my toxic trait is that i genuinely believe that the side effects of immortality won't affect me. i have so much stuff i want to learn i won't even notice the centuries go by. also i'm nosey as hell so the decades-deep gossip would keep myself from isolating from human society because i want to know what's going on. i would make such a good vampire i stand by this
I arrive at the yarn store and grab a skein off the shelf, the exact same brand, type, weight and color of the one I bought a week ago. Everyone in the store immediately knows that I miscalculated the amount of yarn I'd need for a project. They start booing at me. They are throwing crocheted tomatoes at me. The old lady giving knitting lessons in the corner is shaking her head. She had such high hopes for me. The cashier spits at me when I pay for it.
Unrealistic. The gods of knitting punish you for this directly by discontinuing the skein as you pass over the threshold of the store, vanishing any remaining stock.
Sometimes, instead, the gods do NOT discontinue the yarn brand and color, but they ensure that the store does not have the same dye lot. You don't notice the subtle difference between the new skein and the old ones until you've already finished your sweater and the bottom half of one sleeve is just slightly--but noticeably--different from the rest. The whole world laughs at your mistake.
Ok, not to be that guy, but LWJ is pretty Cold Duke of the North coded. Hot? Check. Unapproachable? Check. Absolutely soft for the MC? Boyo checked all the boxes he could find and then made some more.
Anyways, LWJ would totally pull the, “Hmm, interesting,” if MDZS was an isekai.
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
So ok look. The point is not the flared leg by itself. These cannot be yoga pants. These are, and you have to understand this if you are too young to have worn them, BLUE JEANS. And this was the last years before all jeans were 70% spandex.
They were denim, and they weren't bell bottoms. They hung loose from the knee in a way that would make a wizard envious. We all walked around like we were wearing hakama. And they dragged on the ground. That was important. Ragged cuffs. If your jeans weren't so long that they had ratty cuffs, they were embarrassingly short.
And the thing about denim is that it's a twill weave and it's cotton. So not only does it hold a lot of water, it wicks. Walking around in these suckers on a wet day could get you wet to the knees even if you never stepped in a puddle.
Then you'd go inside and take off your shoes and try to avoid letting your freezing, wet, filthy pant legs touch your skin.
