I love how in the beginning–through Yuri’s perspective–we all thought Viktor Nikiforov was this divine, untouchable being while in actuality, this nerd is just a mess when drunk, loves eating his katsudon, and makes mistakes just like we all do as a human.
Though most importantly, through it all, this man right here didn’t just simply slip a little and fall in love with Yuri Katsuki but he–takes a deep breath–HE FUCKING TRIPPEFD Y'ALL HE FUCKING TRIPPED WITH HIS FACE FLAT ON THE GROUND AND THERE IS NO WAY OUT.

/once again dead as she rewatches the last scene from ep9 for the 277777777 times

Jayne: Shepard, look at this. These are the same colors as the clown I saw. Red, yellow and blue.

Shepard Book: This isn’t a clown. This is the Pied Piper. Story goes he rid Hamelin of its plague of rats. Then when the town refused to pay him, he came back and took all their children.

River: The oldest and most accurate picture of the Pied Piper. The colors of his costume signify he was a traveling entertainer. But, I’m afraid, even clowns have their dark days.

Shepard Book: And that’s exactly the sort of clown I’m interested in, River. One that makes children disappear.

Jayne: But the Pied Piper is a fairy tale.

Shepard Book: Myths, legends, fairy tales. Every story has its inspiration, Jayne.

serenity-fails  asked:

CURVEBALL: Josephine/Marjolaine

once upon a time I asked my TL for prompts to dash off when I needed to keep my creative dick hard, here is one. (This was not remotely a curveball, for the record, this is the exact kind of thing I like)

It was said, by people who were lying, and who had immediately had cause to regret their lies, that Marjolaine was out of the Game, that she had been glad to retire to the countryside and play the noble widow, hosting parties and stag hunts, keeping well out of politics. There was a house party on, now. Leliana had come as Lady Dorothée, a cover she’d spent years establishing (while rejecting its namesake’s job offers), and after a display of hauteur to peel the paint from the wall, no one had questioned her belonging.

Marjolaine had found herself some new little birds, the very minor agents, disposable, since Leliana last saw her. She had always had any number of lackeys, wandering minstrels with garottes disguised as spare lutestrings, nobles who bankrolled her operations, all of whom had been half or more in love with her, but Leliana had always been the most important of them all. Handpicked, molded in her own image—was there any higher honor? To be trained up by the greatest bard in an age? To sit at the left hand of power?

Keep reading

grateful for:

1. sunny saturday mornings

2. bedtime mode on my phone (my east coast people love sending me texts at 4am)

3. the fact that i legit enjoy being alone a lot of the time (otherwise i guess i would be pretty lonely!)

a note on #3.. i am still trying to decide if i really really do enjoy being alone or if i am still recovering from my suffocating last two relationships. TBD.