any grudges against him yet, he did that our of sheer kindness, or responsibility—it didn’t matter. Free food is free food. You would thank him if you see him later but honestly, that would hugely depend on your mood and how he acts when you do see each other again, which you knew you would. 

“Okay. Thank you very much.” You nodded at her with gratitude, mirroring her hushed voice. “Ah, and thanks for fixing my head and tucking me to bed.”

“Of course, it is what I’m supposed to do.” She smiled. Your surprised look—from mistaking that she was the person who brought you back to bed—did not go unnoticed. Immediately, she added,“But Mr.Lee was the one who brought you back to your bed. That was not me.”

You blinked at her in bewilderment. The inside of your chest fluttered just a little at the idea of someone hoisting you up bridal-style and putting you back to bed. It didn’t cross your mind once that he might have laid you on his back instead. You were dramatizing the experience. You had to because Minho did not seem like the type to fit under the romantic category. His face? Definitely. His personality? No. 

Nonetheless, you were flustered at the idea of it. It was the first time someone has held you up like that since your father years and years ago.

“O–oh, that is–“ you cleared your throat and your mind, then you looked up at the lady with a smile–“um, is he home? I want to go thank him.”

“He is,” she nodded, “I believe he is just in his office room.”

Great. Location unlocked! All that remained would be how to get there.

“Thank you. I will just get going now.” You bowed slightly before you quickly spun on your heels and left the hallway.

After some more trials of opening doors that lead you to empty bathrooms and empty guest bedrooms, you were starting to hate this house more and more. At this point, you wouldn’t get a big home even if you’ve got all the money in the world. The hatred and annoyance have rooted too deep in your brain, you have automatically crossed your castle dreams off the bucket list.

Your feet tapped quickly against the carpet so your legs could take you down the hall and to the next doors quickly. Letting out a frustrated groan, you grabbed the door handle as soon as a new door was in reach and you twisted it open to reveal a rather embarrassing sight of Minho and a girl being all over him near the edge of his desk.

You couldn’t decipher whether this position was reciprocal. It was amazing that your brain could even function logically enough to think that perhaps Minho didn’t want to be stuck in this position considering how awkward the view was. You forgot for a moment you were looking at this from a spouse’s perspective, and panic surfaced when you dodged the girl’s annoyed eyes and instead looked straight into Minho’s shocked ones.

Your jaw dropped open slowly at the sight in front of you as if you were just looking at it for the first time. You were finally processing it, though. Then, for some stupid reason, you reached your hands up to your face and quickly smacked the heel of your palm to your eyes. Your back arched at the impact and you started wailing in (fake, but debatably genuine) pain. You disliked couples, also you thought it was funny to act out of the role you were destined to be: a wailing woman. 

The real dilemma here was if you wanted to confront them or act as if you haven’t seen anything. 

Unfortunately, confronting them may lose your status as Minho’s spouse, thus the roof over your head and the trust funds. It would be immensely entertaining to confront them, but you needed to keep everything else in mind. For now, pretending you didn’t see anything was the best response.

Minho and the girl were startled out their minds at your peculiar response. Minho’s instincts told him to stand up straight and approach you to check and see if the fall this morning was more serious than he assumed it to be. But before he could listen to his heart, your incoherent wailing started to turn into audible words.

“Oh! My eyes! I can’t feel my eyes! I can’t see!” You let your hands go free around the air and kept your eyes shut tightly to act blind. Your spun your torso about, almost dancing to a rhythm of a trot song, and your arms flailed closely beside your figure to avoid hitting the door frame. “I have not seen a thing! I’ve gone blind!” 

His lips quirked up in amusement, but the amusement was quickly diminished when the girl who just recently tried to lure him into a deceptive make-out session spoke.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked out loud, possibly glaring at you but you could not see (because your eyes were closed, not because you’ve actually gone blind. You’ve got me fooled!), nor do you care.

However, you did almost let a gasp past your lips because good lord, the audacity of this woman! Did she see no problem in seducing a married man? An unhappily married man but a married, ring on the finger, contract signed, vowed spoken man nonetheless! Does ‘through sickness and health’ mean nothing to people anymore?

As much as you didn’t care for Minho, the concept of adultery is and will always be preposterous! You were thinking in big words just so you could emphasis how much you hate the act of cheating!

“It seems like somebody is being unfaithful and I am trying to make sure I don’t make a memory of it,” you replied calmly with your eyes still shut and your body turned at the wrong person. It was hard to take you seriously. When there was only silence, you muttered to yourself, “God, I hope amnesia happens when I leave this world. This is not a good sight to remember for them.”

Minho furrowed his eyebrows at you after your answer. Surely, you wouldn’t accuse him of cheating? You barged in at the wrong time. You didn’t even try to understand the situation from his perspective. His arms were crossed in front of his chest to create a more dominant stance before he commanded, “[Name], open your eyes.”

“Did you not hear what I said–ah, you probably didn’t because I muttered.” You sniffed the tense air before you shook your head. “No. I am trying not to make a memory of this.”

“[Name], I said open your eyes,” Minho repeated louder once again. He marched over to you and, impulsively, gripped a stronghold of your chin to tilt your head up. “I said look at me!”

You snapped your eyes open at the forceful tug, a strangled noise bursting from your throat at his violent action. You weren’t scared, no, not at all. You were angry, annoyed, and actively seeking retaliation you would’t have engaged in back where you came from. 

Your hand reached out to grip his wrist and you squeezed tightly until Minho showed a sign of discomfort on his face. A smile almost crept their way to your face; all those years carrying bags of groceries with your mom while walking home was worth it! But the matter at hand called for a more serious demeanour. This experience concerned not just yourself but whoever was once in your place. The aftermath of your choices would change their life, and your call was to stand up for them.

Your brows furrowed and your eyes flashed with cruel disbelief as you glared at him. Shoving his hand away from you, you croaked out, “How dare you treat them like this?”

Minho looked confused. Them? What did you mean? Who were you referring to? Before he could open his mouth to ask, you took a step back and glared pointedly at him. There were droplets in your eyes that you were unable to hide completely. Nobody has ever treated you this roughly before, but you weren’t upset. Those were frustrated waters. The more visible part of your hooded eyes wore a deep-seated contempt that Minho has never seen from you before.

You felt like a completely different person to him.

“I can’t believe they love you,” you sneered. “How could anyone ever love you like this?” 

Like a bullet, your words pierced through him, hitting bull's eye on his board of insecurities. He was rendered speechless at your words. All he could do was cast his gaze down at the floor and think about them. You, taking the silence as an opportunity, glanced back at the girl who stood quietly behind Minho. She didn’t quite return your gaze, possibly shocked to hear such harsh and defensive words coming out of your mouth. Not once did you consider how she was feeling. She was practically invisible until her appeared in your sight. 

You rolled your eyes before you turned and left the room. All thoughts to thank him earlier vanishing in thin air, and it would take quite the journey before they come back to you.

You stomped to the living room and into the kitchen. The subtle change from the carpet floor to the marble tiles was magnified under the pressure of your feet. The cold didn’t even bother you that much, your mind was too occupied with the previous event involving Minho.

As soon as you walked into the open kitchen, you found a milk-colored paper bag sitting on the edge of the countertop with a name printed in the middle in a pretty, cursive font. Your eyes softened for a moment when you acknowledged that the bag contained the food Minho went and got for you, but the softness lasted only a millisecond as your mind repeatedly recalled the incident seconds ago.

Anger filled your eyes like an ocean. Who was he to do that? If he had let you go like a normal person and not pull that violent stunt on you, you would have never been this riled up. You didn’t care that he was cheating; it wasn’t like he was cheating on you per se. You cared that he thought it was okay to grab you (or ‘you’)!

Turning away from the takeout bag, you approached the refrigerator and opened it to search for some eggs and meat so you could cook a meal like you used to do when you finally run out of instant noodle packs to boil. After taking out the necessary ingredients, you searched through the cabinets to find a pan to use but it was to no avail. Everything was either bowls and plates or more salt and sugar.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips, your cheeks puffing out and you gritted your teeth before you slammed the cabinet door shut. You stood up from the ground with a curse under your lips and your hands on your hips. With light sweat on your forehead and your unsightly floral pajama set, [Name], you do look like someone’s grandparent at the moment.

Footsteps made you avert your attention from the hiding pan to where the sound came from. Stumbling into your sight was the girl you just saw, with Minho following shortly behind her. You met eyes with him first, and despite wanting to peel your eyes away from him, you held onto his gaze challengingly to make a point. Minho felt his hands tremble as his mind suffered a faint disassociation.

He was right. You were not the person he knew anymore.

Turning around to look at the eggs and frozen meat you set on the kitchen counter, you stared at it as if contemplating your next move, then you turned back to the two with a shrug. Your tone was beyond slurred and impolite. “Where is the pan?”

“What do you need it for?” Minho asked.

“To knock you out,” you deadpanned, then you visibly scoffed with an eye-roll. “For cooking. Have you never seen people use one before?”

“I bought the food already.”

“I know.” You made a beckoning gesture with your hand. “Tell me where the pan is.”

“You don’t even know how to cook,” the girl interjected, her brows furrowing slightly at your vindictive tone as she assumed your poor attitude here was to compensate for what you just saw of her and Minho.

“Are we friends? I don’t know you,” you said factually.

She laughed in disbelief. “You do know me. I’m Yuna.” 

“Nice to meet you, Yuna, but I’m afraid I won't try to remember,” you said, eyes scratching fire on her skin. She looked taken back by your gaze, which may be the reason why she didn’t retaliate. Glaring back at Minho, you waited for him to answer your question about the location of a cooking pan. You didn’t know if he simply refused to tell you anything or if he didn’t know either, but you snapped either way as your patience reached its limit.

Widening your eyes at him in disbelief, you exclaimed, “Oh my god, Minho! Just tell me where the fucking pan is so I can make myself dinner!”

Now it was Minho who looked startled. You narrowed your eyes at him then, trying to piece together exactly who you used to be before this soul-switching event happened. Judging from how shocked both him and Yuna were, you must have been one mellow and kind person. It was not to say you didn’t possess those traits either. You definitely did, but Minho has done nothing to deserve your goodness, and you would not be the bigger person and give it to him.

“I asked a simple question.” You rolled your eyes and waved your hands in front o your chest in a dismissive manner as you moved from your spot to head out of the kitchen. “I’ll ask someone else.”

Minho watched as you stomped out of the kitchen. When you brushed past him, he wanted to reach his hand out to stop you from leaving. For what reason? He could not conclude. He wanted to answer your question, which was that he could only guess where all the cooking utensils were because he’s not once tried to make dinner. He wanted to ask you to clarify a few things, starting from what happened to you. He wanted to urge you to calm down. Mostly, he wanted to apologize for what he did to you.

But his muscles were rigid and his heart hollowed when he turned to your leaving figure. Your words echoed in his head over and over again. How could anyone ever love you like this? How could anyone ever love you like this, Minho? How?

The sound of a door slamming could be heard all the way from where he stood. Minho licked his lower lip slowly in realization, a realization that relied on a mere assumption. It could explain your sudden change of attitude, at least. The thought jolted his mind awake and he turned around, preparing to leave the kitchen and go after you for answers.

Have you stopped loving him? Or, judging by those words, have you ever loved him?

“Hey, where’re you going?” Yuna asked when he noticed his urgency.

“I’m going to talk to them,” he replied.

“But they’re mad at you–“

“I know.”

“So don’t go. They wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway,” she said with a half-smile. 

“I can’t, Yuna. I need to talk to them about something important.” Minho carefully moved his hand out of her grasp. “Something is off about them, I can feel it..”

“You can wait a while, Minho.” She tugged onto his arm again. “You should let them cool off. How about we sit down and eat?”

Minho paused to consider the suggestion. You were angry. He could tell by the stomping and the glaring and the cursing. Since he has never seen you like this, there was no guessing to what intensity your anger could rise. You might start throwing sharp objects at him for all he knew. But somehow, that only made him want to ‘resolve’ the situation even more. It felt as if there was a clock hanging above your head, counting down each second of him stalling and not talking about what happened, and when the clock ticks zero it would be too late for him.

(It should have been too late for him ages ago, but ‘you’ had been patient, far too patient with him.)

“I can’t. I have to go talk to them now,” he replied and once again moved his arm away. This time, he quickly took a few steps away so he could be out of reach. He gave Yuna a short smile. “Go home, okay? Text me when you get back safely.”

Yuna watched with slumped shoulders as Minho quickly made his way up the stairs and disappeared into the hallway. Her lips pursed, confused and disappointed.

She has liked Minho for as long as she could remember now. As horrible as the arranged marriage was to her, Minho has never expressed a fondness for you and that he has never shown any form of attachment towards this arrangement. If anything, he has been nothing but spoiled and distant when it came to you. It was only because of that. That was the only reason why she reacted well with the marriage and that her love-struck mind deemed it moral to try and steal Minho away from you.

But why? Why was Minho so caught up now? 

Yuna ran a hand through her long, silky hair. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes settling on the takeout dinner. She gulped nervously. Before she left the house, she grabbed the food with her.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to hear the doors to the closet opening. Your head was lowered to stare at the ground visible between your crossed legs. One of your hand was at the mercy of your nail-biting habit while the other one was clenched into a tight fist and resting on top of your ankle. You were hunched in the middle of your enormous closet, mumbling out your thoughts.

Your initial goal was to live this life of yours as invisibly as you could. You were not going to destroy this person’s life. You were not going to destroy their relationships and definitely not their marriage. For as long as you would be here, you would try to go along pretending like you were somebody else. When you finally leave this place, you would hand this life back to the original ‘you’ as if they never left!

Your goal was facing a bit of an intrusion—Lee Minho.

Without any attachment and responsibilities, it was easy to stand up to him. Doing it for the sake of a weaker person was even easier to do. Who was he to be so rough with his spouse? What was his problem? Not to mention that incident was not the only bad example you could raise, there were so many more things about him that were unlikely and unfathomable! You were considering whether you want to help ‘you’ do the deed and cut all ties with Minho.

He was not good for you, and the original you were probably too in love to see that. That must be why they stayed, considering there was a lack of evidence for any hostage or abusive scenarios. Therefore, you would be more than happy to help them get out of this situation, even though it might hurt them in the short run. To be extra cautious, you could write a explanation letter and conduct a plan for their temporary financial coverage if confirmed that Minho was their only source of security. 

You could do this. You could save a life! Hurray [Name], you’re finally doing something useful!

“What are you mumbling about?” Minho asked as he knelt on one knee in front of your hunched figure.

You snapped your head up and immediately, your thoughtful eyes turned into a glare. You rasped out a yell, “None of your business!”

His expression did not waver, so you scoffed. “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t be checking up on me.”

“Why can’t I be?” Minho tilted his head to the side.

“Because you are an asshole.” Yu rolled your eyes, finally having the sense to scoot away from him. You sat up straight, still glaring at him but the tension in your muscles has slightly relaxed upon seeing his soft, but still stoic, gaze. “Seriously, what do you want?”

“I’m checking up on you,” he replied. “What are you doing in the closet out of all places?”

“I love this closet. You wouldn’t know.” You shrugged and turned to the side, facing the light around the mirror on your table. “It is quiet. It helps me think.”

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his eyes never leaving you as if he was trying to catch every detail of your movements.

You didn’t answer for a short minute, your eyes boring holes into the wooden desk. When you finally did, you have already made the difficult decision in your head, and you were completely ready to execute it.

“I am deciding if I have ever loved you. It seems like I haven’t,” you told him with a neutral expression as if you were spilling nothing but information that contained no emotional destruction within them. “Or maybe I did, but I certainly don’t now.”

Minho’s mind blanked out. There was his answer. The only thing that was circulating his head were your words, and he didn’t understand why they hurt him so much. He, too, knew he had been distant and cruel to you for most of the marriage. There was no reason for him or anybody else to believe he would ever be sad if the marriage breaks up somehow. But he was hurting. Hearing you confess your lack of endearment stung him like a needle to the skin.

Immediately putting on a facade, Minho raised an eyebrow and he leaned away a little. “Really? Well, what do you suggest we do then?”

You blinked at his cooperative response. This was going too well for your liking, but perhaps your fate had decided to finally be nice to you for once. Shrugging at him, you said, “What else can we do? Let’s talk divorce.”

His heart jumped at the word but his face controlled all that he could express. The jump was not hectic enough for him to burst out of his usual character yet. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Minho smirked with a laugh. “Yeah, right. Why would the people who forced us together agree to separate us?”

It was your turn to laugh now. Everything was going as planned. You should be suspicious of that, but you’d rather relish in the present. “Oh, Minho,” you mused. “There isn’t much you know about arranged marriages, do you?”

He furrowed his brows at you in confusion, and for once you finally let your guard down. Standing up, you urged him to do the same as you walked over to the door. “Come on. I’ll cook us some food and we’ll talk about it together.”

“Like I said, I already got food.” Minho rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed suit behind you, his heart still beating fast.

You glanced down at your slippers and hummed. Now that he’s somewhat agreed to separation, you decided you no longer have to hold a grudge against him. Having some good, expensive food and talking about the shining end to your marriage sounded like a very great end to this problem. Turning to look behind your shoulder, you nodded at him. “Alright, let’s see what you got.”

If all goes as you assumed, you were almost one hundred percent sure his mother hates your guts. Unfortunately, the way to a perfect divorce in these dramatic circumstances was always through the male protagonists’ snobby and obnoxious mother, but you’ve got that covered! You’ve consumed so much media, these archetypes of people were predictable to you. 

You waited anxiously at the extravagant coffee house. It was a place for flower teas in floral China cups and overpriced cupcakes stacked in the shape of a fountain. You felt heavily out of place even with the expensive clothes you were wearing, and oh boy, were you anxious about being seen in public when your insides were scrambled with feelings of not belonging. Nobody could read your thoughts, but what if they could?

The conversation you had with Minho last night was a never-ending cycle of you trying to explain divorce to him and him shooting down all the possibilities you pull out of your pocket. He was defending this marriage like he wanted to keep it, and strangely, you would not be surprised that he did. After all, Minho could very well be that male character who was just stoic on the outside but was actually very sensitive on the inside.

However, that was none of your businesses. Who Minho was on the inside didn’t matter to you whatsoever. It poses no value if all he ever does is hide that part of him and mask himself with a terrible facade. An asshole with a secretly good heart is just an asshole. You have made the goal to divorce him, and there was that.

"Oh! There you are!”

An auntie-like voice jolted you out of your nervous state of mind, and you moved your eyes to find an old lady pulling out the chair before you and sitting down. She wore minimal makeup on her face, just enough to make her wrinkly skin shine over her old age. Her clothes were tacky and have an expensive air to them, which was typical of most expensive clothes. You supposed you were in no place to judge. 

“I am so sorry for being late!” she said. “I hope you haven’t been here for too long.”

“No, I got here five minutes ago.” You shrugged dismissively, your eyes too focused on watching her movement.

She who sat before you was none other than Minho’s mother, or so you thought who would be the bitch of the century. But everything she showed was against your normal drama characterizations—no tense shoulders, no frown, no condescending gaze, and no slow talking with an old woman nasal tone.

Instead, her eyes were warm as they glanced at you as if you were a long lost child of hers. She was more polite than ever as she explained why she was late for this supposed divorce conference you planned. This was completely unexpected. You weren’t sure how to react now that the possibility of not being able to bring up a divorce has risen.

“Do you know what you want to order?”

You blinked a few times at her and glanced down at the menu. You haven’t gotten the time to look at it, but it felt like you would lose your appetite as soon as you look at the prices printed on the menu. Picking up the menu, you gave her a faint smile and opened the booklet with a thick velvet cover. You laughed a little at yourself. There were no prices labeled. Of course. Rich people need not know how much things cost. Those irresponsible midgets only pay.

“I will get the green tea cake. It is my favorite,” she mentioned, finally setting down the menu.

“Oh, really? Then I guess I should try that out too,” you quickly followed, not really bothering to decide what you feel like consuming as you were already too busy thinking of what to do with your plan.

“Okay great! Let me call the waiter over!”

You smiled at her blindly, still not paying any attention to your surroundings. Oh, you have caught yourself on another stump, [Name]. While still wanting a divorce—oh god, this word would not be leaving your mind anytime sooner—you were starting to think perhaps Minho’s sweet mother would not be the easiest way to signing the papers. She doesn’t seem to hate you at all, which only served as a disadvantage to you in this situation.

You hummed. There was that. But just because she really liked you wouldn’t mean you couldn’t talk to her about wanting to end a marriage with her son. Perhaps a more civilized conversation could be held where you two talk the arranged marriage over like actual adults, and she would most likely only convince you to rethink your decision more carefully without knowing you already did.

It was not the path you were hoping to cross but it would still be a path with the desired result at the end, so you supposed there was no harm in being honest about what you want.

“What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

Alas, a lot of things are easier said than done. I am pretty sure you knew that fairly well with your many years of experience on Earth.

“I… uh…” You clenched your fists and squinted your eyes uncomfortably. The way you kept reminding yourself to be honest did nothing to your feelings.

Minho’s mother tilted her head to the side as her forehead creased with confusion. It was an expression she has never seen you have before, an expression that looked as if you were holding something back because you have something bad to say. To her knowledge, you never needed to say anything bad enough that it punches your moral consciousness in the gut. Not to her, at least. Not even when it was about her son.

“Is it about Minho–“

“I want a divorce.”

The second your voice dropped, so did her expression. You couldn’t look at her, and the striking remorse was baffling you. None of this was your fault, nor have you spend enough time to develop a bond with Minho’s mother, so why should you feel bad about telling her you wanted to leave her son? These people were all strangers! Was this the power of innate empathy people kept yapping about needing to possess?

A look of realization was apparent in her overall troubled expression. Her eyes sparking a hint of light as it dawned on her that Minho has finally done something that reached and crossed the breaking point for you, and it has tempted you to properly ask for a divorce. After the sudden startlement came a wave of tranquility, as if she already knew this would happen sooner or later.

“We can’t do that.” That was all she told you.

“Minho already told me about everything when we discussed this yesterday,” you pressed on carefully. “Legally, I can.”

She gave you a faint look of surprise, possibly from hearing that you and Minho had already talked this over. Then she sighed with a shook of her head. "If you two do get a divorce, there would be no reason for my husband to continue sponsoring your father’s company and keep it going. Your father’s legacy will fall.”

You held back a witty remark at the fact that she was talking as if your father was some prophet who died saving the world and you were supposed to be in line for his succession. Both your father and her husband were both just the CEO of some really big company, you assumed. You didn’t even know what company it was! Cosmetic? Convenience store? Toilet seats? You’d say let it crumble, but for the sake of who would inhabit your being when you return to your world, you denied that approach.

“Why do I have to marry your son for your husband to sponsor my father’s company?” you asked instead. “Sponsorship doesn’t require marriage. It only requires money.”

“Money requires relations,” she said. “He has no reason to help your father when your family was facing bankruptcy until you and Minho got married.”

You pursed your lips together. “There is no relationship going on between me and Minho.”

“And nobody has to know that,” she said, looking at you pointedly. For the first time, the soft aura she exuded was replaced with something formal, more businesslike. “Nobody knows that your marriage is an unhappy one except for me, [Name]. You were the one who caved in and told me.”

Minho had the sense to at least pretend as if he liked you in public. That was rather unexpected even though ‘acting as if everything is okay in front of people’ has always been the first rule to these arranged marriages. And the former you, too, knew enough to not show Minho that they were both uncomfortable and unappreciated when they were with him. 

Your hand flew up to your chin, and your fingertips lingered against the aftertouch of Minho’s grip. Your memories had conveniently left out the part where you dug your nails into his skin until it hurt and you never tried to see if his wrist was okay.

“I know Minho can be a little insufferable sometimes, but I hope that you can remember how much you love him whenever those times come,” she leaned forward to speak, her tone much more sympathetic now. “Of course, I am not telling you to never get mad at him. I just hope that you can love him, always, even when you hate him.”

You blinked nervously at her. That was profoundly cheesy and unrealistic. It wasn’t impossible, though. You were sure the former you had mastered the art of hating and loving Minho as a husband. But you weren’t them, and while you didn’t outrightly refuse to fall in love with Minho, he has done absolutely nothing to gain your good interest. The condescending gazes, the potential cheating, the dull voice, the rules, and bad temper—you just couldn’t like him at the moment. And if he doesn’t come back around and change his attitude, you were afraid the impression would become too hard to budge.

“And if that has become too hard for you to deal with, at least do it for your parents’ sake.”

Oh, she pulled the ‘dead parents’ card on you, [Name]! Destroying a person’s love life, even though it was a terrible love life, was a kind of guilt you believed you would get over eventually. But their parents were a whole different story. Family relationship was always a pickle. You’d hate to open the cabinet and steal the bones of those dusty skeletons with you. You wouldn’t suffer real consequences, only those your conscience imposes upon you. 

You scrunched your nose up in dismay, feeling stubborn and wanting to act on it so badly, but the situation was starting to feel more and more hopeless as it went on. Biting your lower lip, you asked with a soft voice, not wanting to startle any unwanted suspicion. “Do I… do I even love him at all?”

The look she gave you was patient as if she understood your mixed feelings. She nodded her head. “You have always told me you do. Unless you are lying to me, I don’t see how you don’t love my son.”

You grimaced. No duh? She would think the former you was in love with her son unless it was found to be a lie. That sentence didn’t need to be said. Nevertheless, you glanced down at your hands and clenched them together. You felt like yourself, you looked like yourself, and you sounded like yourself. However, no matter from which part you look at, this wasn’t your life. This ‘rich husband and a bad arranged marriage’ life wasn’t yours. The ‘working overtime and dunking down ramen soup’ life was yours and where you were only qualified enough to live.

If divorcing Minho would come with a package that held more than just leaving a toxic relationship, you would rather not do it. Suffering all the other consequences wasn’t your choice to make. 

Seeing the amount of stress that engulfed your body when you finally finished with lunch, your driver took the liberty to drive you all the way to a shopping mall so you could enjoy yourself and cool off some steam. It was a very heartwarming gesture, and you didn’t forget to thank him before you left the car and waited for him to drive away.

The shopping mall was regular. It was the kind of mall you would come across if you joined a tour group to travel to another country. You also liked to call it the shopping mall where you only walk in and never buy anything because every store inside was either too expensive or not of your taste. Most likely both. Despite having more than a sufficient amount of money on your hands at the moment, you just could not shake off the lack of interest for any of these high-end brands.

Puffing air into your cheeks, you chewed on the boba you just bought from a store located at a rather invisible corner. It was the only item you were willing to spend money on, and thank god the store did not try to amp up the prices as Disneyland would with a bottle of tasteless water just because it was located somewhere lavish.

Your mind has wandered off once again, as it has been doing recently. With these events happening all at once, and with your drama-obsessed brain’s absolute calculation, there was one very important thing missing from your life right now: the best friend.

It could be a man or a woman. Depending on the gender, their personalities would vary greatly in the most predictable and distasteful way ever. The man would be great; handsome, caring, smart, and unfortunately a doormat for everyone to step over. The woman, which you had a suspicion may be a role filled by Yuna already, would be terrible; beautiful but jealous and shallow. From what you’ve experienced, your best friend would mostly likely be a man. Possibly extremely in love with you but somehow never got picked, and now his opportunity has vanished due to an arranged marriage.

“Yeah–where is my super hot best friend?” You stopped in the middle of the mall, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction and lips jutted out into a thoughtful pout. You were dying to meet him, whoever he may be, all just to get a sense of relief that you’ve got somebody to lean on at a time like this.

(You wouldn’t fool me, though. I know you want to satisfy your second-lead syndrome.) 

Continuing to walk, your hearing slowly came back to reality and your ears began to pick up noises outside of those in your brain. A very familiar voice rang around your area and you paused once again to hear it more clearly.

“Come on, wouldn’t I look nice in this? Let’s go in, Minho!”

Your eyes rounded at the name and you pursed your lips together. How uncanny. You have never experienced such outrageous coincidence before. Out of all the shopping malls in this country, your husband has to be this particular one and at this particular spot. You squinted your eyes then, your straw sucking up nothing because it was pulled half-way into the air where there were no liquid. A continuous hallowing noise came through the suction, but you didn’t care. This was adding up to the scene of a misunderstanding. 

What should you do, you wondered. Make a scene? Complain? Cry about your cheating husband even though he probably wasn’t cheating? If only you were at a fancy restaurant! You’ve always wanted to throw a glass of wine at someone’s face!

“Walk away, [Name],” you muttered to yourself, even after all those excited thoughts, and you fastened your pace.

“Oh–hey! Hey, [Name], is that you?”

You almost choked on the boba in your mouth. Pressing your lips together, you snapped your head up with the most menacing glare you could muster to flash it at the new intruder, and immediately you came face to face with a man with the cutest grin you have ever seen. A strangled noise blew from your throat and came out of your pursed lips, almost out of your nostrils. It was an ugly sound but you could not care less as you beamed inwardly at the sight of the man approaching you. Chubby cheeks, nice smile, not very tall but muscular!

“Oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, “it’s you.”

“Yes, is it I,” he laughed at you. “Why? Did you miss me?”

“Definitely, you have no idea.” You nodded, still chewing on your boba.

He looked surprised for a moment as he tilted his head and that bright smile dimmed. His eyes turned into those of observant ones as he started to look you up and down, then he reached out to pinch your cheek gently while he hummed.

“[Name]…” he started slowly. “You look different. Did you do something–”

“Hands off, Seo Changbin.”

Hands off—what, oh my lord. You widened your eyes at the three simple yet demanding words, and you found your stupid heart leaping at them. Pursing your lips, you lowered your head to hide a smile. God, [Name], how low are your standards? How did that manage to get your heart racing?

Minho didn’t attempt to swat Changbin’s hand away from you, the latter did it on impulse upon seeing the unamused expression on Minho’s face. Raising an eyebrow, Changbin showed nothing more than a sarcastic smile as he leaned back on his weight and stared Minho down lazily from behind you.

“Minho, how wonderful to see you here,” Changbin greeted. His eyes darted to the side to find Yuna walking up to join the gathering, and his forehead creased with light anger for a second.

Shifting his gaze to you, he was surprised to find you sipping on your drink casually as your eyes darted between Yuna and Minho, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He raised an eyebrow at you and stood up straighter, completely confused by the lack of pain flickering in your eyes.

“Hey, Minho,” you greeted. “Hello to you too, Yuna.”

They looked as if they just got called out but despite the faintly rooted embarrassment, the two of them returned the greeting politely. The tension was high and thick, you couldn’t break it with just anything. Not even with a wave of Yuna’s perfectly manicured and sharp nails, which if you’ve had tried, they’re almost impossible to chip on purpose. 

“Well, if there is nothing important, I will be leaving.” You shrugged, not quite looking at Minho in the eyes. You couldn’t. Not after having lunch with his mother and after everything she has told you about him. Turning around, you smiled at Changbin. “I am hungry. Can we find somewhere to sit down and eat? Preferably a place with normal, human portion food.”

Changbin cleared his throat. Your remarks were weird. He discreetly threw a glance at Minho, not so much asking for permission but to access the sudden change of dynamic between you two. The man looked even more off-putting than you did, like he was confused and failing to pretend he understood the situation. It was hilarious. Changbin smirked to himself and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You gave him a soft smile of gratitude, happy that he agreed with no trouble. You didn’t suspect he would anyway; he was supposed to be a pushover. When you turned to Minho again, he looked as stoic as he has always been. You shivered at his expression and gave him a grimace. “Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Changbin stifled a laugh while Yuna widened her eyes in displeasure. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found it hard to shoot down the truth. Minho does keep his expression on constant angry mode and, while she wouldn’t bluntly say it the way you just did, she also would not mind seeing Minho crack a smile now and then.

“How do you expect me to smile when my spouse is out with someone else?”

“Rethink your sentence.” You glanced between him and Yuna.

Minho noticed and  heaved a sigh as he closed his eyes. He explained, “I didn’t plan to come out with her. She dragged me out here.”

You felt bad, and with your world’s state of capitalism and experiences of borderline free labor, feeling bad for someone that wasn’t yourself could be considered a golden empathetic response. Pursing your lips and sucking in a big, unwilling breath, you settled into a leg shaking motion to replace stomping in public like a child. You stopped after a brief moment once you realized you were too occupied with getting to know Changbin to care.

“Well,” you said, gesturing towards the heartbroken girl and already turning away. “There is no harm in letting her drag you around for another hour. You’re gonna have fun! I’ll see you at some point!”

Waving those two a generous goodbye, you quickly beckoned for Changbin to follow you before Minho could get the chance to say something your pettiness has to respond to. After walking for a little, Changbin finally breathed out a puff of air as he placed his hand on his chest to release the awkward tension.

“That was weird,” he said. “But hey, you handled that well! I am really surprised… and confused, I guess?”

“Of course I handled that well. Who do you think I am?” You rolled your eyes.

He laughed. “I guess there isn’t anything for you to worry about. You two are happily married after all.”

You blinked at his response, confused for only a short moment before you quietly exhaled an 'oh.’ Minho’s mother was telling the truth, 'you’ really did not tell anyone else aside from her about how unhappy this marriage has been for you and Minho. Not even the best friend knew.

You looked at the ground. Damn, you were hoping you could ignite some feverish fire between you two. Changbin seemed like someone who you could have amazing chemistry with, as best friends and perhaps, as lovers. However, judging by the way he acted around Minho and how he didn’t seem to mind your marriage at all, you doubted his affection for you was any more than just very close friends. The best friend zone—a delicate place, with steel walls and whatnot. 

“Yeah, I really wouldn’t worry.” You smiled.

“Besides, if anything is to happen to Minho and Yuna then it would have ages ago.” Changbin shrugged. “Nothing ever did.”

You grimaced at his remark. Oh god, Yuna. You poor girl.

Minho looked up at the clock. He could feel his anxiousness increase as the clock ticked away the morning after midnight. Checking his phone again, it took him another glance at his zero missed calls and zero new texts to remember you had left your phone at home before you went outside this afternoon.

Changbin still has not read the single, semi-threatening text Minho sent before ten o'clock asking about your whereabouts and demanding him to send you home immediately. He did figure that a reply would be too generous of an act from Changbin. For one, Changbin hated Minho. For two, you were forcibly married to Minho, which only made the hatred go even deeper into the ground. At this point, Minho was one broken secret away from being torn to shreds by your best friend. 

He bit his lower lip as his eyes trailed over to the clock once again.

Where were you? You have never been home this late before. Not to mention your actions today at the shopping mall! It was nothing like what Minho thought you were capable of! You had never once ditched him to hang out with Changbin. He practically doesn’t exist whenever you so much as feel Minho’s presence, not because you were scared of him but because you genuinely did love him.

You did love him, did you not? He was sure you did. 

In the midst of his thoughts, the front door to the house conveniently swung open. You stepped into the living room and immediately, the old lady who you saw the other morning rushed up to you with a worried look on her face.

“Where have you been!” She lightly hit your arm as she scolded.

You gave her a faint laugh. Her harmless scolding was endearing to you. You hadn’t known you shared such an affectionate dynamic but you weren’t surprised, nor were you opposed to it.

“Changbin took me to a lot of places,” you replied. “Today was fun!”

“Oh, dear lord–and you left your phone at home too!” she said. “You got Minho worried sick–you got me worried sick! I was gonna go home but I wanted to make sure you will come back safely.”

To be frank, you had beeped her out for the most part of her words. Mildly focusing on cooing at her about how Changbin had taken very good care of you this whole day, and her looking as if you were chanting some forbidden spell because you were talking about another man, your mind lingered on the piece of information she gave you: you got Minho worried sick. 

Call it your calculative and distrusting nature, but you were having a hard time believing he did it out of care. He thought you unfaithful likely just as much as you thought him. You were okay with the feelings being mutual for now. 

“I’m sorry for coming back so late. I will make sure to bring my phone next time.”

“You make sure to come back home early next time!” she exclaimed. “Don’t forget your phone again!”

“Okay, I promise.” You nodded, pursing your lips into a grin.

She waved at your expression that mirrored that of an ignorant child. You were listening, you just weren’t really taking her seriously, in the most respectful and playful way possible.

“You kids,” she sighed and placed her wrinkly hand on your arm. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

Your chest warmed and you instantly knew why. You missed your mom. She would probably pamper you like this too if you ever came home this late, and probably with a much longer and serious lecture. You wouldn’t know, though. You lived far and you were always working now that you have grown up. Once you were able to return to your world, you figured giving your parents a visit wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

“I did. I ate dinner,” you said. “I am really full.”

“Are you sure? I can cut you some apples if you want. There are fruits in the kitchen! Or maybe you want some oranges?”

“No, that’s okay.” You smiled at her gratefully. “I am full. I ate so much today.”

“Okay,” she said, albeit she appeared suspicious. “If there is nothing else then I am going to go home.”

“Now? It’s really late. Why don’t you stay here?” you suggested, turning around to look out the window by the door before turning back to her.

“No worries. The driver was waiting for you to come home too so I can ask for a free ride,” she laughed as she moved over to the front door. Before she left, she turned around to face you slightly, and she nagged, “Go tell Minho you’re back!”

You only gave her a forced smile in response. As soon as those doors closed, a sarcastic and exaggerated grimace appeared on your face. You turned around, walking into the house as you mumbled mean nothings under your breath about not believing that Minho was actually worried about your whereabouts. He’s definitely got better things to do, and it wasn’t as if he cared. Why should he worry? This has to be a dignity issue. 

Despite not wanting to talk to him, you found yourself walking to his office anyway. Clearing your mind and your throat, you pursed your lips together in dismay before you knocked on the door. Your eyes widened when it immediately swung open, the lack of waiting you needed to do startling you. Minho’s furrowed brows relaxed for a brief second at the acknowledgment that you were fine and back under the roof, but as usual, he returned to his annoyed state before you could catch the concern appearing in his eyes.

He thought twice about reaching over to grab your arm so he could pull you into the room; the emotional fragment in his chest still aching, even though it wasn’t his place to hurt over something he did to you. Hesitantly taking a step back, he opened the door wider and cleared his throat to put emphasis on his current, very annoyed mood. “We need to talk.”

That is never good. The words itself were fine, but the gloomy tone was never good. Despite never hearing that from anybody other than your parents, your muscles clenched at the simple idea of what that line contained, especially now that you were supposedly married. Taking a tentative step forward, you spared Minho a glance before you walked into the office and paused right in the middle of the room.

You grimaced at the memory of when you were here last time. It was not a good sight to see, not that you had many complaints about whatever really went down back then because you still, until this moment, have zero care of Minho’s love life outside of this failing marriage. The grimace on your face expanded when the door slammed shut. You turned around and eyed Minho with a surprised look.

He glared back at you, obviously angry, and you seemed to have an idea as to why that was. He walked near you, but not close enough to create too much intimidation, and he crossed his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been out,” you said, calmly in hopes that it would rub off on him. “To malls and the streets. Nowhere too far away from here.”

“You were out for really long. Do you know what time it is?” He asked. “It’s way past midnight!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, really,” you said. “I wasn’t actively checking the time and, well, one thing led to another and by the time we finished chatting, it’s past twelve!”

Minho gulped down the competitiveness that arose when he heard that you have been out with Changbin for the entire day, having fun and chatting like a pair of best friends, which he often forget you were. It should be normal but Minho could not help the tinted jealousy that continued to pour out of his lips in the form of regrettable words. Not to mention, his feelings were magnified after the conversation you both had about a divorce.  

He has really gotten too used to receiving your undivided love and attention that, upon the vaguest chance of anybody stealing the throne away, he growls and attacks to make sure he keeps it to himself. Rolling his eyes, he scoffed out a laugh, the corner of his lips quirked up into an unamused smirk. His arms fell from his chest and landed on his side where they found a place to rest on his hips.

“Oh, right, I forgot you were having fun with Changbin.”

“Oh?” The questioning sound was inaudible. Your mind spun fast to understand what he meant with those petty words, and despite being quite entertained by his reaction, you still felt bitter at how unfairly he was treating you. “Yet, you are with Yuna today.”

“Like I said, she dragged me out–“

“You are a grown, not to mention a man. You have more than enough capability to refuse any unwanted situation,” you said. “All you had to do was tell her no. She would have listened to you considering how much she likes you.”

“What? You’re just going to be mad at me about that for the rest of your life?” Minho clicked his tongue in annoyance. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away to convince himself not to explode. “You know, I’ve got plenty of reasons to be mad at you about too!”

You shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

“You went to talk to my mom about getting a divorce,” he accused, his eyes sparklingly wide. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was so upset that he was about to cry.

A part of you was shocked that she told on you, but you wouldn’t put the blame on her for talking to her own son about his relationship. You just hoped she didn’t disclose in detail what you talked to her about. After all, you have really only known Minho for a few days. Your bad opinions of him, although true, were not ideals you wanted to weigh on his back for the rest of his life. A couple of days should not sum up his entire life.

However, in the heat of this situation, your logic was completely thrown out and you both were only aiming to hurt and blame each other as much as you could.  

“Huh… I see.” Your shoulder relaxed and your gaze softened as a realization dawned upon you. “You aren’t mad about me coming home late. You don’t care about that at all,” you breathed out a faint, bitter chuckle, “you’re just mad because I talked to your mom about getting a divorce and you got an earful today.”

“Oh, oh no. It is so much more than that.”

“What else are you mad about?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you desperately tried to defend yourself the same way Minho was trying to stand on his ground. “If this is about Changbin, I highly suggest you stop caring–“

“I have to care!” He raised his voice, taking a step towards you. He stopped when you took the same steps back. “We are married, and you just went running off with some other man for an entire day–”

“Let’s not act like you love me enough to care about who I am with, Minho,” you pointed out, furrowing your brows at him. “Even if we are married legally, emotionally, we are as connected as parallel lines.”

He paused at your pretentious yet still poetic line, wondering since when have you gotten the ability to talk with your chin up like that. Then he snapped back to the argument at hand, his head tilting to the side as he hardened his gaze at you. But he wasn’t that angry anymore. He was confused, or at least baffled. “You don’t think I care about you even a slightest bit?”

You heaved a sign. Well, let’s count off all the things he has done for you so far: putting you back to your bed after you fainted, buying you dinner, being a little possessive when Changbin was pinching your cheek, worrying about you being late. For sure, those were pretty heart-racing things to do, and it seemed the effect on your fragile feelings were magnified with his good-looks. But it would not be enough if he only does good things in the shadow. His pretty silhouette could never outrun the shadow that was his stone-cold facade, and he was over here chasing after the impossible sun.

“Maybe a little bit, but I don’t want to settle for a little bit of care,” you told him. “Especially when there is someone out there who is able to provide me with so much more straightforwardly.”

Minho laughed sardonically, rolling his eyes. “We just circle back to that insufferable best friend of yours–“

“No!” You snapped, clapping your hands together on impulse.

Your eyes were wide and teary now, you were really getting into the argument. It felt almost exhilarating; you have never fought with anyone like this before. Fighting over love and whatnot. It wasn’t what you hoped to do. You were really aiming for a much calmer conversation. But at the mention of Changbin, who has been nothing but patient and kind to you, you could not stop yourself from setting the record straight.

“This has nothing to do with Changbin. It has everything to do with you and your shitty attitude, Minho, starting from the first moment I met you until now!” You counted off your fingers, numbering the things he’s done. “You look at me like I’m beneath you. You talk to me like I’m not important at all. We don’t share a bed, we don’t share a closet. You set rules for me around the house. From the sound of it, I’m not even supposed to step into your room. Why is that, Minho? I am really curious about that, truly.”

You stopped talking, but you and him both knew there was more to say than all that you have spoken of.

“I have never complained about anything, have I? All I did is love you, and you took advantage of that to become a spoiled brat,” you said, your hands joined together for a moment before they released each other. Your fingers lingered on the ring, twisting it and turning it as you contemplated your next move.

Minho was speechless as he stared at the ground, but his head was positioned high enough for you to still see his expression. For the first time, he looked genuinely distressed. His fist clenched at his side and his lips trembling in realization. Of these past two days, of all the times before you were even here, of how he has treated you.

You breathed out a soft sigh after calming down. You were sure Minho must have good qualities in him that made ‘you’ fall in love with him in the first place. And, bouncing back to all the dramas you have watched, all characters like him are often too romantically incapable when it came to expressing their true feelings. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you, it was just that he didn’t know how to show it. People like him need a lot of time and comfort, which you were completely willing to give if he was willing to try.

“Look, Minho.” You volunteered to step up so you could be closer to him, closing the distance for an unreachable form of intimacy. You looked at him, an unknown feeling coming over you as you gently tipped his chin up with your fingertips. He looked at you, surprised, but he listened. “I am sure I loved you for a reason, but I can’t love you when you’re like this. I refuse to.”

“How could anyone ever love you like this?” Nobody can, Minho. Not when you couldn’t show the pile of gold locked up in your heart. What have you been so afraid of? Why wouldn’t you let it out?

Minho’s eyes watered and he bit his feelings back. “What do you want me to do?”

“If I tell you then there’s no meaning to it.” You shrugged as you let him go, and he missed the warmth of your touch. You reached for your own hand as you smiled politely at him. “You can hold onto this for me.”

You left the room after you handed him the object. The door closed behind him and Minho opened his hand. The wedding ring stood on his palm, shining bright and expensive. 

It looked as if it would cost him his entire heart.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi Elanor, we met briefly on the taping of your husband's fringe show and you were super nice, no good deed etc. I'm pretty sure I've seen you post about lecturing at a uni.

I've been thinking about heading back to uni for a master's, with the possibility of a career shift into academia after, but I'm somewhat wary of the lack of job security with fixed term contracts and such, and just generally unsure how one goes about getting a job teaching at uni. Most people I know in academia are primarily interested in research, with the idea of lecturing being mostly incidental, I'm almost the other way around.

How did you get started in your field, and how much of that do you think applies to new entrants today? Did you have to/get to make a choice between research and lecturing? Any insight you might have, or a starting point for further research would be greatly appreciated.

Hello again! It was lovely meeting you!

Sure, yes, so, my path in began as an HPL - an hourly paid lecturer. A colleague on my old degree course was signed off work with stress, so another old lecturer of mine was asking if any graduates wanted to do a bit of lecturing to cover him. It coincided with my job losing its main funding and so going to part time hours, so it worked.

It started as one module for one semester. Which became the module for the year, then two and a half the following year, then four the next two years. And then, under UK law, if you hold an HPL contract with the same institution for four years, they have to give you a proper contract, so now I'm on a permanent four days a week with full lecturer status.

And then if you do it that way round i.e. become a lecturer before holding a teaching qualification, the uni will pay to put you through a PCET - I'm due to finish my PCET in May this year.

HPL work... Well. There are advantages and disadvantages to this approach. HPLs are the lecturing equivalent of hospital cleaning staff - absolutely vital and chronically overlooked and underpaid. It's a zero hours position, so you get paid only for the time you spend actually delivering the lectures, at a rate (IIRC it was about £33 per hour?) that assumes one hour's prep for every two hours lecture. Needless to say, prepping a two hour lecture takes longer than an hour. You also don't get paid for the marking you do, and you receive basically no guidance on how to actually teach - best case scenario is that they can give you copies of the lecture slides used by previous academics in the role, which you can use as a guide or amend to your liking. And the final topping on the shit cake is that HPL contracts run for a semester at a time, so they very much fall into the 'precarious employment' bracket.

But, as I say, you can very quickly make yourself indispensable, and then after four years they have to give you a contract. Or, you just do it to mine it for the experience for a CV. I've known people who did HPL work for two unis at once while studying a PCET and then walked into a proper position in a third elsewhere.

Because the other root is to get a Masters, get a PCET (as part of which you need to do a placement anyway), and then apply for lecturer roles. Again, advantages and disadvantages - these days, lecturer roles are hotly contested. But it's very possible, I know many who have done it.

So! Regarding the other part of your question!

Some universities are more teaching focused, others are more research focused, some are a bit of both. If you know that the main thing you want to do is the teaching part, then you want to give priority to the universities that are more teaching focused themselves. These are usually the non-Russell Group prestigious ones, particularly the ones with a slightly more local student body. Anything with a qualifier like 'Metropolitan' after its name, either now or in the recent past, is a good idea - in Wales, for example, UWTSD includes the old Swansea Met, USW includes the old Cardiff Met, etc. Those are more teaching focused institutions (and therefore better at serving non traditional students, too, especially disabled ones), so in career terms, those are handy to shoot for.

(Also, those can have high turnovers of research academics by contrast. So it's usually relatively easy to get HPL work from them to plug employment gaps.)

Anyway - that's me. Good luck if you do decide to try it! Let me know if you have any other questions

[hoeratius]

okay, asking this question is maybe the dumbest i've ever felt bc it feels like there should be a straightforward, obvious answer here, but every time i've tried to look it up, i've found nothing but pages upon pages of what feels like people talking in circles and only serving to make me more confused in the end. since you're the most knowledgable person i follow when it comes to the Classics, i figured this might be a good place to ask and maybe get an actual answer? (that being said, it's fine if you don't want to/don't have the time to answer this! obviously!!)

where can i read about the older greek myths? as in pre-trojan war. mostly, i'm interested in theseus but also just pre-trojan war stories in general. i know not everything got the iliad/odyssey treatment and there's probably not any surviving text to point at in a lot of cases, but there must've been something. every time i try to look up where to read about the history of theseus, i'm being directed to a bunch of modern retellings, but google has gotten so bad as a search engine, i literally cannot find anything about the origins of this thing everybody's retelling

from what i understand, theseus was sort of everywhere sticking his nose in everything at all times, so i'm not asking for a comprehensive timeline of his whackass life and everything he ever appeared in or anything, but if you could point me in the direction of anything about him--actual plays or academic texts, anything like that--that's more credible than, like, a self-published, self-described "bold new reimagining" with a stock image of a dude in party city roman cosplay as the cover, it would be MUCH appreciated 😭

(again, sorry about how... basic this question is i guess lol? i'm very new to classics in general and still pretty ignorant about everything, so it's EXTREMELY likely that this is a very dumb question with a very obvious answer, but thank you regardless!)

Hello! What an exciting ask (and apologies for my excited and maybe incoherent answer)!

Since you seem to be most interested in Theseus, I’ll use him as an example but much of this can be applied to other Greek heroes/myths/stories more generally.

As you noted, few get the Iliad/Odyssey treatment. In fact, even Achilles and Odysseus don’t, considering the Iliad spans only 7 weeks or so, and the Odyssey misses out on Odysseus’s actions before and during the Trojan War, and after he came home – and he did a lot after he came home. So where to go to find all the other stories that happened?

Some things to keep in mind:

Writers assumed their audience was familiar with the hero’s greatest deeds already

The big boys – Achilles, Odysseus, Theseus, Perseus, Heracles, Oedipus – had their stories shared in many formats. Think of the Parthenon metopes, which show Theseus’s key deeds in sculpture, or vases, hymns, public performances, bedtime stories, etc. People would encounter these often enough that the outlines of these heroes’ stories were known to them from a young age.

One of the Metopes of the Parthenon, showing (probably) Athena and Theseus.

As a result, ancient texts never show the entire story; they select the moment they want to tell and focus in on that. Hence the Iliad focuses on Achilles’s wrath, the Odyssey emphasises his homecoming, and the Argonautica tells the story of the Golden Fleece. Similarly, tragedies will choose a meaningful moment: not all of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra’s struggles, but his return home in the Agamemnon, or the events that lead directly to Pentheus’s dismemberment in the Bakchai.

So finding one text that will give you a useful overview will be hard!

These heroes are often also connected to so many other famous characters, that sometimes they show up as a side character in their stories, so it depends on which stories capture your interest most.

Pre-Homeric texts are few and far between

But this is not to say there aren’t pre-Trojan-War myths!

There are loads! Anything with Heracles or Theseus is pre-Iliadic, and others, like the house of Pelops, link more to the Trojan War but are also separate from it. Plus, there is Hesiod’s Theogony (roughly contemporary with Homer), which tells of the births of the gods and goes all the way back to the start of the universe.

The Ovid situation

Many Greek texts are lost, and we’ve only got allusions to this or that part of the myth in the existing fragments, etc. etc. So how do we still know so much about so many of these stories?

Enter my fave: Ovid.

Far later than Homer (1st century versus 8th century BC), but with access to all the Greek texts and them some, he wrote a lot of fairly comprehensive stories. These include the Heroides, letters written from the perspective of female characters trying to connect to their male lovers, with letter 10 coming from Ariadne to Theseus, and Metamorphoses 8 with parts of Theseus’s story.

If you’re looking for a high-level overview of what was what in ancient myth, starting with the Metamorphoses will give you all the big boys and many of the smaller ones.

Theseus specifically:

I must admit that Theseus is not my strong suit, but sources I’m familiar with that I would recommend:

Hippolytus, by Euripides and Phaedra by Seneca: these both tell of Theseus’s second wife Phaedra falling for his son Hippolytus and causing his death

Catullus 64: A lament from Ariadne after Theseus has abandoned her on Naxos

Metamorphoses 8, 12, by Ovid: Snippets of Theseus’s life, incl the Minotaur

Ones I’m not as familiar with but might be up your street:

Life of Theseus, Plutarch: a historian/scholar’s biography. He had them in pairs, where he compared the two; Theseus is linked to Romulus

The Argonautica, Apollonius Rhodus: Follows Jason in his quest for the Golden Fleece; Theseus is one of his heroes

Oedipus at Colonnus, Sophocles: apparently Theseus is a major side character here but I don’t remember!

There is also The King must Die by Mary Renault, a modern retelling from the ‘80s that blew me away. The only book set in ancient Greece I’ve ever read that doesn’t shy away from how alien their culture and values are to us today and doesn’t try to sugarcoat things.

And if you’re looking for more heroes: Wikipedia is your friend!

The Classics-related pages are pretty reliable, and they often mention the main sources per character.  

I hope this gets you started but please do hit me up with more questions, I always love diving into these things!

[coquettebratzdoll]

THE MYTH OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

After being in the manifestation and shifting community for many years now (mainly on YouTube and tumblr), I realised that there isn't much questioning. There are some concepts that are unanimously accepted as fact (regardless of whether it's true or not). Now that led me to a realisation, the myth of the subconscious mind.

The subconscious mind is described as the part of your mind that notices and remembers information when you are not actively trying to do so and influences your behaviour even though you do not realize it. It is one of the fundamentals, the backbone of the beliefs in these communities. Many of our decisions and methods are built off of the fundamental belief of the existence of the subconscious. There are people who believe that it is the subconscious that makes you manifest/shift, more power to you if this applies to you. I am here to provide an alternative view and challenge this notion.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Before I go any further, let me explain how I came to this conclusion. So I have been feeling major dissonance - I know that my assumptions create my reality, but I still assume that it can't possibly be that easy (it is). It leads me to constantly be fighting with myself in my own mind, whereas I AM just accepts the things I say unconditionally. It leads to me manifesting things so quickly and successfully but only 'small' things, which reaffirms my beliefs, creating a negative feedback loop. My thoughts are a symptom of an issue that I desire to address.

So I am not interested in having this 💀 so I was thinking how I can address this dissonance. That's when it hit me. My subconscious isn't real. When I tell yall that I was stood shook like 🧍‍♀️. It was my own epiphany moment. Like HELLO !?!? I did that 💅💅

Also, quick disclaimer: these are just my thoughts and exploration of fundamental ideas in this community. You are still entitled to your own opinion. Just have an open mind while reading the rest of the post ♡♡♡

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“I AM is a feeling of permanent awareness. The very center of consciousness is the feeling of I AM. I may forget who I am, where I am, what I am, but I cannot forget that I am. The awareness of remains, regardless of the degree of forgetfulness of who, where, and what I am.

-NG

Neville Goddard teaches that we are nothing but I AM. It is our truest form of self, of being. We are not our bodies, minds, thoughts, feelings, brains, etc. So why are we giving up our power and ourselves to the subconscious mind ? So much of what we do is built off of the assumption that it is the subconscious mind that allows it to come into fruition. That's not the case !! It is only the case if you assume it to be. Neville Goddard teaches us about our assumptions; "An assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact." Despite knowing this, many still choose to put the power into the hands of their subconscious.

By sacrificing our power to the subconscious mind, we are imitating control. We are the operant power, living a human experience - imitating struggle. By choosing to be aware of your I AMness, you are choosing to let go of the struggle and accept your power. So why would you give up a portion of that power to an imaginal being ? One you created yourself. You are essentially imitating an earthly struggle to imitating a godly struggle - at the end of the day, it's all imitation.

"Let us put and end to these fears and the worship of creation. There is only ONE Lord and that is your own I AMness. When I say and feel "I AM" that is the Lord. I don't feel after anything else. If I need security, I do not try to gather all the money in the world or put my house on some mountain away from everyone. I do not try to do good deeds hoping a god will give my security. No. I go to the ONE Lord, the ONE God and I feel after safety using the name of I AM. I feel after it instead of trying to find it in the world. I feel after I AM secure."

-EA

Edward Art is clearly saying what we all should apply. Do not go to the subconscious. It is just an unnecessary middleman between I AM and the ego. It serves no other purpose aside from what you assign to it. By relying on the subconscious to do what you can do without it, you are worshipping your own creation. Putting it on a pedestal, which it doesn't belong on.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Barbados is imaginary.

In his work (Series 2, part 3), Edward Art reveals to us that Barbados is imaginary. Neville was at the imaginary Barbados with his imaginary self. He makes an important distinction by this, however. Imaginary isn't unreal, rather something that is unseen; "I am not saying 'imaginary' to suggest 'not real.' I am not trying to play pretend with you. By imaginary, I just mean unseen, substance, a realm. I do not mean unreal. So I interact within this realm just as I would in this outer realm." By treating all as imaginary, we are granting ourselves whatever we desire immediately. There is no time lag, no delay, no reflection, nothing of the sort. It is imagined then assumed. By feeling the need to go through a subconscious mind, you are creating another layer that is unnecessary. You are creating a delay. Even if you assume that the subconscious will be able to manifest it instantly, your imagination already had it long before. After all, how did the desire appear in the first place ? Through your imagination.

In relation to the subconscious mind, it only exists through our imagination (as does all else), yet it is treated as the source of reality, not another method of executing that reality. I AM is the source of all things (reminds me of qur'anic teachings, but I'll save that for another post). Nothing is greater than us. We must see past the fog and fully accept our I AMness.

The subconscious mind is imaginary.

[turbulentscrawl]

Teehee hello hello!

Can I request Norton Campbell with an s/o (preferably male but gender neutral is fine too) born from nobility that acts like the opposite of him. They've been through so much in life, almost at par with his or probably worse. And yet they still care about the others, putting everyone else first before them. They are also a little too reckless, often doing body blocks from the hunter. They know how people can be cruel but they're still generous and thoughtful, although knowing when to stop and prevent themselves from being trampled over.

This is the first request I ever received here!

Just to be totally transparent, this one took so long to fill because I honestly don’t like the noble/wealthy reader x Norton dynamic. (As I’ve said several times before, he hates the rich. And being “the exception” to hatred/bias is neither a safe nor a healthy relationship.)  I’m still willing to accept requests for it…but the time I spend filling them will be far between, and frankly they won’t be the sweetest things you’ve ever read.

“So what the fuck was that supposed to be?” Norton asks as he approaches you in the infirmary. You look at him quizzically, and it’s a welcome distraction from Emily’s aching efforts to remove the spikes lodged in your back.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Don’t,” Norton snaps, though a bit more quietly after a pointed look from Emily. “Don’t play dumb. I’m talking about your reckless behavior in that match. In ALL the matches. We already had a win. We were at. The. Gate. And you went back? Against the fastest Hunters possible, no less.” To be more precise, you, Norton, and Emma were at the gate. Three of your four-man team.

“I wasn’t going to leave Jose like that,” you explain, recalling how he’d struggled against the restraints of the rocket chair. People’s desperation in those moments always made your heart bleed. Jose didn’t want to die anymore than you or anyone else did. Regardless of the method.

“So you thought it was smart to go marching back out to try and collect him,” Norton says. Emily is trying very hard to look like she isn’t taking in any of your conversation. One of those spikes finally comes out, and you hiss at the sting. Emily applies a disinfectant, and presses hard on your back to staunch the flow of blood. Norton somehow scowls more at your pained expression, and you have to remind yourself it was mostly out of concern.

“I did collect him,” you correct through pain-clenched teeth.

“And nearly got yourself chaired in the process. Then what? We’d still have a three-man win, plus the injuries to attend to.”

“But I didn’t, and now we’ve a four-man win,” you express softly. Norton throws his hands in the air, looking about ready to toss the infirmary. You have to remind yourself, too, about all he’s been through. By himself. That the selfish mindsets he has are born of strategy and survival, and not empathy.

Norton pauses in his pacing and looks at Emily. She finishes applying the bandage to the wound she’d opened, saying, “Don’t take too long. I still have to dig out all the little broken pieces.” You almost tell her not to worry, that they’ll be gone and healed tomorrow, but suspect she runs this infirmary to keep her own skills sharp as much as for everyone’s comfort. When the door was shut, Norton dragged a chair in front of your bed and sat down, straddling it backwards.

“You have to stop assuming you’ll be able to accomplish every good deed your head conjures up,” he says, cutting to the point. You’ve had this conversation many times before, and it always hurts when he brings it up again.

“I can’t, Norton,” you say. “You know I can’t.”

“You can,” he insists. “If I can get over my distaste of you being rich, if I can work with people I don’t like, keep the hunters off them in the middle of matches, then you can stop trying to play knight-in-shining-armor. Everyone here knows what we’re in for and that sacrifices have to be made sometimes. Yeah, sometimes your little plans work out for you. Today it did. But your plans have gone ass-up sometimes, too, and it costs us. A draw is not a win, okay? And at the end of the day, we’re all still hoping for some kind of reward for these wins. So if we have a win already, take it. I already hate you gambling your own safety, but it’s more than that too.”

“I can’t just accept that,” you finally say to him after a long, thinking pause. “This place…is so awful. If we don’t try to look out for one another, we’ve got nothing. When I see the others hurt, or scared…I can’t just leave them to think they’re suffering that alone. And it’s not like I just let everyone walk all over me.” Norton grunts a bit and stands from his seat. He’s clearly annoyed, but he ruffles your hair a bit in spite of that. A sign that he just needs time to calm down.

“Looking out for people doesn’t just mean bleeding for them,” he says, turning to leave the room. “I’ll send the doc back in. Rest up, see you at dinner.”

He shuts the door behind himself, leaving you in a quiet, white room, with no solution in sight to this repeat disagreement.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Marinette being a protagonist with black-and-white thinking and low empathy high sympathy could have been interesting if they had her learn and grow from it instead of saying she's been right all along and barely giving her a slap on the wrist for the times she was being a jerk

YEAH IT'S

It's so fascinating because it's very. It's very realistic. I brought this point up with Chloé before but it also applies to Marinette where like.

She is a child who grew up believing certain things because that's what her parents taught her. And while in Mari's case her parents are teaching her /good/ things, she hasn't fully experienced the shades of gray that exist.

So a lot of her friends actions and even her own actions get excused in her mind because they're good people trying their best. Meanwhile someone 'bad' like Chloé can't do 'good' things without it having to be some kind of trick or secretly bad. She must be using Sabrina, she only thinks of Adrien as a trophy, etc.

And while Chloé is a complicated situation of being cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. She does bad things and good things and is hard to read.

But then we have Kagami!

Kagami is entirely innocuous! She isn't rude to Marinette, or anyone else! She's not a bully! She can be a touch arrogant and strong-headed, but she is very quick to admit and remedy her mistakes when she does so. Her only 'crime' is liking Adrien. But Marinette likes Adrien, and Marinette and Adrien are Good People™ in True Love™ so Kagami must be a Bad Person™ because she's trying to get between them! Since she's a Bad Person™, it's okay for the Good Person™ to stop their Evil Deeds™. When, in reality, Kagami is a nice-but-not-sugary-sweet person who was considered a cold bitch because Marinette was petty and jealous.

Zoé is the opposite example!

Marinette's first encounter with Zoé just involves Zoé buying pastries and not acting like a total bitch. So even though she shows up the next day as Chloé's half-sister who is just as mean as she is, Marinette goes 'oh but she was able to be nice to me once! Surely the nice is her real personality and this is just an act she feels she has to put on because of her shitty family!'. She happens to be right this time, but she has no proof that Zoé is 'good' other than one instance of not being a dick when there's probably plenty of times where Chloé has managed to purchase something without going full Karen-mode on a cashier.

Hell! Let's swing over to Adrien! Marinette 100% judged him and assumed he was Chloé 2.0 even though he was very obviously trying to clean off her seat and apologize then. He had to practically beg for forgiveness and then it's a 180 flip where 'oh he must be so perfect!'.

And yeah if Marinette ever really learned anything from these interactions..... The closest we get is the Adrien thing where it just flips Bad to Good, and the Kagami thing she feels bad about for like .5 seconds but never /really/ reconciles and becomes Kagami's friend until after the Adrigami breakup. (She might start at the end of Ikari Gozen, but she's still down to sabotage her in Heart Hunter so.)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I don't think there will be an apology coming from Félix for whatever bad deed he had done and that's always make me baffled in this show : the lack of apology on screen. This is more apparent in s4 onward. Even Ladybug didn't actually apologized to Chat Noir despite her rant in Strike Back and not to mention the lack of changed behavior after that. It's the same with Félix, he's good now the show said, it's as if we should assume there's an apology happened somewhere off screen. I know this show is like "Show, don't tell" but for a show for a little kid, I think they should shown an on screen apology because that would be a good example for them.

On the other topic,

How believable Félix's play is? Like, his whole character seems to be all about facade, charade, deception and lie and it make me skeptical to everything he said or do. How much he said is truth and how much is a lie, I couldn't tell. The retcon doesn't help either and at this point I feel want to dissect his brain to get to know just what's inside his mind lmao.

Canon is super weird about letting people apologize. We almost never see it happen even when we really should. For example, it will always low-key bother me that Marinette never apologized to Adrien for yelling at him over the gum incident. I do get why, it would have ruined the flow of the scene, but still...

A few other random apologies that I long to see:

Nino apologizing to Adrien for almost getting him pulled from school

Alya apologizing to Marinette for all the Lila BS

Alya acknowledging that trying to out Ladybug's secret identity was a bit of a dick move (not really salty about this one, I just think it would have been good character growth and that it kinda needed to happen before Alya was given a miraculous of her own)

Felix apologizing for everything he did to Ladybug

Nino apologizing to Alya for outing her secret identity and acknowledging that he'll never do that again since he now understands how important secret identities are

Before we get to your other question, I wanted to mention that show don't tell doesn't mean that characters should never say things! There are lots of things that can only be conveyed through words. The show don't tell rule primarily applies to exposition. Aka those scenes where a character or the narrator monologues about some event or bit of lore that the audience needs to know about.

Generally speaking, you want to avoid those moments whenever you can. However, exposition is sometimes the only way to get information across. It's not a major failing if your story has a bit of exposition somewhere along the way, you just want to use it sparingly! A lot of writers struggle with that, which is why there are so many writing guides that act like exposition is a bad thing. A stance that I will always fight against as I think it makes younger writers afraid to use a necessary and powerful tool.

How believable is Félix's play?

I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing ends up getting retconned, but I also I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing ends up being canon straight to the end. It could really go either way.

A play is a good way to give exposition as it's far more interesting that a monologue, so this may just be a case of the writers giving good exposition. On the other hand, having a known liar deliver information allows you to say something without fully committing to it, so this may be the writers giving us lore in a way that they can backtrack on without a true retcon. It's impossible to say. Only time will tell.

[elitadream]

Happy MAR10 Day! Though this may be a little late now depending on when you answer… ^^;

I’ve headcanoned for a while that once the connection was made (March 10 - Mar 10 - Mario), Princess Peach would declare it a national holiday, a day that celebrates Mario’s heroic deeds and for everyone to show their appreciation not just to him, but Luigi as well! Though, that’s all assuming that world uses the same calandar and month names as us.

I’ve yet to decide if Luigi or Peach would be the first to figure it out, but Mario would have no idea until it’s pointed out to him by either. I could see Luigi mentioning it to Peach and they spend the next few days figuring out how they can show their love and appreciation, as well as any festivities for the new holiday. Mario would, of course, be super humble about it, but feeling the love nevertheless. :)

Likewise! :D It's still the 10th here for me, so it definitely still applies! 😁

OMG I've had a pretty similar headcanon for a while too actually!! 😍🙌 Peach creating a holiday in honor of the bros is such a sweet thought, and something I could totally see her do as a Monarch. Going out of her way to have them officially acknowledged by all of her citizens and make them feel as appreciated as possible, to the point of arguably overdoing it? That's so her! 🤭💖

The Mushroom Kingdom having a different calendar would probably make more sense, but I'm sure Peach would still manage to choose a strategic and very appropriate date to honor her friends. 🥰 I imagine Mario would probably be quite flustered about it at first, but he would indeed also be very touched by the honorific gesture. 💫

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I really, really wish everyone on the right would stop pretending certain people are awesome and on our side and everything they've ever done has been good actually just because they do one or two things that are pretty cool now.

This is mostly about Tulsi Gabbard, who despite being pro-government healthcare, pro-DACA, pro-Green New Deal, and pro-gun control, among other positions we wouldn't accept from people who have actually run as Republicans, is being turned into some kind of populist right wing hero just because she calls out the extreme left sometimes and left the Democrat party.

But it's also about Mel Gibson, who is apparently part of a group that stops human trafficking (which is good, if true), which means some people are now trying to pretend he's been using his movies and his public statements to expose truths and fight for freedoms forever, when mostly he's just been going on drunken anti-semitic rants.

It also applies to a lesser degree to people like James Gunn, who has about 30 tweets joking about being a pedophile but because he calls out cancel culture after being fired for five minutes because of those tweets he's suddenly based. Or Chris Pratt*, who has never publicly spoken about his political beliefs on anything, but because he's publicly religious and didn't want to film a campaign ad for Biden, we assume he's a secret right wing Hollywood guy and it's "safe" to watch his movies.

I'm not saying we shouldn't admire or respect someone for doing a good deed or supporting a righteous cause. Far from it. One of my other problems with the right is, paradoxically, how they'll sometimes cast someone who is right 99% of the time away like they're stale bathwater because they did something we don't agree with once. That kind of attitude doesn't win anyone over to our side. But that's also my point. We're way more willing to put horribly imperfect leftists (or potential leftists) on a pedestal just because they're on "our side" once or twice, while we demand ideological perfection from anyone we already think is with us at all times. Keep perspective. I know Trump worked out really well for us, but populism and populist euphoria, while at least somewhat necessary to politics these days, is a dangerous thing to indulge in too much. It's how you end up with cults of personality around people who end up destroying movements.

*So Chris Pratt doesn't really fit into the theme of this post, but I wanted to put him here anyway because it startled me how quickly people went from "He's just another Marvelshit actor" to "OMG he's just like us!" It's disturbing because, A, we don't know what his beliefs are and it's weird to assign him ours just because we like one thing he was public about, and B, because it shouldn't matter what his beliefs are. We rightfully disdain Hollywood and the culture it breeds and the people who thrive in that culture, but the moment a Hollywood lifer says something that even remotely sounds like they might not be left of Stalin we freak out and start acting like twitter stans? Come on, guys. Don't worship celebrity. And don't be so quick to assign virtue to people who have never publicly shown it. Someone at Chris Pratt's level, if he is truly "on our side", should be using their money and influence to do something about it besides going to church and mentioning God every so often. If someone from Hollywood shows up publicly at the March For Life, or publicly donates to a reputable pro-2A advocacy group, or does something like pay the legal bills of the Jan 6 political prisoners, that's who I'll respect and praise. But just not publicly being a raging leftist shouldn't be enough to get us creaming in our pants.

[reginrokkr]

✧ @resolutepath asked: Are there some things you dislike about how the show/series/etc. portray the character you have picked up? If so, what? & What would you say is the most unique trait about your character?

Are there some things you dislike about how the show/series/etc. portray the character you have picked up? If so, what?

To answer this I will focus more on the fandom perception or portrayal of him rather than HYV's, as there is nothing I can say to dislike about the way they're managing him other than his poor screentime— which I presume is because he's too lore-driven that makes it dangerous to have him there for too long, this in combination with lore aspects he's connected to like Khaenri'ah and Irminsul, but also the power from beyond Skirk mentioned as making someone be praiseworthy if they possess it.

I think that the most prominent thing I've seen is that people ship him with Lumine based on a line of the Travail trailer that it's assumed by part of the community that is related to her (while he could be referring to someone else, which is my personal thought— HYV has a way of throwing out there voiced lines that can be quite misleading with the images that are playing at the same time and it's a regular thing that happens in many trailers from my own observations) in combination with the fact that, if we take Aether as the Traveler based on what HYV has been announcing always, Dain traveled with Lumine until they fell apart. I'm positive that the knowledge that she was made princess of Khaenri'ah within the Caribert AQ must've fed a lot more this ship. The thing is that I'm not necessarily against this ship per se if I ignore my own particular headcanons, what bothers me is the way Dain is treated pretty much like a lapdog. That in many of people's tendencies to have him lick her boot, he's reduced to nothing but a servant without autonomy when in reality he's obviously neck deep against the Abyss Order and against her deeds by extension.

This ship talk can be applied to Kaeya too in the instances where people have him take the route of the Abyss Order by betraying Mondstadt even though, as per my own personal view, he'd rather side with Mondstadt despite his lineage and he himself said in the Caribert AQ that getting confirmation of what he apparently suspected won't change his animosity towards the Abyss Order.

Another thing that bothers me that isn't any less important than the shipping aspect is that many take for granted that he's automatically lying because he never spills all the beans, when in reality his character suffers from deliberate vague or incomplete speech that I can only assume is, in great part, on HYV so that he doesn't say everything and those topics are revealed little by little instead. Thankfully, I'm starting to see more people pointing out to those who say he lies that he isn't and that he just doesn't explain things in full, but that doesn't make it any less true what he says. The one topic I find questionable is his claim that it is impossible to get rid of the curse whereas Chlothar seems to have broken free from it. For this in specific, I think that while Dain tried to find ways to break free from it himself without avail, some variable played in Chlothar's release and potentially that of his descendants that either Dain wasn't aware of or didn't think it would be possible, only to find out years later that it is.

What would you say is the most unique trait about your character?

The first thing I would say is his connection with Irminsul due to the wisdom he possesses not only of the past, but of the future too. But there are other characters linked with the tree that one way or another can too (at least to some extent or part of it, for example Nahida in seeing the past but perhaps not the future as she refers to it as ultimate knowledge; the princess of Sal Vidagnyr who was blessed with foresight through dreams that later on she would draw in frescoes). As mentioned earlier, maybe one thing that makes him unique is that most likely than not he's in possession of the power from beyond that Skirk mentions and that Dain talks about in order to defy this world using a "we", which includes him.

If we're to leave out the power aspect of his character, the one thing I'd highlight of him is that he's been able to endure the corruption for this long without succumbing yet, even if it was shown in multiple instances that it can be relatively easy to do that (be it due to negative feelings, to fall to temptation of a greater power as the Abyss Order tried to lure Andrius in, among other aspects). It could be because of some "it" we don't know about when he wondered how is it possible for Halfdan to have retained that limited degree of self-awareness after five centuries, or it could be out of willpower. If we combine to this his self-imposed solitude that he admits to not relish, I firmly believe that he has a perfect recipe to succumb to corruption but he doesn't. And I think that this is partly what people use in order to make work the aforementioned ships, by erasing this praiseworthy willpower that brought him to where he is today.

[rabbiteclair]

Hello~ Just wanted to ask if you have any ideas/headcanons for how Gensokyo was funded. (Building a whole village and filling it with a self-sustaining population couldn't have been cheap, especially if yokai were already weakening. Yukari also might have bought the deed to the land.)

((I personally think it's funniest if Remilia is Gensokyo's majority shareholder.))

so first off, a confession: I initially misread this as 'how Gensokyo was founded' and wrote a 700-word essay that did not, in fact, address the question posed here. Now somebody's gonna ask me to post it anyway but really, just read the TouhouWiki article on the barrier and start following links.

Anyway.

So one fun fact: both mon and yen have been mentioned as being used in Gensokyo. CoLA kind of made sense out of this relatively recently by saying that they basically just use whatever money drifts in from the outside world, assigning it whatever value seems appropriate. (Possibly using individual pieces of currency as basically IOUs for bartering with goods? It's a bit unclear.) So at least we know where money comes from now.

In general, though, it's pretty well implied that Gensokyo was inhabited by humans before the barrier went up (see the PCB prologue or Yukari's PMiSS article) so I assume that the village was either already there, or formed pretty naturally once all the humans were sealed inside. That gets rid of one big financial/labor concern if so.

I suspect that however much land rights were a thing back then, they probably didn't apply either, since Gensokyo seems to be less of a fenced-in area and more of a separate thing. Youkai Mountain is said to be Mount Yatsugatake, which is a real-ass range of mountains you can go personally look at, and just happens to be near the real Moriya Shrine. It's implied in a few places that crossing into Gensokyo is more a matter of mindset than just walking across a physical barrier. Combine it all and I figure that the land's still there, but probably most of the inhabitants vanished when the barrier went up.

I could definitely see the sages trying to import some extra supplies and stuff up front to ease the transition, but hey, stealing food and booze from humans is time-honored youkai tradition. Probably, stealing 1.5 tonnes of rice from a rich merchant isn't really in the spirit of things, but Yukari's never let that stop her.

If I had to assign a real cost to the formation of the barrier, it'd be in favors and rare goods. Like, that's gotta be a lot of hard work, and even harder when you've got to convince dozens of factions of belligerent youkai to go along with it. Decades of backroom negotiations, arcane youkai politics that a human could never understand with an illustrated guide, and maybe the occasional assassination. Like a gritty crime drama but everyone can fly and shoot lasers.

As for Remilia: it's implied that she showed up relatively close to the start of EoSD, but that just makes any involvement you give her with all of this even funnier. Remilia buys a few hundred square kilometers of wilderness in Japan with the plans to build a summer home there, and like a century later she hears that a bunch of youkai have set up a metaphysical city inside. Maybe that's why she was apparently so cranky during the Vampire Incident.

[dylanndr]

Izzy and Edward: did they or didn't they?

I'm assuming we'll find out more about their history in S2, and I'm sure the writers will have some surprises in store for us on that front, but based on the info we have now my read is that they probably did not, or not much.

The title of episode 4, "Discomfort in a Married State," is based on a quote from Stede regarding his arranged heterosexual marriage, but it also applies to Izzy and Edward. I could easily do a whole entire post about the parallels between the two relationships, how this episode structures them as foils, but for this I'll focus on the kind of emotional and sexual dynamic Izzy and Edward have going on.

They aren't literal mates in the "if you know what I mean" sense (and same-sex marriages did happen at sea; I think if they'd had that level of formal arrangement Izzy wouldn't shut up about it), but it's also not an accident that Izzy is the only one with a title besides Captains Blackbeard and Stede. Who's the bosun? Who knows! Is there a coxswain? A quartermaster? Ehn. But there is absolutely a First Mate, and he's not about to let you forget that fact. Given that the language he uses to describe their relationship is entirely framed in professional terms, his job functions as a proxy for marriage.

In that context, Izzy's "my fucking resignation" speech is basically him saying "I want a divorce." Izzy and Edward are completely out of sync, making each other miserable, unable to communicate despite having worked closely together for years. There's little reason to think they've ever been happy around each other, and Edward confirms that later when it slowly dawns on him that Stede makes him happy, like it's something he's never experienced before.

Izzy berates Edward for being "unpleasant," an oddly soft choice of invective given how vicious Izzy can be. Beyond being a li'l bit pot/kettle, it does imply that there was a past where Izzy DID find Edward to be pleasant company. They had fun together of some sort, but it seems like if that fun were of a physically intimate nature, Izzy might have reached for a different adjective there, even if it doesn't fully admit to the sexual undertones. "Cold" or "distant" might have worked in that capacity. But "unpleasant"? Since when is a notorious pirate captain supposed to be pleasant?

In a homosocial environment where you have a bunch of men hooking up with each other for sexual gratification, but where the spectre of internalized homophobia still haunts the proceedings, there's a short list of acceptable ways to get off without it meaning that you're, you know, THAT WAY. Typically, the Approved List includes acts like frottage and mutual masturbation, where the deed can be done without going face to face, and the power dynamic is more or less equal. Anal or oral sex both imply (in this context) that one man is subservient to the other, and as such those acts are typically not approved UNLESS there is an actual power imbalance to back it up: higher ranking older man/lower ranking younger man. Kissing is pretty much never okay because it's perceived to be about romance rather than sex, and romance makes you a namby-pamby ponce. I have a longer post about that dynamic here, but for this post let's consider what we know for a fact about Edward and how it fits into this worldview.

He's unequivocally had sex with other men, including Calico Jack on more than one occasion ("dalliances" plural). Jack and Blackie served together under Hornigold, which suggests they were of more or less equal status, and therefore almost certainly stuck to the frottage/mutual masturbation menu. Not a chance in hell they kissed. In fact, the awkwardness of Edward's kiss with Stede suggests to me he has also been holding in some of that same internalized homophobia that Izzy struggles with: he fucks, but kissing is not something Edward's done enough to be suave about it.

Izzy, meanwhile, is so desperate to kiss someone he almost makes out with Lucius in front of other people before he checks himself. (I'm just going to keep posting this screenshot forever.) Izzy is even more invested in the prescribed homosocial order than Edward is, but if Edward had EVER tried to smooch him, Izzy would fall back on "it's fine because he outranks me" in a motivated reasoning heartbeat. I think it's safe to say they have not had makeouts.

I'm a little agnostic over whether they've ever had sexual contact of any kind, but their dynamic is not one of regular physical intimacy. If they ever did anything, it was most likely a one-off, probably with alcohol involved, very possibly extremely awkward (bonus points for cringe if it was a threesome with Jack), and got relegated to "and then we never spoke of it again" status.

I do think Edward is aware of Izzy's attraction and uses it as leverage to control Izzy without ever fully giving him what he actually wants. We learn later in the series that, when Edward made Izzy First Mate, he demanded loyalty to the Captain above all else, and this professional stipulation functions as a parallel to the obligatory monogamy of a relationship like Stede and Mary's (the difference being, Izzy entered into it by choice and could leave whenever he wants, but elects not to).

Izzy doesn't touch Edward casually ever (I'll get to the cheek caress in a second). His form of familiar intimacy is calling Blackbeard by his real name, an act we know had special meaning once upon a time because Jack also scoffs at other people calling Blackbeard "Ed." And Izzy is clearly not used to being touched casually by Edward, given how he lets out a little gasp at a pat on the back through several layers of clothing. That very minor touch, plus a small bit of praise ("I need you here") is enough to complete Izzy's 180 degree turnabout from "I want a divorce" to "I am so completely in love with you right now I am going to bust out the most heartfelt, genuine smile you're ever going to see on my face." [side note: It was not lost on me that "I said some things I regret last night" is a stereotypical next-day apology for a couple who had a big fight the night before.]

As for the choke scene? Edward releases the hold once it becomes clear Izzy is getting off on it. I won't say Edward would have known about Izzy's masochistic preferences if ever they'd had a regular sexual relationship, because nothing of what we know about their life together up to this point suggests they are particularly good at responding to what the other person genuinely enjoys. But they'd both have been steeped in a culture where fighting is foreplay, so Izzy's reaction also shouldn't come as a huge surprise (and, in fact, Edward doesn't seem especially surprised).

"You construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men," to quote Barbara Kruger.

Of the people Edward has canonically gotten it on with or wants to, there's a lot of rough but lighthearted physical contact. Mutual roughhousing with Jack, getting Stede to stab him with a sword for funsies. Bad news for Izzy that Edward doesn't appear to engage in that same behavior with him, only resorting to physical violence out of anger.

That one attempt at a caress on the cheek is the only time Izzy escalates physical contact with Edward, and it's probably fair to say he pushed as hard as he did leading up to it because he wanted Edward to start a physical fight (check how Izzy's face falls when Edward backs off). The fact that they don't otherwise fight each other casually (no sparring, no bro-style shoulder punches, no coconuts chucked at each other's heads), suggests to me this isn't a regular part of their lives or an understood intimate dynamic between them.

The way Izzy reacts to Blackbeard going full dom on him also seems to imply this hasn't happened before, especially taken in context with the choke. If Blackbeard had made a habit of these sorts of scenes with Izzy, it seems even less likely he'd punch or choke Izzy to punish him. But it has finally dawned on Blackbeard that he can manipulate Izzy with the promise of intimate pain, a tool he likely would have used before now if they'd already had that kind of relationship.

So yeah, I'm not really seeing a strong case for prior sexual intimacy to any meaningful extent, and while I do think Edward loves Izzy after a fashion, it's not romantic and has its own toxic possessive components.

[anonymousfoz]

What was the manga about? If you don't mind?

Also I love Amis, I want to hug them and make sure they are okay. (I am assuming FtM based on what the backstory said but without transformation because it's the 1300s)

Sure, Since I did majority of world building on the world building team. (Also sure 100% of this is now gone so idgas about sharing)

There are 3 worlds in this manga. None of them have names so we are going by what we called them during the creating process.

Magic World - the main setting, has been plagued with wars for a while now. Every ruler fighting deserves death. They are the world that has the most knowledge on magic Animal world - home to your Furries and Nekos. They have half the knowledge of magic and is aware of the wars Earth - barely any knowledge of magic

The main characters get pulled from the different worlds and times in earth's history. There is this cult that steals people from other worlds and puts them in little objects that has a significance to them. (Amis would be a Crow). The animal world is aware of this cult, so not many of them fall for the traps. Some do though.

The main plot was basically the main characters trying to end the war going on and trying to return home or find a new one.

Now thinking about this project outside of the group and knowing each character gets an arc. Amis' arc would had gone something like:

Amis has the task of taking down of the remaining kingdom's king. So he stays in the kingdom for a bit, where he meets the princes. The older one (27) enjoys Amis' company and brings him into the royal castle as a personal guard. (Amis is just really humble and charismatic), Amis' whole arc is going to be about morality and is it okay to break those morals. So the king would force him to do stuff that would break his mortality, he can disagree to some of them but not all of them. Eventually the Prince pulls Amis' away from their father's evil deeds and that is when it is revealed that Amis' is trans. (Like no one would know but the modern character who sucks at history). Prince doesn't mind and Amis' doesn't care about it to be honest, but in that time Amis' reveals what is going to happen. Prince is fine with having their asshole dad die, but their little brother (17) might try to usurp the throne. Some talking and planning later, Amis' "betrays" the king. King thinks he can take Amis on and gets folded. (think of Amis like a tanky character). Younger prince tries to take the throne and fight Amis. Amis doesn't want to kill the prince because morals but decides to do it. Morals of the world Amis came from do not apply well here and in the situation would had gotten Amis killed. This is the moment where that clicks in. Now the Prince takes the throne, pulls out of the war and marries Amis (oh yea gay marriage all the way).

Eventually the group gets like captured or something and now Amis who is co-king (or whatever) frees them and gives them an army to command. Amis doesn't want to go back to his time knowing he just be killed again and he loves his new life with his new husband. It's going to take a lot of adjusting and learning of some languages. But he is fine where he is and besides, he is kind to those in need and farmers & ended slavery in the kingdom. So he's doing good at helping rule to kingdom.

[fraelonas-bologna]

I've been mulling over the dragons' relationship with time as it pertains to why they feel justified in punishing generation upon generation of Elezen for the deeds of their long dead forefathers.

It's really easy to assume that the guilty party's relatively short lives make whatever price they pay insufficient to count as true justice to the dragons. This is true, but there also is one additional element that would apply to any sentient race regardless of lifespan that would serve to make the dragons' perception of time even more disproportionate: Collective and personal trauma by way of betrayal.

Acts of violence, degradation, and violation are far more likely to result in post-traumatic stress if they involve betrayal by a formerly trusted party, or at least one with which a close relationship was shared. (Not something I just made up--this is stated in Van Der Kolk's The Body Keeps the Score.) If an enemy comes up to you, stabs you, and plucks out your eye to claim its magical or life giving properties, it's rage inducing for sure, but it's not entirely shocking or unexpected. But if it's a beloved friend with whom you built and shared a community who does it, the emotional toll is so much worse.

And emotional trauma has an ugly way of trapping the traumatizing events in short term memory, such that they always feel like they just happened. For the dragons, who already naturally experience time at a much slower pace than other races, this effect must be absolutely devastating. Asking them simply to let it drop because a generation or two of Elezen has passed away is akin to telling anyone else to get over a murder that happened just yesterday. The past is not seen as that which is gone or done--it is those things and deeds which have been sealed up in eternity as permanently enduring and mentally ever-present.

The betrayal will always have happened, and to the dragons, this means it must always be answered for.

"Men die, and their children forget. But we are everlasting. To us, then is as now. Thou canst not comprehend the violation. The outrage. The fury."-- Midgardsormr