Summary thing: Katsuki likes you and apparently you have no idea.
A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Warnings: not proof read cuz I’m lazy, reader doesn’t know Katsuki likes them at all + they convince themselves he doesn’t lol, ambiguous ending, mostly focuses on Katsuki’s POV I think
You were an idiot. But Katsuki liked you regardless.
It was a problem, really. You’d weaseled your way into Katsuki’s group of friends, instantly charming everyone. He’d been more difficult to please, though. You’d been okay with it—you knew he’d come around eventually.
Which he did. Problem was, he’d come around and he’d fallen head over heels for you. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, he could’ve just confessed or flirted with you.
Katsuki had decided to go with the method of dropping hints and flirting rather than straight up confessing to you. He wanted to test the waters first. There was no doubt in his mind that you’d like him; he’d seen the glances when you thought he wouldn’t notice, the little touches, your faint smile when he joined whatever you and his other friends were doing that day(after some pressure from Eijiro!). He knew there was no way it could possibly go wrong.
Little did he know, you were oblivious to his advances.
You constantly brushed his teasing remarks and flattery off as him being nice, not interested in jumping to the conclusion of him reciprocating your feelings in case you were wrong. You didn’t want to get your hopes up and your feelings hurt. So you ignored what he was doing, always somehow convincing yourself that the increase in your heart rate and the heat burning your skin when he made his stupid jokes and such was simply a trick of the mind. He didn’t like you. You just had to accept that fact and get on with it.
It was infuriating to Katsuki, though. Maybe infuriating isn’t the right word, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to be truly angered by you any more. Frustrating. There it was. You were unbelievably frustrating.
He adored you. Ever since the realisation of his feelings had dawned on him, he hadn’t been able to scrub any corner of his mind of you. You always lingered there. When he got bored in class he’d think of you, zoning out while the teacher at the front went on and on about something that clearly wasn’t anywhere near as relevant as you. He’d stumble across videos online that made him think of you, that made him think, ‘you’d like this’. Some of them would make it to you, but sometimes he’d already sent so many of them that day that he needed to save it to a little folder dedicated to you, to keep for when he needed an excuse to message you.
Katsuki hadn’t come to UA with the intention of making friends. But he had. And now he was on the complete other side of his initial promise—chasing not only a friend, but a romantic connection.
And so, the days went on where he’d shoot his shot and miss. He’d miss because you kept interfering. You kept brushing it off.
Eventually he resorted to telling Eijiro, whining and complaining to you about how stubborn and irritating you were right now, but also how much he’d come to treasure you. You’d become precious to him, nestled in your own little place in his heart. He was having a hard time trying to get over you. Maybe it was because he really didn’t want to.
At the end of the day, despite how much he complained about your oblivious nature, he couldn’t bring himself to scrap the future he’d carefully carved out in his mind for the two of you. Katsuki wanted those sweet, domestic moments that he would’ve ignored with anyone else but you. He wanted the less sweet ones, arguments and results of villain battles. All of it. He wanted all of it. He wanted all of you.
It didn’t matter to him what you thought a partner wouldn’t like in you. To him, there was nothing to dislike. The curve of your nose, the colour of your eyes, the texture of your skin, your laugh. Even the parts of you that you tried to hide, he loved all of it. He couldn’t imagine a time where he didn’t.
For now, though, he had to wait patiently for you to catch on, or for his self control to slip from him. He had to tell you the truth one day. You’d snap out of it.
Katsuki hoped it wouldn’t be too late by the time he did.
I'm sorry but I don't know English and I'm using a translator to write you this
you could write (it's not mandatory) where Weasley twins are unfaithful to their girlfriend with another Gryffindor student and do everything to have their forgiveness, thank you🥺
My dear Anon, thank you so much for your incredible request. I hope you don’t mind that I changed a few things around whilst trying to stay true to your request. This idea came to me and I couldn’t leave it alone. Hope you enjoy! 🖤
Warnings: cheating!fic, themes of unfaithful behaviour and betrayal. Swearing. Sorry Angelina, I’m sure you’re lovely but I needed a villain. Amortentia, drugging using a love potion. Friends are lied to and used. Fuck you Marcus Flint.
Word count: 4.8k
Song for writing: Lachryma by Ghost🖤
Crying over someone like you [Weasley Twins x Reader]
If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes, you'd have never believed it.
George Weasley, one half of the Weasley twin duo and one of your boyfriends of over three years. His figure, so tall and resolute lingered in the corridor adjacent to the great hall, his posture bent and his hair characteristically vibrant and messy. His clothes were oddly matched, a contrast of faded colour and interesting patterns and textures, snuggly fitted around the ankles. His freckled cheeks flushed with colour, his long eyelashes kissing those very cheeks as he stands with his eyes closer, his full pink lips pursed and kissing Daphne Greengrass.
You felt like you'd been cursed on the spot stumbling upon the pair locking lips in the corridor, neither of them even trying to hide their intimacy. If you hadn't been with Fred, your other boyfriend, you would have completely fallen apart in that moment, rendered silent and heartbroken by your discovery. Luckily for you, Fred had not frozen at seeing the scene but had instead leapt into action, dropping your hand and instantly lunging towards his twin, pulling him away from a seemingly unbothered Daphne.
You didn't know what followed Fred's initial reaction, despite the multitude of rumours floating around the school, as you had fled the scene in floods of tears, feeling sickened to your core.
The days following the incident you'd wanted to isolate yourself completely but your friends had not allowed that to happen and instead had remained by your side at all times with unwavering support. Fred had tried to help you, to put a smile of your face and assure you that he was still very much here and in love with you regardless of his idiot brother but he'd been put in an impossible position torn between his twin brother and his girlfriend.
George had been silent. He hadn't attempted to talk to you or make contact, neither did he acknowledge you at all in the days that followed. He couldn't even respect you enough to end the relationship in any way. After over three years together in what you thought was the kind of love that never faltered, he couldn't even explain himself or his actions. You'd expected a message passed along in some way with a half-hearted excuse of why he no longer loved you, if he ever had. Your thoughts spiralled when no communication came, your mind trying to process what had happened and beginning to try to understand how. Had he ever loved you? How had you not seen the signs that his eye was wandering?
The fact was that there were no signs. Only the day before he had been his usual self, as tactile and loving as he ever was. He'd told you that he loved you the day before you'd found him kissing Daphne Greengrass and you'd never questioned it, seeing nothing but honesty in his eyes. That's what hurt the most.
Rumours of what happened had reached nearly every corner of the school within hours, most notably the now infamous fight between the two twins which had never happened before. Following that, the brothers were no longer on speaking terms and they had not been spotted together once since their spat- the longest they had ever gone without speaking.
The other rumour circulating with just as much scandal was that Daphne Greengrass was feverishly denying that it had ever happened in the first place. Apparently the rumour of her kissing George, a Gryffindor and a Weasley no less was rather upsetting to her and she'd declared her truth loudly and tearfully to anyone that mentioned it; not that you cared in the slightest of her apparent upset.
Fred was a wreck, ghosted by his twin brother and alone for the first time in his life without his constant sidekick. George had disappeared on him, choosing to spend his time anywhere but around either you or Fred. It was like he'd disappeared completely.
That was until your second run in with George and Daphne, both of them walking up the path back from the Quidditch pitch, hand in hand and chuckling secretively to each other. Thankfully this time Fred wasn't with you but would have already been at the quidditch practice, an ominous thought if he'd seen the couple together already. You tried to keep your head down and avoid them, feeling sick to your stomach at the sight of them so evidently in love.
Not a word was spoken and though you tried to resist looking towards the boy you'd loved for years, you couldn't help but peak hopefully at him as you passed. There was nothing. Not even a single glance of recognition in his face and certainly no remorse. He couldn't even spare you the common courtesy of a glance or a greeting, never mind an apology.
Once they had passed you, you paused on the pathway. George looked different somehow, though you couldn't put your finger on it initially. His clothes did not fit in the same way they usually did and they looked different, more vibrant, newer. You frowned and vowed yourself to carry on walking, the notion perplexing you the whole way to the quidditch pitch where you had been meeting Fred after practice.
When you finally reached the pitch feeling shaken and your heartbreak renewed, all havoc had broken loose. Fred was prowling the pitch like a caged animal, anger evident in his face and his body, muscles tense and his fists clenching and unclenching. Katie, Alicia and Ron were all stood around trying to talk sense into Fred but it was clearly not working once bit. You didn't know where to start, what to say or do to make him calm down, assuming you knew where his anger had stemmed from.
Luckily, Iain Claverdon, the sweet and slightly dense resident benchwarmer of the Gryffindor quidditch team spotted you standing off to the side and strolled over, urging you to come help.
"He saw George and that girl, went mad at him but George didn't even look at him! I mean I know they're brothers and all but that's not right. I don't know what's got into George's head lately, I mean he's even misplaced his quidditch robes. Can you believe it? Luckily I had a spare set to lend him but after she turned up he just walked off! First Angelina's not here and then he just walks out, shocking! Guess I won't be seeing those robes again."
"Y/n!"
You heard your name called and flashed your eyes up, seeing Alicia ushering you over with much more urgency than Iain had. Your legs moved almost on autopilot as you walked towards your boyfriend and friends, your head spinning from the overload of information Iain had given you. George had left mid-practice and lost his robes? There's no way your George would have ever done that, he loved Quidditch more than anything.
"Y/n, we can't calm him down," Katie says, meeting you halfway and practically dragging you by the wrist as she jogs over to where Fred is still pacing.
"Maybe you could try," Alicia says once you get closer. "He won't listen to any of us, George was being a right prick."
Fred had practically crushed you when he saw you, pulling you into his chest, your face pressed against the leather ties of his robes. His goggles were practically suffocating you as they hung around his neck, long forgotten, his padded arms holding you tightly into his body. It had taken nearly five minutes to calm him down but he'd eventually relented. You could see how much this was all affecting him, the bomb that had been thrown into your life and the consequences you were both dealing with after too much for Fred to deal with whilst trying to keep his head above water. Though you had lost your boyfriend and your best friend, Fred had lost his literal other half. You could see the strain it put on him, how lost he was without George around and how hard it was to accept this new much less caring version of George you were seeing.
"Shut up Iain!" You heard Katie snip as you walked back to the group with a much calmed Fred by your side, his arm never leaving your body.
"I'm just saying!" Iain says with a shrug.
"What?" You asked once you reached the group, seeing Katie and Alicia shooting glares at Iain whilst struggling to shut away the box of equipment.
"Some slytherins have had their belongings go walkabouts. Between Luna's shoes going missing again, Ang missing practice, the Slytherin thief and all the rest of it, I'm starting to think there's something fishy happening around here."
"Don't be an idiot Iain," Katie said rolling her eyes.
"Hey guys, I'm really sorry I missed practice. Couldn't get out of detention this time, I swear Professor Sprout knows we're going to demolish Hufflepuff at the next match and shes playing dirty," Angelina said as she came into view, holding her hands up as she talked with a smile on her face. You frowned again, noticing that she wasn't actually remorseful despite her words, neither was she as furious as you would have expected her to be about the captain of the team being forced to miss practice, especially this close to a vital match.
"Oi Johnson! It's our time on the pitch so you lot'll have to scramble," Marcus Flint sneered as he walked onto to the pitch, his green quidditch robes billowing as he walked, holding his broom and flanked by the entire Slytherin quidditch team.
"Let's get going," Angelina said to her team, apparently listening to Flint for the first time ever.
"Fred, I need to borrow you." She gestures with her head, turning towards your boyfriend who simply nodded, both of them slipping behind the curtain so that they could talk in private.
Your interest piqued once again, feeling slightly on edge by how weird everything felt now. George's deceit had really played a number on your mind, making you question everything around you. Everything felt wrong somehow, out of place, like you couldn't trust anyone or see things clearly. Perhaps it was the torment of the heartbreak consuming you and creating a fog around you but everything just felt off, your life turning into a series of strange encounters.
Things only got weirder once Thursday rolled around, five days after you'd seen George kiss Daphne for the first time and your heart had been stamped on.
It was around 8pm and whilst most of the school was beginning to wind down from their activities and settle in for the night, Marcus Flint had other plans. The note he'd acquired earlier that day had given him such a rush of fresh excitement that he knew there would be no way he could settle down until well after midnight. He'd dutifully slipped out of the Slytherin common room and had weaved his way around the school without any detection, traipsing the long walk to the quidditch pitch alone, carrying his singular bag. There's a spring in his step at the very thought of what was to come, these little meetings the highlights of his week as he walks to the rendezvous spot. He steps into the tent at the rear of the quidditch stadium, the near darkness making it harder to locate as he stumbles around the laid out benches. He's in enemy territory here, looking at the chalkboard with a plan of the pitch, a few defensive notes and names of the Gryffindor team written across the board haphazardly, pleased he had managed to find the Gryffindor tent so easily. If his head were in the right place, he'd consider taking notes of their defensive strategies and double down on them during the next match but he can't bring himself to care enough. Lately, he'd found himself unable to concentrate on his school work or even Quidditch at all, his mind fixated upon a single thought. And so what if he lost a few matches this season? She was worth it.
Daphne Greengrass was a goddess amongst women. The type of girl any man would be proud to have e hanging on his arm. To look at her was to see a constellation of stars, so blinding in their beauty it rendered everything around them insignificant. He was in love with her, body and soul and he'd do anything for a chance with her.
"Marcus," the voice called out to him softly, that beautiful feminine voice that he could only compare to the sound of an angel's own song.
He whipped around at the sound, desperate to know that it wasn't just his imagination, legs quaking when he realised that it wasn't all in his head. Daphne Greengrass was truly stood in front of him, speaking his name, looking directly at him as she steps aside from the tent opening. By Salazar she was beautiful, ethereal almost, heavenly.
"Marcus," she repeats, just as softly as before, her arousing voice beckoning him like a siren calling out to an unfortunate sailor. She flashes him a smile of perfectly white teeth, beckoning him further whilst he remains frozen, his mind whirling dangerously to try to bring him back to reality, praying that this Angel would still be here when he did.
"I've been looking for you," she says with a coy smile, biting her lip between her teeth. Marcus is fixated on the slight movement, the alluring way her plump pink lip boss appears between her perfect teeth, so teasing and innocent and yet so sinful.
"Me?" He manages to squeak out, his voice sounding much less majestic than hers. She nods, gliding forward towards him.
"I was told a little secret earlier today, can you guess what that might be?" She asks, reaching up with her perfectly manicured fingers to reach for the scruffy collar of his shirt. He clears his throat at the contact, barely able to get a word out and so he shakes his head in reply. She smiles again, giggling slightly at his actions.
"I was told you had a little crush on me," she leans down and whispers in his ear, her hot breath and her melodic voice forcing his eyes closed at the intimacy of the action.
"Yes," he says, sounding tranquillised, willingly giving up the information as if under her spell, desperately hoping her hands would remain on him in anyway they would.
"That's fortunate," she says with a girlish giggle, "because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
His eyes flash open, wider than a cauldron lid as her words repeat in his mind.
"Me, me? What about umm... George?"
"George Weasley? Now now Marcus, did you really think I'd believe it was George I was kissing?"
Marcus looks dazed, his eyes glazed over as he looks into hers. The hope in his eyes is evident, a look of sheer desperation on every inch of his face.
"You.. you knew it was me?"
"Of course I did silly," she giggles again, her sing like laughter making his heart soar. "I think I'd know if I was kissing George Weasley."
"Don't say his name," Marcus bites back angrily with a frown, the illusion he's holding onto in his mind of the perfect moment slightly fracturing from the sound of another man's name falling from her lips.
"I'm sorry Marcus," she says quickly, meekly. He hates the sound of it initially, cursing himself for his anger and for breaking the moment. But underneath he secretly loves the way she begs for his forgiveness, her subservient tone strangely arousing.
"It was such a clever plan," she continues. He can hardly concentrate with how her warm hand strokes against his arm, the path of her touch making his skin tingle. "Why wasn't it just you all along? It could have been your lips I've been kissing all week."
The very notion of her words makes him weak. No longer would be have to pretend to be that filthy Weasley boy but instead he could dream that his lips would be the one to touch hers, those perfect lips that he'd be happy to suffocate against.
"Angelina," he gasps out as her hand brushes his neck, having moved across his shoulder and up his arms, his trousers suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight.
"What?" She says, sounding hurt. He'd ruined it all, said another girl's name and broken her trust in him. He had to fix it right now.
"Angelina Johnson, it was all her idea. She had me drink Polyjuice to turn into George, said you'd never want me for me. Now I know how you feel, trust me I'll deal with her."
"No need," she says, her tone suddenly much harsher, the ethereal tone to her voice fading away. He looks up at her with wide eyes, an ominous feeling of dread beginning to seep into him. "She's been dealt with."
"What?" He begins to say, confused and concerned as he hears her voice change in tone.
He stumbles back when he watches her perfect face begin to distort, like something from a horror film, skin stretching and moving upon its own accord. Her features alter before his eyes, the face and body he'd spent weeks memorising and committing to his memory distorting before him.
Suddenly, he's no longer faced by the girl of his dreams but rather one of his more recent nightmares, you.
"You, you!" He begins to say, startled and frightened under the weight of your hateful gaze. "What is this?"
His head whips around when another figure appears, though this one he had certainly not intended to see tonight.
"Angelina?" He stutters, the pair of them gazing at each other in alarm upon seeing you stood there. You take the opportunity of their distracted gazes and pull out your wand, locking the panelled curtain door with a swish of your wrist, securing the tent.
The noise of the canvas being secured echoes like a whip in the small space and startles both of the non suspecting people inside the tent.
"Y/n," Angelina begins to say, her face screwed up with a frown despite her smile, clearly thinking you were joking.
"Tell him," you say, prompting her to do the right thing.
"What?" She asks with a chuckle, still feigning ignorance. That is until she sees the clothes that you were wearing, the green accents and emblem of the uniform so foreign against your body. You watch as her eyes widen in panic, clearly realising that this was not a joke at all. I'm that moment, she realised that you knew everything.
"Y/n," she says again, trying to defend herself but you silence her with a single look of hatred.
"Tell. Him."
"Tell me what?" Marcus says, suddenly frustrated by the lack of sharing happening, his disappointment making his anger shine through.
"Tell him." You raise your wand towards her, your face expressionless and your eyes piercing.
"Alright!" She turns to Marcus, wavering in her confidence. "It hasn't been Daphne Greengrass you've been kissing."
"What?!"
Angelina recoils, all pretence of confidence having slipped away. It takes one shift of your wand-wielding hand for her to begins again.
"It was me," Angelina confesses, shrinking in on herself. "I pretended to be Daphne so that you would keep being George! If you thought you were kissing Daphne then I knew you'd keep doing it!"
Marcus is stunned and horrified by her words, his face contorting into a look of severe distaste, like the thought alone was sour.
"And?" You say, breaking the silence. Her eyes whip around to you, realising once again that you knew more than she thought. Suddenly, she's turning her vitriol upon you, eyes blazing as she squares her shoulders.
"This is all your fault! You already had Fred, why did you need George too?! If you'd just been happy with one you little slut none of this would have happened!"
She reaches for her wand as her shouts echo through the tent but you're too quick, blasting her wand away from her with a simple spell and catching it mid air as it falls to you.
"Tell. Him."
She's silent, alarmed by your ability to disarm her to effortlessly. You take it upon yourself to look at Marcus who looks frightened for his life.
"That's not all though is it Angie?" You snark, using the nickname you knew she hated before turning your attention to Flint. You rifle through your pocket and pull out a single sweet wrapped up in an orange wrapper.
"Look familiar?" You ask, holding it up between your fingers.
"Bitch," you hear Angelina mutter under her breath, but rather than infuriate you further, it fuels you.
"Those sweets you gave me," he says to Angelina in shock, "how do you have one? She said they were limited edition!"
You have to fight to not roll your eyes in that moment, realising how painfully dim the Slytherin captain was.
"You mean the melon drops you stole from Fred and laced with Amortentia?"
"What?" Marcus says, his head whipping around towards Angelina who has taken a seat in one of the benches, averting her gaze entirely.
"She's been lacing you with love potion! I knew it was odd that the Slytherin thief had suddenly stopped. You 'talking' with Fred at practice was just a ploy to get more of his sweet creations from him because you wanted to carry on lying to Marcus! How did you manage it? Have someone else on the inside did you?"
"You stupid bitch!" She begins to lunge, only to be stopped as Marcus brandishes his wand in her direction, his eyes livid and his face bright red with anger. His wand goes flying through the air as you disarm him too, leaving them both defenceless without their wands.
"Well, there's nothing you can do now! George will hate you when he finds out, you'll be lucky to even keep Fred! You don't deserve them and you never did!" She's manic, eyes glassy as she snarls at you.
"I wouldn't be so sure," a voice says from the sidelines, two near identical figures stepping around the curtains to reveal themselves.
"George," she says breathlessly, saying his name like a prayer. Her face is full of hope, eyes pleading with his as she smiles up at him like he'll be her salvation. Her smile fades quickly when George walks over to you and wraps his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Fred mirrors his actions and you stand united as a trio against the two that had wronged you.
"Please Georgie, I love you," she pleads one final time. George remains stoic, unwavering and unbothered by her confession.
"I love my girl."
"Did you hear about Marcus Flint and Angelina? Who'd have thought!" One of the younger Gryffindors says scandalously as they tuck in to their evening meal. You'd tried to avoid the inevitable gossip but no matter where you went it seemed to follow you. It was Monday evening and you were sat in the great hall between your boyfriends, all of you tucking in to the food with little restraint. George's hand rested on your thigh underneath the table as Fred's left hand absently rubbed your lower back intermittently. Everything was perfect again, as if nothing had ever been any different.
"I know! I heard they both went missing over the weekend," Dean says from slightly higher up the table, never one to miss out of the circulating gossip.
"Well I didn't see it but I heard that they were caught sneaking onto the quidditch pitch after hours, something about rigging the next match apparently!"
"Oh bull, we all know why they were there together late and night and it's got nothing to do with quidditch," another girl giggles. A few people snigger and you simply bite down on your lip to stop yourself from joining, feeling George's hand squeezing your upper thigh.
"They got caught by Snape fooling around apparently, couldn't imagine a worse way to go to be honest," Lee interjects with a grin.
"No you've got it wrong," Ron says, from across the table, still chewing on a chicken leg. Your gaze flicks to Hermione sat beside him who grimaces at his lack of table manners and you chuckle.
"I heard they went up in a puff of black smoke and disappeared! Apparently then didn't find them until midday Sunday in the shrieking shack!"
He's waving his potato covered fork wildly as he speaks, his arms swaying back and forth with his words. Hermione reaches for his hand and slams it on the table, keeping the sharp cutlery firmly in one place and away from her face where he was wielding it previously.
"Really?" You hear Fred say, a tone of wonder in his voice.
"Yeah!" Ron replies animatedly, his gaze flicking to his fork as if he's scared to raise his arm again to bring it to his mouth.
"Weird," George replies, taking a bite of his own food as he nudges you secretly. You smirk behind your goblet, knowing exactly the reason for the rumours, the crystals of Peruvian instant darkness powder in George's pocket faintly clinking together with his movement.
"So George, what's it like to know that kissing you is a Slytherin girls worst nightmare?" Lee says with a boyish giggle, the rest of the table following suit.
Fred had been brilliant in orchestrating a coverup for what had happened with George and Daphne. Fred had let it slip to Seamus that one of his and George's prototype daydream charms had disappeared along with their freshly made melon drops, only it hadn't been the daydream one but rather the misery charm they'd been working on but couldn't get right. If the incantation has been used correctly, it would torment the user, showing them a vivid nightmare of their deepest fears. Kind of like a charm version of a boggart, only the magic wasn't yet perfected and it had led to fake George appearing on and off in his boggart form until the real one returned, clinging on to everyone's misery like a dementor.
The story was that Flint had stolen the items from Fred and George and had used it upon Daphne, leading to the strange occurrences. She'd have no memory of it of course, it was virtually undetectable but the consequences of what happened were enough for the twins to cancel making the item, seeing what hurt it could cause.
Seamus, being the worst secret keeper in all of Hogwarts, told Dean, who told Parvati, who told Cho and Pansy, which meant that the entire school had found out within hours of what Daphne had seen when Marcus had charmed her.
"You know what mate, it's a relief," George replies to Lee, smiling widely with pink cheeks. "Only one girl I want kissing me anyway."
He squeezes your leg under the table again and you beam at him. Ron pretends to gag at the sweetness, earning a swift kick to the shin from Hermione whilst Lee holds up an uneaten chicken drumstick as a somewhat toast to George's words.
"Bet it was nice to get away from school for a few days eh? Though you couldn't have chosen a worse time," Dean says, gesturing to you who had been upset for most of the week, believing the rumours. "What did Mcgonagall want anyway?"
"The academy of broom flying needed a beater for their teaching course. Five days of nothing but Quidditch, absolute bliss if you ask me. It was between me and Fred but she thought I was the safer option," he beamed at the words, clearly taking great pride in what she had said, though really he was probably just the lesser of two evils.
"The quidditch robes," you say under your breath, the finally puzzle piece slipping in place, remembering how they had been missing from his room and that Flint had borrowed Iain's.
"Which reminds me, George I'm going to need those robes back you borrowed," Iain says from down the table, clearly having been listening to the conversation. George looks confused and begins to open his mouth to question Iain but you slip your hand onto his under the table to gently silence him.
"Don't worry Iain, you'll get them back," you say with a smile. He nods, smiling, before tucking back into his food.
4. Mutability
(noun)
the quality of being liable to undergo change or alteration
His exo-suit piled in the corner and his damaged uniform sliced off and in a bag for disposal, John leaned back into the hospital bed with a soft sound and let Fawn and the nurse apply the soothing cream to his burns. iR tech was the best in the world, but not even the best space suit in the world could protect the wearer from the laws of physics and thermodynamics. Heat was heat and his suit was designed to keep it in, not out.
While Fawn muttered things not quite under his breath about show-offs and idiots, John closed his eyes, rolled his jaw, and reached out. EOS should have been in contact by now and he was getting worried. (EOS?) Several seconds passed and he tried again. (EOS?) They'd tested the distance they could hear each other, they were well within it. He pulled his full awareness inside himself to focus on contacting her. (EOS!)
The autonurse warbled a warning as his patient's heart rate increased, and Fawn checked the wrist he'd just finished wrapping. "Five?" Pulse and respiration were both spiking and he had no idea why. "Five?" He asked again.
Turquoise eyes snapped into being. "Cloud!" Five called, totally ignoring Fawn.
Yes, Five?
"I can't reach EOS. Can you?"
Fawn blinked, he had no idea who Eos was or how… wait a minute, the implants!
I - I cannot, Five.
Five swore in several languages for a moment. "Can you let me in? We might be able to contact her together."
There was a very long pause of several seconds from the AI. If Colonel White gives permission, yes. I will ask him.
"What the bloody hell are you two talking about?" Fawn demanded.
The laser sharp blue gaze flicked to Fawn, assessed him for a moment, and narrowed. "EOS is my partner, she was hiding Five Actual, and I can't raise her."
"So the implants are a communication setup?" Fawn was both horrified and intrigued.
"Only as a tertiary benefit."
The Colonel has agreed, provided there is no 'snooping'.
"You know I won't, Cloud."
Confirmed, but that is the Colonel's condition.
"Then tell him I agree." Five settled back. "Don't interfere,” was directed at Fawn, “I've never tried this with anyone but EOS." He closed his eyes and stilled. The autonurse shrilled as Five's heart rate and breathing all plunged: heart rate into the 30s and his breathing slowed to 8 per minute.
Kirimiko silenced the alarms and looked at Fawn, startled. "I've never seen anyone drop into a meditative state that fast before."
"I haven't either." Fawn looked up at the ceiling, his eyebrows pulled together in thought. He could ask Cloud what was going on, but if the AI was helping with whatever this was, he didn't want to distract him. He gave himself a small shake. "We monitor for now. Unless he starts to crash or the base does, we leave them alone."
“S.I.G.”
0-0-0
‘Fear is the mind killer, I will face my fear.’
Linking with EOS was as second nature as breathing, how she saw reality was a wonderland that John could easily get lost in; colours had tastes, words had texture, emotions were like smelling spices.
Finding and linking with Cloud required much more effort. He was Spectrum and his defences were formidable, not that John wanted to try to force his way past them, but making a 'door' for John to enter through was taking time. It was nearly two minutes before John felt a shift in the proverbial wall before him and he synced with Cloud. Linking with Cloud was just as much of a wonderland, but in a completely different way: it was like being inside a crystal, all planes and angles, with images and reflections going on forever. But it was also bright, comfortable and safe. The last time John had felt this safe was all those months back, in the New Haven puppy pile.
(Cloud?)
[Hello, Five. Can you show me where EOS should be?]
(I can.) John looked for the 'image' that read as 'Cloud', found it and sent their plan to him. It was remarkably like being with EOS, but it didn't have the feeling of oneness he got with her. Cloud was someone he was talking to, not someone he was sharing his mind with.
It felt like several centuries passed before Cloud spoke again. [I have found her, but I cannot reach her. If I show you, can you link to her?]
(I should be able to.) John steadied himself before reaching out to touch the image in front of him. But he paused. (Is there room in your servers for her?)
[Yes. We planned for this contingency. She did not share that with you?]
John's chuckle was rueful. (No, she didn't. But she doesn't tell me everything.)
[That seems - inefficient.]
(Oh, it probably is, but it's how we work.) John reached into the image and found himself flung to something that seemed like the space between galaxies, empty and dark. (EOS?)
There was a very small shimmer. ((john!))
John 'stretched' to reach her, to be the bridge between Five Actual and Cloudbase, but was stopped by something. (Cloud? What's blocking us?))
[I am unsure. But the magnetic resonance seems - off.]
John twisted his lips. (I was worried about that.) He thought back to the fantasy stories he'd enjoyed as a child, books where science didn't matter. (Do you think we could make a 'crack' in the magnetic field? One big enough for her to slip through?)
Cloud was quiet while he ran the calculations and tested them against his communications array. [It is possible, but I am unsure of the outcome.]
Which was a huge red flag, but John was a Tracy and a Thunderbird, the impossible was always optional. (Then we try anyway. If it doesn't work, we can fall back and regroup for another attempt.)
[Understood.]
John took a deep breath out of habit, he didn't need to breathe here. (Right, I'll be the point of the lance, you be the force behind me. A precision strike should give us the opening we need.) He sent that to EOS and hoped it’d get through to her.
[Understood. Are you ready?]
(Yes, let's do this.) John pictured a spear made of math and starlight and pointed it at the tiny speck. (Now!)
The world bent around them as John made an ally out of physics and used the laws of nature and science to find the loopholes and expand that fuzzy area between what was possible and impossible. The barrier between them stretched as the lance head pressed against it, but it held firm for seconds that stretched out into eternities until, finally, it broke and there was a sudden rush as EOS surged through the gap and used the lance like a compass needle to find her way back to him.
John caught her and passed her to Cloud as fast as he could. His brain and nervous system was not meant to hold exabytes of code for very long. Cloud gathered him up as well, and John sat up gasping in Spectrum’s medical bay.
Fawn and the nurse were gaping at him. “Holy Hell man, what did you do?”
John sucked down air as fast as his lungs would let him. “W-what I h-had to.” He collapsed back on the bed, even at his lowest point before, he hadn’t been this tired.
“I’m not even going to wait for your bloods. Kirimiko, rehydration and nutrient IVs, one in each arm.” Fawn pinned John in place with a sharp gaze. “Argue about this with me, and I will sedate you.”
John was too tired to do more than just nod. (EOS?)
((I’m here, John.))
Warmth surrounded him and he relaxed further into the bed, but that made him notice how his entire body ached. Much more than his rough landing. (I think I’m going to pass out now. Behave and be nice)
((I will, John.)) The warmth returned but with the sharp smell of black pepper - chargin. ((You were right.))
(The human is good, the human is wise, trust the human.)
((Yes, John.))
Pausing in scribbling out his notes, Fawn was bewildered by the small smile on Five’s face as his eyelids fluttered shut and he fell asleep.
T H U N D E R F A L L
In the back of the Spectrum helicopter, Virgil was laid out on the stretcher, well buckled in with a thick blanket covering him from the neck down aside from the arm left poking out for the IV that Cobalt was putting into the crook of his elbow. Scarlet was setting up the bag of 10% glucose, Magenta was with them too and also in a jump seat, having changed helicopters to make room for MAX, and Dosela was squeezed in beside Magenta.
They’d all recognised the signs of Scott needing to take care of his brother and without a word they’d either gotten out of the way or made themselves useful.
When the bag was hung on a hook by Virgil’s head and the running line was clear of bubbles, Scarlet got himself into a nearby jump seat too so Cobalt had as big a work area as possible so he could tend to his brother.
“Hey, Scott, I’ll be okay,” Virgil tried to tell Cobalt, only to get pinned by the raised eyebrow that all the captains had picked up from Colonel White, the one that so elegantly uttered a dry ‘oh really now?’ without even saying a word. Virgil frowned in response. “I said I’ll be okay, not that I am okay, I’m not trying to do a you this time, honest.”
That got a crack in Cobalt’s mask, a blink and you miss it one, but a crack all the same. He finished connecting the running line to the IV port, then placed his hand in Virgil’s and gave it a little squeeze before sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the stretcher, still holding Vigil’s hand and giving no indication that he had any intention of letting go.
It was very much against regulations, but no one had the heart to tell Scott to leave his brother’s side to go buckle in.
Then all of the captains’ epaulettes flickered with the warning of an incoming message. They listened, grim faced, then Scarlet swore a heartfelt ‘bloody hell’, immediately leaning over to Cobalt and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“What is it?” Virgil demanded, his eyes going between the men.
“Beacon activation, at the Manor,” Scarlet told him and Dosela. “Alan, Miss Kayo and Lady Penelope’s beacons have all gone off.”
“We can’t get there in time,” Magenta grimaced, “the choppers don’t have the range or the speed, but local officers are responding now.”
Cobalt took in a slow, shuddering breath, and let it out just as slowly. “One thing at a time. But it’s Penny, Kayo, and Parker, they are more than capable.”
Magenta had a humourless grin. “Don’t forget the Madman.”
“Trust me, I’m very aware that Alan is there.” Cobalt’s voice was flat.
Vigil tugged on the hand holding his. “Hey. It’s the Squirt. He’s got the Tracy luck by the bucketful. The asteroid mission? The orbital mine? Halley’s Comet? We’re the ones that got the grey hairs, not him.”
Cobalt nodded. “What about Five?” He looked to his brothers in arms.
“Last we heard from Cloudbase was that he was coming in literally hot. Green said that he had to take the jump early,” Blue answered.
“Early?” Dosela glanced at the others. “How early? The last he told us it was going to be from the Stratosphere.”
Scarlet figuratively stepped up, in actuality he stayed buckled in. “I decided to keep that from you Cobalt. You didn’t need the extra stress.”
The glare sent Scarlet’s way promised lots of pain in Scarlet’s future.
A very tiny smile played on the corners of Scarlet’s mouth, one that said ‘bring it’. “Report said the Mesosphere, and he was hot enough to make steam on the flight deck. Medical said minor injuries only.”
Cobalt nodded. “Will someone relay that to Xanthic?”
Magenta nodded and turned to speak quietly into his mike.
“This might help you both as well,” Scarlet offered, “Destiny, Rhapsody, and Symphony are also inbound to the Manor.”
That did get a little of the tension out of Cobalt’s neck and shoulders, and by extension out of Virgil’s face too as he responded to the shift in his brother’s emotions. “Good.” Cobalt gave the needed context to Virgil and Dosela with a wry smile and a quick “They’re scary.” He turned back to Scarlet. “Did Green say who was responding to the Manor? I, uh, blanked a little.”
That was totally understandable.
“Gold,” Scarlet supplied. “ETA of twenty.”
A dangerous expression briefly crossed Cobalt’s face. “We trained with her. If there’s anyone left after the others get through with them they’re not going to be a problem for long.”
“One hour twenty-three to Cloudbase,” Blue called back from the cockpit, “They’re coming to meet us part way. Green’s promised updates as soon as he has them.”
“S.I.G.” Cobalt nodded, both of his hands holding Virgil’s now as he absently started to rub little circles on the back of Virgil’s hand with his thumbs, an action designed to soothe himself as much as it soothed Virgil. The grim fact of the matter was that all they could do right now was wait. Wait, hope, and trust in their friends.
‘The hope and trust isn’t so tricky,’ was Magenta’s thought as he watched the tableau, turning to check on Dosela and unsurprised to find the same stoicism he saw so often from Grey and Xanthic. ‘If only the waiting wasn’t so hard.’
I spent a splendid day reading Two Idiots Falling in Love in Winter by @r33sespieces and it reminded me all the things I love about Amsterdam and Art and the Rijksmuseum.
These are a few pictures I took in November 2024 in Amsterdam. I spent 24 hours in the city and couldn't miss the Rijksmuseum (it was my 5th time in the city, it's a few hours away from where I live).
I thought they would go well with a few excerpts from Remus & Sirius' first date :)
"Remus ends the tour with his favourites of the most famous works— Vermeer’s Little Street and The Milkmaid.
“It’s just so beautiful,” he breathes, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sirius in front of the photorealistic painting of a woman pouring milk into a bowl. “The way the light reflects off the jug in the back, the texture of the bread, the colour of the skirt. The cost of the ultramarine paint alone…” Remus trails off wistfully, and turns to Sirius, who is looking intently at him instead of the piece."
"“It’s getting late; come on,” he urges, pulling Sirius toward the last sight on their tour. They come to a stop outside a glass door, and Remus instinctively drops his voice to a whisper. “This is my favourite place in the entire world,” he says, an introduction that really doesn’t do it justice, but Sirius seems to understand, as he nods and follows Remus through the door to the Cuypers Library.
The high glass ceilings flood the room with light, illuminating the workspace below. The perimeter is lined with books along all four levels, and a spiral staircase travels from the bottom to the top in one corner. A heavy silence hangs in the air, the only sound an occasional turn of a page. Even the way it smells is comforting; that scent of old books permeating the space."
hey, uhh so about that incursion 4koma i was going to make... it got put on the back-burner because i got distracted designing my own MC for that game. i know you mentioned that you'd love seeing fan-works but what was supposed to be a simple character reference sheet became a whole ass character analysis ESSAY because i LOVE to WRITE. i'm slightly embarrassed reading over my own work, but i'm in too deep; i need to share this WALL OF TEXT with you or else it'd keep me up at night.
while we're on the topic of character creation, how would you describe your process for making them? for example, do you draw out the character first and then write their personality? or do you do it the other way around? please lend me your creative dev power...
-🗿
i want to read it!!! I want to read it!!!!! I want to read it!!!!! yaaaay!!!!
+ of course, id be glad to! take this with a big juicy line of salt of course bc im no pro and im just self taught, but- my process for designing characters is usually something like:
>sketch some person, usually with a vague idea in mind of the sorta main traits i wanna invoke by their design- i.e. what personality do they have, job, what kinda lifestyle etc. for drawing eddie i wanted to make him look obviously like a burglar to hit the "home invasion fetish character" mark- so he needs to have all black kinda outfit, needs face hidden, needs gloves etc. yk? for ter i wanted to make him look like a casual sorta friendly approachable guy who might live in ur hometown, so he gets just an old worn tshirt and some jeans, boots etc. Its good to pick out a few points of "uniqueness" too though, to make them recognisable and not too plain. i.e. eddie's gold teeth and necklaces or ter's tattoos, something like that. not going crazy and making some vtuber looking person with 5000 accessories unless u intend that, just adding a few points to separate "totally generic burglar" from "eddie incursion the burglar" yk? and then after that...
>realise i've just made a mega ripped guy with long black hair and male manipulator core fashion again. change some details for variety😭 this point may not be applicable if u are not an idiot. but if u are- maybe try to push the boat out and make sure ur ocs dont all end up looking like brothers and sisters of each other😭 so if they do maybe try change the hair colour/texture or length, race or body type and build and things like that. or maybe give them some tatts or glasses or a hat, yk? acne, freckles, eyebags, makeup, nail polish, jewellery, prosthetic limb or things like walking aids, body proportions like fat disposition, height, limb length, muscles, scars, pupil/eye shape, saw teeth, freckles, braces or grills or something, piercings, body hair, do they have hold items they usually carry, smoker or carrying some kind of drinks or food items, bust size if applicable and things... just try to make sure they look a bit different to each other bc u want to easily tell them apart not just by one or two traits but overall... but this part only rly applies if u make lots of ocs😗 + think about what different things in their looks say about them and their lifestyle and traits as well, like how different hair and clothing colours can give a certain vibe about their personality. and personally, maybe this is a creepy thing to say and maybe it isnt quite applicable, but i also try to make sure the looks of the oc is suitable for the kinds of fetishes i aim to target in their game. like for instance like i mentioned i really wanted eddie to have black gloves and his face covered, bc i think that someone who want to play a home invasion fetish game is gonna be interested in this design. u can just put stuff u have a fetish for in ur designs, ppl who see it will definitely feel ur passion and it will be good💪
>and now they have a rough appearance, u should give them traits that make them suitable for the role they will be playinf, and kinda refine the personality and the appearance at the same time. Start with the biggest ones (i.e. for eddie i wanted him to be creepy but cute and a good LI for a home invasion fetish game, so i was hoping for "yandere, pathetic wet dog, sadomaso, sexually aggressive, perverted, actually a good person just very warped, desirable but also genuinely creepy and sinister in order to make a suitable LI for a yandere game" etc)
u also can try to think of their motivations and background. what drives them? Think about people in real life u know and people from books and stuff. Eddie has a really strong fear of abandonment, so he always wants to get control of MC bc he's scared of being left alone and would do anything to avoid it. the red string of fate is what made him a yandere, but before that he was kind of a loner, so he's a little shy due to his inexperience, but he has a cocky side bc he looks good and knows it. u can try to imagine how their youth was and what they want out of life, if they have a traumatic life of some kind or if it was perfect and stuff. what made them a yandere, or made them someone who can love/accept a yandere? i like a combination of personal history and magical sorta "red string of fate" thing, but lots of yan media has other things too.
U can also look at oc prompts to help w this. like if u think about "what parents did they have if any" or "are they popular at work/school" or even "what does their usual diet/habits look like" or something it can help a lot to flesh them out in ways u mightntve thought of. And what they like in bed is really important if theyre an oc for an adult IP! i hope this helped a bit and wasnt too much word salad😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 but basically after i feel like i have a solid appearance and profile for them it def makes it a lottt easier to put them in Situations. I hope this is at all useful and isnt just a bunch of unhelpful drivel, but let me know if u have any other questions and if so i will try again💪🫡 yay
Today, Feyre arrives at the Spring Court, though of course, she doesn't know it's the Spring Court yet. It's clearly some sort of court though, because its beauty is described with what I suppose passes for purple prose in this book. Very bland purple prose, because, for the most part...
So much color, so much sunlight and movement and texture … I could hardly drink it in fast enough. To paint it would be useless, would never do it justice.
It's all non-descriptions like this masquerading as beauty. Sunlight's all well and good, but what kinds of movement and texture, book? Because there's a bit of a difference between, say, the gentle ripple of emerald grass in a soft breeze versus, I don't know, the glint of steel and spike amidst a choking billow of smoke rising over the Dark Lord's fortress. They're all "textures" and "movements." You need to be more specific if you actually want to describe shit.
Also, to say that "to paint it would be useless" is just an insult to human artistic ability, tbh. Because, you know...
We're actually pretty good at painting gorgeous, fantastical landscapes (artists in order: Thomas Kinkade, Carl Valente, and an unknown person's upload of their coloured-in Spring Manor from the god-damn ACOTAR colouring book like??? You're literally selling artist renditions of this unpaintable paradise I'm??). And even if Feyre doesn't have the skill to paint it herself, she would surely have seen paintings like this in her bougie pre-poverty life.
Also, it's depressing how hard it is to find images by actual artists now. It's all fucking AI slop. Nothing can be trusted.
Above the array of amethyst irises and pale snowdrops and butter-yellow daffodils swaying in the balmy breeze, the faint stench of metal ticked my nostrils.
Of course it would be magic, because it was spring here.
Magic smelling like metal is another unique bit of worldbuilding that gets steadily forgotten as the series goes on. Alas.
Feyre was disarmed while she was unconscious, and also, she was unconscious for several days, and thus hasn't eaten or anything. Even so, she contemplates making a run for it, but the magic horse won't follow her commands, and when she tries to go on foot, she realises she's too weak from hunger to get far.
I took a long, shuddering breath. Food—getting food, then running at the next opportune moment. It sounded like a solid plan.
And ordinarily I would agree, but I'm pretty sure like 99.9% of faerie folklore says to never eat their food, for various reasons. But, as we'll eventually learn, this book doesn't actually care about faerie folklore, it mostly just uses them being faeries as an excuse to let its men behave like animals.
She goes inside, and we get more bland descriptions of how awesome everything is.
No sign of a dungeon—no shouts or pleas rising up from hidden chambers below.
Yes, naturally, one tends to position their dungeons where they're visible and/or audible from the front fucking door. Seriously, book, you need to stop and think about some of these descriptions for like two seconds. You're mostly just making Feyre look like an idiot.
I’d known the High Fae had once built themselves palaces and temples around the world—buildings that my mortal ancestors had destroyed after the War out of spite—
Ah, it begins. That desperate demonisation of everything human and non-bourgeoisie that we know and loathe from Crescent City. Seriously, can the book think of no other reason the humans might want to destroy the grand estates of the oppressive faerie overlords who enslaved them for centuries/millennia? Not a single one? No? Just spite? *sigh* Like come on, Feyre, you've only been kidnapped a couple of days (and spent most of them unconscious), how can this be the way you think of it already? And, remember, this is first person narration - there's no wiggle-room for it being just the book's bias bleeding into the narration, like there would be in third person. These are Feyre's thoughts.
She follows Tamlin (we still haven't been told his name in the story yet, btw) into a dining room, where a feast is laid out. And, once again, the prose does a fantastic job of selling the grandiosity of the thing.
...chicken, bread, peas, fish, asparagus, lamb … it could have been a feast at any mortal manor.
Almost feels like I'm there!
... ... ......yeah, no, the prose in this book is fucking awful. And to be clear, my issue isn't that Feyre, who has lived in poverty for eight years now, would think of such things as a feast. My issue is with the framing of it as if it is, objectively, an awesome feast (note that Feyre doesn't say anything like "it seemed a feast to her now, after eight years of poverty" or "it had been years since she'd seen so much food", no, it's being presented as objectively feast-worthy for "any mortal manor"), and then pairing it with some of the blandest description known to man. Seriously, it's just a list of food, not a hint of wonder or amazement or grandiosity, or even what it smells like!
And, like. It isn't really hard to just give us something. Spice up your list of food a bit! Give us some of that texture and movement you were rhapsodising about earlier.
As a point of comparison, here's an excerpt from A Dance with Dragons by GRRM, from the wedding feast of Ramsay Bolton:
The wedding guests gorged on cod cakes and winter squash, hills of neeps and great round wheels of cheese, on smoking slabs of mutton and beef ribs charred almost black, and lastly on three great wedding pies, as wide across as wagon wheels, their flaky crusts stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, mushrooms, and chunks of seasoned pork swimming in a savory brown gravy.
Now, content of the pies notwithstanding (it's not pork), there's nothing particularly rare or exotic there. It's a just a list of food with extra adjectives. However. We are given a much better sense of the grandiosity of this feast. We're told that guests gorged on hills of neeps and great wheels of cheese and slabs of mutton. We're told that said mutton is smoked, and the ribs are charred, which we at once associate with the taste and smell of smoked and charred things. We're told the flaky-crusted pies are as big as wagon wheels, and stuffed to bursting with all kinds of vegetables. But if we wrote this same description in the prose style of ACOTAR?
...cod cakes, squash, neeps, cheese, mutton, beef, pies with meat and vegetables in them ...it could have been a feast at any mortal manor.
Yeahh. Like, I'm not asking for SJM to become GRRM. They fill very different niches in the literary world. But it would be nice to know if, say, the bread was warm and crusty, for instance. Because now I can imagine what that would smell like, how it would feel in my hand, how it would crunch if I bit it, how soft and warm it would be in the middle... when it's just "bread" on its own, I think of the cheap bagged shit I get from ALDI. Really doesn't sell the idea of a grand feast.
But, anyway. Moving on.
Oh. And then Feyre brings up the fact that you shouldn't eat faerie food.
That was the first rule we were taught as children, usually in songs or chants: If misfortune forced you to keep company with a faerie, you never drank their wine, never ate their food. Ever.
So.......... why was your plan to come in and get food, then, if you already knew this? If anything, I'd have reversed her thinking, have her remember this outside and then waver when she's faced with the smell of all that food right in her face.
And then the faerie transforms into a pretty guy, and we get much description of how pretty he is, even though he's wearing a half-mask, and also how he's a scary-scary High Fae and also a warrior, and also also why it would be useless for Feyre to run.
He tells her to eat, she refuses, and then he tells her that she can leave if she wants, and go live anywhere in Prythian. Sure, whatever. We all know she's not going anywhere.
And then, a second High Fae comes in, also masked.
Somehow, he hadn’t spotted me where I was still pressed against the wall.
Because ubersenses are only uber at the whim of the plot.
“Is Andras dead, then?”
A nod from my captor—savior, whatever he was.
No, it's the first one. It's too early for Stockholm Syndrome. You've had all of like, two very stilted conversations with the guy.
“You’re joking,” he said quietly. “That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?”
Bastard—an absolute bastard. A pity I didn’t have the arrow now—so I could shoot him instead.
Well, the arrow won't do you much good without the bow, but go off, I guess. Also, I'm sure the book wants me to be mad too, because cheap feminist points, but I'm not. These are uberpowerful High Fae™, of course they're going to be condescending to the human, at least to begin with. I'd be disappointed if they weren't, frankly.
I could understand [the second guy's] mask, with that brutal scar and missing eye, but the other High Fae seemed fine. Perhaps he wore it out of solidarity.
Yeah, wow, fuck you, Feyre. Because of course a scar is something that should be covered up by a mask. And even if that was why he was wearing it, then wouldn't he have gone for a full-face mask that actually covers the god-damn scar? You shove in random, unneeded bigotry, and then don't even bother to have it be a plausible conclusion to reach in-context.
“Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?” the red-haired one said. “Did you hesitate, or was the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal thing like you to take him down.”
I won't lie, I do actually enjoy Lucien, even though he's kind of a dick. Like, yeah, Feyre killed his friend. Of course he's going to be upset about it and lash out. He's like the only one in this book that behaves like an actual person.
We learn Lucien's name, as Tamlin (still don't know his name) warns him to "behave."
Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. “My apologies, lady.” Another joke at my expense. “I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”
Let's talk about telling vs showing for a moment. Specifically, that "another joke at my expense" bit. This kind of thing would be much better shown through Lucien's body language rather than just telling us, especially since "jokes" can be both positive and negative. Because, if we look at his actual body language here...
rigid
bowed deeply
gestured to me with a flourish
Nothing about that comes across as expressly condescending or insulting. It's all quite neutral - pair it with a warm smile and twinkling eyes, suddenly the "joke" is presented as friendly ribbing instead of veiled insults. The only non-neutral one is "rigid", and that speaks more of fear or surprise than condescension (and is immediately contradicted/negated when he starts moving in the very next clause). And adding the "at my expense" to the joke is 1) telling, which is boring and 2) requires Feyre to read Lucien's mind, because this is first person, so she shouldn't be able to declaratively state his intentions just like that. Instead, present body language to us that shows he's being a smarmy git, and let Feyre (and thus us, by extension) work it out from context. As it is, we've only got Feyre's word that this is a joke at all.
Something more like this, maybe:
Lucien scoffed, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. Too deeply. “My apologies, lady.” His saccharine smile didn't reach his eyes. “I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”
I've not changed all that much, but it gets across what the book wants to convey (that Lucien is full of shit) without giving Feyre mind-reading powers so she can tell us his intentions. We can work them out just fine for ourselves based on what she sees.
Boss faerie decides that Feyre needs a bath and a change of clothes, and summons a servant, Alis, to take Feyre away. More harping on the masks, because we're meant to think they're a mystery instead of just faeries being faeries.
If they cared so much about their clothes, about what even their servants wore, maybe they were shallow and vain enough for me to deceive, despite their master’s warrior clothes.
Because as we all know, no warrior ever in all of history has also cared about clothes, or ever been shallow or vain or easily fooled. And also, all people who care about what their servants wear are shallow and vain amd easily fooled, and not just, idk, not lolevil cartoon tyrants who dress servants in rags for kicks? Sure, historically, nobles probably wouldn't parade around every servant in jewels, mostly because few of them had the money to go *that* all-out, but one's servants were absolutely a reflection of one's wealth and status and would be expected to present themselves accordingly, at least where guests can see them. It's not very prestigious if your household is dressed in rags, after all.
So I let Alis lead me away. Room—not cell. A small relief, then.
Objectively speaking, cells *are* rooms. You still think faeries can't lie, Feyre - you should be on the lookout for weasel-speak.
Alis starts to lead her away, but before she can go far Lucien and Tamlin start dropping heavy-handed hints that they're up to something that no sane person would ever say right in front of the person they're supposedly tricking/have an agenda for. But hey, gotta pretend there's tension somehow. The short version is, Lucien doesn't like Feyre and wants her gone, and Tamlin wants her to stay, for no adequately explained reason.
"...And as for the girl, she stays. Unharmed. End of discussion. Her life in that hovel was Hell enough.”
Tell me you're privileged and can't empathise with poor people without telling me you're privileged and can't empathise with poor people.
And then we scene break to Feyre being prettified because why not, this is YA and of course the main character needs a makeover. But, woe, for they have laid a dress out for her to wear, yet Feyre is Not Like Other Girls!
I hadn’t worn a dress in years. I wasn’t about to start, not when escape was my main priority. I wouldn’t be able to move freely in a gown.
I mean. Depends on the gown, but your legs, at least, should be fine. More free than they would be in pants, even. And of course, the description is so lackluster that we don't learn anything about the gown other than its colour and the fact that it is, in fact, a gown, so who can say. Is it too heavy to move freely? Too restrictive around the arms/torso? Who knows! Not us. So I'm inclined to say that Feyre's just whining and being a trope. The book has given no evidence to the contrary.
Feyre sits and muses about how pretty the room is and how the fey are totally still probably planning to kill her, when Alis returns with her old clothes, apparently destroyed by the laundering process. I can't help but read this as the fey destroying them on purpose so she has to wear the dress, but apparently Feyre disagrees with me, because she makes no comment on it.
But, Alis goes and gets her some new trousers anyway, so it's all a moot point. Feyre muses on how pretty the clothes are.
I was too young to remember much before my father’s downfall.
You were eleven. That's well old enough to form solid memories. I swear, the book wants her to have only been four or five (too young to learn to read, to young to remember, etc), but then she wouldn't be able to be the sole breadwinner hunter, so we get this half-assed nonsense instead.
She then proceeds to prove me right by describing some of her memories, then we go to Alis combing her hair.
She huffed a laugh. “If you’re wise, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open. It’ll do you more good here than a loose tongue. And keep your wits about you—even your senses will try to betray you here.”
I tried not to cringe at the warning.
Same, honestly. Couldn't get any more canned and stereotypical if it tried.
But yeah, Alis acts like a generic servant confidante, and then the chapter ends.
"But I believe, Aang can save the world." no pressure kid.
I had completely forgotten about these two chuckleheads. For once the 'Previously On' segment is useful rather than spoilery.
Ok Aang is going to get the world's biggest pass this episode, because he's in the suckiest of all situations. But even so, how exactly was Toph supposed to come and get them, when she was both actually blind for once and the only reason the library hadn't drowned them yet?
Aang has something of a history of running away. Does going after Appa count as running away from his friends?
Zuko's theatre kid tendencies are genetic.
The way Iroh said "What Now?" you know he was actually saying "fuck's sake."
Zuko's hair seems to grow very quickly. I thought that I could use his hair growth to measure time passing but this is not tracking. He barely had a buzz cut in The Chase and now he's fluffy.
Two things: a) this guy has eyes greyer than Aang this episode. b) He's cocking his hands like that ridiculous Henry Cavill scene from Mission Impossible where he cocks his biceps.
This guy's spear has piercings. And is coming out of a Dragon's mouth.
I don't know that I'd call these guys legendary. They're zero for two against an Avatar in Drag and two starving refugees with three functioning arms.
Doesn't Katara ever change out her water? Or even use it up and have to refill it?
I said it last episode, and I'll say it again: why did five people, a lemur, and a ten tonne sky bison travel into a desert famous for its desertiness with only a single water pouch between them? Admittedly, if they'd brought extra water and left it on Appa, they'd be having the same problem, but still...
Is a kids' show actually going to go there?
They actually went there!
Honestly if you're dying of dehydration in the desert, eating strange plants is absolutely the way to go. I'd rather trip my way into the afterlife than just shrivel up and die.
I love the way Aang's glider shadow moves over the dunes. Another one of those tiny details that the animators could have left out, but they didn't!
Sand benders must get crazy high speeds if Aang can't spot even a trace of Appa from up high. He wasn't Appa-napped very long ago.
Everyone go watch the scene where Aang blows up the mushroom cloud. Go right now I'll wait. And pay attention to Sokka's mouth. It does the wave.
His mouth does the wave and his arms do the worm. Someone really had fun this episode.
Zuko breaking the world record for highest number of Fire Nation wanted posters. Despite being the only person on that board who's unquestionably loyal to the Fire Nation. What a nice reward he got for his loyalty.
How is that one wrestler dude's hair so shiny?
Why, other than plot convenience, would Zuko and Iroh be at the Ice Spring?
I see now that the left hand shadow is Sokka with a Momo on his head. But for just a second I thought it was Ramona from Scott Pilgrim.
There are some really beautiful colour gradients in this desert.
"We won't survive without Appa." Well yes, but you have to try.
If this is a normal desert they're going to freeze their butts off overnight.
No comment. Just vibes.
Hey this is a Katara episode! Toph is blind, Sokka's zoinked, Aang's given up, so it's Katara time baby!
This episode has no business being this pretty.
"Sokka. I was there." I'd be very surprised if Katara's voice actress doesn't have an idiot older brother. That line was delivered a little too perfectly.
I'm not going to comment on every Sokka is high joke, but rest assured I'm finding them all hilarious.
Those drinks cost a gold piece each. Where did they get five gold pieces from?
Colour me shocked. The chuckleheads actually had a good idea for once.
Colour me shocked again! I vaguely predicted this!
Zuko. Honey. How are you this dim? He's so very good at missing exactly what's in front of him.
"Gold?"
Big muscles. No brains.
Very pretty. The sand texture is good too.
Well that was mean.
Passive aggressive glider deployment. Also how low is that cloud if Aang can reach it to bend it?
Aang is not shining this episode (understandably) but Katara is going from strength to strength. I NEVER would have thought that she was someone who could keep her cool under pressure like this. Happy to be wrong!
I have no idea if Sokka is going to remember or be aware of this epic trip he's on, but this is probably the best time he's had in months. Certainly since Yue died. He deserves this. Bad timing, but he needed a break.
"You must forgive my nephew. He is not an initiate, and is dumb as shit and incapable of reading the room."
Why is there a flower shop in the middle of the desert? What clients do they have? Obviously it's a front for this pai sho secret society thing, but why did they pick such a nonsensical front?
Toph has so much personality that it's easy to forget how tiny she is. Like a little gargoyle.
Sokka talking like a Greaser was the thing I didn't know I needed.
Poor Katara. Now you know how your brother feels every time he has to save your bacon from your weekly prison break.
I am losing my mind over these colours. Especially after The Library.
"I have a natural curiosity." I'm going to start using that.
Oops they found the circle bird nest.
Hey showrunners, you're going to take Momo from me too? You sure you want to do that? After last episode? Don't give me a pretty sunset with a latte swirl. Give me back Appa, put down Momo, or I'll sic Toph on you.
I do like Toph as a piece of artillery.
Turns out a combined Appa and Momo -napping is what it takes to get Aang to break his no killing rule. I now know how to defeat the Fire Lord.
The Audacity. Going to Ba-Sing- however the hell that's spelled. The sheer audacity. But then what? What's the plan after they get there? Just live the rest of their lives?
Rejected Mortal Combat guy.
You ever have one of those days where you do only your top lip?
Whoever made that door, and that lock - good job!
Nothing to see here, just making a delivery of two giant planters in the middle of the desert. The Owl decided to spruce up his entryway.
Y'all are fucked. Y'all deserve it. Aang has completely lost control. He's spent the whole episode losing it more and more and now he's gone completely off the rails. Has he ever zipped into the Avatar state that fast before?
Never underestimate the power of a woman who's fed up with everyone's nonsense. Just so fed up.
Well that was sad.
Badass name of the day: Malachi Throne, voice of a character whose name I don't recognise.
Final Thoughts
This was Katara's episode. I'm not going to forgive not getting Appa back, but Katara actually keeping a level head for once was an unexpected delight.
This episode was pretty unrelentingly heavy in the A-plot, which is why I don't understand why Sokka and Momo tripping worked so well. It did work, and I very much enjoyed it, but it should have stuck out like a sore thumb and it didn't. The beat up Sokka quota fulfillled from within by chemicals was a nice creative touch.
I am very happy to see Iroh take the wheel, although I'm not convinced there's a long term plan here beyond get food and shelter. Which, fair enough, goals tend to be short term and immediate when you're in dire straits.
This episode really stomped all over Aang. And then stomped some more. I was surprised how negative and shouty he was at the beginning, but by the end I was surprised how long it took him to lose it. Apart from his staff and his clothes, Appa really is all he has left from before he got frozen. That sandbender punk was rotten to the core.
So I guess we're going to the earth kingdom capital regardless of the eclipse information. Is the rest of the season going to be getting there? I also can't help but notice that it's where Iroh and Zuko are headed as well. Zuko could actively run in the direction opposite to the Avatar and he'd still end up tripping over him. The earth Kingdom is ginormous. And yet, like every two episodes Zuko runs into the Avatar. Is it fate? Is it plot convenience?
I should dislike this episode. It's 24 minutes of our faves getting beat down and not finding Appa, with a b-plot of Zuko being more oblivious than usual. I should dislike it, but I don't. This is definitely going on the rewatch list. It was a very pretty episode, which helped. Beyond that I can't put into words why I liked it, but I did!
tl;dr i finished two sheep from TOFT (Seth the Wensleydale and Tobias the Hebridean) and this is what they look like
Things that went well:
I think they are very cute and I 💖 them, I guess that's the most important : )
I'm glad I changed the colour palette for Tobias, crocheting so much in a dark yarn would have been hell even with my new neck light
Safety eyes, look much cuter than the pattern. I wish the toft patterns had more instructions on where to place the eyes, I go through A LOT of trial and error. :|
I added a second coat of sligtly longer chains to Tobias' fleece and I think it was a good decision, he looked hella flat otherwise (and it wasn't actually that much more work).
Seth has very fun texture! Reading the pattern I could not imagine how a chain you work back down can become fleece but in the end it's even more extreme than the picture. Leading to:
Things that did not go so well:
Holy fuck did I use A LOT of yarn on Seth. Obviously I misinterpreted something in the instructions about curliness or density but if I only used the 50g provided I think he would have looked patchy AF? In the end I think I used 50g just on the head, and about 125g in total - needing not one but TWO deliveries (since I thought extra 50g would do... idiot). I could tell early on it looks different but obviously was too stubborn to undo what's already been done. I'd like to say I'm gonna learn something from this but I'm not gonna sit here and lie. 😑
Black yarn fortunately means no one can see stitches on Tobias' horns, not just me. 🙄 I felt like I followed all instructions and even made 3 of each just to test if I fucked up by accident but all of them ended up looking a bit off.
Future improvements
I want to learn different ways to do a decrease (sc2tog), or maybe figure out how I'm doing it wrong - it always stands out and looks like shit. The fleece helped hide it in this instance but I won't always be so lucky...
I need more patience when sewing things together, or I'll never make anything that looks straight ahead. 💀
Fortunately I found both a crochet class from end of March and a stitch circle in my local library that just started mid-Jan so I should be able to bother some people irl for advice when a pattern does not make sense to me and just as a second pair of eyes. :')
