#gold frame series 5/9

[bieddiediaz]

I'm gonna love you when our hair is turning gray we'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made and you'll say, "oh my, we really were t i m e l e s s."

happy birthday @oneawkwardcookie 💖💖

[Image ID: 10 GIFs of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz from 9-1-1, overlaid with lyrics from Taylor Swift's Timeless. GIF 1: A painting and an open book on a black wooden table. The painting has an ornate gold frame. Inside the painting is a GIF of Buck hanging from the extended ladder of the ladder truck after he is struck by lightning. Partially on top of the painting, a book lies open with a GIF on either page, of Buck and Eddie respectively facing each other after Eddie is shot. The lyrics are stylised as text in the book, reading 'I came upon a book covered in cobwebs / story of a romance torn apart by fate.' GIF 2: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck laying on the road staring at a fallen Eddie after Eddie is shot. The second shows Eddie yelling Buck's name as he rushes to get to Buck after Buck falls from the ladder truck. Both GIFs are blurred. The lyrics are stylised in old gothic font, reading 'somehow I know that you and I would've found each other / and I'd die for you in the same way.' GIF 3: Eddie and Buck are in full turnout gear. Eddie is walking as the fire truck drives alongside him, with Buck hanging off of it. The GIF is tinted orange. The text reads 'if I first saw your face / on a crowded street in 1944.' GIF 4: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck rushing out of Maddie's hospital after he gets her letter telling him that she can't run away with him. This GIF is black and white. The second shows Eddie in his army uniform getting on a helicopter. The text reads 'and you were headed off to fight in the war / you still would've been mine.' GIF 5: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck as a bartender in Peru, listening to Connor tell him about LA. The second shows Eddie at his parents' house, listening as they tell him that they think Chirstopher should live with them. The text reads 'cause I belive that we were supposed to find this / even in a different life / you still would've been mine / we would've been timeless.' GIF 6: The GIF has a crack down the middle. On the left of the crack, Buck begs his parents to love him despite him and Maddie not being perfect kids. On the right, Eddie breaks down after he learns that all his teammates from the army are dead. The GIF slowly transitions from colour to black and white. The text is aligned along the crack, reading 'time breaks down your mind and body / don't you let it touch your soul.' GIF 7: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck turning around in the firehouse to see Eddie for the first time. The second shows Eddie grinning as he meets the team for the first time. The GIF has a papery texture to it. The text reads 'it was like an age old classic / the first time that you saw me.' GIF 8: A piece of parchment paper. In a large square on the left side, Buck and Eddie shake hands after working together for the first time. On the right side, the lyrics are stylised like text in a book, reading 'the story started when you said hello.' GIF 9: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other, of Eddie and Buck covertly meeting each other's eyes in the middle of the firehouse. Eddie is in black and white while Buck is in colour. The text reads 'in a crowded room a few short years ago / sometimes there's no proof you just know.' GIF 10: A pocket watch on the screen. Inside the pocket watch, a montage of Buck and Eddie through the years cycles repeatedly. The hour and minute hand of the pocket watch rotate clockwise. In the background, behind the pocket watch, the same series of GIFs is enlarged and blurred. Around the watch, stylised in old gothic font, the text reads 'you're always gonna be mine / we're gonna be timeless.' /end ID]

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma, minor descriptions of reader

You don't need a tissue box.....yet.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9 , Chapter 10

Prologue

Goodnight Shadow singer.

It wasn’t surprising that Helion went over the top when he arranged a ball. After the war the relationships between night and day court were better than they ever had been so the inner circle were the first ones to be invited. Rhysand was staring at the ball room in awe.

“And I thought you went over the top with these events” it was Cassian who spoke breaking Rhysand’s trance of thoughts. Rhysand let a scoff and took his seat at the assigned table. The ball room was decorated with gold ornaments and fae lights, there were flowers on the walls and tables and huge mirrors on the walls and ceiling, even the floors were so shiny that you would think they were gold mirrors. Feyre dressed in a black gown with gold details to honour the host sat next to Rhysand, Mor took the seat on his other side with Amren and Nesta next to her. Cassian and Azriel were sitting at the other side of the table. Cassian was cracking jokes about Helion’s taste while Azriel was trying to hide in his shadows -or what was left of them since he sent a good amount outside to check for any possible danger- feeling overwhelmed by the huge crowd and loud noises. Don’t get him wrong he was used to the loud noise, he lived with Cassian for crying out loud, but this was different, he didn’t know most people in the room, all dressed in their finest and shiniest clothes laughing and enjoying the music that was played by the 5 musicians on the stage that was built on the left side of the room. The room went silent when Helion walked in, power was radiating off him while he was walking towards their table, sending winks and flirty smirks to the blushing women who were on his way bowing their heads. “Well hello to the beautiful night family” Helion said taking a seat at their table sending a wink to Feyre who had a genuine smile on her face upon seeing one of the males outside her court that could be considered a good friend. “It’s nice to see you again Helion thank you for inviting us here” Rhysand told him keeping the formal attitude of a high lord. “It’s my pleasure to have all of you here my dear friend” Helion replied, and servants filled the glasses with wine. Conversation went easily at the table, everyone was laughing and having a great time, when a beautiful female approached, her golden hair was pulled in a high bun with two strands framing her face, a small tiara decorated the crown of her head. She was wearing a white gown which was tied around her neck, tight on the upper part of her body and loose beneath the waist as it fell on her feet. She looked like a goddess full of light. Azriel was staring at her while his shadows tried to approach her with him having to use most of his power to pull them back. “I’m sorry to interrupt but the chef wants to know when you would like to have the food served” she said looking at Helion.

Helion had a big smile on his face, not the flirty one he usually had but a genuine one full of care and kindness. He turned to his guests on the table “Everyone this is y/n, one of my dearest friends” he said with such a pride and protectiveness. She stared at the table and bowed her head “High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre it’s an honour to meet you” she said and offered them a tight smile. When Rhysand and Feyre returned her greeting, she turned her glance back to Helion without acknowledging them any further. This piqued the interest of the shadow singer who felt the need to protect his family as he realised that she isn’t happy about their appearance in the ball. Helion told her that now is a good time to serve the food and she left without looking at them again. Rhys sent a questioning look at Helion who acted like he didn’t notice. Suddenly the shadow singer stood and excused himself following the way he saw her going to. He found her curled on a window staring the city outside the palace and he stood in the shadows watching her. “Hello shadowsinger” she said catching him out of guard. How did she know that he was here? He had never been spotted, the shadows always kept him well hidden, and he had mastered moving without any sound. He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised she was staring at the darkness he was into.  He shook his head and stepped from the shadows.

“You know it’s not polite to creep on a female like that” she said turning back to the view outside.

“You knew I was here…. how?” he said trying to remember if he made any noise.

“Maybe you’re not that good at your job as everyone thinks” she said without looking at him. He scoffed and took a seat next to her noticing the way she flinched when his wings got close to her. He moved a bit further from her and stared the side of her face. “Are you planning to hide here the whole night?” he questioned making himself comfortable while also staying on guard wary of the strange female. “Crowds this big make me feel uneasy” she replied and shrugged.

“I feel the sa….”

“I know” she cut him off surprising him. He didn’t question her knowing that he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted so he settled for the comfortable silence around them. He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, watching the city full of life and at times some of the drunk guests who decided to dance in the gardens of the palace. He stared the women dancing and caressing the flowers twirling around them. It reminded him of Elain for a few seconds, but his thoughts were gone as he looked at the female next to him who was now more relaxed and had a sad smile on her face. He took a breath ready to start conversation, but he was once again cut off as she got up and left.

“Goodnight shadowsinger”.

[concidineart]

Chairs and Wagon continued!

Part 5 of GTWS prop explorations. More details below.

Image 1 Left to Right

Season 8 early Swaggon design. I imagine it started closer to a wagon and became more steampunk over the course of the season.

Season 8 blimp wheelchair. Has a jukebox and oxygen converter build into its back which Scar can control from his armrest, as well as direct the blimp.

Image 2 Left to Right

Double Life bamboo wheelchair. Very similar in shape and construction to a modern wheelchair, but due to the limited time and resources of the Life Series, the frame is made from bamboo. Its got a basket on the back for supplies and Jellie!

Season 5 & 6 Landboat. Season 8 Lanbo’s progenitor. Land and sea worthy (barely). Features a jib, storage compartments, and a crows-nest for Jellie to nap, I mean, keep watch in.

Season 9 Elven wheelchair. The gold patterns on the wheels are painted on. Features a hook to hang supplies or lights, such as the froglight pictured.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

peoples of middle-earth ❖ the noldor

"Next came the Noldor, a name of wisdom, the people of Finwë. They are the Deep Elves, the friends of Aulë and they are renowned in song, for they fought and laboured long and grievously in the northern lands of old."

-JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor”

[ID: a picspam comprised of 12 images in shades of amber and deep orange-toned red.

1: An ornately woven curtain / 2: The back of a tiger / 3: A person with brown skin and long, wavy dark hair that frames their face, which is partially obscured. They are raising their hands to their face and are wearing some gold jewelry / 4: White text in all caps reads “noldor” on a reddish background. The text has a faint echo in semi-transparent lighter red / 5: Pieces of amber in different shapes and colors / 6: Lightning in a dark sky / 7: Flames burning in a bowl of melted red wax or oil / 8: A series of archways framing a long hallway / 9: Same format as Image 4, but the text is in all lowercase and reads “deep elves” / 10: A person with tan skin looking out through their curly black hair, which is blowing across their face and obscuring them almost entirely / 11: Glowing metal being hammered on an anvil / 12: A rising or setting sun among some clouds /End ID]

[fancoloredglasses]

Star Trek, part 4: The Next Generation (Making the Federation even more Mary Sue)

[All images are owned by Paramount. Please don’t sue me]

The introduction of the Enterprise-A in Star Trek IV opened up the possibility of new adventures of the USS Enterprise, so when it was announced in 1987 that a new Star Trek television series would be starting, fans were hopeful that the crew of the Enterprise would go from the big screen back to the small screen.

They were very wrong.

(Thanks to Great80sTV)

Star Trek: The Next Generation (or simply TNG) takes place 80 years following the original Enterprise’s five-year missions. Gene Roddenberry is once again at the helm of the show, though he is assisted by Rick Berman, who would become the official showrunner following Roddenberry’s death.

The Federation of the 24th century is, if possible, even more utopian than before, having signed a peace treaty with the Klingon Empire (even if more than a few Klingons aren’t happy about it)

The latest ship to carry the legendary name, the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D) is a Galaxy class starship, capable of longer missions into deep space. Warp technology has progressed far enough that the formula for warp speed had to be amended. Now (according to fan publications) the calculation is to a power of 5 (meaning that Warp 5 would be 5 x 5 x 5 x 5 x 5, or 3,125 times the speed of light. Using my Alpha Centauri example from my review of the original series, it would take about 9 1/2 hours at Warp 5 to reach Alpha Centauri from Earth, a much more reasonable time frame.

In addition to better Warp and defensive technologies, the Enterprise had a new technology known as holodecks, that made life-like imagery that the crew could touch and interact with, as a way to keep the crew from going stir-crazy. And the holodecks never, ever, ever had anything go wrong inside. Nope. Never. Not even once. (excuse me as I stifle several giggles)

Two other things that were different than previous Enterprises.

(Thanks to April 5, 2063)

Since the Galaxy class was designed to go farther out than was previously possible, crew quarters are large enough to allow the families of the crew to join them on board. Because of this, the saucer section can be detached from the Engineering hull to allow the civilian population to be evacuated in cases of extreme peril.

One other change was in the uniforms.

(Thanks to The Hollywood Reporter)

Starfleet has replaced the uniform used for over 70 years with an almost “throwback” uniform with the uniform color matching divisions (though red is now operations and gold is now service; but don’t worry, we’ll still call the doomed security personnel “Redshirts”)

You will note that the uniforms are all onesies. This will be changed by Season 2 (along with several minor changes as the series progresses, almost as if whoever designed the uniform didn’t plan for the comfort of the wearer)

Now let’s meet this new crew…

The Enterprise’s commanding officer is Captain Jean-Luc Picard (played by Sir Patrick Stewart, a Shakespearean actor who had never seen Star Trek before auditioning) Stewart takes the gravitas he learned on stage and brings it to the 24th century, setting the tone of the series to something a bit more thought-provoking and less fist-provoking (just one question: why is a French starship captain talking with a British accent?)

Picard’s First Officer is Commander William Riker, who tends to be more Kirk-like in his command style. He’s not the type to get into a brawl or anything, but he’s more the smooth-talking type who leads his team when danger presents itself. He tends to lead missions that are away from the ship, preferring the Captain stay within the relative safety of the Enterprise.

The Second Officer and Chief Navigator is Lt. Commander Data (played by Brent Spiner, who previously was known as recurring character Bob Wheeler on Night Court), an android created by Dr. Noonian Soong capable of independent initiative. Despite rumors to the contrary, Data earned the rank he holds. His journey of learning to be as human as possible often puts him at the center of humorous situations (like when he tried growing a beard) He (and it’s been confirmed that he is male, with all of the plumbing to match) is incapable of showing emotion or using contractions, and often gets so wrapped up in what he’s saying that he has to be cut off by whomever he’s talking to due to not knowing when to stop spouting facts.

Some time during the series (it’s never explained in or out of canon when or how), Data acquired a cat, which he named Spot (despite the fact that the cat had stripes) There were four different “Spots” throughout the series and NONE of them looked alike (plus Spot’s gender changed at least once) Spiner has gone on record saying he hated doing scenes that included Spot, as they always took three times as long to shoot due to the cat not cooperating.

The Ship’s Counselor and advisor to the Captain is Lt. Commander Counselor Deanna Troi (played by Marina Sirtis), a member of a telepathic race known as Betazoids (she mainly uses her abilities as an empath, preferring not to use telepathy) Troi is actually half-Betazoid. She previously had a relationship with Riker that ended amiably, which comes back into play every now and then.

Her mother Lwoxana (played by Majel Barrett) is infatuated with Picard, much to his chagrin.

The Chief Helmsman (and eventually Data’s best friend) is Lt. (later Lt. Commander) Geordi La Forge (played by Reading Rainbow host LaVar Burton) La Forge is blind (due to a blind girl wanting a role model on Star Trek and Gene Roddenberry having an ironic sense of humor by making the pilot blind) The object that looks like a banana clip (because that’s what it is!) is a VISOR (Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement), which is connected to implants on La Forge’s temples that feed his brain sensory data, including infrared and ultraviolet emissions. Starting in Season 2 (following Season 1’s “Chief Engineer of the Week”), La Forge is transferred to Engineering where he remained through the remainder of the series and beyond.

Lt. Worf (played by Michael Dorn) is the first and (thus far) only Klingon to serve on a Starfleet vessel. He was the last survivor when the Romulans attacked a Klingon outpost when he was a boy. A Starfleet crewman found him and raised him. He is still very much a Klingon warrior, though tempered by Federation ideals.

He serves on the Enterprise as…well, I’m not entirely certain what his duties are at the start of the series other than to be the Token Klingon.

[FUN FACT: The prosthetic Dorn wore in season 1 was stolen after the season ended, so a new one had to be crafted but wasn’t an exact replica, which is why he looks different from Season 2 onward]

The Chief Medical Officer is Commander Dr. Beverly Crusher (played by Gates McFadden) Unlike Dr. McCoy, she doesn’t have any memorable catchphrases. Her husband was killed under Picard’s command years prior. She and Picard have unresolved romantic tension throughout the series.

Since families are allowed on the Enterprise, Dr. Crusher is allowed to bring her son Wesley (played by Wil Wheaton, who was previously known for Stand by Me) aboard. Wesley is a child prodigy who…

Look, I’m just gonna say it. I never liked Wesley (though I’ve gotten a lot of respect for Wheaton since he left the series) because he was pretty much a Mary Sue. He knows more about every aspect of the Enterprise than officers who’ve spent years to earn their posts. Despite being a teenager, he refers to the crew as “grown ups” rather than “adults” and (at least in the early parts of the first season) threw tantrums when the people in authority wouldn’t let him get his way.

That being said, he managed to somehow gain the respect of the crew (especially Captain Picard)

(Thanks again to April 5, 2063)

Last, but certainly not first, we have Head of Security and Tactical Officer Lt. Tasha Yar (played by Denise Crosby) Yar comes from a colony that had broken down, now ruled by the strongest. At times it seemed like there could be romantic leanings between Yar and Worf (and there WAS a sexual encounter with Data!) however, this never came to fruition as the season 1 finale will explain.

(Thanks to Frustrated Idealist)

It turns out that Denise Crosby had the same issue that Nichelle Nichols had (her role was essentially window dressing), but unlike Nichols, Crosby didn’t have a famous comedian to urge her to stay so she left the series. With Yar’s death, Worf was moved to her position (which really should’ve been the case from the start, given he’s a Klingon)

In addition to Wesley’s field commission and the transfers of Worf and La Forge (oh, and Riker grew a beard), there were two casting changes for season 2.

Backstage tension between Gates McFadden and the show’s head writer (who had gotten more authority as Gene Roddenberry started stepping back) caused McFadden to be fired. In canon, Dr. Crusher was reassigned to Starfleet Medical (though Wesley stayed aboard for some reason)

Replacing Dr. Crusher is Lt. Commander Dr. Kate Pulaski (played by Diana Maldaur (who had appeared in an episode of the Original Series and was best known for falling down an elevator shaft on LA Law) Dr. Pulaski was far more gruff than Dr. Crusher (more similar to Dr. McCoy, but without the catchphrases), and proved to be unpopular. She was replaced when the writer left and Rick Berman asked McFadden to return for season 3.

Finally, we come to the other Nichelle Nichols story she enjoyed telling.

There was a young black girl who saw Uhura and was amazed there was a black woman on TV who wasn’t a maid (this was the 60s, so that kind of thing was almost unheard of) She would be inspired to become a stand-up comedian, and eventually a popular movie actress. When TNG started, she went to Roddenberry and told him she wanted a role on the show…ANY role!

That little girl’s name?

Whoopie Goldberg, who was given the role of Guinan, the bartender of the Enterprise’s Ten Forward lounge. Guinan is of a race with cosmic-ish abilities (when the Enterprise is involved in a temporal event that changed history, Guinan was the only one who knew something was amiss)

Also over the course of the series we got interactions with Original Series crew members...

Admiral McCoy (retired, now over 130 years old)

Captain Scott (retired, who was suspended in time for over 70 years)

...and Ambassador Spock (well, Vulcans do live over 200 years)

It’s the interactions between the cast members that sets the series apart from the Original Series, and it truly is an ensemble cast; every cast member is given their chance in the spotlight on a number of episodes (particularly Data (in his quest to try to be more human) and Worf (as he tries to find his place between two cultures))

With the Klingons more-or-less friends, Starfleet needed more recurring alien threats to deal with (the Romulans were still around, but were quiet during the early seasons)

The Ferengi are a race that personify the absolute worst a capitalist society can be, prioritizing profit above all else (they even codify it in their code of “ethics” known as the Rules of Acquisition) Unfortunately, rather than being the threat they were intended they turned out to be little more than comic relief.

The Cardassians are a militaristic race bent on conquest (there are certainly a lot of those hanging around in the galaxy, aren’t there?) They tend to be cruel to those they conquer. However, to prevent a war the Federation ceded a number of Federation colony worlds that once belonged to the Cardassians, leaving those who chose to stay to fend for themselves against their new rulers (this may be the first crack in the utopian facade the Federation shows) Many Federation citizens (including a number of Starfleet personnel) formed a resistance group known as the Maquis, who are dedicated to freeing the colonies left to the Cardassians. Both the Federation and the Cardassians treat the group as terrorists.

Q (a member of the Q Continuum, played by John deLancie) is an omnipotent entity who appears occasionally to attempt to teach the Enterprise (and more importantly Captain Picard) about the fallacies of humanity and the dangers of What Lies Beyond. Many times his antics are played for laughs, but unlike the Ferengi there is always a dangerous undercurrent to Q’s games. Unfortunately, his antics have gotten Q in trouble with his fellow Q, and at one point he had been stripped of his powers and made human for a brief period.

Q is directly responsible for introducing the Federation to the gravest threat to the galaxy…

The Borg.

The Borg are humanoid beings that have been enhanced with cybernetics and, due to their hive mind, are able to adapt quickly to dangers (a phaser will down a few Borg, but they will quickly adapt and be able to repel future blasts on that light frequency) Any time they encounter a new species, they assimilate the species and their technology into their Collective.

The series ran for 7 seasons, beginning and ending with Q putting the humanity on trial (with the crew of the Enterprise playing the role of defendant for the entire race) The series laid the groundwork for two spin-off series set in the same era (plus at least one that debuted after 2010, so I won’t be covering it), but those are tales for future reviews.

If you would like to watch the series it’s available on Paramount+, PlutoTV, or behind your favorite paywall. If you would like to see an episode reviewed, please let me know!

One quick note before I go: I would like to show the tale of the first Meeting of the Generations (which occurred during the filming of Star Trek V), as told by Wil Wheaton.

[DISCLAIMER: This is told entirely from Wheaton’s perspective, and I’m sure William Shatner has a different take on it, but given all the stories about Shatner over the years, I’m inclined to think this is closer to the truth]

(Thanks to Eric Webb)

[phrynefishersfrocks]

Phryne Fisher’s Fabulous Frocks Outfit Recap: Season 2, Episode 13 - “Murder Under the Mistletoe”

The thirteenth and final episode of season two of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries is made up of a suitably festive palate to celebrate the Christmas Special. Featuring a fetching grey tweed coat and a Santa-like red and white coat to combat the cold, we also see a practical yet fashionable checkered ski suit, as well as two elegant indoor outfits - a bright green embroidered jacket and her antique burnished orange and gold short sleeved jacket - and ending with a shining metallic ornamental dress and capelet. Each look nods to the holiday and context in its own way, and is a suitable and colorful end to the second series.

Outfit #1 - Grey Tweed Coat, White Blouse and Pants, White Fur Hat

Outfit #2 - Green Embroidered Jacket, White Blouse and Pants

Outfit #3 - Antique Printed Jacket, Black Blouse and Pants

Outfit #4 - Red and White Ski Suit, Cream Pants

Outfit #5 - Red and White Coat, Cream Pants, White Fur Hat

Outfit #6 - Metallic Christmas Dress

Previous Recaps:

Season 2, Episode 12 Recap - "Unnatural Habits" (8 total)

Season 2, Episode 11 Recap - “Dead Air” (6 total)

Season 2, Episode 10 Recap - “Death on the Vine” (4 total)

Season 2, Episode 9 Recap - “Framed for Murder” (7 total)

Season 2, Episode 8 Recap - “The Blood of Juana the Mad” (8 total)

Season 2, Episode 7 Recap - “Blood at the Wheel” (9 total)

Season 2, Episode 6 Recap - “Marked for Murder (4 total)

Season 2, Episode 5 Recap - “Murder à la Mode” (11 total)

Season 2, Episode 4 Recap - “Deadweight” (7 total)

Season 2, Episode 3 Recap - “Dead Man’s Chest” (9 total)

Season 2, Episode 2 Recap - “Death Comes Knocking” (10 total)

Season 2, Episode 1 Recap - “Murder Most Scandalous” (12 total)

Season One Outfit Recaps

[ljones41]

Favorite "ONCE UPON A TIME" (2011-2018) Episodes

Below are my favorite episodes from the ABC fantasy series, "ONCE UPON A TIME". Created by Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz, the series starred Ginnifer Goodwin, Jennifer Morrison, Lana Parrilla, Josh Dallas and Robert Carlyle:

FAVORITE "ONCE UPON A TIME" (2011-2018) EPISODES

1. (4.12) "Darkness on the Edge of Town" - Rumpelstiltskin aka Mr. Gold returns to Storybrooke with Ursula and Cruella De Vil in tow. Meanwhile, the Nolans (aka the "Charmings"), Regina Mills aka the Evil Queen and Killian Jones aka Captain Hook set about freeing the fairies from the Sorcerer's hat and deal with a threatening Chernabog demon, which had also freed.

2. (1.18) "The Stable Boy" – This very interesting episode revealed the origins of the Evil Queen’s antipathy toward Snow White. In the present, Mary Margaret Blanchard (aka Snow White) faces prosecution for Kathryn Nolan’s alleged murder.

3. (3.13) "Witch Hunt" - Following the return of Enchanted Forest characters to Storybrooke, Maine; Emma Swan works with Regina to find out who took everyone's memories from the past year. Flashbacks in the Enchanted Forest show the Evil Queen and Robin Hood attempt's to break into her castle, which had been overtaken by the Wicked Witch of the West.

4. (4.16) "Best Laid Plans" - While Rumpelstiltskin and the Queens of Darkness continue their search for the "Author" of the town's Fairy Tale Book, Mary Margaret and David Nolan (aka Prince "Charming") try to stop them in order to keep their daughter Emma from discovering their past misdeed, which is finally revealed in flashbacks.

5. (3.11) "Going Home" - In order to prevent Peter Pan aka Malcolm's plans to cast a new curse upon Storybrooke and create a new Neverland. Both Mr. Gold and Regina are forced to make big sacrifices.

6. (7.20) "Is This Henry Mills?" - Regina aka Roni enlists the help of her adopted granddaughter Lucy Mills to wake her son Henry Mills from the recent Dark Curse created by Eloise Gardner aka Mother Gothel. Rumpelstilskin aka Detective Weaver and Wishverse Killian Jones aka Captain Hook aka Detective Rogers go to Margot West aka Robin Hood in hopes of getting through to his daughter and the latter's girlfriend, Alice aka Tilly.

7. (3.09) "Saving Henry" - Emma, Mary Margaret and Regina struggle to prevent Peter Pan from absorbing a dying Henry Mills' heart into his body. Flashbacks reveal how Regina had ended up adopting Henry.

8. (2.16) "The Miller's Daughter" - While Regina and her mother Cora Mills aka the Queen of Hearts hunt for Rumpelstiltskin's dagger in Storybrooke in this spine-tingling episode, Cora's back story as a poor miller's daughter, who becomes the wife of a prince, is revealed in flashbacks.

9. (1.11) "Fruit of the Poisonous Tree" – This episode reveals the back story of newspaper editor Sidney Glass’ life as a Genie in the Enchanted Forest, and how his relationship with the Evil Queen led him to become the Magic Mirror.

10. (2.10) "The Cricket Game" - Following Cora and Captain Hook's arrival in Storybrooke, the former set about framing Regina for Archie Hooper's "murder" in an effort to emotionally break the former mayor. Snow White and Charming disagree over how to handle the captured Evil Queen in the Enchanted Forest flashbacks.

Honorable Mention: (5.08) "Birth" - Hook risks everything to uncover the truth about what his lady love Emma, the new Dark One, did while they were all in Camelot.

[warningsine]

favourite succession episodes?

My favorite episodes are—naturally—the ones that cause me the most pain. Either they tear me apart emotionally or they terrify me with their spot on sociopolitical commentary.

It's hard to watch a democracy crumbling in such plausible ways when you take a look at what's happening around the globe, you know?

Anyway, my top 10+1 episodes are:

All the Bells Say (Season 3, Episode 9). The back-to-back epic betrayals and tragedy (Shakespearean, Greek, Roman, Jacobean — you name it) have bewitched me body and soul and I love them. And the cinematography? Some frames look like Renaissance paintings.

Connor's Wedding (Season 4, Episode 3). Honestly, this episode is why I watch television. Now excuse me while I sob.

America Decides (Season 4, Episode 8). Give Kieran all the trophy awards for managing to make Roman so loathsome and disgusting when 5 episodes earlier he had me crying like a baby because of how pitiable his character was. "Succession" had always made it clear that these characters are awful yet human. That being said, I love how this particular episode focuses on how complicit they all are (Jess, Greg, Hugo, Gerri, Karl, Frank, the dude that takes the "pending call" decision) and how it makes you hate the Roy siblings for damning an entire nation. Kendall? Unlike Roman, he knows right from wrong and how terrible of a father he is, but when it comes down to it, he's a spineless coward. Shiv? Believes that she cares for the world (democracy, misogyny, racism), but is actually a huge hypocrite. When her country is about to succumb to fascism, the first thing she can think of is to double down on her deal with another amoral and abusive billionaire. She cares more about sticking it to her brothers more than anything else.

This Is Not for Tears (Season 2, Episode 10). Everything about this episode is perfect: the music, the script,the direction, the acting. I'm a Shiv stan, but Tom's "I wonder if the sad I’d be without you, would be less than the sad I get from being with you" absolutely breaks me. Logan mentioning the Incas and Kendall Judas kissing him before fucking him over? [chef's kiss]

With Open eyes (Season 4, Episode 10). Sad to see you go, happy that you chose to keep your legacy and not drag, beloved show.

Church and State (Season 4, Episode 9). Please respect my privacy while I cry. There was Roman's heartbreaking breakdown of course, but what really got to me was Marcia touching Kerry's hand and then telling Shiv that Logan hurt all of them. Hiam Abbass is there for 5 mins and unsurprisingly manages to steal the show.

Nobody Is Ever Missing (Season 1, Episode 10). When the series turned from capitalist satirical drama to tragedy of the highest caliber was when it really won me over. "You're my number one boy" indeed.

What It Takes (Season 3, Episode 6). Like Shiv said about Jordan-Peterson-meets-Trump Mencken, it's terrifying to watch a “YouTube provocateur” whose vibes are “aristo-populism … ‘rape is natural, it’s all red pill, baby'" gain power.

Chiantishire (Season 3, Episode 8). Dickpicgate, comedy gold. Hearing your mother tell you that it'd have been better if she had had dogs instead of you and that you'd make a terrible mother too? Harriet Walter, the actress that you are.

Tern Haven (Season 2, Episode 5). I love season 2. I love the Pierces. I love Rhea. I love Nan. Holly Hunter and Cherry Jones should have been regulars is all I'm saying.

Dundee (Season 2, Episode 8). "L to the OG" way before "R to the IP" took place.

--

Honorable mentions:

Tailgate Party (S4E7). That Tom/Shiv balcony scene... Give Snook all the awards.

DC (S2E9). When Shiv manipulated and silenced that victim of sexual harassment and abuse, showing us her true colors. When Rhea proved that she had something resembling a moral backbone after all. “This doesn’t feel right" indeed.

Rehearsal (S4E2). Because the last thing that Logan said to his children was, "I love you, but you are not serious people."

Honeymoon States (S4E4). Had not expected this episode to be so funny and yet.

Too Much Birthday (S3E7). Always a pleasure to watch Kendall fall apart and the 3 siblings backstab and be awful to each other.

Which Side Are You On? (S1E6).

Safe Room (S2E4).

The Disruption (S3E3). For Snook's acting after Kendall interrupts Shiv with Nirvana's "Rape Me" and Kendall's cowering in the server room after Shiv published that letter about him. Jeremy Strong's acting says so much even when his character doesn't utter a word.

The Munsters (S4E1). Greg's "Where are your kids?" was pure savagery. Logan should have been given some aloe vera for that burn. No, but how dare Brian Cox make me feel bad for the fallen king? It's "Breaking Bad" all over again.

[epickiya722]

Love you so much, Kiya! For you -> 💜💜

I'm very interested in your answers for 4, 5, 6, and 9!

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

Well, to choose a fic, I guess... this description of Miruko in chapter 3 of "That's My Bunny!!"

Draped over Rumi's body was a satin black dress that fell all the way down to her feet. The draping neckline was supported by thin straps, revealing bronzed skin that seemed to glow, giving even her collarbone area some emphasis. The material shaped her nicely, like a loving hug and showing off her curved waist. The double slits of her dress gave her strong legs and thighs some loving, too. And those arms of hers! Moe was sure that her girlfriend was trying to kill her showing off those toned muscles of hers. It was unfair just how beautifully crafted that gold band around her upper arm suits her, matching the heels, adding bracelet and the moon charm necklace she wore. Her pure white hair was tied back in a high ponytail that swung gracefully behind her in curls with just a few strands framing her face. Rumi went simple with makeup, just a bit of highlight on the highest points of her cheeks and lips lined with brown that also sparkled with the gloss she went for.

I actually wanted to post about this part for a while, but I was too embarrassed to post it and didn't think anyone would be interested in it. 😆

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

I'll be honest, I can't exactly think of anything of the top of my head! I do wish for more questions in general about my fics, maybe about my Miruko centric fics and the Class Antics series. They're my least popular fics and most of them don't even have comments like that.

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

To choose a fic, I guess... ooh! In the "Tragedy Wives" AU, Burnin is a firefighter.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

I explore the tags that I'm in the mood for! Or I end up writing a new fic for me to read.

Questions for Fic Writers

[sagar77777]

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[adrianharley]

My Top 10 Reads of (the first half of) 2023

I have lucked out in reading so far this year, so it is now my duty, nay, my privilege, to insist that everyone else read these books as soon as humanly possible. These are all books I read from January through June--I haven't read a single thing in July yet. 

10. The World We Make, by N. K. Jemisin. Everything Jemisin writes is gold, and even though this one didn't quite hit the highs of the first, it was a solid conclusion to the duology.

9. Siren Queen, by Nghi Vo. Early Hollywood, but make it magic--fae magic, where stars become literal stars and a Wild Hunt happens behind the scenes.

8  You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty, by Akwaeke Emezi. I will read anything Emezi writes. I would have trusted very few authors with this premise: an artist grieving the loss of her husband starts seeing other men again, but then starts falling for the father of the man she is seeing. The lavishness of the descriptions, my goodness. The book comes alive.

7. Witch Hat Atelier (volumes 1 through 5), by Kamome Shirahama. It's a testament to the strength of the books I read this year that the series with baby penguin-gryphons is this far away from #1. I cannot emphasize enough how cute they are--and in case you care about something other than baby penguin-gryphons, I cannot explain in words how incredible this world is. Just look. You'll see.

6. An Immense World, by Ed Yong. I am an animal nerd. I love sinking into a good nonfiction animal book, and this one is miles above most. I was blown away and humbled by how little I know about animal senses, and I thought I knew a lot. The writing is engaging and charming, too.

5. The Spear Cuts Through Water, by Simon Jiminez. I have never read a book like this before, and that's saying something. The frame structure of the dream theater, the way the narrative points of view flow back and forth, the dips into everyone's (EVERYONE'S) thoughts... this is one of those books that shows how arbitrary some of the fundamental "rules" of writing are, and how vivid a story can be without them.

4. Little Thieves, by Margaret Owen. A good first-person narrator is worth their weight in gold. This was a delightful romp with a selfish protagonist. She's robbing the rich and trying to outwit the fantasy law enforcement! She might have to Learn About Friendship! She's slowly turning into gems! I loved her and all the supporting cast.

3. The Monsters We Defy, by Leslye Penelope. I hope historical fantasy heists keep on coming, but they'll have a hard time surpassing this one. Features a prickly protagonist who slowly learns to trust and folktale-esque spirit magic, with spirits that can't be trusted and bestow a gift alongside a "trick." The pairing of "You will be a flawless actor who can take any role, but nobody will remember your true self" is one that's going to haunt me for a while.

2. The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, by Shannon Chakraborty. An absolutely flawless piratical adventure. A retired pirate captain gets called away from her peaceful life and motherhood for One Last Job. This has everything you could want in a pirate adventure--a crew of lovable characters, a sinister job that's more than it seems, sea creatures, and a rich and teeming world (the better to be looted). In any other year--half-year--this might have been my very favorite...

1. Shubeik Lubeik, by Deena Mohamed. ... but Shubeik Lubeik won my heart and hasn't let it go. You know when you finish a book and want to shove it in everyone's hands immediately? This is that book, and all the more so because I had never heard of it before picking it up in the library and devouring it in one glorious evening. This graphic novel is about a world like ours, but where wishes are real. Three interconnected tales in Cairo follow three people who end up with a first-class wish. If you like graph-based humor about mental illness, gorgeous art, well-thought-through alternate worlds, and getting emotionally torn apart and put back together again, read this.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 3: Delight

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome to the third chapter of my rework - this one is completely new! Never-seen-before content! Smut galore! YAYYYYY! I do hope you’ll enjoy. Daemon-centric thought POVs are always fun as hell to write, and it’s super interesting going back to this stage of the story. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs, my slap daddy Ange, for reading through this chapter for me and making sure I’m not uploading total shite!

TRIGGERS: objectification of women, derogatory discussion of poverty, derogatory views of sex work. (Daemon is a yuck man!)

“Three cheers for the Prince!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Cheers!”

“And let his return bring coppers and silvers aplenty to the streets of Flea Bottom!”

“Aye!”

Daemon smirks obligingly at the congregated carousers as they lift their tankards in honour of him, ale-soused faces grinning haplessly throughout the dilapidated tavern. The Maiden’s Teats had once been a favourite of his in his youth, ramshackle and poorly lit and smelling always of piss as it did. And still does, he thinks distastefully. Looking around, he finds it peculiar that he’d had such an affinity for the place. There’s no accounting for the tastes of a young man. But no longer could he abide remaining in such close quarters with the source of his turmoil. What—or who—that is, he cannot say.

“Let us begin right now!” he yells over the din, standing on the wooden frame affixing the stool’s legs together. It bows ominously under his weight, but he supposes the fall would be a trifling matter if it should break. “Ale for every man here! A gift from your prince to mark the occasion.”

Loud shouts and praises ring through the space as he passes a pouch of coin across to the alewife. He notes from the corner of his eye that she tugs her tunic down to expose her tits just a little more—any further and they’ll pop free of the neckline entirely—though he has no interest in fucking the innkeeper’s wife. Too much trouble.

A hand claps against his back, jolting him into the present. “My prince! Welcome back!”

Daemon laughs. “Arric Dargood! Still infesting this city with your filth, are you?”

“You know me!” Dargood says, dragging him to a quieter corner as he speaks. “When there’s cheap ale and cheaper whores, you can’t get rid of me!”

Ah, good old Dargood. The third son of an already insignificant house, the man hadn’t much by way of prospects. In some ways, Daemon could commiserate: they had both turned to the sword to distinguish themselves from the rabble, becoming formidable in combat irrespective of their noble names. What luck it was to have been appointed to the City Watch at the same time! As one of the captains under his control, Dargood had rather quickly become one of his most esteemed companions. A rare sight it was to see Daemon Targaryen roaming the slums of King’s Landing without Dargood in his circle of cronies. And yet, while he might profess himself to have matured somewhat over the years, it seems the same cannot be said of Dargood.

Settling down upon the seat to which he is ushered, he partakes in the gaiety of his fellow libertines, an assemblage of persons known and unknown. Some faces are familiar, like the gold cloaks still in uniform that he recalls from his own days as their commander, and some are fresh, from youths newly raised to notoriety to older men with a certain savagery to their disposition no doubt its own invitation to the table. Conversation flows as easily as the drink does, the men gathered sharing tales of just how little has changed in his absence.

“We even use the same route on patrols!” Steffon Hollard giggles madly. It is clear the ale has overtaken his faculties more than most present. “Ten bloody years, an’ nuffin’s changed thereabouts!”

“Why tamper with excellence?” Daemon smiles smugly as the words set off a new round of boisterous approval.

In truth, he is disheartened. For so little to be different, he’d expect to feel as though he’d never left. And yet, nothing is the same. How can that be? he wonders. He thinks of you. You least of all have remained untampered by time—he’d be hard-pressed to connect his recollections of his tiny little doll-girl with the temptress you’ve become.

“Uncle Daemon,” you say, hands twisting and eyes welling as you realise what he’s doing, that he’s about to leave—

“Uncle Daemon?” you ask, lips parted and just begging to be pried further apart by a thumb or something more, something larger—

He swallows, the motion almost painful. When he tries to focus back on the discussion at hand, he finds that talk has turned to his exploits across the Narrow Sea.

“I heard he flew to the ruins of Old Valyria!” one insists.

“Don’t be stupid!” another derides. “I heard he fucked the Prince of Pentos’s daughter!”

Lessella is a fucking shrew of a woman, Daemon thinks to himself drolly. Gods save the man she takes to her bed. He does not voice this, though—instead, he merely smiles enigmatically, allowing all to make their own assumptions.

“Either way,” Dargood says with a leer, “our prince was surely knee-deep in eastern cunt. Oh, what a fortune! Tell me”—at this, he turns to Daemon—“why the fuck would you come back to this shithole if you had all that at your disposal?”

Daemon grunts. “Perhaps I missed the comforts of home.” He takes a healthy swig of his ale. He grimaces. He’d forgotten how disgusting it was.

Hollard sniggers. “It’s obvious, innit? ’E’s hopin’ for another run at the Realm’s Delight!”

He tries to hide his scowl as his company share sly looks, sniggering amongst themselves at the mention of his woeful attempt to swipe Rhaenyra from his brother’s hands. Fucking idiot, he rails at himself, for not bothering to craft a version of events that would make me seem less pitiful. The gossipmongers must have had their choice in tall tales to tell of that evening, never mind the scope ten summers might bring them.

“Cheers”—Oswald Kettleblack, another lowly son from a lowly house, raises his tankard—“to the Realm’s Delight!”

The men thump the table, hooting and cackling.

“Cheers!”

“Aye, cheers!”

Dargood guffaws. “And what a delight she is,” he says, once again slapping Daemon between the shoulder blades, “to just about every man with a highborn cock. Ol’ Rodrik here says she even let him have a go!”

The man to whom his long-time ally gestures to waggles his brows with lecherous intent. It triggers a fresh wave of mocking hilarity around the group, the sound unpleasant in the ear.

“Careful now.” Daemon’s teeth show in a grin that is far less friendly than it is threatening. “That is my niece and your future queen you’re slandering. I’m duty-bound to defend her honour, even from you lot.”

This sobers the congregation. The mirth dies down to an awkward chuckle, each of them shifting uncomfortably at the censure. Fucking children, all of them.

He may have had his fair share of paroxysms over his brother’s decision to name Rhaenyra as heir over him, but it was never lack of love that drove such a response. To hear this small collection of folk disparage his niece so casually is unsettling; nay, insulting. If such a crowd is arrogant enough to voice these slurs in front of him—the woman’s own uncle—what the fuck might they be saying about her behind closed doors? It is concerning, and for more reasons than mere personal distaste.

“Is that your plan, then?” Dargood asks, curiosity plain to see in his countenance. “To ‘defend her honour’?”

The end of the query is spoken suggestively, leaving no confusion as to the intent behind it.

Needs must.

“Ah, lads,” Daemon says, “not at all. How to put it? That ship has… sailed, if you will. It’s as you said. It seems she’s been a delight to many in my absence.”

It is a thoroughly tasteless remark to make, and one that leaves bitterness flooding over his tongue. Truthfully, even when he’d still thought there was a chance of reclaiming Rhaenyra, he’d not cared overmuch for the hearsay that had filtered across the sea—he’d fucked who he liked as a lad, and as far as he was concerned, she was free to do the same. All that had mattered was that, in the end, she remembered she belonged to him. Now, there is nothing tying him to the matter at all beyond the faint pangs of resentment and an indifferent sort of intrigue as to whether or not he might have a second (third) opportunity to bed her.

But still—better to conform than oppose when in amongst the scum of the city.

Hollard frowns. “Then why? Why come back at all?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Viserys got bored without me, I suppose. And I got bored of seeding all those foreign cunts. Such a shame for it to go to waste.”

He doesn’t quite realise the significance of his remark until he hears the response.

Dargood raises a sceptical brow. “A wife, then? Why not just take your pick over east?”

Fuck. But also—‘tis true. He’d had the option. Viserys would enquire as to his efforts in securing a new bride every few moons, each raven bringing with it the same indelicate attempt at subtlety. His reply would be the same: “No, brother. I’ve not found anyone sufficient to breed more Targaryens into.”

What is the point in asking over and over again? he’d wonder. There’s little to be found in Essos beyond the lineage of slaves or savages.

“And sully my line with spicemonger’s ilk? Hardly,” Daemon rebuffs with a derisive snort. “No—I’ll be wanting someone worthy of my name.”

“Sounds like you’ve already an idea of whom.” It is an invitation to continue, and an obvious one at that. Still, Daemon indulges Kettleblack’s provocation.

“Perhaps,” he says, punctuating the declaration with a long draught of ale. “I’m waiting to see if it’s worth pursuing.”

He is not being serious, but they don’t need to know that. After all, who is the Rogue Prince if a scheme’s not afoot? A delinquent to hunt down, a highborn lady to seduce, a whore (or several) to fuck… His pleasures are simple—predictable, even. Time has not changed him so greatly that his old pastimes lack a charm of their own.

“Well?” Dargood motions impatiently, nostrils flaring with lascivious glee. He always did enjoy the more lurid of Daemon’s many exploits. “Don’t leave it at that! Go on!”

Daemon shrugs evasively. “What can I say? Good breeding, well-mannered… a pretty thing, too. Excellent assets. Certainly wouldn’t be any trouble to bed her.”

As the men surrounding him crow and jeer, awash with lusty praise for their prince’s conquest-to-be, Daemon cannot help but be reminded of you. At some point during his oration, the words had ceased being a collection of personal partialities and instead become an inventory of your own characteristics—polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery. The Targaryen name, too. The fact that you are his little niece might just be a credit to your appeal rather than a hindrance.

Pure Valyrian ancestry, of marriageable age, likely fertile and able to give me robust sons and daughters… And her memories of her Uncle Daemon, her kepa, would have her bending quite easily to my will.

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Dargood asks. “You’re a fucking prince! No one’s saying ‘no’ to you!”

Except his conscience, perhaps. He still has one. True, there are lords even older than he is marrying noblewomen (girls, really) your age—but eighteen summers is indeed a great disparity. When you are his age, he’d be in his dotage, surely! It would be a hard fate to subject you to, never mind the battle he’d face at Viserys’s hands. His prospects had been rather spoiled by his decision to take Rhaenyra to a fucking brothel. Idiot. He should have known the threat of her ruination would incite the man to find her a husband that was not him. Never would the king have given him the satisfaction of winning.

Daemon puts these musings aside. Better to heed my instincts. No good can come of stirring Viserys’s wrath a second (third? fourth? thousandth?) time. Besides, it is no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife.

“I don’t answer to you, Dargood.” Slapping the table, Daemon rises, suddenly restless. “I’ve had enough of tedious conversation. You heard me! I’ve spent too long in distant shores—”

More hooting. “Bet they were wet, eh!”

“—and what better way relearn Westerosi customs than to fuck some Westerosi cunt? I’ll need the practice if I’m to have myself a bride from these parts!”

It is between rowdy titters from his companions that Daemon departs the tavern, spilling out through the open doors and into the muck of Pisswater Bend, an aptly named street in among the foulest locales in King’s Landing. Staggering under the weight of Hollard—a pathetic drunkard if ever he saw one—he ambles along narrow roads that stink of shit, rank and roiling, his mind set on partaking in the finest of Sirille’s current offerings.

That is, he reflects, whichever doesn’t also possess the look of disease.

It is very nearly an unreasonable feat to procure a whore from any brothel in Flea Bottom that lacks the ability to shrivel a man’s cock from whatever putrid humours have long festered in her cunt. But the whores of Flea Bottom possess a very particular advantage. They cater to a larger range of tastes than most, discretion being vital to their work in a way the higher-scale establishments do not offer, and one of the reasons Daemon had come to frequent the slums of the city at all

Right now, he’d prefer tongues did not speak of the urges he must satiate to cool his cravings to a more manageable simmer.

To think—barely a sennight ago, he had believed himself uninterested in pursuing his basest impulses! How quickly things change. He is not so dull-witted as to lack awareness of what has incited the shift. Even as his mind wrests with the contrition of thinking of you so licentiously, his body—his cock, specifically—welcomes the flash of your skin that sweeps upon the insides of his eyelids like a phantasm, the shape of your body and the contours of your pretty, pretty face, the sound of your voice caught between girlish charm and womanly rhythm, the hallmarks of the only bloodline he’d ever sought to pursue in a bride.

 No. But you are his niece. Moreover, you are his little niece. It is different with you, not like it had been with Rhaenyra. He won’t. He can’t.

Incense is strong upon the air in the brothel, stinging his nostrils and making his eyes water. Truthfully, it is a site not quite built for the purpose it conducts, being more of a ramshackle dwelling than a business front, but it serves well enough. Besides, the curtains do an ample job of concealing those customers who wish for relative anonymity, even if the sounds cannot be escaped.

In the middle of the room sit those who wish only for the sight of whores free of their meagre attire, tits and cunts and arses all on display, or for the thrill of watching love-play between prospective clients and the girls in their laps, or perhaps for the hedonistic delight of fucking out in the open, privacy be damned. Daemon notes the sunken pallor of customers and whores alike, the lines of poverty and starvation etched in plain faces. They’d looked better back when he was a regular. Likely all the coin I spent, he muses.

“Milord!”

A voice sounds from behind him, rasping with the grit of Flea Bottom’s lowliest brogue. He turns to spot the madam herself, her jowl wobbling as she limps toward him, grinning. One by one, his companions sidle past her, approaching their intended conquests with an easy familiarity that belies a long-standing routine. 

“I ‘eard you were back! Welcome! ‘Tis an honour to have the prince in my place before the rest get ya!”

He smiles. She’d procured all manner of needy little maidens from the bowels of the city in past romps through the establishment, skinny shy things quivering and fearful, wide-eyed and reluctant. Not to his most exact tastes, no, but their timidity and frailty had been oh-so-precious—and even more fun had it been to break them of their reticence as thoroughly as he’d break them of their maidenhoods. Peasant cunt is truly a delicacy.

“Sirille.” He dips his head, inciting a round of abashed giggling. It carries not the girlish enchantment she must think it does, but she’d served him longer and more loyally than some of his own men in the City Watch. He takes no issue in humouring her. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, you! I don’ suppose you’re ‘ere to see—”

It is convenient enough for him then that one of the plainer girls approaches her employer with haste, an artless squawk of complaint filtering thready to his ears and yet, mercifully, stealing Sirille’s attention from him. He is able to move away from the entry and further into the brothel. Daemon settles on the chaise beneath the window, slouching lazily across the threadbare surface and surveying what little there is to see.

Hollard and Kettleblack have their girls stripped to the waist now, tits freed and lurching with the short, frantic motion of hips colliding. Dramatic yelps fill the room with each crude slap, the whores panting and wiggling atop their patrons with efficiency, their rhythmic release creating an almost-song in tandem with the men’s grunting and groaning. Dargood has his own on the ground in front of him, gagging enthusiastically on his prick with little swallowing moans punctuating each drag of her head forward and back. Her skirt is pulled up to bare her arsecheeks and the bruise-red flex of her cunt, wet and glistening with more than just the oil that prepares her. The other men are in similar states of disarray, open-mouthed and starry-eyed and lust-drunk in their various positions around the room.

Several of the waiting whores eye him, fluttering their lashes and flashing their tits and cunts at him. He casts a critical look over them. Too thin, too shapely, too pale, too dark, too pockmarked, too young, too old, too—too—

None of them are interesting. At least, not interesting enough to bother sticking his cock in. Shame. The itch that had driven him to fuck any whore worthy of the name in his youth has died down to a faint pulse, still frustratingly there but difficult to satiate, choosier, more selective. No longer can he spend himself in just any cunt. Rhaenyra had ruined desire for him—well, he’d thought it was Rhaenyra who had done so. He’s not so sure now. Nevertheless, there is a very particular breed of whore that fulfils his needs, one he presumes will require visiting a higher-end establishment to—

Wait. There.

A smallish, white-haired waif of a girl saunters in, adorned most curiously in a thin gown of lavender—not a cut nor colour usually available to the lower echelons, he thinks—done up to the neck, not a sliver of flesh to be seen beyond the pale of her hands and the arch of her throat and the softness of her face. He’d nearly mistaken her for a higher class of commoner, one who’d regrettably stumbled into the wrong place in the wrong district, but the ease with which she holds herself disproves the notion. She is among the less attractive in the brothel, but her features—Valyrian silver locks, Valyrian purple eyes, no doubt the baseborn daughter of a Targaryen bastard some generations back—are unmistakeable.

Are unmistakeably, exactly what he is after.

He lets his eyes linger on her, waiting. She’ll come to him, of that he is certain. None in this line of work are unfamiliar with the predilections of a man of his stature—and from the cautious, near-bashful manner in which she picks her way across the room, careful to avert her gaze from the filthier displays present, she knows precisely what he enjoys. To find a rarity like her in such a downtrodden environment is unusual. She must be quite the unlucky one, he presumes. No doubt a victim of downtrodden parents desperate to make a quick coin or several. It's not uncommon for the poorest of the city to sell their daughters to the brothels in the hope of lasting through the winter season.

Then, the whispers from the other patrons reach his ears—not abnormal, no, but it is the name they speak as the whore passes that sends a jolt through him.

“The People’s Delight,” they call her, their voices dripping with mockery even as their eyes gleam with longing, absorbing the way the fire in the hearth plays upon her silver-spun tresses so like his own. “Look at ‘er—the People’s Delight!”

The realisation strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Curse his abominable fortune! For how can ‘the People’s Delight’ be anything but a crude play on his nieces’ epithets, yet another reminder plaguing him with the thoughts he cannot escape? Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, bold and brash and beautiful from infancy, his dragonrider girl since the age of seven; and you, the People’s Princess, always with a polite word and a shy smile to give the commoners from your seat in Aemma’s lap on alms days in girlhood. This cobbled-together moniker is very clearly an allusion to these titles.

“My prince.”

The girl stands before him, bobbing in a clumsy curtsey, peering down at him through pale lashes. Her hands clasp together in a show of modesty, her spine held straight and proud in a manner so rarely to be seen on this side of Flea Bottom. Pride is indeed in short supply in so destitute a locality.

Daemon is torn. He could—he should—castigate her thoroughly for daring to disrespect the blood of the dragon. He ought to make an example of her in front of all present, to drag her into the streets and through the city by her hair so that everyone may see what happens when you ridicule the princesses of the realm, when you besmirch their honour by adopting their royal styles and honours for cheap whore’s tricks…

But he wants very badly to discover how deep the similarities run.

“A bold choice—‘the People’s Delight’.” Daemon does his best to maintain relative impassivity. “One might say treasonous, even.”

Rather than quail, the little slut laughs. “If you were going to ‘ave me thrown in the Black Cells”—she moves to sit beside him, not too close and not too far, calculated and infuriating—“you would’ve already.”

“Brave thing, aren’t you?”

Up close, her gown is rather less demure than he’d assumed—the fabric is diaphanous, gauzy, revealing blush-tipped tits that have yet to slacken from age or famine. Perfect.

She grins teasingly when she spies him watching, obligingly arching her back to raise her chest to his view.

“Clever, too,” she adds, slowly bringing a knee up and out so that he may catch a glimpse of what lay between her thighs. The hair matches her head. Good. “At least, cleverer than you’d think, bein’ from these parts and all.”

“Hm.” He’s not really listening, truth be told—if he wanted conversation, there are at least a hundred people he’d choose to engage with before he ever bothered with a whore.

Emboldened by boredom, he reaches out, allows his hand to fall to the hollow spaces between her ribs just beneath her upraised arm, to cup the meagre weight of one of those tits with a thumb and drag up, up, up to feel the nipple stiffen under his touch. She sighs, pushing into him barely, a tacit encouragement that doesn’t overstate her eagerness but invites more. A consummate professional.

“B’sides,” she says, breathier now, lower in tone, “the rich people’ve got plenty of Realm’s Delights and People’s Princesses over in them pretty whorehouses on Silk Street. What about Flea Bottom, eh? Lotsa poor folk want to fuck a royal just as bad. Can make a lot’ve coin that way, too.”

“I imagine you can,” he replies dryly.

‘Tis no surprise that men want to pretend their cocks are buried in Rhaenyra for but a moment—he’s long been one of them, after all—though the idea that you are in the minds of such scum when release pools fast and heavy in their stones sends frissons of vexation throbbing through his bloodstream. That anger, so quick to mingle with desire, fuels his cock to full mast.

“Well, pet”—he delivers the address with a sharp twist to the teat he’d been fondling—“care to earn a few coin more?”

“Thought you’d never ask, my prince.”

With a saucy wink, she pushes herself off the chaise, holding a hand out to him. He accepts the implicit offer, allowing her to lead him through the open area and onward.

At first, he presumes they are headed toward one of the cordoned-off spaces—but then, she continues, pulling him unerringly to the narrow staircase. A boon indeed, to be a prince. It seems he’ll be receiving the royal treatment, after all.

The chambers in question are not at all pleasant—with creaking floorboards, the pervasive scent of mildew and a faint squeaking that indicates a rather significant rodent problem, it is a far cry from the luxurious standards he is accustomed to in higher-end establishments. But the bedframe seems solid; the mattress unsoiled; the pillows serviceable enough. He does not intend to linger.

He seats himself in the chair by the hearth, angled toward the bed, and readies himself for a show.

The whore stops before him. “You’ve a liking for the elder one, don’t you, my prince? I don’t act for the littlest yet, but the middle one’s getting quite popu—”

Daemon interrupts, trying not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of Rhaenyra—of you. “That’s fine.”

With a wave of the hand, he commands her to do away with her attire. She makes speedy work of the buttons affixing the front closed, beginning to shrug off the sheer fabric so that her thin shoulders reveal themselves more and more. The smug half-smile and the cock of her hip lends the performance a breadth of flirtation, furthered by her impish little shimmy as the cloth catches on the twin swells upon her chest.

He stops her with a sigh.

“No,” he corrects, gut heating at the crestfallen look that overtakes her. “Again, but more…” He casts about for the right descriptor.

“Nervous?” she offers, immediately adopting a pose of diffidence, arms curling inward to tuck her gown back over her exposed skin.

“Hm.” He nods once.

Nervous. A shy, soft little mouse-girl, ready to be snatched up by a hunter…

The whore hunches slightly, eyes shifting flightily about the room, never once settling on him as she slowly, slowly tugs down the dress, hands folding over her tits to conceal them from view. Shades of lavender puddle around her hips, sliding effortlessly over protruding bone and onto the ground with a whisper, exposing a neat thatch of silver curls below her belly. Her knees clench tight, twisting urgently to prevent his gaze from reaching the prize that lays between them.

“There we are. Very pretty.”

A muted, bashful curve of the lips. “You—you think so?”

“Turn around.” She spins on her heel, hair spilling molten down her back to kiss the roundness where her torso meets her legs. Lovely. For a chit as lean as she is, she most certainly has a nice arse. “On your hands and knees.” The girl pads over to the bed, making brief play at tentativeness before crawling into his desired posture. “Bend—ah, that’s it,” he says, ogling greedily as she bows her spine to raise her cunt up higher, fluttering in greeting as the cooler air hits. “Look at you.”

She moans softly when his hands fall to her arsecheeks, thumbs sliding down to spread and lift where she is most protected. The petals shielding her hungry little core peel apart slowly, hastened by his thumbs digging into the meat of her. Mm. Valyrian cunt, that is. Regardless of bastardy, Daemon knows what the blood of old looks like, feels like.

He is dizzy with it—the sight of it, the smell of it, heady and ripe for the taking. “Call me ‘Uncle’, won’t you, pet?”

“Mm.” She whines, hitching back before she remembers the game afoot, aborts her impatient little overture. But that cunt—flexing, wet, spitshine little doll cunt, peasant whore or no—doesn’t lie. “Yes, Uncle!”

Grunting, he fumbles one-handed with his laces, near to bursting already. Yes, Uncle, high-pitched, breathy-sweet, precious and fearful and wanting and—and he must remember what he is here for. What she is here for. She cries out when he delivers a speedy strike to her rump that flushes the flesh a pleasing pink, the colour of dewy cheeks and new-bloomed blossoms and childlike innocence.

“Did that hurt?” he taunts, landing another blow to the same spot and delighting in the garbled whimper it forces from the girl.

“No”—she squeals at the next slap, corrective this time—“I mean, yes, Uncle. It hurts.”

Though she cannot see his face, he bares his teeth, a smile that is more menacing than enticing. “This cunt tells me a different story. You’ve soaked the sheets—look at this mess.”

She’s barely wet her thighs, but the exaggeration heats his blood almost to boiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be.” He is forced to unbutton his surcoat and discard it on the floor to dispel the mist of perspiration clinging to his skin and undershirt, suddenly ravenous. He’s toyed with her long enough. “I could just slide right in, couldn’t I?”

He tests the statement with little ceremony, prodding one then two fingers straight to the knuckle. Save for the quiet yelp she emits, the entry is smooth, unresisting, nearly proving to undo the illusion he has stirred up. Soft, warm, drenched cunt—too easy, but it’s better than nothing at all. He curls the digits, hooking firmly down toward her navel and drawing forth a louder noise, startled, less controlled. It spurs her to speak.

“Yes, a slut”—she nods her head vociferously before catching herself at the warning dig of nails into her sensitised flesh, abruptly changing course—“I mean, no! I’m not a slut!”

So many errors from this one. For a commoner, it’d do.

“No.” He lets the blunder be. Removing himself from her passage, he allows his hand to fall carelessly upon her rear again, the moisture clinging to his skin harshening the arc into a blow. “You’re a good little maiden, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” she pants, raising her hips higher.

Her arse is a shade of bright now, the subtle glow of pomegranates, of red little tongues, of dusky hot innards spilled forth by the blade under the searing sun. His handprints mark all over the flesh, a symbol of proprietorship that will last longer than this night.

“Dripping more than a used whore.” He scoffs, spurred by the sight of her, shuffling up on his knees to seat himself behind her. The slight lands perfectly. She flinches at his words, and it is oh­­-so-easy to pretend it is the hasty advancement of his cock notching at her entry that incites such reaction. “If there’s one thing Uncle’s very good at, it’s turning maidens into whores. Would you like to find out how?”

He is already rocking his way inside in increments, taking just one moment to savour the feel of her grasping cunt-lips mouthing along the heft of him, greedy, eager to start work and perform the duty they’ve been tasked to. Hissing, he clutches roughly at her hips, pulling her backward.

She pants, breath stuttering. “Oh, I—”

“Sh, just take it, take it.”

He presses down between her shoulders, leaning his weight into it and pinning her to the bed as he comes flush with her form, lodged deep within pulsing walls. The groan he lets out is involuntary, an exhalation of utmost relief at finding himself once more in the depths of familiar territory.

“Easier than I thought,” he croons, holding her firm despite her attempts to wiggle up, out, away from his hold. “Perhaps you’ve been dishonest. Only sluts have such loose cunts.”

A shaky gasp. “I’m a maiden, I promise!”

The sound of it is enough to make him forget where he is, when, who he is with and why. Yes, a maiden, a perfect little maiden whore just for me, made for me—

He chokes on the rising wave of pleasure, lowering himself onto your back and covering you in him, shielding you with his body, protecting you with himself as he takes and takes and takes what he wants from your body, willing and wanton and his. Your hair ripples like moonlight over water with his every thrust, harsh and frantic, desperate to reach his end.

“And now you’re mine.” Daemon’s muscles strain and he can barely hear himself above the pitch of his heart galloping faster and faster. He tucks his chin to your shoulder, ear against lips that cannot stop mewling shrill and besieged, using your juddering frame as traction to force himself deeper, further, more. “Say it!”

“I’m yours, Uncle!” you bleat, lost kitten dewy-eyed and damp-cheeked, fingers grappling with the covers above your head. “I’m—Uncle—”

For some strange, unknown reason, it rings hollow, the fantasy blurring at the edges and allowing the cold touch of reality to slowly trickle in. Not quite right.

“No.” He redirects her in coarse tones, unwilling to forsake the illusion. “Call me ‘kepus’, call me—”

“Kepus,” you—she—you cry, cunt suctioning tight around him. It’s hot within you, unbearably slick, your walls knotting vigorously to the contours of his shaft with each hard snap forward and rough glide back. The scent of it, raw and heady and humid, fills his nose and lungs and clouds his mind. “You’re going too deep—ah!”

“That’s just your tiny baby cunt making room,” he thinks he coos, but really, he’s snarling through clenched teeth down at you, precious girl, sweetest niece, cock cleaving straight through the hollow spaces inside you and gut tightening with a rising, rising— “Pretty little cunt just for kepa’s cock, all for me—”

His release is swift, sudden, arriving too soon and ending too abruptly, prying your name from his lips when the ecstasy reaches its fleeting summit. Still, he lets his mass collapse upon you, hips pistoning to the beat of his climax as he groans his relief. And then, it’s over. The ember fizzles, and he is left with sticky, cooling skin and the feeling of a sweating form below him. Without thought, he sighs into the crook of your neck, nostrils searching for the rose oil that lingers on your skin even now—

Only to find naught but the trace of cheap lye soap. Only to remember that the girl quivering beneath him is not you, but some nameless whore. Only to realise that he’d been fantasising of you this entire time, of fucking you fast and forceful until you knew nothing but the sensation of him on you, in you, your kepa taking you and claiming you and keeping you.

—polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery—

Fuck. Fuck. He had called out your name.

—you are his little niece. It is different with you, he won’t, he can’t—

More than that. He had all but declared you for himself. In a fucking brothel. He’d never dare allow his true inclinations to be known in the past. Not even with Mysaria, with Rhaenyra had he shown such base need. Such weakness. But you…

—no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife—

How lack-witted he is. Barely an hour ago, he had disavowed attributing any sort of significance to his lusts, denoting them as little more than the reflexive whims of a man accustomed to sampling anything or anyone he wishes. Already he has proven himself incorrect!

No. This is far, far more than mere titillation. The precise degree to which his desires afflict him—well, this he doesn’t know. He can only hope the girl will uphold the custom of her line of work and keep quiet, hope that rumours will not abound of the Rogue Prince’s latest fascination.

Hope that word will not make way to you. Such tales reaching your ears is the very last thing he wants.

Questions he cannot answer churn through his mind as he extracts himself from the whore, deposits coin on the mattress, ignores her overtures and stumbles out of the room, wondering what the fuck has just happened.

Read the story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120367177

Taglist (�� thank you!):

Now in the comments!

[jsbmarket]

Pankaj Advani Defeats Brijesh Damani 5-1 to Win Gold in Asian Billiards

At the QBSF Academy, Damani received silver after some fight, but losing to 1-5, while Advani a 25-time International Billiards and Snooker Federation (IBSF) world champion, and then the series of wins followed against Damani with 100(51)-18, 100(88)-9, 86(54)-101(75), 100-26, 100(66)-2, 101(64)-59 in the final. Bai Yulu of China won the title in the finale for the women’s section after beating Thailand’s Panchaya Channoi 3-0.

In 2004, the Indian cue sports ace, Pankaj Advani bagged the 8th Asian Billiards title. And therefore, he was honored with Arjuna Award. Similarly, in 2009, he was honored with Padma Shri, Major Dhyan Chand Khel Ratna in 2006, and in 2008 – Padma Bhushan. In Doha, last year Advani won the same title again. On Sunday, Advani was in great form in the championship.

But he had earlier lost to Damani in the group stage. In the competition, he won the first two games however and beat Pauk Sa of Myanmar to reach the final. He thus won by 5-1 in the semifinals. To boast his laurels, Advani scored a century break in the fourth, and half-century breaks otherwise in each of the six frames. Damani also scored in the third frame a break of 75 in the last-four stage 5-4 against Shrikrishna Suryanarayanan.

However, he lost 1-5 and settled for silver instead. Pankaj Advani is from Bengaluru and is a 37-year-old person, who gained popularity because of winning 17 times billiards world titles, 16 times IBSF World Billiards Championship, and 1 time at the World Team Billiards Championship. Along with these feats, Advani also won the gold medal in the 2010 Asian Games and 2006 in English Billiards singles.

MARCH 20, 2023

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[1abbie7]

Taeyang fanart

Happy Birthday to our Sun

Happy Yoo Taeyang Day 🎉

[kaalbela]

Danke-ka-kaam or Danka embroidery is a type of metal embroidery from Rajasthan in India. It’s a 400-year old embroidery craft that has been primarily practiced by people of the Bohra community in Udaipur.

The danka is a small square plate, varied in size, but not bigger than 1.5 cm. Though originally it was made of pure gold, now silver-plated with gold dankas are used. To make the danka, thin, well-finished and polished silver sheets of 98 percent purity are electroplated in gold in strips of 30 cm x 2.5 cm. These are washed in water and polished with fine sand. Then the strips are cut into 1.5 cm squares and the squares hammered with a stone implement till they resemble the tip of an ice cream cone. This method is called korpatti-ka-kaam. The cost of the finished piece is calculated according to its weight. This decorative technique is usually worked on fabrics like satin, chiffon or silk fabric. The fabric is stretched tightly on a wooden frame before it is embroidered and the craftsman sits on the floor. Danka pieces are spread on the fabric as required by the design. The danka is pierced with a sharp needle, bringing out the thread through the fabric. About three to five strands of gold or silver wire, called kasab, are kept over each danka and couched down along its edges. It is secured with eight stitches in the shape of a knot. Two stitches go into the back and the other two at each corner and two on the front. About three to five strands of kasab wire are placed over each danka along its edges. It is secured with eight stitches in the shape of a knot - two at the back, one in each corner and two in the front. The most popular motifs used in danka work are inspired by nature - the sun, the moon as well as the paisley design in a stylised form. Round and flat metal braids about one quarter of a centimetre in width are used to highlight the design. Additional stitches used include the chain stitch, satin stitch for the design filling, while stem and running stitches are for lighter work.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 | textile series

[ballet-symphonie]

Absolutely mandatory viewing - a truly spectacular DQ.

Highlights include:

0:00 Renata's stunning series of temps de flèche

2:57 Renata doing an assemblé so high that her head nearly goes outside of the camera frame

3:36 Act 1 Pas de trois, finishing with Kimin's signature consecutive double tours

4:14 Kitri's act I variation, complete with triple piqués en dehors and backbreaking leaps, all at whirlwind speed.

4:54 The superman Kimin, with one arm press lifts to both sides!

5:38 Charming Renata, so expressive in her eyes to go along with razor-sharp balances and mindblowing turns, ending the dizzying diagonal with a double piqués en dehors with her arms over her head.

7:58 Love how she jumps so freely into his arms with her head completely thrown back, so exciting!

8:40 Kimin's acting, so cute, he can't possibly even fake being angry with his Kitri, followed by lots of head-shaking DRAMA

8:58 That smirk, I'm dead. PLUS THE KISS TO THE AUDIENCE. Love the pandering that is DQ

9:47 Just too cute, have no further words. Renata's expressions are beyond adorable especially when she cheekily asks for more kisses. HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD YOU TWO

9:57 Ahh yes, she remembered now. Here comes the pageantry, especially effective with her fluttering her big doe eyes

10:25 Haven't seen this before, Kimin lovably tugging on Renata's skirt, "Hey, we're doing this gig to get hitched remember! Eyes on the prize!" Their expressions and chemistry is just pure gold.

11:19 Love how playful Renata is in the entree, with deep cambrés and bold arm and head movements, especially as she finishes the pirouettes. Very attractive to see the character of Kitri still shining in the grand pas.

11:54 Flawless lift. Notice Renata's superb coordination, in order to catch the music on time, she prepares her arms to start the turns while coming down from the lift.

12:20 Full split grand pas de chat with no momentum into the adagio preparation SO EXTRA, SO DON Q, I'M HERE FOR IT

12:30 "I'll just make a couple timestamps, I won't go crazy".....I lied to myself. But but this fouette is just too good, Kimin transitioning with both arms stretched wide to show her off. Renata's eyes just make me fall in love and I'm obsessed with her sassy transition into 4th position en pointe.

12:54 WHAT A MOMENT. TIME LITERALLY STOPPED....moving on

13:02 I promise I'll stop timestamping every 10 seconds but like, that arabesque balance is how every balance should be. Classy, without showboating, an active choice on when to exist, no needless 4th wall breaking, perfectly musical.

13:20 The pirouettes? Stellar. The transition out of it? Even better.

13:44 SHe's so confident here, she looks up and explodes her arms out before exiting the pirouette into the penché. That choice creates such feelings of elation.

14:11 Give me either one of their renveresé, thanks :)

14:16 Exiting this (gorgeously done) lift can be awkward, love how Renata uses her arms to transition into the next pose

15:02 YES to the traveling that's happening!!

15:33 Her smile. That's all. Delightful.

15:47 ADORABLE

16:13 Kimin's variation starts. I mean come on. He's just flying around. THOSE OUTSIDE ATTITUDE PIOUETTES. Super stable tours to high arabesques. Just too good.

17:04 Renata's variation starts. Jawdropping footwork, the petit rond de jambes are so clean and so precise, and she's moving so much when she does them. HERE FOR THE RENATA SASS. THe way her face lights up when the crowd starts clapping is priceless

17:57 CODA TIME!!!! Legitimately think no one has ever done this jump better than Kimin. And that manage, just looks like it takes no effort for him to complete. He just floats around like it's nothing.

18:21 Holy shit her fouettes are insane, AND THEN ALL DOUBLES IN THe SECOND HALF???? Aish, her tiny frustrated face appeared for half a second because she was the tiniest bit off and had to do one single. But what a fight, she's such a spitfire. I was on the edge of my seat.

18:45 Speechless. Just what??? How????? Kimin Kim, explain yourself????

19:15 THE WAY THEY SMILE. WHAT A SHOW!!!!

I did this during my first watch-through, I think you can gauge my level of excitement quite clearly ahaha. Let me know your favorite moments and if you enjoyed reading my first reaction :)