#tetanized

[the-fiction-witch]

ȳdragon

Media House Of The Dragon

Character Daemon Targaryen

Couple Daemon X Reader

Rating SMUT

Hello! Thank this amazing individual @madame-fear for helping me find the link for the translation for all the valyian language, please please go check them out there is so SO much good HOTD stuff they've done, but big thank you for helping me out with this one!

I lay on my back surrounded by the red and black sheets, many of them tossed and strange from my squirming, my hands tied against the bedposts with silk red fabric, my body covered only by my thin white cotton dress, my hair sprawled on the pillows, my body squirming and contorting, my knees up and my legs pushed as far apart as they will go. Daemon's rough hands against my thighs his fingertips squeezed into my skin forcing my legs to remain open no matter how much I squirmed against my bed. We had been at this for hours and we would be at it hours more if he had his way, His Targaryen hair was all I could see if I glanced down as he buried his head between my legs, he teased me licking my outer labia before his deep voice vibrated against my skin.

"ȳdragon, [Speak]" he demanded, 

I whined feeling my cunt throb with desire for his attention, "Daemon please I-"

"ȳdragon. [Speak.]" He demanded again with more authority, 

"kessa ñuha jorrāelagon, [Yes my love,]" I cooed, 

"Sȳz dārilaros [good princess]" He cooed peppering kisses against my throbbing clit, 

I gasped and pulled at my wrist restraints, "Uh..." I squirmed against his kisses, "Kostilus dombo, iksan already sīr ēdrugī daemon, [Please no more, I'm already so tired daemon]" 

"Daor ēva ao've tetan rehearsing dārilaros, [Not until you've finished rehearsing princess,]"

"kostilus seper syt iā mēre tȳne" I whined,

"kostilus sepār syt iā mēre tȳne, [please just for a one second]" He corrected as he moved down to let his tongue slip inside me moving back and forth to thrust inside me,

"Ahhhh ughhhhh!" I squealed squirming against the bed feeling his firm wet tongue slipping in and out, "Kostilus! dombo. kostilus [Please! no more... please....]" I begged, 

"Sȳz dārilaros [good princess]" He cooed moving back up to kiss my clit giving it soft little tender kisses that only wind me up further,

"bisa iksis cruel! [This is cruel!]" I whined, 

"Kostilus lo ao practiced hae nyke eptan, nyke wouldn't jorrāelagon naejot sagon cruel dārilaros. [Perhaps if you practised as I asked, I wouldn't need to be cruel princess.]" He growled, 

"Ikcen trying ñuha sȳrje," I whined,

"Iksan trying ñuha sȳrje. [I am trying my best]" He corrected moving down to tongue fuck me once more,

"UHhhh no!" I whined, trying to squirm and resist the pleasure, "Daemon please!" I whined,

"Ah." He warned, "ȳdragon. [Speak.]" He demanded,

"Kostilus daemon dombo, nyke kivio nyke'll sagon sȳz, nyke kivio nyke'll gaomagon tolī practice [Please daemon no more, I promise I'll be good, I promise I'll do more practice]" I squealed, 

"Sȳz dārilaros [good princess]" He cooed moving back up and sucking on my clit clamping his lips around my clit and sucking hard,

"Ughhhhhh ughhhhhh!" I squealed fighting against the ties kicking my feet a little but he gripped my thighs harder, 

"AH. ah. ah." He warns, licking my clit with each word,

"AHhhhhh!"

" ȳdra daor squirm dārilaros, ao'll sepār jiōragon aōla punished syt longer [don't squirm princess, you'll just get yourself punished for longer]" he growled between kisses, 

"Daemon..." I whined throwing my head back, "Kostilus ñuha jorrāelagon, [Please my love,]" 

"Kessa dārilaros? [Yes princess?]" 

"Kostilus. ivestragī nyke rest, [Please... let me rest,]" I whined squeezing my thighs on his head, "Kostilus zȳha tolī olvie, iksan already overstimulated daemon, kostilus. sepār iā tȳne hen rest, [Please it's too much, I'm already overstimulated daemon, Please... just a second of rest,]" I begged him, 

"Sȳz dārilaros [good princess]" He smirked, pulling back his eyes and staring at me from between my legs, "Se skoros kessa gaomi? naejot ensure gaomā hae emā vestās dārilaros? [And what shall we do? To ensure you do as you have said, princess?] "

"Whatever kessa kostilus ao ñuha jorrgalagon." I cooed,

"Whatever kessa kostilus ao ñuha jorrāelagon. [Whatever will please you my love]" He corrected a glaring look in his eyes as he returned to my dripping cunt,

"Daor kostilus ñuha jorrāelagon! [No please my love!]" I begged before he could slip his tongue inside, "Please... please... please..." 

"Kessa dārilaros? [Yes Princess?]" He smirked, 

"Dombo tonight, [no more tonight]" I begged,

"se instead? īlon kessa gaomagon skoros ñuha dārilaros? [and instead? we shall do what my princess?]" He growled as he knelt on the bed over me staring down at me,

My eyes wander his bare chest but I am unable to open my mouth,

"ȳdragon. [Speak.]" He demanded as he leant down and held my jaw in his grip,

"Īlon could mazverdagon se olvie vigorous devoted passionate hen bed-breaking jorrāelagon, īlon could sagon isse each tolie's nesh ēva se ñāqes breaks rȳ Zōbriēdar rāenion, īlon could spend se bantis insuring aōha qogron hae ao bury aōha nūmo iemnȳ aōha dārilaros, [We could make the most vigorous devoted passionate of bed-breaking love, we could be in each other's arms until the dawn breaks across Blackwater Bay, we could spend the night ensuring your line as you bury your seed inside your princess,]" I whispered as seductively as I could against his lips, "Would bisa kostilus ao daemon? [Would this please you daemon?] "

He chuckled and stroked down my arms untieing my restrains before he grabbed my hips and forced himself inside me,

"AHhhhhhh!" I screamed feeling him suddenly force himself inside me without warning, feeling his hard cock throb inside of me, 

"sȳz riña dārilaros [good girl princess]" He growled holding my jaw as he pulled me into a kiss and began his thrusts, I kissed back throwing my head back as we kissed, clawing my arms down his back and moaning into his mouth as he thrusted... 

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey gorgeous,

Would you be up for some angst ?

Maybe his niece (rhaenyras younger sister) was always the negleted child and after sometime she gets to be known as one of the greatest targaryens (she claims cannibal and is a beast when it comes to fighting and being a ruler) and she comes to the last dinner before her father dies and sleeps with daemon (who previously in her childhood made her feel worthless)

And when she avoids him after, he goes to her and shes like:

-Just so you know, that meant nothing

-what if it meant everything to me?

-not my problem

All I Ever Wanted

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The gods have weighed the scales, now you were only paying everyone their dues. It felt nice to hold the upper hand against your uncle for once.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/depictions of targcest (uncle and niece), fem!reader, mentions/allusions to sex, angst, bad fam relations, typos, etc.

A/N: idk im tired i hope you like it nonnie. i changed a bunch of stuff about the fic req so T_T i cant believe i managed to make it so long HAHHAHAHH Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

Daemon could not believe it.

He could not believe that he woke up by himself.

He was soaking in his smugness, dripping with self-accomplishment and victory, eagerly rolling over to coo his musings of self-importance to his prey.

Yet you were gone.

And he did not understand it.

He did not appreciate the bile that was threatening to be regurgitated out of his pallet. A line grew between his brows as he ripped his blanket off. He roughly dressed himself in breeches and a shirt, then stormed out of this chambers.

Part of him was relieved to find you so quickly, another part was in pure offence to how nonchalant you acted in the gardens, eating a pear as you read a book.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr sīr early isse se ñāqatubis?" Daemon cut through your concentration on your page. You turned to him halfway through his sentence, full mouth slowing in its chewing.

"What do you mean 'why are you here so early in the morning', uncle?" you narrow your eyes, shaking the hanging foot from your crossed leg. The heavy, red velvet of your skirt barely moved at your actions.

Daemon walks over to you, unkempt long, platinum hair blowing with the morning breeze along with his loose shirt, "you should have woken up with me."

You watch him as he nears. When he reaches the bench you were sat upon, you bring your book to your lap, one hand in between the pages of where you stopped reading, "and why should I have done so, uncle?"

The tone in which you say this with simultaneously angers and excites Daemon. He adores a good challenge. You both know that.

The prince reaches out to your face, tilting your head up to him, "I'm not done with you, niece."

You roll your eyes. He chuckles as you stand.

You thoughtlessly discard the core of the fruit to the side and release your grip on your book in order to clamp it under your arm, "iksis ziry daor obvious bona iksan tetan lēda ao?"

Daemon stills. He watches as you, his sweet little niece, defiantly staring at him. You spat such words as 'is it not obvious that I am finished with you?' to him? Your uncle? Your star? He who you viewed as holy as the Seven you were so devout to? No. This surely was a jest. A game of cat and mouse.

Daemon's lips curve into a lopsided grin. He opens his mouth to join in the banter, and yet he was not given an opportunity to speak.

"I will leave now, since you're clearly persistent to bother me," you coldly say, moving past him in all audacity.

A scoff actually leaves him because of this. He catches your arm, lowly and dryly chuckling, "rūda lēda aōha tymptir, byka genes."

Quit with your game, little mouse.

"I'm not playing, and I'm not a mouse," you snip, pulling your arm out of his grip.

Now you were both looking at each other with furrowed brows, equally long and light air wafting with the wind.

"I got what I wanted from you, Daemon."

You word this so plainly, so carelessly, and yet it pokes at him, makes his insides churn.

"I've scratched my itch. I've satiated my curiously," you release the tension between your brows to contort your face into scorn, "I've unraveled you, and found you're just another man-- greedy, self-absorbed, and cannot show for all the talk they give."

Daemon scoffs, eyes narrowing. He steps closer, raising his nose as he lets your words get under his skin, "it is too early to toy with me like this."

The eyeroll you give strikes a chord in him as you mutter, "ah, kepus, ao sagon getting uēpa. Ȳdra daor ao jiōragon ziry?" Oh, uncle, you're getting old. Don't you get it? The hardness in his face falters when you continue, "there's no game between us. There's nothing."

Daemon pulls his head back. No. That's not you.

You slowly shake you're head, ratifying, "Iksan gaomagon lēda ao."

I'm done with you.

But who were you?

Last night, the young girl he used to braid the hair of burst into the hall, uninvited, with purpose. His decaying brother, Viserys, and the Hightower bitch was shocked, even your sister, Rhaenyra, was. Daemon, though, was amused by the the theatrics and whispered this your ear, telling you that you copied him.

It was clear when you replied, "except I was not exiled, uncle. I left and returned on my own will. Something you have never done and never will," that you were not that little girl anymore.

He watched you as you moved, as you carried yourself in the room with not a hint of reluctance. You came as... a woman. A woman.

His breath caught in his lungs as you recounted your stories with your beloved Cannibal, much to the aghast looks of others. He was not one of those who laughed at the notion your frailer version gave of claiming the dragon, and yet still, he could hardly believe the words that you surely uttered by your bitten lips himself.

Oh, your lips that then mused more private stories for his ears only later that night, your lips that he then took between his teeth even later, and that he then made to call out his name in the early mornings.

Who were you now?

That woman was not here. You were not the warrior that claimed the dragon, the vixen that clamed his soul, and, sure by the gods, not the little girl that claimed all eagerness to please everyone around her.

Who were you, you who was looking down at him, as though it was not he that read you bedtime stories, he that gave you treats under the banquet table, he that make you come undone beneath him last night?

How dare you discard him?

Daemon regains his gall, "I'm not done with you, niece."

You don't even look at him when you say, "I don't care," and walk away with that stupid book in your hands.

His nostrils flare. "Don't you fucking walk away from me," he quips, unwilling to chase, unwilling to bend or beg.

He watches as you make your way farther.

Against himself, in a brand of desperation, he hastens after you, grabbing your arm, pulling you back to face him. He heaves at your idle gaze, "you've worn my patience."

"It's only fair," you purse your lips, "you worn my time for nothing."

One of Daemon's eyes twitches.

"Bullshit," he chuckles.

You shrug and it enrages him.

It is bullshit and you both know it. And yet somehow, he's beaten to the punch again. He's left defenseless before his little niece and it's ripping at his seams.

"I honestly expected more from you, uncle," you pout, "but then again, I only thought so highly of you because I was a naïve child, just like you said I was all those years ago."

Daemon could not even respond as you hypnotize him by pushing his hair behind his ear, "I've met many men whilst my travels with Cannibal. Though I did appreciate your company, I'm sure you'd agree last night was as lack lustre as it was for me, right, uncle? Since you'd had a great many women yourself."

He watches you as you lean in. He can see the sheen, smell the remnants of pear on your mouth.

This was a trap. There was no real answer. He's been choked. You knew this. And now your lips were curving up.

"Your mind games don't work on me, child," Daemon finally gets to speak.

You laugh outright. You grab his arm as you sigh, "what? Is it so scary to reply to my words you evaded the question altogether?"

In another world, he'd have gone red faced at your words, but no, your mind games don't work on him.

But, oh, it does.

You got him piping like a kettle.

"Just so we're perfectly clear, uncle, so that I am certain we're on the same page," you clutch your book into your chest, "know, that everything, last night, meant nothing to me."

He speaks before he thinks. He can't even hate himself for it because he speaks like he can't even hear himself, "what if it meant everything to me?"

You knit your brows. You scoff out a chuckle, "now who's playing, Daemon?"

His breath audibly hitches. You hear it. You smile, "that's not really my problem, now is it?"

You horribly, so, so gently rub the pad of your thumb on his lips. He freezes as you turn back. Daemon watches you walk away for the second time. This time, he does not run after.

[lessthansix]

‘Indeed it can,’ cried Stephen eagerly. ‘Come, let us take our pulses.’ Dr Ramis pulled out his watch, a beautiful Bréguet with a centre seconds hand, and they both sat gravely counting. ‘Now, dear colleague, pray be so good as to imagine–to imagine vehemently–that I have taken up your watch and wantonly flung it down; and I for my part will imagine that you are a very wicked fellow. Come, let us simulate the gestures, the expressions of extreme and violent rage.’ Dr Ramis’ face took on a tetanic look; his eyes almost vanished; his head reached forward, quivering. Stephen’s lips writhed back; he shook his fist and gibbered a little. A servant came in with a jug of hot water (no second bowls of cocoa were allowed). ‘Now,’ said Stephen Maturin, ‘let us take our pulses again.’ ‘That pilgrim from the English sloop is mad,’ the surgeon’s servant told the second cook. ‘Mad, twisted, tormented. And ours is not much better.’ ‘I will not say it is conclusive, said Dr Ramis. ‘But it is wonderfully interesting. We must try the addition of harsh reproachful words, cruel flings and bitter taunts, but without any physical motion, which could account for part of the increase.’

Master and Commander, Patrick O’Brian

[skzinka]

“ BREACH OF CONTRACT ”

timeline : january, 2022

summary : this kind of decision isn't easy, but maybe it was necessary. ft. lua of ateez

word count : 2.4k>

looking at her reflection in the mirror, inka found her face simply repulsive. her eyes seemed dull, lifeless, her pale face was like that of the vampires in the movies — she could easily have entered enhypen's blood suckers concept alongside calista. a nervous laugh escaped her lips before she rubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve, today was a special day. it had been a month since the day she'd last set foot in the dormitory, a month that she hadn't replied to the countless messages from her members, a month she hadn't set foot in the agency, prompting her manager to put her on temporary hiatus. of course, many questions had been asked, to which she kindly replied that if they wanted her back, they'd have to leave her alone for a while — what they did, surprising as it was. but now, she had to take matters into her own hands and decide what to do with her future.

so, she slipped on her shoes, despite the incessant sighs escaping from her cold lips. « are you sure you don't want me to come with you? » — the voice behind her back asked softly, drawing a small smile from her as she shook her head negatively, « it's okay. i have to do it myself. »

rising to her feet and pivoting towards lua, the latter moved towards her, slipping her arms around her best friend's figure. « whatever decision you make, i'll always be by your side, okay? » inka felt her heart warming in her chest as she shook her head positively this time, « thank you yuehua, for everything you did to me. i couldn't have stood it without you. » — slightly apart, observing the sincerity in each other's eyes, lua placed her hands against her best friend's cheeks, pressing them lightly, « no matter what kalaya, you're an amazing woman. » a smile appeared on the brunette's face and she nodded, slipping one last time into the arms of the only person who had been able to reassure her properly.

after a brief farewell, she finally set foot outside, hurrying to her manager's car that would lead her straight to the hell she had previously refused to return to. buckling her belt, she sighed again, biting her lower lip nervously, her leg bouncing with stress — glancing in the rear-view mirror, her manager suddenly spoke up, in a voice filled with concern, « how do you feel? »

glancing at the driver before hiding in the hood of the sweatshirt she was wearing, inka shrugged her shoulders, staring at the void through the car window, « horrible. i already feel sick just being in the car. »

the situation was much more delicate than he had thought. and worst of all, he had no idea what to do to cheer her up — so he decided simply to leave her alone until he reached the agency, concentrating on the road ahead. inka thought it would be a good idea to turn her phone back on, all this to deal with numerous long-ignored notifications. glancing quickly at a few of them, she began to feel so bad that an urge to vomit gripped her stomach. how could she ignore her caring friends like that? heartbreaking messages from jeongin and jisung stabbed her in the heart, « no wonder why he's so good at writing sad love songs.. » — she said to herself, trying to ignore the fact that she felt guilty, ashamed and didn't know how to face them after all this time. rubbing the tip of her nose to prevent the tears stinging her eyes from rolling down her cheeks, she locked her phone before tucking it away in her pocket, continuing to ignore the mountain of problems piling up on her back.

after long minutes of driving, which seemed like unbearable seconds to her, the car finally stopped in the underground parking lot of jyp. she stared out the window for a long time, dreading every step she took into the agency — she was completely tetanized, an unknown fear seeping into her every muscle. « you don't have to go, you know.. » announced her manager, who was far too preoccupied with the girl's mental health to leave her in such condition. but despite inka's uncertainty, she had to be brave and keep going. she had to take a step forward in her future for her own good. with a trembling hand, she slowly opened the car door, without glancing at the older man in front of her, « it's okay. i have to do it. » she announced as she stepped outside the car, followed closely by the manager who had promised not to leave her alone for a second.

staring at his shoes as she walked, doing her best not to make eye contact with anyone in the agency, inka hurried to the main lift, climbed up the stairs and stopped in front of her superior's office. but suddenly, she seemed frozen in place, unable to make the slightest movement. she had thought long and hard before coming to that decision, ruminating in lua's bed for nights without sleeping a wink, so why was she hesitating now? the decision was the best one for her, for her health, for her well-being, for her future — so why was it so hard to open the door in front of her?

her breathing quickened as she took a step backwards, her hand trembling as if the temperature were in the negative degrees. her heart seemed to panic, she lost all her means, her manager seemed to be talking to her, but she couldn't hear anything, her voice was completely muffled. tears began to roll down her cheeks uncontrollably, she wanted to scream and vent all the frustration that was consuming her inside. and just as she was about to collapse on the ground, a voice managed to infiltrate beyond the sound barrier she had unconsciously created for herself. instantly pivoting towards the latter, she found herself face to face with her youngest member.

« jeon..gin..? » she barely managed to say, before the young man literally pounced on her. his arms clutched around her, one of his hands positioned at the back of her head as he camouflaged inka's face in his sweatshirt, helping to calm her panic attack. the girl's hands clung to his top, gripping it as if it were her only means of survival — the tears on her cheeks redoubled in intensity, as if she'd kept all the pain in the world inside her, and could finally let it all out. it was horrible to see, a scene capable of distressing anyone, inka's pain was so palpable. « i'm so sorry, » she sobbed, shaking her head against jeongin's sweatshirt, « i'm unforgivable. »

« what are you saying? » he replied softly, pulling away slightly to observe her face attentively, brushing her cheeks with his fingers to wipe away the tears. « you're talking nonsense. i know you needed some time after all that's happened. »

nodding gently, she tried as best she could to control the tears that were rolling down her cheeks — without success. jeongin didn't know what to do to console her, so he simply decided to hold her close to him, laying her ear against his chest so that she could hear the beating of his heart. and after a few minutes, the gesture seemed to work, because kalaya stopped crying, but didn't move away from the young boy. « thank you innie, you're always what i need when my heart aches. » — as if it were the first time she'd ever said something like that to him, jeongin felt the tips of his ears grow hot, his cheekbones too.

as she lifted her face to his, tossing back the few frivolous strands of his hair, a small smile finally appeared on his lips, a smile jeongin hadn't seen in a long time. this simple fact warmed his heart, and he couldn't control his desire to hold her again — so he pulled her against him again, squeezing her as if his life depended on it, as if it were the last time he'd ever see her. inka slipped her arms firmly around him, holding him close to her heart and enjoying the reassuring warmth she had missed so much. thanks to him, she thought of nothing, none of the little problems of her life.

but she was soon brought back to reality.

« you're coming back with us, right? » he asked suddenly, his fox-like eyes shooting straight to the girl's heart. just as she was about to answer, the door to her right suddenly opened, revealing the director, who was relieved to see inka there at last, « ahh, kalaya. come, we need to talk. »

reluctantly letting go of jeongin's hand, inka offered him a gentle smile before stepping inside the office, the door closing behind her. just as she was about to take a seat on one of the chairs in front of her, her eyes fell on an all-too-familiar silhouette : in the second empty seat was none other than bang chan. not wanting to make a scandal of herself in front of her superior, inka sat silently, staring at the floor. what's he doing here?, she asked herself, when she was supposed to have a private meeting without any of her members.

« i've asked bang chan to come, since he's stray kids' leader, he needs to know your final decision. » a certain bitterness crept into your muscles — you wanted to face this situation alone. « so.. fans and stray kids' members have been waiting for you for a month now. we've given you a break, as you requested. but we'd like to know what's going on now. »

inka did not look up and seemed to reflect for a moment. her head was a mess : with so many questions and decisions to be made, like the incessant lyrics of a broken record. before she walked through that door, she had a very clear idea of what she wanted her future to be : a decision that suited her perfectly and that she had thought long and hard about. but now everything seemed to blend together, as if she could no longer say what she really wanted, like an invisible barrier in front of her mouth. cracking her knuckles nervously, she finally looked up at her director, ready to speak — but a voice suddenly overtook hers, « no matter what you're about to say, just know that i'm sincerely sorry and that i'm ready to pay the consequences of my actions. »

it was definitely not what she needed to hear right now — she didn't want to hear him talk at all. the ceo's confused eyes juggled between her face and bang chan's, incomprehension visible on his facial features. but she didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to explain it, she just wanted to forget it. then, completely ignoring the leader's words, she rose from her seat and approached the desk, placing a piece of paper on its surface, « i want to cancel my contract. »

she could feel two pairs of eyes bubbling towards her, as if lasers were piercing her skull. inka cleared her throat, trying to ignore the boy fidgeting in panic behind her, while concentrating on the tetanized face of her superior. « what? » he asked almost too faintly, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. he probably thought she had some nerves, demanding such a thing after a month's absence — but kalaya intended to remain firm in her decision, and crossed her arms against her chest.

« you heard me right. but.. » — but now she wanted to talk with him alone. « can i talk with you all alone? » she asked, leaning over the desk. the older man nodded and dismissed chan, who reluctantly left the room, casting one last apologetic glance at his younger member.

once the door was locked, inka swiveled back to her superior, who seemed perfectly attentive to her next words. « i want to cancel my actual contract to make a new one. » suddenly, the panic on his face lifted, giving way to an expression of relief, as if she'd just removed a thorn from his side. a wry smile appeared on her lips, feeling much better that he seemed receptive to her request.

« you scared me, for a second i thought you wanted to leave the agency. » inka shrugged, settling into one of the chairs facing the desk, « oh, believe me, i thought about it. » the director raised an eyebrow, observing her with a questioning gaze.

« until a few days ago, i wanted to leave stray kids and the agency. but i thought long and hard about it, and after mature reflection, i've decided to stay, but with a few extra conditions. » a light laugh left the lips of her superior, who leaned over his desk and crossed his arms, « you've got a lot of nerve, you know that? »

kalaya nodded, a wry smile painting her lips. of course, she knew that discussing her contract with the director was a delicate matter, especially when you know that you could be out of a job at the snap of a finger — but she'd rather get fired for having tried than to have given up of her own free will the dream she'd fought so hard to achieve. which was why she had decided to lay her cards on the table and set her conditions, despite the risks involved.

she was a flower in full bloom, ready to weather any storm.

« i know. but i want to continue to be a member of stray kids, but only if people listen to me and treat me with respect. » — and she was absolutely right. the older man nodded, evidently ready to listen to her requests. so with a winning smile, kalaya explained in detail the conditions she hoped would be validated, not imagining for two seconds what was happening on the other side of the door.

« is she really leaving? »

« ..yes. »

✧⠁taglist : @invuwrld @writerblock-sucks @mynameisnotlaura @alyszaen @felixsbrat @alixnsuperstxr

[fabulous-fic-quotes]

“Fred's coming up to the castle to take you?” Harry asked Hermione, while Ron thrashed on the floor like a tetanic eel.

“Oh yes, he's the marketing brains of their company, and we thought it would be a great opportunity for him to mingle and pitch the brand,” Hermione smiled. “Though why Ron is acting like an operatic cow, I don't know.”

“I think he wanted to take you.”

“He could have done, if he'd shown any initiative,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Immediately, Ron stopped flailing. “Eh? What's that now? You are not actually romantically inclined unto my brother?”

“No, I'm not,” Hermione confirmed, as Ron perked up, only to ruin his sanity by adding, “besides, if I were to eye up one of your brothers, it would be Percy.”

Regulus Black and the Path to Parenthood - Living_Free

[majestativa]

The macrocosm and the microcosm […] This idea tetanizes, a fertile source for every sort of obsession. Fertile and difficult perhaps, but at the same time close to every man’s sensibility.

— Antonin Artaud, The Death of Satan and Other Mystical Writings, transl by Alastair Hamilton & Victor Corti, (1974)

[annaberunoyume]

If Edward and James fought (Or a fuse blown and a reconciliation for a splendid fool. First Part) :

Edward: James...I have something to tell you...It's important...I don't think you will...return to the railways for awhile.

James: ...What?...But-but why?

Edward: Sir Topham Hatt decided that you should get more time to recover and review safety measures...You...you were almost mortally wounded...But I think we can convince him to take you back, someday-

James : I can't be away from the rails. It is my duty!

Edward : But James, listen. An order has been issued by Sir Topham Hatt, you are suspended, for now.

James : Suspended!? No...No! No, it's impossible! I-I, can't-this can't be happening! (He gets more and more agitated, hurting himself in the bed)

Edward : Jamie, I know! I will try to help you, we will review the safety measures, together!

James : NO! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT! (Panicked ramblings)

Edward : James, don't! Your wounds! Please, Jamie, just you SIT back on your bed and listen! James- I would NOT stand it if you returned to the rails!

James : But, don't you care that I lost my job?!

Edward : (eyes shaking) I do...Thus, I want you to SIT this through. (he pants, arched, sad eyebrows)

James: You must believe me, Eddie that this time I will not crash an engine, again.

Edward (tearful, sneering): And why should I believe you?

James (trying to pacify): I know I am reckless, sometimes-

Edward: You're reckless all the time! You almost died, this time! (a pant) And who always saves your boiler?...It's me! But you have no idea how you kill me inside every time you're in danger...(pants, shuddering breaths). And all you care about is the shiny new coat on your engine!

James: Edward, please, let me explain, I just-

Edward (angrily): I never met a pettier driver than you!

James: (Gasps in horror) Ed...You can't mean that...Can't you?

Edward: (Is tetanized, tears dripping from his eyes, from what he belted out...He stays frozen, lifts shaky hands...shudder and just covers his eyes, running from Tidmouth Sheds as fast as his legs can...

James: Ed? Edward! Stop! Wait! Please, come back! Edward! Don't go! EDWARD! (He hyperventilates, starting to sob. Just as Victor comes in, after hearing the commotion)

[byuntrash101]

My bday is 25th sept! (Libra) could u write a mafia byun smut for me pwease!! And congrats on 350!!

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Hii! anon i hope you'll like it. also not me forgetting this post in my drafts and publishing it now...

disclaimer: i was able to fufill this request because anon reached out to me in pm and told me she wanted a snuck out scenario and she liked hardcore stuff so i took the liberty of making it dub con. Please skip it if you're uncomfortable with the themes.

Warnings - mafia boss!baek, suggested dub con, nipple play, prey/predator, suggestive, not proofread

Where do you think you're going ? - Libra!Reader & Taurus!Baekhyun

You were on edge as you finally managed to find a way to escape. You were abducted by this mafia group for a week now, maybe even more. It was hard to tell the passage of time when you were not allowed to go out.

As a libra you were quick witted and non confrontational you instantly knew there was no point fighting back when you mysteriously woke up in this room after a night out with your friends.

You complied, didn’t make noise, stayed still. But secretly you observed and plotted to eventually escape. 

And that was tonight. You memorized the guard’s surveillance tours and you found the perfect gap to run away.

So you snuck out of the room by the window managing to squeeze your body through the bars. Eventough you were on the first story, you winded up your courage to jump. Your libra nature hyping yourself up.

You jumped and rolled perfectly managing to get out of the building safe and sound, maybe only a few bruises were visible at your knees.

But as you stealthily walked through the bushes of the huge property you heard a voice as cold as winter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You knew the voice but not the man. It was the mafia boss. You only heard him speak through the door but you never saw him.

Baekhyun.

You started to run as fast as possible but it was all vain because he was a lot faster than you. With ease he caught up to you and tackled you. Both your bodies rolled onto the ground and he landed over you. You were tetanized as he looked at you with an unknown expression swimming in his orbs.

There was a reason Baekhyun didn’t want to see you. It’s because he knew if he did the Bull wouldn’t be able to resist you. The Taurus really falls for the frail and girly appearance of the Libra. He just likes that sensation, he feels like a predator finally getting to stick his fangs in the tender flesh on his prey.

“Why did you get out here?” he asked, putting his weight on your wrist pinned above your head.

You didn't reply anything, only squirmed, trying to break free. But there was no point he was stronger. But as you struggled, some of the buttons of your shirt came undone and exposed the skin of your chest. 

Immediately Baekhyun dove in. He started to kiss the base of your neck making his way between your breasts. 

“Please” you whimpered, struggling even more.

Completely ignoring you, Baekhyun ripped your shirt off your skin with just one hand. Completely exposing your naked half. He latched his lips on your nipple as you couldn't help but to sigh in unwanted for pleasure. As he teased you, sucking on your nipples and grazing his teeth on your sensitive skin you stopped fighting back, your body betraying you as he forced this pleasure on you.

“Finally you decided to be a good girl”

You nodded with watery eyes.

“Just stay still and I’ll make you see stars” he said, eyes filled with lust as he rolled up your skirt and pushed your panties to the side, uncovering your soaked pussy. Huge hard and menacing cock in the other hand.

“I’ll make sure you never wanna leave again”

[fabiansociety]

Not the Rust, Merely the Nail

Teeth reflected in the oil caught by a wheel.

Colleen pauses on her way back from the bodega, hands weighed down with food she did not pay for and will not eat. "You want something?" She has been too long alone for politeness.

It comes out of the slick, hair lank and plastered to its body, a gangling thing like an underfed sasquatch, the eight simple black eyes of a spider mostly pointed in her direction. "Just seeing how you were doing. Been a while, kid." Its voice is low and pleasantly fluting.

She shrugs. "Same as it ever was. War and rumors of war. Children starving, mass graves, cherry blossoms, a solar eclipse, earthquakes in the city, blizzards on the plains, rising sea levels, humidity at 78%, dewpoint at 50 degrees, fingernails, ginger ale, hand lotion, selenium sulfide—" She goes on for some time, mechanically, slightly bored, regurgitating everything she's taken in or noticed or heard, unsorted, pure. Words strung together in imitation of human speech, but senseless.

It bends towards her, brushes her cheek with fur rank and rotting, breathes a single enochian syllable in her ear. Colleen collapses, claws at the ground, body bent backward with tetanic pleasure.

So; it is enough.

A story about Colleen | source: alexanderhammil.net

[itr0ars]

the shriek of tetanal wind chimes, grammatically incorrect swahili inscribed into the politically incorrect dream catcher threatening to give her a concussion and a half, alert all possible threats to cady’s position. her steps come to a screeching halt. she is a half inch taller than decreed by mother nature yet feels as though the room’s artificiality will consume her at any moment leaving her a half-inch-tall pile of sequins on the floor. 

mara banks is real in the sense that she has a mouth that is moving and there are noises coming out of her mouth. mara banks is real in the sense that there’s news footage flashing through cady’s mind with the saturation and sensationalism cranked up to one thousand and while the tabloids may not tell all, the photographs tell cady that there’s something going on. mara banks is real in the sense that there is an ancient sticky note on her parents’ refrigerator barely responding to the life support of various natgeo stickers telling her that america is filled with violence and hate and everyone’s on opioids and if cady squints in this stupidly bright neon light the tattered curves and edgy contours of mara’s body become that sticky note.

@childactress — ❛  you're completely out of your element here, aren't you?  ❜ ( accepting. )

" miss banks, " she manages to greet through chattering teeth. there’s a smile on her face, but it’s one of obligation and recognition (are those synonymous?) rather than the non-red-stained arrangement of canines that would suggest significant reassurance. not that she isn’t happy to see mara. not that she wouldn’t be happier seeing the ghost of christmas future. “ i am in all my elements right now, actually. darwin saw me and was like, wow, girl, i was totally wrong about evolution ‘cause it took you one generation to get this cool instead of millions. but he said it all through his giant beard so you probably didn’t hear him. ”

‎‎ “ look, two negatives make a positive. i’ll be fine. ” if there is one element she is forever familiar with, it is that of distraction. “ do you, um, do you need help with that? ”

[elinaline]

Still in disbelief that the nurse. After the event where I thought I was dying of a heart attack in my friend's car on the way to the train. In a country where fascism has been steadily rising for the last decade. Two months in the biggest protest of the fifth Republic, following the worst political decision known to mankind. In the middle of the I don't even know anymoreth warmest year in history, deep within an almost year long drought. While I'm a fucking PhD candidate. Joked that I was really stressed out for nothing. I just. I was still nauseated, still tetanizing a little bit, I genuinely half an hour before thought my heart was starting to stop as I'd felt my thorax compress and started to get some weird paralysis and formication deal with a tunnel vision. But ohh I really am someone who stresses out too much right lmao ?? I am just. In complete disbelief. It's already difficult enough to not go insane at the memory of those godawful fifteen minutes, I also feel like I am half gaslighting myself after this comment. And yet I am very clearly traumatized also. What the fuck. Why have nurses so little compassion and humanity.

[icryyoumercy]

such ruptures may occur during tetanic spasms, or violent gymnastic efforts, or in coitu

look, i don't know what kinds of sex these guys were having, but tetanic spasms will fucking break your bones. if the sex your having (or your gymnastic efforts) impart the same kind of force on your body, you should. maybe stop doing that

[inmyfxith]

A Simple Gesture | Part. III

Pairing: Tate Langdon x reader (Platonic)

A/N: Pictures aren't mine, most of them are from Pinterest.

Summary: After surviving one of the most traumatic events of your generation, you decide, on the advice of your psychologist, to face your past by writing down all the memories you still have of this event. Making a fresh start by moving, the house in which you settle quickly reveals its darkest secrets and forces you to reveal yours.

Warnings: Toxic relationship, Anxiety, Mention of murders, ghosts etc...

Words: 3k

Part. I - Part. II

Sitting on the living room couch, a hot cup of tea in your hands, you were not moving. Tetanized, your gaze lost in that of your interlocutor, mute. Tate was standing a few feet away, the coffee table separating you. The youth of his features surprised you first, how could he be so young when he was almost six months older than you. His baby face was identical to the one you remembered from that day in the classroom when you had handed him his pencil. The silence that enveloped the room was heavy, it weighed on your chest before tears slid down your cheeks. Your throat tightened, you tried to hold them back, in vain. Your past was catching up with you and with it, memories you would have liked to forget. The young man did not move, his expression, unchanged since his apparition, seemed intrigued. Why had you called him?

After your question, Constance grudgingly agreed to let you into her house. For a reason you didn't know, Adelaide was not present, though you would have liked to hear her agree with her mother. After serving you a cup of coffee that was far too strong for your still childlike palate, she sat down next to you, a cigarette in her mouth, and asked you what you knew.

"So you saw him!" Her gaze did not meet yours and yet, you felt uneasy in the narrow and gloomy kitchen. The image of the young man at the end of your bed suddenly came to mind and a shiver ran through you. Constance seemed to enjoy the situation for a few moments.

"I thought he was dead," you innocently threw at her. Tate had been dead for nearly fifteen years, and Constance told you in the most crude way possible that the house was haunted by all sorts of strange entities, and that her dead son was one of them. Taking advantage of her "hospitality," as questions piled up in your head, the young man in the attic was the second subject you addressed. However, the old woman refused to tell you more, claiming she wanted to protect you from your own curiosity. In reality, she had had enough of talking to you, and would have said so in a different way if you had not owned the house in which her deceased son lay for eternity.

Back at home, you felt lost even though the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit more and more. Passing your hands over your face, you prepared yourself a tea before settling on the sofa.

"Tate, I know you're here." Breaking the silence of the room, the air suddenly became very cold as if the door had opened, letting in a slight gust that made some of your hair float. And he appeared, there, intrigued by your knowledge of his name while he seemed to take you for a perfect stranger. Your gaze could not hold his for long and a wave of panic suddenly enveloped you. Putting your hands over your ears, the atmosphere changed in an instant. The anxiety gave way to terror, the same one you had felt years ago. With eyes closed, you forced yourself to try to take a normal and regular breath while around you, the walls of Westfield High reappeared.

Opening your eyes again, your house had completely disappeared, only the sofa on which you were sitting was still there. Surrounded by blue lockers, the hallway was empty. Mechanically, your unconscious directed you to the girls' toilets and, you were now acting as a spectator of the scene.

Pressing the flush button, you were about to unlock the door when screams were heard through the hallway. Screams of terror, similar to those present in the horror movies you were particularly fond of. Believing it to be a joke at first, you unlocked the door, ready to wash your hands when a deafening noise paralyzed you. It was followed by several others and, raising your eyes to the mirror, your face had become white. A form of panic you had never experienced before took hold of you, your hands began to tremble and tears ran down your cheeks. Horror is never more frightening than when one cannot see it. Back in the toilets, you had sat on the toilet bowl, curled up while rocking back and forth. Praying that whoever was outside, would not find it wise to check if someone had been absent to go to the bathroom at that precise moment.

Reviving this moment, these sensations, you had found yourself outside your home. Going down the driveway as if to protect yourself from something, the road was your toilet. A refuge where nobody could find you, hurt you. You were no longer yourself, your mind was no longer there and your actions were affected. In the middle of the road, the sound of a car's tires passing a few centimeters from you brought you back to reality, back to the present moment. The driver, a fifty-year-old man, stuck his head out the window and shouted at you to get off the road, that he had nothing else to do and that he would not hesitate to run you over if you did not push yourself away. But despite this, your bewildered expression did not change, you simply returned to the sidewalk, wondering how you had ended up there.

Your first reflex was to try and call your psychologist, to explain to him what had just happened and to find a solution other than taking medication. But he didn't answer, and the feeling of being abandoned took over. So you went back to the couch, the phone between your legs and the cup of tea cooling in your hand. You didn't want to do it, but there was one last person to call. You would have preferred to avoid it, but at that moment, the choice didn't seem to be an option.

You hated being weak. You hated how your subconscious was making decisions for you and then leaving you with guilt and regret that was impossible to forget. The night was already well underway when you woke up. Still lying down, the strength of his embrace prevented you from moving. As a last resort, you had called your ex-boyfriend who, although he had not shown it explicitly, was screaming with joy at the idea that you were asking him for help. And the rest of the evening had gone by to the sound of his jubilation each time he pretended to have to save you again, that he had been right during his first visit. To make him shut up, you had given in to his whims, all his whims. And so there you were, lying in a bed that you hadn't shared for several months, prisoner of an embrace that compressed your chest and prevented you from moving freely. As if he wasn't really asleep, every time you tried to remove his arm, he tightened it so that your body pressed closer to his.

After many attempts, however, he finally gave in, probably slipping into the arms of Morpheus. Taking advantage of the opportunity, you extricated yourself from the bed before covering your naked body with a faded nightgown. In the greatest of silences, you went to the living room and, as if in irony, you lit a candle, making the atmosphere even more spiritual than it already was. Your fear had not diminished, however, after the evening you had just spent, death could come to pick you up and you wouldn't care. Lying in a corner, boxes that you hadn't taken the time to unpack contained old school supplies that you no longer used. So, trying to fill yourself with good nostalgia, you opened one of these boxes before coming across an envelope on which was written "Photos - High School 1993-1994". Spreading its contents on the coffee table, your gaze went from one photo to another while the flame of the candle had begun to flicker.

One photo, the largest of all, rose into the air as if someone had taken it to look at it more closely. Looking up at it, the features of a silhouette thickened to reveal a Tate visibly confused to see his own face. This time, fear did not prevail over the form of curiosity that had remained timid earlier in the afternoon.

"It's you, and if you look closely, a few rows down, that's me" You threw it at him, murmuring, as if to confirm what intrigued him. Without giving you the slightest glance, the young man settled in a cross-legged position on the other side of the table, opposite you. He then began to rummage through the photos, in silence, before taking one in his hands. Every year, a photographer came to take an individual photo of the students and another to immortalize the class in which each one was. The year 1993-1994 was the last, you were all about to leave high school, diploma in hand, to go to universities across the country. And that year, you were in the class of a young blond-haired boy who said nothing. No one really talked to him, the other students paid him no more attention than that, leaving him to live his life as he pleased. And yet, towards the end, a few months before the diploma was handed out, Westfield High had faced a most traumatic event.

So you watched him, for several minutes, while he admired the photos of yourself. Your mind wandered for a moment before Tate handed you a photo.

"Where was this taken?" Just like his face, his voice had remained unchanged. The photo he presented to you came from the school library, you were leaning against one of the shelves, a book in your hands and your boyfriend at the time had taken the photo without your consent. Evoking the place succinctly, you asked him if he remembered the place to which he answered with a nod. So he remembered the school, but apparently not really of you.

"Who are you talking to?" Your ex-boyfriend appeared from the kitchen and, when your gaze returned to the coffee table, Tate had disappeared.

"Nobody, why? You hear voices?"

"Don't be silly, come back to bed, we haven't finished what we started!" A shiver ran down your spine, and all you could feel was disgust. However, you did not dare to imagine what might happen if you dared to say no to him. So you just blew out the candle before going back up with him.

The night was long. Very long. And when the first rays of the sun appeared in the room. Goosebumps covered your body, the rays slowly warming your skin. Your ex-boyfriend was still there, his imposing body turned towards you and his hand tightly holding your waist to prevent you from leaving.

Your gaze then wandered to the ceiling, trying to imagine what the young man living in your attic was doing at that moment. The ball didn't seem to roll on the floor, so it was obvious he wasn't playing. When you tried to move, it wasn't his hand that stopped you but the pain. Knowing that he would get what he wanted without having to plead with you, he didn't restrain himself and, if you had completely detached yourself from the moment, you now paid the price. Time seemed long until his awakening, and the announcement of his departure for work sounded like a truce in your mind.

After asking you to prepare and serve him a coffee, he gave a quick kiss on your forehead before disappearing behind the door. Door that you quickly locked behind him. Become your favorite place, your body found its way back to the living room to settle back on the sofa. The photos were still on the table, however, they had been sorted on one side the formal school photos and on the other, the photos of your everyday life. Without putting them back in order, you grabbed your computer to check your emails. Among two messages from your publisher, one name caught your attention. Mr. Carmichael was the author, and before opening it, the subject gave you an idea of what you would have to face. The direction of Westfield High seemed to find it interesting to reunite former students of the school, so that they could all reunite. Some kind of alumni forum, and this year, your class was invited to come back to the hallways of the place that had traumatized half of the people present that day.

Turning your head to the photos, your hand automatically grabbed the class photo of that year. The carelessness was read on your face, as well as on Tate's face. The only darkness visible was the one that colored his t-shirt. And, seeing there a way to re-establish contact with people facing the same problems as you, the answer that followed the mail was positive.

The sun was setting on the small town, casting an orange hue on the buildings and structures. As the sky darkened, the streetlights clicked on, illuminating the street.

The former students, now in her thirties, walked slowly down the street. You were no exception and your heart thumping in her chest. It had been more than fifteen years since you had set foot in this campus and you were feeling a mix of emotions. Nostalgia, fear, sadness, and guilt. Guilt because you had been too afraid to do anything to intervene. You reached the school and stopped, your eyes scanning the building. It looked different than it had fifteen years ago. There were no reminders of the tragedy. But you still felt the presence of it. You could feel the pain and fear that had filled the halls that day. You could hear the screams, the shots, the chaos. You could feel the sorrow that had lingered after the tragedy.

The library looked exactly the same as it had 15 years ago. You slowly walked through the door, your heart racing. You closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

As you entered the library, you could see Mr. Carmichael in the corner, still in his wheelchair. He hadn't aged a day since that fateful day, but you could see the pain in his eyes. You walked over to him and cleared your throat, unsure of what to say.

Mr. Carmichael looked up and smiled weakly. "Well, if it isn't Y/N," he said softly. "It's been a long time since I've seen you here. How have you been?"

You paused, searching for the right words. "I'm… I'm doing well," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to come back and… and thank you, Mr. Carmichael. For everything you did that day. For all the lives you saved."

Mr. Carmichael nodded slowly, his eyes glistening with tears. "It was the least I could do," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm just sorry I couldn't do more."

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You did more than enough," you said softly. "You're a hero, Mr. Carmichael. You always have been."

Mr. Carmichael smiled, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's good to see you again."

You greeted some of your former comrades but the reunion seemed to be too much to bear. So you excused yourselves before heading to the toilets.

They were just as you had remembered it: gray metal sinks, haphazard tile floors, and damp walls still stained with the rust-coloured marks of what had happened fifteen years before. You closed your eyes as you recalled the terror of that day, fighting back tears as you tried to remember the faces of all those who had been hurt.

You shook your head and opened your eyes again, turning to look in the mirror. You saw your frightened 16 year old self, huddled in the corner of the room, just as you remembered it. You remembered feeling so alone, so scared.

You slowly opened the door to your apartment and quietly stepped inside, feeling the familiar but tense atmosphere that had taken over the home. You slowly took off your coat, not daring to make too much noise or sudden movements, but you were aware that he had already noticed you were home.

You heard his heavy footsteps come stomping into the living room and he stopped right in front of you. He was an imposing figure, threateningly staring you down.

“Where have you been?” He bellowed.

You swallowed hard, “I....I went for a walk, I needed some..fresh air.” You looked down, not able to make eye contact.

He spat the words out, “Fresh air?! You went for a walk for fresh air!? What kind of excuse is that?!”

You felt your heart racing as his voice intensified. You took a step away from him before you noticed his arm from the corner of your eye, lifting up as if he was going to hit you.

Just then, out of the blue, you heard a voice ringing out through the tense atmosphere.

“She doesn’t need excuses.”

You froze and turned your head to the side to see Tate, standing tall right next to your “boyfriend”.

Surprise and confusion passed across your boyfriend's face. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Tate responded by shoving him away. The two men then began to fight; Tate was clearly holding back, and his opponent quickly gained the upper hand.

But, just as your boyfriend was about to land a final, fatal blow, Tate suddenly pulled to one side, dodging just in time. And your boyfriend wavered, then, cursing loudly, he turned and made his way out of the house.

You found yourself unable to speak. You had seen so many acts of violence and looked fearfully as the men fought, but this time it had been different. This time you had been the one Tate stepped in to protect, and for the first time you felt seen and cared for by someone.

Finally regaining your voice, you softly thanked Tate for his bravery, your voice full of emotion. Tate nodded in acknowledgment and, without a word, melted away into the shadows.

Tag list -> @mary-jinx

[skzinka]

“ UNCERTAINTIES ”

timeline : pre-debut

summary : even in the biggest moments of doubt, when there is almost no hope in her heart, kalaya must show all her support to her friends.

warnings : angst, crying a lot, low self-esteem, strong language, kalaya is just riddled with sadness and disappointment

word count : 1.1k >

life is not something simple, she thought, looking at her reflection in the dance hall mirror. even if you put all the good will and efforts in the world in it, sometimes it feels like we are not getting closer to the end of the tunnel. that's what the girl felt, as she watched the silent tears of frustration slide down her cheeks.

it was an even more complicated time : some of her friends found themselves embroiled in a competition that was supposed to offer them the opportunity to start in a group, but some of them had already been eliminated. and other negative point, she was not part of this competition.

kalaya felt that everything she had given up to that point, had been for nothing. ruin her health, spend nights without sleep, make herself sick to keep a perfect figure.. all this was for nothing, because she was still at the starting point, locked within these four walls, lacking the talent required to enter the idols' world.

all hope had left her small muscles when she let herself fall to the ground, crying all the tears she had in her body. in one side of her head, she told herself that if her friends, who were much more talented than her, had already failed, she could already pack her bags and go home.

she was convinced that she had no future, and having to return home to face her mother's disappointed look, tetanized her. every particle of confidence that was part of her, was suddenly gone. she felt powerless, weak, alone, useless, incapable, she didn't think anything good about herself, quickly observed her reflection with a look of disgust and total rejection.

her sobs doubled as she hit the mirror with all her might, begging her demons to leave her alone, to let her catch her breath. but without success — those little negative voices in her head wouldn't stop. kalaya beat her chest as hard as she could, trying to fill the pain she felt, releasing more tears filled with pain and bitterness. she wanted to see a glimmer of hope, a sign from fate that this period was just a bad phase, but nothing seemed to want to pull her up from this hell hole.

her hands clutched at her sweatshirt, as tightly as possible, causing her knuckles to whiten and hiccups to be heard in the back of her throat, trying to force herself to stop the tears running down her cheeks. after long minutes of calm, the atmosphere lulled by her sniffles and the sound of her nails scratching her skin to blood, kalaya raised her head, watching her miserable reflection again.

the large mirrors in the room left her no choice but to look at how miserable she was. her puffy face and her eyes reddened by tears made her hideous. deep inside she hated what she was : she would have given anything to be someone else, someone more talented than her, someone more beautiful, someone you notice.

not some poor girl crying alone in a dance hall feeling sorry for herself.

kalaya was disgusted with herself, and couldn't help but be put down by the little voices in her head — “you're good at nothing”, “you're ugly, you're fat”, or “you can't dance”. this sentence had a devastating effect on her mental health, the girl trembled just by thinking of those words that had burned her heart in the most painful way. tell yourself that, the thing you bled for, cry, try relentlessly, to the point of fainting from exhaustion, was not made for you, was the worst thing in the world.

you know that feeling, when the ground is slipping away from under your feet, and after that, you touch the deep bottom without being able to get up, this feeling of being drawn into a black hole that destroys everything in its path, that was what she had been feeling for weeks. fortunately, deep down, she knew she could count on many people around her – especially yuehua who kept sharing her determination with kalaya all the time – but all these horrible emotions had become far too unbearable.

sighing and hitting her face almost too hard countless times in a row, kalaya finally came back to her senses, drying her last tears before staring at the ground, her eyes empty. nervously biting her lower lip, she tossed out some swear words about how pathetic she was, before getting up, silently putting her things in her bag. but just as she was heading to the door, hurried footsteps from outside called out to her — people were running towards the training room where she was.

with a bewildering crash, the door opened wide in front of her, a body automatically colliding with hers. she didn't have time to say or do anything, as felix shouted with joy, « we did it kalaya ! the guys and me.. we debut together soon ! »

kalaya could swear she heard her heart break completely for a second time in her life, each piece of the latter dissipating in his heart like a splinter. it was stronger than her : she wanted to rejoice for her friends, but an unknown rage and an immense sadness consumed her every thought.

she hated herself for envying them so much, hated herself for giving them a fake smile and rejoicing for them while she was jealous to the highest degree. kalaya hated every emotion she was currently feeling, she wanted to scream and cry, she wanted to pull out her hair and break every single mirror, but she could do nothing but smile falsely and congratulate her friends on their success, embracing them as a good friend would do.

« i'm so happy for you all ! you guys deserve it ! » kalaya kept repeating this kind of sentence, containing the tears that threatened to fall at any moment. her friends embraced her one after the other, their warmth not even able to warm her frozen heart. deep down, she knew that a warm glow was happy and really proud of her friends, but the major part of her being hated all that she was currently experiencing.

« kalaya noona, are you proud of me? » asked jeongin, somewhat shy but with sparkling eyes that caused kalaya to shed a tear. she felt ashamed, disgusting. so she nodded, pulling the boy into her arms and congratulating him in the most sincere way, even if her words might sound fake.

then, they all spoke together, congratulating and encouraging each other for the future, without noticing the silent little girl who wondered how she was going to get out of this hell.

in the end, kalaya had only one real enemy.

herself.

✧⠁taglist : @invuwrld @writerblock-sucks @mynameisnotlaura @alyszaen @felixsbrat

[anglaoshi]

Remix - Algger - Hello Dance

This choreography has quite a profound theme: it is about being goth, hot, and gay as fuck. The song is a remix of a unique Tokyo Gegegay creation, the exact details of which are fairly complicated, so I will save that discussion for the end. It is a futuristic, cinematic song with a prominent bass beat, fast tempo, and plenty of sound effects. In this performance, the dancers are clad all in black with dark lipstick, and red bar lights accent the otherwise unidimensional, dim white wash. Algger is wearing the skirt-over-pants and leather collar that are emblematic of his costuming style in this time period. Overall, the vibe is of some perversely alluring hell. 

The structural arc of this composition is a bit unusual! The initial part, making up about ⅔ of the dance, is aggressive and a bit scary. Algger’s facial expressions are threatening and he stares forcefully ahead, occasionally grimacing or opening his eyes wide to heighten the effect. These character decisions synergize with the monstrous movements and shapes of the dance itself. In this first section, there is a lot of dynamic movement on the vertical axis of the stage, as well as a notable approach along the Z axis toward the camera. By contrast, the final third, which constitutes the climax of the piece, is fairly still, and movements are concentrated in the upper half of the body. The effect is like an anthropological expedition into studying the culture of these lovely, demonic beings. One first comes to understand their more obvious features, and the true nature of their intricate power only appears after sufficient introduction. Fascinatingly, the first part contains more imagery concerning nonhuman biology or anatomy, but it is the second part that elevates the choreography to otherworldliness. 

Visual representations of monstrous identity abound in this piece. In the first image of this dance, Algger contorts his face into a tetanic grimace. In such a prettyboy-dominated world, this is a choice I respect– an unappealing, off-putting face that dares you to feel the seduction of the work, despite its ghastly look. 

Early in the choreography, the dancers approach the audience, stomping and quickly whirling both hands with the palms out. It’s quite difficult to achieve smooth, symmetrical, complete rotation like this, especially given the positioning of the upper arm. This is an aggressive move, and the dancers almost seem to menace the viewer. Even in a recording, you can feel the energy crashing into you like a wave front. 

Indeed, there are many monster shapes in this choreography. The imagery appears both in static arrangements, as in hands formed into claws, and in inhuman movements along unusual vectors. Throughout, Algger tends to maintain a fierce gaze toward the viewer, like a creature defending its lair– or, perhaps, its brood. I like this move from early in the dance,  accented by a terrifying glower, which combines gradient and incremental types of motion. 

The smooth downward press has such an implacability, like a hydraulic vice. In contrast, the stepwise movements of the hands almost resemble something crumpling, or yielding to an immense weight. It is a heavy, powerful visual, and the hunched torso position creates such a feeling of enclosure, of something towering over you. 

The most literal expression of monster shapes comes right before the short break that splits the two parts of this choreography, as if to express a final transformation: 

The clawed hands are a nice touch, and the movement closely matches a very fast stylistic stutter in the music. It must have been completely hallucinatory to watch in person. Then, a hand design that is common to urban dance and usually used to denote a crown is twisted to form demons’ horns. 

In the latter part of the choreography, identifiable monster anatomy gives way for a more abstract or surrealist depiction. Instead of “that’s not the shapes humans are,” one begins to think “humans don’t move like that.” Angles and vectors are precisely replicated, limbs move with an eerie inertia, joints turn more times than they should. 

I just really love this design

The shapes here produce such a unique and exciting impression. The energy of this sequence closely matches the source material (more on that in a bit), but it is still unique to Algger and cohesive with the vision of this piece. The hand shape here resembles a traditional Catholic gesture of blessing, almost literally co-imbricated with the darker gestures of the dance, a tense and contradictory relationship that is itself traditional within the goth aesthetic. What really captures me about this moment is how solid the square shape feels, and the lovely juxtaposition of delicately arranged hands with the odd and geometric movements of the arms and wrists. 

Illusion is a powerful tool for a choreographer, and this one is executed beautifully. Pushed along by the sharp sound effect cue, each angle here appears with a quick precision. How can a wrist turn four times in succession like that? There is an answer that exists in reality, but it’s really better to let the monstrous magic envelop you: The wrist turns like that because it belongs to something nonhuman, supernatural. 

This swirling crown design ends the dance. It feels almost plasmatic as it refers back to the solid, horned crown design that closes the first section. Perhaps it doesn’t call to mind any common archetypes of creature shape, but it is unmistakable as an otherworldly icon; a cloud of dark energy, perhaps, or some kind of twisted halo. As a matter of elevation, it is an electrifying consummation of both the connotations of otherworldliness and the serpentine hand-tracks that characterize this piece. 

My favorite moment from this choreography is this quick twirling wrist move, which serves as a rounded contrast to the flat, angular, slicing motions that come before it. Upon first glance, it is a fulgent and pushy design, remarkable for its dizzying speed. But what I really love about it is the extra layer of expression that Algger gives to this already stunning design. Watch closely:  

The fluttering hands are first a bit stiff as they begin to orbit each other, and then– as the wrists open up in their second rotation, so too do the digits, which take on a softly splayed shape. Delicate moments like this, nestled within powerful images, give the choreography its depth and allure. 

To fully understand this piece, it is instructive to pay close attention to the source material, a Tokyo Gegegay performance on a Japanese variety show in 2016. Reportedly, the present production is a re-recording of choreography that Algger designed in that same year. Perhaps that has something to do with why this piece lacks the complexity and balance that is characteristic of his later work. Still, one senses a depth of devotion: In Algger’s choreography, many of the moves by Tokyo Gegegay are referenced, paraphrased, twisted, elaborated, irradiated. 

Tokyo Gegegay is a very charming music and dance group that is a significant artistic influence for Algger. They rose to prominence through a dancing competition show, DANCE@HERO. Tokyo Gegegay’s productions are kooky and frightening, a combination that works much better than you’d think. It’s also a group that’s very, very gay. Unsurprisingly. I strongly relate to Mikey’s lust for playing with gender and also his need to sometimes just say ‘gay’ really loud. As a sheltered Western homo, I wonder what it’s like to be gay or genderqueer or trans in East Asia, especially China. I feel immense compassion and solidarity with people like us, all over the world. Though it’s less overtly oppressive than it could be, even I live under a state that would strongly prefer that I not exist anymore. I hope things will get better for us, though I know for some people, they won’t. Okay, time to stop being maudlin on main! In conclusion: Tokyo Gegegay is a very fun citypop/dance group, and if you like those things, or gender, surrealist performance art, or Algger, or being gay, they are worth checking out! Mikey is an icon, and Bow is my favorite. 

The original source of this remix (as far as I can tell) is a New Year’s performance by Tokyo Gegegay on Japan’s Dance Performance from 2016. It’s fun and silly and celebratory and strange, and several of the designs in this performance are directly referenced by Algger’s choreography. Algger's work is original, but it is undoubtedly a fervent homage.

A notable feature of both choreographies is flat hands that swish through the air or whirl above the head. They appear as a central motif in both performances, acting as a throughline that arises repeatedly, given different context and connotation each time. 

Within the exuberant atmosphere of a Tokyo Gegegay performance, this “monster hands” shape takes on a different mood. Softened by the group’s giddy charm and its cute sailor costumes, this very similar movement takes on a significantly more playful tone than in Algger’s performance. Still, this iteration shares that same exhilarating, attractive threat in common with the move under Algger’s direction. 

Bow is so cute here. I love this moment. As in Algger’s choreography, this image marks a shift in the dance, this time a literal spatial shift. I think it’s interesting that the moment is an intentional rest, a slowing that is meant for laughs in the Tokyo Gegegay performance, while the Hello Dance version blends it more smoothly with the surrounding ideas and emotional tone. Of course, Tokyo Gegegay’s performance is meant to be more humorous, and each approach works well in its place. I love the gravity of Bow’s movements here; you really feel the power of each step, even as she plays it for a joke. 

There are even more elements to the Tokyo Gegegay performance that are referenced by Algger, such as the triangle hands shape that mimics the group’s logo, or the gesture of benediction being applied in alien contexts. 

So, too, are there notable points of departure, as in the denouement of Tokyo Gegegay’s choreography, which becomes much more lively and powerful, with dramatic leg movements incorporated as well, that heighten the excitement of this effervescent piece. In contrast, Algger’s heavy, menacing work ensnares the viewer within its atmosphere, remaining static with regards to the vertical axis of the stage as it comes to an end.  

The music for this Tokyo Gegegay performance appears to be an original mix of several songs and sound effects. A major component is an existing remix of Not So Hard by Switch. As an ekphrastic work, Algger’s piece is also in conversation with another choreography from Mikey in his capacity as GD5 dance studio master. 

Mikey has choreographed to this simple remix at GH5 dance studio, and that choreography includes concepts, like this over-the-shoulder design, that appear in Algger’s choreography but not the Japan’s Dance Performance show, as well as some concepts that occur in all three. Mikey’s presence has an incredible magnetic force here, his confident poise well-earned.

I might… I might be TOO gay…

The provenance of the music for this dance of Algger's is rather convoluted, then: it is a remix of a remix of a remix. For Algger’s piece, the BPM is raised significantly, from about 135 BPM to 165, and cut to its most impactful sequence due to the shorter length of the choreography. Increasing the BPM feels like a flex, and the movements here are very fast, but still clean. The higher tempo of this piece also lends itself to the greater aggression of Algger’s work. Temporal compression here creates almost an anxiety in comparison to the loose and free-flowing Tokyo Gegegay performance. 

In this choreography, Algger extracts and distills some fundamental truths about Tokyo Gegegay, and about being a gay weirdo within a cultural context that is conservative, gender restrictive, and homophobic. Tokyo Gegegay tends to approach the difficulty of being nonconformist from an absurd, dreamy perspective. In his own way, Algger has chosen a more familiar metaphor for representing otherness: It’s unexpectedly earnest, strangely touching. In both pieces, and in Algger and Mikey’s work more generally, the spirit of the work begs you to be drawn to it, even as it performatively alienates. Within a snarl, within a psychedelic frenzy, a lonely and vulnerable Other cries out in search of recognition. 

[saturneers]

TETANIZING LASER black ops tech UFOtech MIB #horrorshorts #truestory #cr...