Catharsis - Tumblr Posts
I've been reading a bit about the themes of justice and retribution in fairy tales lately, and I keep finding excerpts that sound like they were ghostwritten by Rafal, haha.
"Most parents today shield their children from the violent imagery found in Grimm’s fairy tales. But if you’ve had enough conversations with young children, you’ll find that they already think a good deal about violence and death and what it all means, so sanitizing fairy tales will not stop children from thinking what they naturally think. If children are nursed on fairy tales that have been sanitized to appease the sentiments of adults and not left alone to nurture their own spiritual development, it will damage their ability to develop a sense of justice, [...]"
"The thirst for justice is strong in children. To deny them drink is to deny them redemption. The next time my daughter pronounces a death sentence on a wicked sinner, I won’t talk her out of it. I’ll agree: they do need to die. [...]"
Source.
“For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.” ― G.K. Chesterton
"Modern crime fiction has nothing on the ingenuity, brutality and sheer bizarreness of the offenses committed in classic fairy tales. Moreover, fairy tales are ruthless. Our contemporary crime novels have the monopoly on moral ambiguity, true, but fairy tales take no prisoners and often offer no redemption. Mercy is not a hallmark of the genre and even the kindest, most benevolent maid-turned-princess isn’t afraid to take out her wicked stepmother."
Source.
"[...] revenge tends to break out whenever legal remedies are blocked, as when the evildoer controls the legal machinery or is otherwise above the law, or when public law enforcement is very lax."
Source.
“Hang a For Sale sign
on my brain because I don’t
want it; it cannot house
me anymore than cotton
protects flesh from rain.
Post an Out of Order sign
on my brain because I can’t
function anymore; it does
not glimmer like the
strand of Christmas lights
with the one broken bulb.
Nail a Beware sign
on my brain because it
destroys; it’s the hurricane
tsunami headed straight
toward the glass city.”
-EL
Hypnic Jerk
Spiraling a vacuum in my sternum drinking in the void gasping for air in the emptiness
I reminisce of distances
leapt
in instances kept in memories forever, lingering
How heavy can emptiness be? Who am I who sees not me? Who are they who could not stay and did they ever know my disarray?
I am an erratic notion of emotion in motionless vastness
I am spastic jerking and tumultuous in the openness of this cosmic loneliness
the endless hindrance of the intimate i n f i n i t e
29 : Too Sensitive
I open up to my mother she listens begrudgingly but physically cold shoulder I point out her body language she says I’m on the attack I just want peace but a cold war is still a war He coughs all day to numb the pain releasing it in clouds around him every sound has a weight on my heart and it never ends I want to escape but I’m frozen in place and I’m not interested in playing pretend Maybe ignorance is bliss and this is suffering needlessly I can’t escape paralysis except when I’m asleep demons used to chase me in the worlds inside my dreams one day, i touched the bottom surfaced from beneath the waters woke but couldn’t move at the end of my bed a demon waited so i sent waves of energy in its direction and freed myself even the most fearsome monsters respond to these vibrations is that how they see me? certainly I’m no exception
we hate things. we hate people.
FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #3 : Tempest
Spoilers for the White Mage and Dark Knight Job Quests below, along with mild Stormblood Spoilers, you have been warned. Also, Celeste is not The Main WoL, but part of the WoLstatic alongside Xander (Main WoL), M'hana, and Iori.
Celeste reeled as she arrived in Camp Tranquil from Rhalgr’s Reach. Even replete with anima as she was, teleporting took the wind straight out of her. Or, perhaps it was merely her anxiety that sucked the wind from her sails as she made to approach her two former mentors in the art of the White Mage.
No, not to approach. To confess. To admit to what she’d done to their most precious artifact, something an outsider like her should have been blessed to so much as touch, much less wield. She’d felt the knife of shame in her gut when she took Rielle to see the Padjali to determine what ailed her, but that was nothing compared to the guilt squeezing around her stomach like a vice right now.
Her mouth and throat ran dry as she stood before her mentors now, fiddling with the blessed robes of a White Mage that she was no longer fit to wear.
“Celeste! It’s good to see you again. What brings you out this way after so long?” Raya-O-Senna asked, the cheer in her voice sending another splinter of shame through Celeste’s chest.
“I-“ Celeste began. Faltered. Wrung her hands nervously before her. Gods, where do I even begin-? “A-Ruhn, Raya-O, I have… I have a confession to make. The resting place of A-Towa-Cant’s soul, the White Mage Job Stone… After the incident in Ul’dah a year ago, I-“
The two Padjali stared up at her, expectant. A-Ruhn’s expression was unreadable, hidden by his bangs as it was. Raya-O simply kept her hands folded behind her back, leaning forward as though paying rapt attention to Celeste’s every word.
Celeste squared her shoulders. Tried to screw her courage to the sticking place. Then, bowed before her mentors, letting it all out in a rush of breath. “In my spite and fury with Gridania for refusing to shelter my companions, I chose to throw the Soul of the White Mage into the Abyss churning outside of Ishgard. I’d go to retrieve it myself, but visiting such an area, buffeted as it is by ice and wind aether, would be the death of me, so I- I just wanted to let you know and to give you both my most sincere, heartfelt apologies. You gave me- with great reluctance- a precious gift, and in a fit of pique I threw it away like so much garbage.”
She rose from her apologetic bow, hands outstretched as if seeking the young seedseers’ clemency. “You are under no obligation to forgive me, and I understand if you never want to see me again after this, but I couldn’t- I simply couldn’t let this sit on my heart any longer.”
Not if she intended to put the lessons Fray and Myste taught her to good use. Not if she ever intended to forgive herself.
Celeste felt two someones take hold of her hands. She opened her eyes to find her mentors staring up at her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed them.
“Celeste. You needn’t ask for our forgiveness.”
She blinked at A-Ruhn’s words. “But I lost your most precious treasure. Not just lost, but threw it away-!”
“It’s not so lost as it might seem.”
As Celeste tilted her head in confusion, Raya-O reached into a pocket of her robes and withdrew a familiar worn, egg-like white crystal, holding it out for the elezen to take. Celeste cupped her hands around the Job Stone, which glowed faintly with power that resonated to the depths of her soul, a reassuring whisper of the voice of nature, silent yet strong, echoing in her ears.
“This is- but how?!” She asked, inarticulate with a combination of shock and relief.
“We received it around eleven months ago by way of a rather frostbitten postmoogle, who’d seen it glistening in the depths and thought it might be important. He told us at length about how he nearly ‘froze off his pom, kupo’ while trying valiantly to retrieve it.” Raya-O intoned with a grin.
“We suspected something had gone wrong when you never reached out to us for further guidance after obtaining the legendary gear once worn by A-Towa-Cant’s apprentices.”
Eleven months? Celeste felt a little sick as she did the math in her head and realized, “So, when I came with Sidurgu and Rielle-“
A-Ruhn nodded. “We already had the stone back in our possession, yes. We were not going to seek you out and force you to resume the art if you did not want to. And we could both sense that the tempest churning within you at that moment must have been dire indeed to force you to take so drastic an action.”
“So you see, we’ve no reason to be angry with you. We never were. We were just hoping that you’d find your way once more. And now, it seems that you have.”
The Seedseers’ forgiveness ached far more than their condemnation ever could have, and Celeste found herself weeping before them, clutching the Job Stone to her chest amidst inarticulate apologies and quiet, hiccuping sobs. And yet, with each tear, she could feel the festering bitterness lingering in her heart towards her second home bleeding out, leaving behind a clean wound that was, at last, ready to heal.
“All right. I’m ready to learn. If you’ll have me.”
Raya-O-Senna beamed. “You don’t even have to ask. Let’s resume where we left off, shall we?”
The Choreographer - Pt 11
Jungkook X Reader
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with taking over the lead’s responsibilities while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS.
That was before you and Jungkook hooked up.
Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs. Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself.
You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out. How will you handle the pressure?
Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage.
Author’s Note: Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys.
Masterlist There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them. And, with no future ado, Chapter 11:
________________________________________
The days blurred together.
Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.
Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.
Even then, it wasn’t always effective.
Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.
Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.
Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.
That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.
Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.
When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.
And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.
The only time you ever got a break from him was during your conversations with Yoongi, which grew in frequency.
Yoongi was a necessary respite. The only person who made you feel comfortable being sad. With Yoongi, you didn’t have to mask. You didn’t have to make small talk or pretend you had energy that you didn’t. You didn’t even have to talk if you didn’t want to.
It wasn’t abnormal for you and Yoongi to hang out in complete silence, just taking comfort in the other’s presence without feeling the need to interact.
It was an odd friendship, you realized. Having had so many of your friendships revolve entirely around a shared love of dance, Yoongi’s was new for you. He begrudgingly tolerated dancing at best, outright loathed it at worst. And while a weed habit had brought the two of you together, it was not the defining characteristic of your friendship.
What brought the two of you together was that you were both broken, and doing your best to heal from it. Yoongi didn’t know all the details of your trauma, and you didn’t know the details of his. But it existed in both of you and you held space for each other.
Things with Jia were still awkward. The day after the incident with her and Taehyung, she had cornered you at the stadium and had apologized profusely for ever putting you in that situation and how much she appreciated that you made your discomfort known instead of just going along with it. You assured her that you understood and you didn’t hate her, but there was still a lingering weirdness between the two of you—the kind that would only clear up with time.
And while you and Jia were working on mending things, it was an entirely different story for Taehyung. You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye without remembering how invasive it had felt to have his dick in your hand or his tongue in your mouth. Every time you thought about it, your stomach churned.
It was sad mostly just because you now felt even more isolated. You wished things could just go back to being normal, but you needed space to process what had happened. It was difficult to get that when you had to see them almost every day.
You were suffocating.
Even nights out at the club no longer held the appeal that they used to have. You’d much rather spend your Saturdays alone in your hotel room, streaming Netflix or taking long bubble baths.
Which is exactly what you were currently doing.
You’d ordered room service for yourself (a big plate of pasta), taken a luxurious aromatherapy bath, and were currently working through your dessert—a slice of layered chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream on the side. Your stomach had started aching a few bites ago, but you were determined to eat as much of it as you could.
You’d been PMSing for the last few days and it had finally come to a head. About time, too. You knew you’d be starting late tonight or early tomorrow. The chocolate cake helped, though.
Pretty Woman played on the hotel TV. It didn’t have Korean subtitles, but you’d seen it enough times with them that you knew everything that happened.
Your hormones had been so elevated that you’d been crying at parts that weren’t even that sad, when your phone chimed.
[Yoongi: I’m drunk]
[You: What else is new?]
[Yoongi: Can I come over?]
[You: Sure]
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on your bed in a bathrobe with the rest of your chocolate cake while you applied an overnight mask to your face. You’d finally given up on finishing it and begrudgingly handed him the chocolatey, sugary mess, which he was thoroughly enjoying.
“So, what’s she doing now?” he asked.
“She just confronted those sales women because they wouldn’t help her the other day when she came in.”
“Why not?” he said through a thick, syrupy mouthful of cake.
“Because she was dressed like a sex worker.”
“Is she a sex worker?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” he said, and went back to his cake.
You always loved this part of the movie. Where the struggling woman finally gets treated like a princess.
For a moment, it had felt like that with Jimin. You supposed that was all part of the fantasy.
Maybe Julia Roberts would end up walking away from Richard Gere after a few months when he stops love bombing her and goes back to the asshole he was before?
Suddenly, the movie didn’t seem quite so wonderful.
No. You were being negative again. The movie was still a good movie. Just because you had one bad experience with Jimin didn’t mean that every romance was doomed.
“Hey, so I wanted to talk to you about something,” Yoongi said suddenly. Your heart sped up.
“You make it sound so bad when you say it like that.”
Yoongi shrugged. “I mean, it’s not great.”
You chewed on your lip, immediately regretting it as the gel from the mask flooded your tongue with bitter chemicals.
“We had a meeting the other day.”
Your stomach dropped. On the screen, Richard Gere nodded approvingly at the new clothes Julia Roberts had purchased. You blinked a couple times.
“A meeting?” you asked.
“Namjoon called it on Wednesday morning before rehearsals began.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Apparently, he’s heard some…complaints. About certain members and their late-night…er…activities.”
“Oh, God.” Your organs twisted. Inside your chest, your heart pounded a heavy tattoo against your ribcage.
“He essentially reminded all the members to make sure they’re acting professionally. And not to cross any lines with staff members.”
“Did he mention my name?”
Yoongi frowned. “Not…exactly. But it was pretty clear who he was talking about.”
You rested your head in your hands, goo from your mask making your palms all sticky.
Fuck. This had to be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you. Your stomach churned and you screwed your eyes shut in shame.
It was going to be okay. Just breathe. You’d be fine.
Okay. So the entire band thought you were a slut. That was fine. There was nothing wrong with being a slut.
Your breathing quickened.
This was not the end of the world. At least it was just Namjoon and the rest of the members. It didn’t seem like anything had gotten to the higher ups, otherwise you’d have heard from them about it.
Okay. So worst-case scenario? You’d lose the respect of some of the members? Maybe some of the crew, too? That would suck for sure, but it was survivable, at least. If you didn’t do anything more than you’d already done, they wouldn’t have any further reason to target you.
“Do you know who complained?” you asked him.
“He didn’t say. But by the looks of it, I would say Jungkook.”
“Jungkook?!” you half-shouted, finally looking back up at him. “Why?”
“I don’t know. He just seemed kind of…smug. Like he was getting what he wanted.”
White-hot, caustic flames burst to life inside you, consuming you. How dare that little shit run to Namjoon to tattle on you? He was just as guilty, if not more so! What a fucking hypocrite.
How could he do that to you? And why? Was he angry after seeing you leave Taehyung’s room? So angry that he complained to make sure nobody would even go near you?
You were beyond angry. You were livid. You were enraged. You were furious. You were….
You were…
…ashamed.
And just like that, the fire raging inside fizzled out and you were left with a pile of ashes.
You hung your head.
Had you not fully brought this upon yourself? Was this not exactly what you deserved? Perhaps even kinder than you deserved?
By all rights, you could have been, and should have been, fired after your first violation. This was probably the gentlest form of consequence that could be given to you. You still had a job. You hadn’t even been officially reprimanded or called out by name. You weren’t really being punished at all. The guys were. And that wasn’t fair to them.
You blinked back the wetness clinging to your eyelashes.
“Fuck,” you whispered.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said. You believed him.
You collapsed back onto your pillow and stared at the ceiling.
“You okay?” he asked.
You exhaled a long, slow breath.
“Yeah, I think so,” you said. “Just embarrassed.”
“I mean, it’s pretty embarrassing, so that would make sense.”
“God damn it, Yoongi,” you huffed. He chuckled.
“Come on. It’s not so bad. He also could have been talking about Tae and Jia,” he offered.
“You really think so?” you asked.
He did you the courtesy of staying silent.
On the screen, Julia Roberts was crying at the opera and Richard Gere looked at her as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Yoongi went back to his room, returning shortly with a bottle of the same top-shelf whiskey he had supplied you with the first night you drank together.
You sipped it, slowly wrapping your mind around the new reputation you’d earned for yourself.
So everyone knew, then. At least you didn’t have to keep pretending like nothing had happened.
The best thing you could do for yourself was to continue what you’d already been doing. You had to keep strict professional boundaries with everyone. Do the best job you could and prove to them that you were an asset, rather than a liability.
Yoongi stayed until the end of the movie, leaving the half-drank bottle of whiskey behind. He said you probably needed it more than he did. You didn’t disagree.
______
You woke up halfway through the night, noticing a dampness between your legs.
You sat up, flicked on the lamp on your nightstand, and sure enough, there was a small red patch on the sheets.
Sighing, you dragged yourself out of bed, grabbed a change of underwear and a pad, making sure you rinsed out your old pair the best you could, and got to work scrubbing the spot on the sheets. You didn’t want the stain to set. You didn’t know why. Logic would’ve told you that they’ve probably dealt with period blood before and have a protocol in place. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was your fault for forgetting to wear a pad to bed.
You managed to get most of it out—at least enough that the sheets could be salvaged with some bleaching, and laid back down on the opposite side. By that point, you were exhausted, and you had to be up in a few hours to run through the performance with the group.
It would be the first time facing them knowing what you now know. That every single one of them was vibrantly aware of your sex life.
You turned over, bit the pillow, and screamed into it, down feathers muffling the sound.
On the plus side, at least you were no longer solely responsible for ensuring the boundaries stayed in place. Nothing like what happened with Taehyung would happen with any of the other members—not that it was likely in the first place.
You rolled onto your back, huffing out a sigh.
You would have to pretend you either didn’t know about it or it didn’t bother you. Hopefully, if you could ignore it long enough, everyone would forget about it and move on.
Yes. Yes, you could do that.
And that’s exactly what you did when you strolled into rehearsal the next day, head held high, dark bags under your eyes concealed with makeup.
You were a professional. You’d act like one, and you’d demand respect like one, too.
As it turned out, however, you hadn’t needed to demand any. Everyone was perfectly polite. Even Jungkook was treating you with an abundance of respect.
It felt strange, if anything. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around you. And you were doing the same to them.
Like when you were trying to show Jin how he was moving with his limbs but wasn’t connecting those with his torso. You tried to get him to drop deeper into his hips, and he hesitated to watch your example. It wasn’t even a sexy dance move. You were literally just pointing to your right hip to show him where the movement should originate from, and he got all flustered. Hoseok had to step in and help you explain it.
Moments like that kept happening throughout the next week.
Whenever you conducted warmup stretches, all the members would stare off in different directions, some looking at the ceiling, some looking at their feet, while others held staring contests with themselves in the studio mirrors.
When you would try to position them for proper spacing, you would point to where they needed to be, rather than move them yourself. You were suddenly hyper-aware of how often you touched another member during rehearsal, the concept now feeling foreign and invasive to you.
Nobody talked candidly with you, either. Usually, rehearsals would be filled with laughing and joking around. Now it was eerily quiet.
Yoongi was the only person who remained unaffected. He still complained openly to you whenever he had to dance. He wore his normal grumpy expression and made snarky comments lightly roasting you whenever he caught you being too formal with him.
Those snarky comments were the only thing getting you through practices. During breaks, if you weren’t keeping to yourself, you were sitting next to Yoongi in silence, absorbing his energy. He’d stepped in to become your emotional support person.
You weren’t the only person who had noticed, unfortunately.
______________________
It was difficult to keep your breathing steady as you ran. You tried to make sure you were landing mid-foot and not striking with your heel—you’d always struggled with that.
Running was a good escape for you. It required all your concentration. The discomfort was a welcome distraction—it forced you to focus on what was happening in your body rather than in your life. Plus, the exercise endorphins came in handy, especially lately.
It was a brisk Saturday morning. It had been a week since you’d heard the news about the meeting, and tensions still hadn’t lifted. You’d gotten up early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you had decided to visit the hotel fitness center. It was one of the better ones you’d been to so far, with six different treadmills, several ellipticals, a few exercise bikes, and an assortment of weightlifting stations.
You increased the speed on the treadmill to level 6. It wasn’t the fastest you could run, but you were more focused on endurance, rather than speed.
You had gone about 2 miles already, if the meter on the treadmill was correct, when the door to the fitness center opened and in strolled Jungkook. You looked away as soon as you saw him. It would be okay. You just had to ignore him. You could do that. He’d probably lift for a while, you’d finish your run, and then you’d be out of there without another word.
Out of the corner of your eye, Jungkook surveyed the room before strolling over to one of the lifting benches. He faced away from you as he picked up a set of dumbbells and began curling.
You hadn’t talked to him outside of practice since the incident.
Your breathing picked up.
You wouldn’t exactly say you’d been avoiding each other. Not intentionally at least, but you weren’t going out of your way to talk to one another, either.
You noticed your legs and lungs had to exert a little more effort. They weren’t quite burning yet, but it was still challenging for you. To combat the ache in your body, you increased the volume on your headphones and looked straight ahead.
Your face was red. Your hair had been pulled back in a ponytail that had begun slipping. Sweat dripped down in front of your ears and off the end of your nose. Your shirt was soaked through at the neck, and you could feel a pretty major case of swamp ass in your shorts. Gross.
You tried to steel your nerves and focus on your running again. Two-and-a-quarter miles. Jungkook had moved on to a different machine. The muscles in his chest tensed and relaxed with every movement. You could hear his grunts over the music in your headphones.
He made his way through the various machines until he was satisfied. Just when you were about to cool down on your run however, he walked over to the treadmills and hopped on the one right beside yours.
You rolled your eyes. For fuck’s sake.
You continued to stare straight ahead and focus on your breathing and your stride as he began jogging at a comfortable pace. Every so often, he glanced over at you in the mirror. You did your best not to break your focus, increasing the speed to 7.0.
As soon as you increased your speed, he did the same—to 7.5. He hadn’t even begun to break a sweat, either. You tried not to focus on it, and instead turned the volume up in your headphones even more. You recited the lyrics in your head.
Your breathing grew even more labored. Sweat drenched the entire top half of your tank top, and you could smell your own body odor.
Jungkook continued to glance your way every so often. You only noticed this out of your periphery—you didn’t want to look at him. His glances grew more frequent.
He increased his speed again. Now he ran at a level 9. He only just started sweating on his forehead. He unzipped his hoodie—never breaking stride—and tossed it over the handlebar on the treadmill. The loose white shirt he wore draped softly over his chest, which rose and fell with increasing depth the more effort he exerted.
You set the treadmill to level 8 and ran at your full speed, arms and legs pumping hard and fast, extending to their full range of motion with each stride. The music in your ears blared to the point you worried whether you’d damage your hearing. Your legs strained under the movement. Your feet began to ache.
Jungkook responded by moving up to a level 10 and looking completely comfortable at that pace. It was maddening. His posture was perfect. He held his head high and kept his broad shoulders relaxed as he eased through the exercise. Like running was the most natural thing in the world to him. You supposed it very well could be.
You were at a level 8.5, which, for you, was an all-out sprint. You could barely feel your legs by that point and half-expected the treadmill to carry them out from under you at any moment. Your lungs burned with each inhale and sweat stung your eyes. You could only just hear the music in your headphones over the blood pounding in your ears. A blister began to form on the inside of your right foot.
You yielded.
You slammed your thumb into the “cool down” button on the interface. Immediately, the belt began to slow. Jungkook hit the same function. The automated timer began counting down from five minutes as the speed gradually decreased.
You and Jungkook cooled down side-by-side. When you got to a slow walking pace, he looked over at you. You ignored him for the first few seconds, hoping he would get the hint, but if you’d learned anything from the last ten minutes, it was that he could be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be.
He stared at you determinedly, demanding to be acknowledged for what had to be at least a full minute.
“Oh my God, what?” you finally said, removing your headphones and not bothering to mask your exasperation.
“What’s up with you and Yoongi?” he asked.
“What?” you said, rather defensively, finally turning to face him. “Why is that any of your business?”
“It was just a question,” he said with a shrug. “You don’t have to answer it.”
You turned back to face the mirror.
“What makes you think there’s anything going on?” you asked. Did people now think you and Yoongi were sleeping together too? Would you have to stop hanging out with him?
Jungkook shrugged. “I just see the two of you talking a lot. It seems like you’re spending more time with him lately.”
“He’s just my friend,” you said. “And I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care.” He wasn’t aggressive or defensive. Just matter-of-fact.
“Well that’s news to me,” you said, unable to keep sarcasm from leaking into your tone. “You didn’t seem to have much to say the other night.”
You knew you weren’t handling the situation maturely. This was not how to settle or solve problems, but your anger won out over your self-control. You fully expected him to have some snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, but he simply sighed.
“I’m sorry for walking away,” he said. “I was upset and I wasn’t in the right head space to talk about it.”
If you had any sense, you’d have taken a page out of Jungkook’s book and calmed down. But that wasn’t what happened.
“If you would have stayed, I would have explained everything.”
“Well, I’m here now. Do you want to explain?”
“No.” You crossed your arms in front of you as the treadmill finally lurched to a halt. A minute later, Jungkook’s did the same. He turned to you and held his palms up in surrender.
“Look, if you say nothing happened, I’ll believe you. I just…just please understand that this is hard for me, too.”
You fought hard to keep the tension in your jaw and the pinch in your brows. The last thing you wanted to feel for him right now was empathy.
“Yeah. Life must be so hard for you,” you said, deciding to take the asshole route. It was easier.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking taken aback. “You could just be happy for me, you know?” you said, abruptly switching topics. “You could just be happy that I finally found a friend who supports me. Who can be there for me without having any ulterior motives.”
“Ulterior motives?” he said. “You think I’m just trying to get my dick wet here?”
“Well,” you said, not having any sort of defense for your accusation, but not rescinding it either.
Jungkook looked like he wanted to snap back with something equally harsh but thought better of it. It was possible you’d gone too far. After all, it was you that had used him for sex.
He exhaled heavily through his nostrils.
“Look, of course I’m happy for you. I want you to have close friendships. I want you to be happy and I support you in pursuing whatever friendships or relationships you think are best for you. I just…wanted to know if I was wasting my time.”
At that, you paused. He stared at you, searching for any clues as to how you were taking this information. You scratched an itch at the tip of your nose. It gave you time to let it sink in.
It’s possible you had misread the situation. But then, if he didn’t just think of you as his plaything, why had he acted like such a possessive asshole? Why did he complain to Namjoon about you? Why had he taken so much pride in calling you his ‘slut’ or referred to you as his ‘sloppy seconds’ with Jimin? And beyond that, if he actually wanted to connect with you, then…
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” you asked.
He swallowed hard, not quite meeting your eyes.
“Answer my question first.”
“No, Jungkook,” you said firmly. “If you really care about me as much as you say you do—if you really want this, then why didn’t you kiss me in LA? Why did you ignore me afterwards? You knew fully well that I put myself out there for you and you tried to pretend you didn’t hear me, when I know you did.”
Jungkook had nothing to say. He simply stood there absorbing your anger.
You could feel yourself welling up. You had to get out of that room. You reached for your water bottle, phone, and room key.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Yoongi,” you said, as calmly and firmly as you could. You stepped off the treadmill and walked out without looking back.
Jungkook didn’t follow you.
___________
You were late getting back to your room after that night’s concert. The hotel was only a few blocks away from the stadium, and you’d opted to walk back that night to help clear your head.
You’d underestimated the distance, and by the time you’d gotten back to your room, it was fast approaching midnight.
Things between you and Jungkook remained tense. Ever since the conversation that morning, you’d been on edge.
Jungkook said he wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Yoongi. You wanted to believe him, but it wouldn’t be the first time he lied about his feelings.
Jealous Jungkook was volatile. You’d seen it in action before when you had hooked up with Jimin. He didn’t just take it out on you—he took it out on everyone. Beyond the normal tension you experienced with him over the last few days, you noticed a few charged moments between him and Yoongi.
Nothing surface-level. It was all unspoken, and more so on Jungkook’s end, but even Yoongi seemed a bit frustrated with him. You figured he had a right to be, since Jungkook didn’t have any good reason to act like that towards him in the first place.
It’s not like you and Yoongi were doing anything wrong. Sure, you’d practically thrown yourself at him that night back in LA, but he had turned you down, and you’d gone to Jungkook’s room instead.
So okay, maybe there was a reason for him to be jealous. Not because his fears were grounded in reality, but perhaps because all the signs pointed towards you and Yoongi being involved.
You hung your head and exhaled slowly.
A few moments of weakness early on and this was the fallout. It was so much heavier of a burden than you’d anticipated.
But you’d bear it. You’d continue to bear it. You owed that to Son.
And to yourself.
A knock sounded at your door.
Expecting to find Yoongi, or perhaps Jia, you opened it, surprised to find on the other side, the same doe eyes that had been haunting your waking dreams.
“I need you,” he said. You had about half a second to take a breath before the entire force of his body slammed into you. His lips were on yours, tongue swiping across, one hand cupping your face while the other held you tightly against him by your waist.
“Jungkook,” you sighed into his mouth. He swallowed it, backing you up against the wall. He lifted you up by your thighs, wrapping them around his hips and pressing himself into you.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he pleaded, cupping your jaw and kissing you again. “Please.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
“Jungkook,” you said again, more urgently. But he was busy peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck. “Wait.”
“I can’t wait any longer,” he moaned into your neck. “I’m so tired of waiting, please? I need you now.”
“Ah, fuck,” you panted as he ground himself into you. Your entire body lit up like a roaring fire. Nerve endings you forgot existed suddenly sparked back to life. “I…”
But you didn’t finish the thought, because Jungkook was sucking a bruise into your shoulder and your entire head was swimming.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin. He slid his hands up your back and pressed you deeper into him. He couldn’t get close enough to you. He soaked up as much of you as he could. “I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’ve been such an asshole. Just please give me another chance.”
You were treading water, fighting not to let the current drag you down. The thread that had been holding you together began to fray.
He crashed his lips into yours again and you kissed him back, fervently.
“There’s something between us. I know I felt it. Back in LA,” he said between kisses. “And I was scared. I was scared of how I felt because I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I can’t take it anymore.”
You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t form a coherent thought. Jungkook was everywhere. Your senses took over, and all you could feel was his warm, hard chest against yours. His arms cradling you as he carried you over to the bed. The taste of his tongue running over yours. Clumsy, hungry kisses that were less steady rhythm and more barely-contained chaos.
You were being pulled under.
You wrapped your thighs around him, pulling him down onto you. He rolled you over until you straddled him, kissing him back with the same fervor.
“Fuck,” he panted. “Bite my neck.” You did, digging your teeth into him and laving your tongue along the angry red mark it left.
He grabbed your hips and thrust himself up into you. You arched into it, clawing down his chest and eliciting a shuddered moan from him.
He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you into another urgent kiss. He raked his teeth along your bottom lip. You whimpered into him.
...You were a little girl, star of your dance class. The other girls said it was just because your dad was sleeping with the dance teacher. You didn’t believe them...
Jungkook ran his thumb along your hipbone. Flames erupted in its wake.
...Your mother dropped you off at dance academy. She refused to walk you in. Said that dancing was a whore’s profession. She had ever since your father left....
You licked into his mouth, fingers pressing against his jaw. He sighed and smiled, clutching you even tighter.
“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he muttered into your mouth. You kissed him back hard, sliding your hands under his shirt to feel every bone and muscle and inch of skin you could find with your greedy hands. You wanted to memorize his body.
...It was 7:10. You walked out of Professor Leung’s office with your head held high, having just secured yourself the internship you needed. The one that would ensure you’d never have to go back home.
You stayed in the shower afterwards until the water ran cold. You still couldn’t get the smell of him off you for several weeks....
Jungkook smelled like a heady mixture of lust and cologne. You breathed him in deeply, filling your lungs with him. You tasted the salt on his skin, swearing you could get drunk off it.
...Your first student loan bill arrived. It was as much as the rent in your shitty one-bedroom apartment. Your first ever apartment. And though the internship didn’t pay much, you were able to afford shelf-stable food and a roof over your head while you paid off your debt....
Your skin burned wherever Jungkook’s fingers made contact with your body. He nibbled on your ear. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end.
...You sat across from Mr. Son. BigHit’s contract laid on the desk before you. You’d gone through it item by item, outlining everything that was expected of you, as well as terminable offenses. The language was clear and concise....
The thread began to unravel.
Jungkook was so heavy on top of you. He caged you in completely. You couldn’t breathe.
Stop.
You couldn’t breathe.
Stop!
You were drowning.
“Stop!” you said, pushing him off you and sitting up. You clutched a hand to your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow down. It wouldn’t. Your throat felt constricted.
“What? What happened? Did I hurt you?” he asked, a look of panic on his face. Your eyes stung.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Jungkook was here, pouring his heart out to you, telling you everything he’d been feeling for you. And you were so lonely. So, so lonely.
You wanted to scream. Scream at BigHit for making you sign this ridiculous contract. Scream at Jungkook for being so careless with you. Scream at God for putting you in this situation.
But it wasn’t God’s fault. This was you reaping what you’d sown.
Your wheezing began to slow as the tears started to spill over.
“What just happened?” he asked tentatively. His concern for you was a knife between your ribs.
You shook your head.
“I can’t do this,” you whispered, more so to yourself than anyone.
From the corner of your eye, you could see his fingers curl into fists.
“What do you mean?” he said. His breath was still ragged. The air between the two of you had grown thick and close.
“I can’t do this,” you repeated, a little louder.
“What?” he asked again, voice breathy. His cheeks were flushed. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. The first few buttons of his shirt had come undone. His skin glowed in the dim light, holding a thin sheen.
You pulled farther away from him. Jungkook chewed on his tongue.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing,” you said, seconds away from breaking.
“I thought…,” he began, sounding choked. He shook his head. His soft curls fell over his brows. “I thought you felt something.”
“I do,” you rushed to clarify.
“Okay?” he asked. “So, I guess I just don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, offering no more explanation. You didn’t have one to fall back on. “I think you should go.”
“Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Please talk to me.”
“I can’t explain it,” you said. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to explore…whatever this is between us.”
“’It’s not you, it’s me?’ That’s really what you’re falling back on?” he said through half-gritted teeth.
“It is me. I made a promise to Son,” you said. “I’ve already taken more than enough risks.”
“So that’s it, then?” he asked. The wall between the two of you snapped back into place. Suddenly, he was a million miles away.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you said.
“Too late.” Without so much as a glance back, he got up off the bed and left.
The door slammed shut on his way out.
You fell back against your pillow.
The tears didn’t come back right away. It was several moments of not knowing exactly what to feel, then several more moments of fear and anger.
But the anger ebbed away. And as it dissipated, there was nothing left underneath but sadness. An entire ocean of it.
There was nothing you could do. You knew the only way out of this pain was through it. So you held on while it crashed and rolled over you in waves.
By the time you fell asleep, you were numb. _________________________________________________________ A/N: Okay! So how are we all feeling? We doing okay? Big feels, right? There will be more heavy stuff next time, so until then, maybe take a break. Grab yourself a little treat. Do something fun if you can. We’ll continue to unpack her trauma soon, but for now, let’s all take a deep breath.
Hope you enjoyed it! I’d love to know your opinions on anything, like how you think the main character is developing. Does she have a point? Or is she being too hard on herself? Were there better ways she could have handled herself, or is she doing the best she can with the tools she has? Also, how do you like my new summary? I’ve been slowly developing it with each chapter. And let me know if you ended up listening to the focus music I linked, and whether or not you enjoyed it. I’m heading to bed. Hope to hear from some of you! Goodnight! XOXO
-S
wanted to post these here since i just released the catharsis demo posters over on @ salementricheshop on instagram ,, but this series just means so much to me!!!
i originally started it during my freshman year of high school - as a sort of outlet for the intensity of the emotions i was feeling at the time. i was infatuated with the idea of tense and release. how the stress of life and work can cause a person to feel so much of everything and nothing (the ole’ cliche + hill i will die on!)
high school is rough!! wanting to be an artist while still being young is rough! it’s rough to feel like you’re the only one who means it when you work. i think that’s what i was trying to show, too.
the model is my mama, who has always been down for a rowdy photography or art project. and i’m sure she’s felt her fair share of stress and tension-given the badass Dr. status (go mama!!)
this is a series i will continue to work in throughout my life i’m sure. it’s nice to rework it as i rework myself. what does stress even mean to me now anyways???? i try not to dwell ;3 avec amour!!!
catharsis.
↳ no matter what kind of release you need, he’s there.
◇ jungkook x reader | ft. pjm ◇ smut | college!au | fwb!au ◇ 23.5k [1/1]
notes: i don’t have a good explanation for this. i’m comprised of exactly 0% chill and i really wanted to write a jikook threesome, so here it is ft. too much plot and a whole lotta whipped kook, lmao. quick shoutout to @puellaigmotum, who has been supporting me and calling me out on my shit in equal measure during this process. thanks for listening to me ramble and making me suffer with pictures/gifs of the rude fucker aka jeon jungkook - i do appreciate it ♡
also, please read this on a computer if you’re able! the keep reading cut doesn’t always show up, and this fic can and will freeze the mobile app, believe me, lmao.
warnings: switch!jjk, kinda sleazy jimin, oral, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, masturbation, sexting, threesome (mfm), mild cumplay? who really knows!
Of two things, you are certain.
The first—and undoubtedly the most pressing—is that finals week is going to be the death of you. Tearing your gaze from the chemistry book on your desk, you flop down ungracefully onto your bed for a well-deserved break, extending one hand to rummage around the crumpled blankets for your phone.
The second—and really, you’re counting on this—is that Jeon Jungkook’s dick is going to keep you sane until graduation. Over the past year, you’ve called on each other so often that you don’t even have to scroll down in your text messages to find his name. A few clicks and a simple come over later, you throw your phone down and release a long, heavy breath before letting your eyes slide shut.
At some point, you must have fallen asleep, because you jolt awake to the sound of someone knocking. With a groan, you drag yourself to your feet and pad over to the front door, throwing it open to reveal one exceptionally rumpled Jeon Jungkook, his chest heaving.
You raise an appraising brow. “What, did you fucking run over here?”
Keep reading
-Keldabe-
just found out angry is on bôa’s setlist…. can’t wait to lose my voice /j
art is meant to disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. this is the clearest example of this
I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.
So dumb! 🤦♀️🤦♂️🤦🤦♀️🤦♂️🤦