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
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?