Supergirl writers: ah yes we love all characters equally… Mon-El (♥), Lena Luthor, Mon-El (♥) Winn Schott, Mon-El (♥), Alex Danvers, J’onn J’onzz and Kie…
*looks at smudged writing on hand*
Magu Soya, M’ugh M’oss, Ginny Osmet, Curt Gart and Lucio Plane.
I am a man of not terribly comely appearance. Compared to the likes of Mr. Nikiforov or Mr. Giacometti, one might even consider me homely. I was rarely paid attention to in school. My features are average, my hair black and my eyes brown. These are not uncommon traits. I am not terribly tall. I possess neither the exotic coloration of Mr. Nikiforov, nor Mr. Giacometti’s titilating nature. There is nothing to recommend me to a man of Mr. Nikiforov’s station. I am a tutor. My job is to educate his son, and that I will.
Mr. Nikiforov’s dismissive glances are obvious and plenty. His eyes will roam over my form with a sort of wide-eyed derision. I possess only a handful of vests and shirts, and only two jackets. His looks often linger on my glasses, as though he finds them upsetting. Most of all, I believe he finds objection to my words. I find him staring at my mouth most often. It is as though I have offended him with my simple vernacular.
Why has this man not already done the inevitable, and released my from my duties? It is obvious that he finds me painfully inadequate in every way imaginable.
Meanwhile, Viktor sends a letter to his cousin Mila. It reads:
IN LOVE WITH SON’S TUTOR. ADVICE?
Mila’ response is, of course, to arrive unannounced with her entire entourage and escalate the situation.
alex and maggie are that couple that both make this photo their fb profile picture. it annoys the heck outta their friends bc it gets so confusing. they dont give a flying fuck bc it’s a cute pic and maggie thinks she looks badass and alex thinks her girlfriend is a nerddddddd for being so serious
Oh my God this shit has so much good quote potential my dudes
“Have you never done something horrible with the sole intention to protect?” Viktor asks of Yuuri, desperately, as he tries to convince Yuuri to stay after running out of their wedding.
“I believe that horribleness for protection’s sake blurs the line of what one must be protected from,” Yuuri snaps. “I have never lied to you, sir, and I was under the impression that the condition was mutual. Forgive me for my dismay at being proven wrong.”
“Shall I tell you of my love, Yuuri? He who holds my heart? Shall I speak to you of the soul to which mine cries in the dark?”
“I have encountered Mister Giacometti many times, sir.” Yuuri speaks mostly to his own feet. “He is a winsome man of great character. I believe your union will be a successful and happy one, should you choose to take him as your spouse.”
“Do you honestly believe it is Christophe to whom I refer?” Mr. Nikiforov has taken on that look of bafflement again.
“Who else sir?” Yuuri murmurs, before walking away.
“Why do you waste your time at the window, child?” Ms. Baranovskaya looks up from her needle point. “Do none of the books interest you? You are the child’s tutor, do you not take time in the day to enrich yourself?”
“You’re right, of course.” Yuuri steps down from the window, straightening himself. “I apologize, Ms. Baranovskaya.”
“It was not meant as criticism,” Ms. Baranovskaya says after a moment. “At least not entirely. What holds your interest in those woods?”
Yuuri flicks his gaze towards the window once more. “Not the woods, ma’am, but what lies beyond. I wonder what is out there. I am twenty-three, ma’am, and educated. I traveled over the sea when I was only an infant, but since arriving in this country my life has seen little excitement. I receive letters from my former school-mate, who has returned to his birthplace of Bangkok in an attempt to gain riches. The tales he recalls to me are…not to be believed. In contrast, I have never seen a city. Indeed, I have not even returned to my family home in five years. I believe it may be shame that holds me back. The shame that I have not improved myself, despite the sacrifices of my family. I am twenty-three, and yet my ten-year-old pupil has more worldliness. My own inadequacies shame me.”
Ms. Baranovskaya is terribly quiet for only a moment–a moment during which Yuuri dismounts the window seat and crosses to the bookshelf.
“Shame can only take root if it is nurtured, Yuuri Katsuki,” she says finally. “It is very similar, in that way, to fear. But also love. Perhaps you should stop coddling your shame.”