i made new blogs to start fresh, so if you made a new one, i’ll follow you there! nothing’s really changed with minjung aside from her fc switch, so her personality / backstory is essentially the same! i don’t think that should interfere with any current plots i have going, but if you want to tweak a plot or just start with a new fresh plot — just message me on dscrd or like this, and i’ll go message you!
as for taejin, he’s having a bit of a change personality wise (just because he’s younger / in his f*ckboy days). however, his backstory is pretty much the same as a rich boy chaebol minus he’s the youngest of two. so, some plots might need to be tweaked as he’s no longer that big of a hag / a bit more f*ckboy-esque! once again, i’m down to re-plot or just tweak as necessary. so, let me know! : )
“yes,” she says with an almost smile. at this point, it’s become predictable how lucid will look on stage and what kind of music they’ll release whenever they lean towards the normal realm. “though a little less frill this time around and a bit more flow, if you know what i mean.” taking a look down at her dress, it looks casual rather than something an idol would wear for stage, but that was the whole appeal of their normal side, wasn’t it? the girl-next-door vibes with a touch of innocence. in other words, it’s a great tactic for dimensions to spend less money on their outfits since they could be bought at the lotte mall next doors.
her ears perk up at the sound of beethoven being mentioned. she didn’t mind the sampling in summer rain mostly because she believes it was done quite tastefully. “beethoven versus schumann. hmm, who do you think would have won in a fight?” jaein can’t comment back about the obvious distaste that minjung seems to have towards her latest track mostly because she hasn’t listened to it yet so she deters the question. “frankly, i don’t know much about the two to begin with so you could probably tell me anything and i’d be convinced.”
“i don’t know what you mean, but let me nod my head and open a mouth agape, pretending like i do.” minjung responds lightly, popping a finger touch to the machine. “but nice to know dimensions knows how to cover the duality niche better than gold star has.” fuse’s duality long gone, dusted over by the new-formed girl crush of hands up — it prompts the itch to slip out of fuse, and into her own formed career.
but that’s all fruitless thinking when promotions come in full force for fuse, more now than ever.
minjung takes her drink from the vending machine, the crack of the drink enough to fizzle out before pressing her lips on the rim. “schumann has the advantage, but my gut tells me beethoven when he precedes anything schumann has done. there’s some beauty in inspiration — nothing beats an original piece nor can anything trump overcoming adversity.” she hides her smile behind the can of the drink before downing the rest, letting the facets of unladylike expression roll over. one toss past her shoulders and into the garbage can, and she offers jaein a quick look. “in any case, i’m betting lucid’s schumann to beat fuse’s beethoven — so cheers to that.”
i’m indecisive so i keep going back and forth with taejin and gyu. either way, one of them will most likely survive inside titan! minjung is going to stay minjung, and hopefully remain in equinox in the position i have her in now : )
summary: minjung has fun on a set — no longer strapped down by whatever others think or the reception by gold star. she plays this as an ode to her and an ode to her fans.
warnings: none
wc: 444
she’s in some studio inside jeju — seoul’s booked in the moment when the city’s composed of a million and one little companies trying to one up each other for the next big comeback of the quarter.
figures, this is the best she’ll get when she requests the last minute question of a possible comeback turnaround. but this time, instead of being met with a no, and the backseat push of gold star’s terror, the opposite of warm hearts and open arms, excitement pooling in the eyes of the upper executives become the general response.
she doesn’t take anything with a sour face, nor does she take anything with pessimism anymore. instead, it’s more near apathy met with the ring of hopefulness when she’s at the studio, chalking up hair in hues of blue.
“you think the blue will stay? make a mark?” she raises her brow, looks her hair unnie right in the eyes past the mirror.
“it doesn’t matter when gold star’s the one that conceptualized this one.”
her stylist knows how to catch her tail, hold it in a blanket of sarcasm with a smug smirk hinged across her face. minjung retaliates with her own small grin, shying her gaze away to the corner of the mirror.
because at the end of the day, this is what she wanted. another quick turnaround to sing for the masses of praise — the ones who hoisted every single pillar stabilizing the past comeback to this one today.
-
when her hair and makeup finish, and she’s nothing more than a near-fresh faced center role, dressed in the casual lines of a blue t-shirt, and sports shorts with tube socks reminiscent of a teenage coming of age movie where she’s the girl next door.
she keeps it simple with the director’s directions, going one way — clueless eyes that draw towards the camera mouthing the words to the song. (she tells herself to make the most of it — it’s happy times now. no looking back). so, when she takes her words, sings with the small smirk and the acting fleshed down to her own soul sitting back in the apartment in seoul, it all feels like she’s natural. no longer playing a role to gold star’s antics nor what the public makes her out to be.
instead, she plays seo minjung.
dancing around, earphones in — nobody looking in.
because what the song gives is that freshened up taste of euphoria riding high above her head. the happiness that jilts her into the silly wayward movements, no longer heeding a heavy burden of criticisms and what-ifs.
this song’s happy. she’s happy. it’s fine. they’ll be fine.
her question doesn’t bring forth the immediate answer he assumes it will. even veiled in metaphor the way their conversations so often go, when he speaks from experience, recollections bubble to the surface in a visual response in his mind whether he wants them to or not. this time, he has to force himself to look back. he hadn’t given his all last year. he’d dipped his foot into boiling waters and drawn back each time it hurt, only to go back until he’d inflicted burns that couldn’t be ignored.
and his last relationship? that had fallen apart because he couldn’t give as much as had been asked of him, much less his all. and if that hadn’t been his all, surely nothing else had been.
he’s silent then, for a long time, eyes looking through minjung unfocused as memories play a new movie in his mind, this one one only he can see.
“i’m not sure,” he finally says, not willing to confess out loud that he’s not the person to ask. “by nature, i don’t think people want to give their all to anything. not completely. because what’s left if you give and are given nothing back? but i like to imagine someone could do it, give their all more than once.” someone much more open than he is. “every art piece or love is once in a lifetime in its own way anyway. no one writes two songs the exact same and no one loves twice the same way.”
his own arm slides onto the couch to face her more fully, his head cocking to the side as he leans. “then… you suffer.” a humorless chuckle, far more bitter than it is amused. “addiction doesn’t reward anyone for getting wrapped up in it. it’s a sadist to the core.” the victim being a masochist only makes it worse. “the only cure is to drop by heartbreak addicts anonymous and hope for the best.” but how much could that really do past feeding the delusion love addiction could be escaped? “but to me, that sounds bound to turn into a counterproductive lonely hearts club.”
another glance sideways to remind himself of where they’d started, with the movie. “in real life, when you take the initiative to look for what’s missing, you’ll convince yourself it’s in whoever you want it to be in. that’s what they don’t show. in real life, there are no celestial powers linking us to anyone. a fairy tale is a fairy tale for a reason, but i like the fantasy of celestial fate better than the little mermaid living in sea foam purgatory for suffering unrequited love. but we’re more likely to dance through the pain of our unnatural forms in a hopeless attempt to grasp love than we are to save anyone’s life through the limits of time and space.”
i’m not sure, like there was ever a definitive answer to begin with.
it all feels the same — at least, the way she sees it. an empty abyss, arms stretched far and wide tightroping past the tempest waters and wishy winds, one step to the left, and she writes her own destruction, signs it and closes her eyes to brace for the fall. one step to the right, and she’s still falling head-first, no cushion to land. any longer amidst the balance, and she’s holding her bated breath each second of the way, contradicting the two points of staying still right at this time and place, and inching one step after the next.
any choice, and none offers the land of comfort and soft spoken euphoria that every love song croons about.
“you keep talking as if love is 50/50, but does any 50/50 love give you the satisfaction of a heart raging? it’s one of those things, theorized to be great..” minjung starts, voice tapering gray. “but when you really get someone who gives you the exact same love you want, don’t you inevitably end up running? in that scenario, aren’t you the runaway bride drifting from the high-tide love?” her voice is one quiet, barely audible thrumming against a dead-beat thought hidden in the back of her head.
(and by the time, she falls back to reality — face first, splat. she holds herself still.)
“no one loves to same, but maybe you’re the one right today — you only love the full 100 once, and when that happens, it’s cruel fate playing a game when the other person becomes the face to run off as a silhouette in the distance.” her lips curve into a halfhearted smirk, wistful and sullen, as her fingers run through the tops of her hair. “fingers crossed heartbreak addicts anonymous has a high success rate.” a morbid joke tossed when her free fingers raise in the air, lightly crossed. “lonely hearts club in eternal misery with no cure — where we all sit around, bring your own bottle of whiskey as we churn up the high points of bittersweet nostalgia. but at that point, we’re just bolstering the addiction than fighting the core of it.”
her eyes hone in on ash, taking one breath as her head tilts off towards the side, eyes hung heavy listening in. “love sounds like a gimmick — believe it till you feel it.” but the movie and songs hold a different story, soulmates engrained — and at this point, does she believe it or is it all forced? “what makes it that reality hinders us from fighting through limits of time and space for love?” it’s a genuine question, no longer sugarcoated in a wicked humor and a wry lopsided smirk. instead, it bleeds into what she wants to ask herself when she’s face-first in front of a mirror.
“constraints of this make-believe world of idoldom aside. when we’re inches away from stepping to the edge, is it too much to bite the bullet and jump than dwell on a corner locked onto each passerby that stares? the pain might be worse when fantasy doesn’t match reality, but it sure beats waiting at a dead-end street.”
summary: summer nights first show the end to the season, and minjung makes the most of what’s given with little trinkets of this summer (sans the cat). from cutting out things, patining, writing music to the point where her mind goes blank. webtoons, animes, candles and night time walks — glimpses of the shore for a weekend getaway, it’s how she wraps up the last bits of august.
playlist summary: she's been listening to a lot of up beat music for the majority of the summer — which she blames the summer heat for. however, august brings bouts of something different allowing her to go back to her roots of what she enjoys: the languid croons of drawn voices and the subtle touches of a sole instrument without the heavy handed production. with her own schedule now frayed at the hands of whatever gold star plans for her, she's found herself in bouts of heavy handed insomnia and the only way to make it through sunrise with a head turned upright is a playlist like this.
1. pillow — pl
2. 난 행복해 — 소수빈 / i’m happy — so soo bin
3. fallin’ — 윤현상 / yoon hyun sang
4. love me like that — 샘킴 / sam kim
5. 모닝콜 / morning call — thesomebodypain
6. starlight - 92914
7. seasons — wave to earth
8. 나란 책 — 핫펠트 & 펀치넬로 / read me — hatfelt & punchnello
9. overdose — ciki
10. 청춘 — 우효 / youth — oohyo
summary: backdated sometime first week of june. minjung cuts her hair short for the first time ever in her career at her own wants — fitting a comeback that looms in the horizon. (yes this is late, but i had the idea now. so, i get a backdated para about how the short hair came to be. obvs no real reference because jisoo has never had a hair change.)
warnings: none
wc: 426
snip snip.
it dawns on her that despite how many years force her into the constraints of change — never one does it ever breach her hair.
years of promotions, and each comeback presents itself the same way packaged differently. her hair up, then down. straight, then curled — the biggest change of bangs or not. so, when she’s sitting in the hair stylist seat one more time, looking at the overworked eyes of her stylist, her lips furl into a grin. thinned out, thoughts processing into the do or don’t.
she lies on edge here, does she snip it all off or does she not?
does she buy time, hindered by the inability to bite right into a new set of change or does the fear of the unknown, and the sole lure of letting thoughts do the majority of the changing win in the end?
“i think i want to cut my hair.”
she bites the bullet, let it speak before the filter places itself in her head. uncertainty poses her teeth to bite down on her lower lip, nervous to the aftermath of what she’s spoken. hair that never changes — it’s just hair, the masses say. yet, when the scissors come for a snip snip snip, she’s left there eyes completely shut before peeking through one propped open eyelid to see nothing’s changed at all.
“i’m not cutting your hair super short.” her stylist says, scissors in hands, arms crossed over her chest. minjung relents with a sigh of relief, short yet disconnected from it all.
so, she parts her lips. bites the bullet once more to a lesser shock. “okay, if we don’t cut it short — what if we cut to shoulder length? it’d be the shortest i’ve ever went.”
now, it’s her stylist on the other side taking in the silence as a matter to think. an idea, hesitation waits. (whatever she chooses, minjung trusts her stylist enough to know that she’ll take the reins on this one.)
“okay — let’s go shoulder length.”
then the real swipe of the scissors go, and all she sees are the fluttering tresses falling straight to the floor. taking things on her own accord, her own decisions cause this shift in the pit of her stomach. a subtle change when the hair lies on the floor. yet, when she sees the mirror there’s nothing left differently than the vision of girl uninterrupted, lost in the middle of the shop, the early hours of the morning.
but, change is good they say. so, she’ll believe it for now.
summary: lyrical verification for @fmdjiah ‘s midnight where minjung tries to mimic ari’s positions album, but it comes like a sub-par dollar store brand despite how much the memory seems like a distant dream.
warnings: nsfw? kinda idk
wc: 638
age, time. it’s all supposed to make you wiser in the end.
yet, it’s the colors that play into the different hues of learning. blue for the dull dazed faded into a mirthful joy years in hindsight. purple for the moments where the world sits easily on top of your shoulders, no neglect when you’re six feet taller than everyone else in the room. yellow, on days where your smile hangs a bit heavier as you fall into duplicity, fooling the world into thinking that blight memories are all in the making.
then, comes the color red. different shades from ox-blood to the burgundy lipstick stains on the sheets.
it’s the sin that toils through the night, encompasses you in something that makes on of those blink-and-you-miss it moments underneath the throws of wistful passion.
it’s what she reminiscences on months past, sitting inside her lonely apartment. her voice now mirroring the cracks of the silence, and eyes that bead onto the empty canvas in front of her.
today, she writes a song to every crinkle in the white linen bed sheets, and the taste of skin on lips and the heavy breaths down the tip of the spine, and the curves of the torso. she imagines, each and every hidden emotion hidden behind wicked smiles, and an even more wicked tongue — heartbeat gone awry, no longer clocking to the patterns of one two three. it halts at two, go at three.
your hidden expression
1,2 it’s just 2
come forward slowly
to hide my uncontrollable heartbeat
in times of desire and tempest touch, she knows — there’s no such thing as a third party observer even if they tango underneath the shadows of the spotlight. one: the prelude to an unspoken notion, cheeky glances and the drawl of a curve. the steadiness of hands intertwined, before the pull of the trigger leads them to a cataclysm of marred colors. they paint each other, dyed and dipped till they’re drowning ten feet under — no side wanting to crawl their way out.
it’s times of desperation, hedonism taking it’s toll. hedonistic desperation, and it leads her into a mind blank, all white — tainted and painted over and over in the same vibrant red. she knows how it tastes. knows how it feels. just knows the domino effect of a full-on pattern and impending brush on one ride she knows she won’t want to get off of.
the world spins. she spins, they spin. in sync and out, the same rhythm over and over — it’s too late to stop now.
only your color
dyed and painted me
with the same rhythm, and the same rhythm.
she knows the unspoken rule of thumb: don’t whisper sweet nothings to lull yourself to sleep.
it’s the golden rule that hinges upon each sharp edge of the bed, waiting to be silenced with a mere shush as if her own voice would break away the remaining fragments of silence. a feeling of comfort lies in warm bodies entangled, free limbs curved around each other in the small breath underneath the slip of the tongue — rule one breaks, but the night’s still young. too young to fall asleep and dwell in the ruinations of what ifs, and they’d be better off to cease it at the starting line before it all goes south.
midnight
it’s getting darker midnight
in your warm body
in your breath
i can now relax deeply
don’t be that sweet to make me sleep
her pen smoothly runs against the paper — a token smile left for the memories long gone and sealed away. because she knows, that moment was a slip away from reality, no wary eyes following nor the tragic downfall of what could of been. instead, sin dies the second the sheets iron themselves flat, and she writes:
come closer to midnight
midnight, the gentle timeslip away from the real world. where the city seems to dull away into the desires of their own selfish hearts — similarly to what takes hold of hers. a bit longer, and it feels like a sick dream. a deja vu that finds clarity in retrospect.
the talk that comes from minjung leaves her a bit puzzled, but that doesn’t stop her from handing the fuse member a couple thousand won. the most she’ll probably need is two thousand won if she’s feeling fancy since nothing at these vending machines are too expensive, but the wink takes her by surprise and before she knows it, she’s handed her all the change she has.
“a repackage album. i like this one though, it’s kind of nice,” she confesses before taking another drink from the sparkling water she’s just bought. “kind of cheesy because it samples a classical piece, but i think it was nicely done.” she didn’t hold a lot of opinions when it came to lucid’s title tracks, but that doesn’t stop her from having a preference among the ones that are released. summer rain wasn’t terrible, and she’d almost say it was nice. that doesn’t change the fact that she’s exhausted though.
giving the other a slanted smile, she returns the question. “you?” minjung had found a lot more success as a soloist than jaein has so she wouldn’t be surprised if it was another solo from her. frankly, she hadn’t been able to keep up with the ever-changing music industry so she doesn’t exactly know who’s making a comeback or not.
one by one, she counts the won bills trickling into her palm. by four, she multiplies to sixteen — she’ll keep note of that tucked in her memories for the next time she crosses paths with jaein.
for now, she listens in, the smile encased behind curved eyes, and subtle nods. “is it still going to have lucid be the modern day ballerina in frilly dresses and lullaby tunes?” minjung asks as the classic sampling draws her back to hands up, and her smile breaks piece by piece into a split-second tightening of her teeth against each other. “all songs that sample classics i think deserve to belong in the graveyard. the classics can live on, but the re-making of them into modern day pop should be laid to rest with the originators.”
her smile peeks back over, her hands taking each bill to the vending machine, eyes roving over the same choices given anywhere. “turns out dimensions and gold star share a brain, they’re no einsteins. we’re sampling beethoven in fuse’s comeback. the track should’ve been incinerated rather than a nice recycle into the ecosystem of our industry.”
summary: for @fmdjiah full composition / partial production. minjung’s friends with some bc A&R rep, and does a favor by sending in a few tracks made by her.
warnings: none
wc: 1059
don’t cross enemy boundaries, or that’s what the public wants you to think.
in hindsight, she’d raise the concession to that one. an exception when a phonecall with one of her friends, prop open in the middle of the night. “seo minjung~” the voice sing-songs against the quiet white noise of daybreak, and minjung can tell by the slur — her friend’s had one too many drinks.
“what are you calling me for? to be your dd?” minjung responds quietly.
“no~ i have a question… do you have any songs you want to throw my way?”
“and give a song to bc? you forgot, i’m tied to gold star. sealed and kissed in a ribbon.”
“come on~ help a friend out.”
“get home safely, and take a certification shot. then, i’ll see what i can do.”
minjung hangs up the phone, settling aside in the nook beneath her desk. she goes back to the files stored on her harddrive, buried deep into the graveyard of songs once constructed never touched again. she takes a few listens, skims through the seconds of beats that leave her at a standstill — before she turns away to another file.
the first few rough beats, an attempt at city pop — she figures, it’s perfect for the weather. perfect for the year all year-round, any time of day.
(nobody tells you how to deal when your friend’s a bc a&r rep, and working on enemy lines).
-
the song starts itself when she drives through too many downhill rabbit holes of the internet. one youtube video to another, all following suit with the japanese city pop that drums through her speakers. it’s one of those heartwarming, feel-good genres — the kind that leaves you bumping on your toes, yanking the smile upwards on your face as you bop your head from one side to another.
and when inspiration strikes, she makes her own attempt at it.
she pulls the synth out, and figures — any type of music, it’s not made for her. it’s pure fun, just as music is supposed to be.
the first few notes of the electric guitar synth, play the base. a few chords in, drifting in an out in a continuous staccato — she marks that down, whatever lyrics used might be fun to ruffle with the tap tap tap of the staccatos here. because the basis of city pop, is the simpleness of complexities — the simple rhythm that follows a cohesiveness the full way through, mixed and funked by the synth and the over electro-sounds.
she tries to mimic it, but it doesn’t fit. instead, the pieces remain wayward and jagged, so by the time she draws a blank — she falls back into the percussion. the bass line comes as easy as palm slaps against the table, a steady metronome of a snare kick taking precedence as the bottom line of the song. now, the lines remain less jagged — somewhat obfuscated by the juxtaposition of electric lines and guitar. it lacks the softness, too much rigidity before she falls back to square one, palm in cheek staring at the busy screen.
it deals with the editing — or that’s what she thinks by the time her keyboard stows away, and she’s relieved those with the mouse clicks fishing from one filter to the next. the smoothness of city pop, and easy flow through of disco all crash down to the basics: one simple filter, overlaid by another until the emergence building up to what she perceives as the chorus.
so, by the time she hums along — incoherent words to no lyrics written, she goes with the hms and light fall of the verse into the chorus. the simple melody, carried from one to another — the guide vocals, void of any words.
yet, there comes a standstill in the bleak wall after the first chorus.
palms pressed to her face, it’s scrutinizing and imagining each piece not knowing the outcome of what the picture’s supposed to present. amorphous, the song becomes stagnated by the simple melody that graces through — until, she comes full-circle, decides a minuscule slice of a rap might hone in the missing edges.
no words written once more, she carries herself with the doo-dooo-doos of a rap, playing vocal metronome as her hands click away to remove the filter — leaving the raw electric guitar and the percussion at bay.
at this point, the song’s a half-mess. half-her own project coming to light. if given to gold star, she knows it’s a red flash of a no — impending. or maybe, it’s just the late night pessimism leaving the track on repeat as she closes her eyes and listens from start to finish.
whatever it is, she realizes, it doesn’t hurt to add anymore. thinks, perhaps, creating a calamity of sounds, all brought together by the synths and the disco up-beat funk centralized in the song, wouldn’t hurt. but before her mind pieces it, her hands already move from the keyboard to the mouse. then back and vice versa — an ode to the retro oldies, there’s an addition of another layer added in the beginning. the sounds of an old-school cassette tape, cutting in then cutting out, the 32 bit filter, blurring out the hums of her voice to something scratchier.
it’s a resolution to bring her creation back to what it began as. an ode to the old city pop, added disco funk — something she colors pink.
the track has her on the edge of her seat, nodding her head to each beat of the percussion base and the overlay of the subtle backing vocals. the synth clocking right in the middle of the first verse, to the build up of the chorus. it’s ethereal, a dazed dream of cotton candy — lighting up her midnight blues with a grin across her face.
yet, it’s not a song for her. just a prelude bite of her imagination, before she closes up her computer labeling the track “pink.”
-
when she scans her files through songs, she goes one after another — flitting from one to the next. still, it’s the track titled “pink” that she turns back to.
one drag of the file, and she sends it to her friend. one quick smirk before she types away “present. if this does well, you owe me.”
overworked could probably be apart of duri’s name at this point, to be completely honest. he had always felt like he was constantly going. however, it wasn’t something that he was going to complain about because at least bc entertainment was giving him work.
he couldn’t help the happy laughter that left his lips and possibly filled the room. his laugh echoed a bit, as it usually did, as he could never hold the happiness in. possibly, if the sun could laugh, it would have none other than park duri’s laugh. he nodded his head a bit excitingly at the words, “lucky, lucky winner,” he says in a sing-song voice, another giggle seemingly leaving his lips. “ah, do you think so? maybe i’ll buy a lottery ticket and give it to my uncle and aunt,” he said, a soft giggle leaving his lips once again.
duri was glad that he’s managed to really just find his niches, something that made him really well-rounded when it comes to music. however, it’s clear that one of his niches is that of ballads - which he’s perfectly fine with, considering it is one of his favorite things, after all. he’s glad he’s managed to do it and always has something to come up with. though, of course, like everyone, the ruts and blocks tend to happen. “i can easily find inspiration in a lot of different things… movies, television, books, the world itself… if i get into a rut, i find something that’ll help me out!” he said, a soft nod leaving his head.
minjung lets out a loose laugh, airy and weightless when her eyes follow duri’s movements, opening up to her own photocard. “let’s say you won a trillion and one won, but the lottery ticket was yours to claim. what would you do with that money?” it’s a question she poses, floating the subject back to imaginary territories.
given her own circumstance, a trillion won into her own bank account doesn’t make a difference — she’d be lost regardless.
the thought nestles herself into a place of contemplative silence as she peers over to duri. “interesting — seems like the world inspires you.” minjung muses out loud, wondering if the sheen of duri’s optimism extended pass the afterhours of an idol. because in hindsight, she’d only ever know him as the happy optimist, kind and warm. infecting the ones around him. “what inspired this comeback?” curiosity gets the best of her when she leans closer, crossing her arms before picking up the bottle of water next to her.
whatever duri’s optimism is, it’s contagious. has her curious to learn more.
summary: taught on the piano, learned the recorder for fun, and -ing the guitar, minjung often plays to the quiet night time singing along to songs other people have written. no fancy stages or proper dresses — it’s the times of nothing more than the home studio, and the burst of inspiration from time to time that spurs this random event inside her home.
playlist: minjung rarely has the opportunity to perform covers sans the base online thing gold star and the other three companies set up. however, that takes the personal touches away — and given the chance, she wouldn’t want to perform many covers to the masses watching. most times, she draws inspirations from artists covering other artists and finds the secondhand creations of these products as inspo to her nights. the lulls of the guitar and the simple in-my-room vibes offer what the stage doesn’t — brazen honesty with a touch of vulnerability. hence, the songs become the tracks she sings to herself and her pug pickle at three am in the morning.
1. almost lover — a fine frenzy
2. isn’t she lovely — 오혁 / oh hyuk (cover, original: stevie wonder)
3. talk — 샘킴 / sam kim (cover, original: khalid)
4. complicated — 백예린 / baek yerin (cover, original: avril lavigne)
5. last night on earth — 예빛 / yebit (cover, original: green day)
6. la vie en rose — 스텔라장 / stella jang (cover, original: edith pilaf)
7. best part — daniel ceasar ft. h.e.r
8. afterglow — ed sheeran
9. a thousand years — christina perri
@miniminjung: 7주년이라니... 긴 시간 동안 함께 있어주셔서 감사합니다 퓨전들 ~_~ (already 7 years? thank you fusions for staying alongside us during that long time.)
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@.fuse14.fuse: it’s so nice to have seen them interact during that v live... they love and care for each other so much
@seo.fuse: our talented and pretty minjung <3 here’s to 7 more!
@wishteeegram: that caption.. lmao looks like ur favs are disbanding. ours could never ~
↻ @fus5_: shut the fuck up lmao ur favs can’t even sing an encore without mr
↻ @otak_ki: i really love fuse and i really hope they don’t disband but the caption does seem really ambiguous and it’s been a year since their last comeback. but to @wishteeegram, at least our main dancer can hold a tune better than your main vocal, yours could never~
@nationmaknaesooah: all the girls look so vibrant... i think this is a sign that fusions need to gear up for a comeback and prepare to stream
@fine_suji_: there’s no such thing as a perfect group until gold star decided to create fuse.
@fuse_planet: THE QUEENS ARE BACK
summary: blueming becomes the follow-up to her album loveforclosure as an encore stage of some sorts. promoted for only one week, she repaints the color blue into being something less melancholic, more liberating. the focus on blueming takes over her august, bulldozing any schedules to see if this quickly rushed encore will be anything like the success of her album. (elaboration on her august / current state of life)
warnings: none
wc: 659
careerwise: minjung finished wrapping up promotions for love closure on the 30th of july. it was only three weeks long, which was the final and last test to see if she’d make any much of a positive impact in this genre compared to any of her other past genres. if she failed here, then gold star would push her to go back to the more performance based / sex appeal concepts as twit did largely better than anything else she’s released
to their surprise, she does really well this comeback. hence when they prompt the idea of an ‘encore’ promotion, minjung already has a song written about what she felt during that time period, which i’ll elaborate later on
blueming as a result, becomes the focus of the first two weeks of august. it’s entirely rushed from the production to the mv, the photos taken for the promotional pictures, etc. hence, why instead of filming outdoors, they just opt to film it in an inside studio — easy access, everything is readily available.
she records it herself, adjusts it to her liking too since this is the song she feels most passionate about out of what she’s already written. ironically, it’s a somewhat of a shift to another genre — like poppy rock in a way, and that doesn’t surprise gold star nor does it deter them from saying no. genre shifts could be nice? could be part of the market they write for her
aside from blueming which releases at the end of the month and she only promotes that for a week, she has her brand sponsorship deals. chamisul, dior beauty and dior — these main three contracts has her going to random fan signings for chamisul (which inevitably end up getting more popular as minjung’s fanbase has grown predominantly within the last comeback). dior beauty and dior, she’s been a steady face, so she opts to go to those parties to maintain the nice ties. 1) because she loves dior, appreciates their efforts to make her feel at home and 2) it’s a nice getaway from the gold star life at times.
career wise, that’s all she has planned with the exception of hands up? but minjung doesn’t like talking about hands up at all, nor does she look forward to promoting that right after her blueming promotions. that’s because hands up to her is shit, and she doesn’t want to do anything that revolves around choreography practices, jacket fittings, etc. because the outfits are shitty cheap mockups of tech gear, and the concept in itself seems something that was a wasteland for femme fatale that they tossed to fuse
personal life wise — she's somewhat the same. she thought the album would bring some closure as the name suggests, but the skeleton of her past keeps popping up at dior parties — she wants to know if it’s fate? probably not when she’s certain it’s just life fucking her over one by one. but still, it drives a wedge in her mental state to where she’s almost pushed to the brink of self-destruction, possibly throwing into the sheets with random strangers or isolating herself because of that.
friendship wise? same ol, same old, she only has a handful of people she’ll reach out to. because she feels comfortable with them and she likes their company. of course, she suspects everyone is busy this quarter but she’ll make it known to reach out. because what’s changed is that she’s learned to keep the people close to her, and treat them with every morsel of respect they deserve! she values their presence and friendships
the last big change? would be her mark on her fans? she sees her fans differently — after getting shit on so many times back and forth, the loud reception that was mainly positive gave her a new feeling of having people on her side. she’s scared they’ll disappear at one point or another but she’s learned to open up her heart and have warm thoughts towards them because in the end, they fill a lapse / void in the heartbreak woes. for that, she remains grateful to them and wants to surprise them with blueming.
"i have a lot of hobbies as is an not enough time to pick up all of them. as you can see, i'm surface level scattered across the masses — no time for new hobbies. i'm also satisfied with the hobbies i have now. painting, sketching, drinking water, pilates, and wine time. so, it'd be a shame not to give credit to those i already have in my heart."
18. what is the most recent thing that made you happy?
"i found an extra 1000 won attached to my change at a cafe, and the barista told me i could keep it because she liked my album. that was a nice little gesture having me grinning cheek to cheek. serious happiness, however, i asked gold star to give me an encore solo promotions in august, and they agreed — surprisingly. it's like i'm almost marching to the beat of my own drum, and it feels weird to have a sense of freedom."
27. what are your recent wishes?
"genie genie, call on lipstick to give me three wishes. i'd want to ask for world peace, world happiness and to stop world hunger — how cliche? in a selfish regard, i'd ask to be able to wipe away traces of my memories because some dive deep into pain. another would be to ask pickle to stop snoring so much when she sleeps, it's a pain to keep her in check at night. and lastly? maybe ask for a switch on hands up."
29. what job would you want if you weren’t an idol?
"a freelance artist and a busker — it serves the starving artist cliche well. but in reality, being able to busk to the music heard by crowds on a street, playing to new faces each night with no pre-expectations seems like a day dream now. creating the art and having people enjoy it without the moniker of fuse or gold star on it might be nice as well. it's the traveling nomad dream."
