bermuda triangle @idjuniper-blog - Tumblr Blog

tide.

idgun‌:

after making a few minor adjustments, he gestures for her to put her headphones back on for a listen. he slides his on too, dark hair tousling as he does before leaning back in his chair and clicking play, arms crossed loosely over his stomach. “you know, maybe you’re right,” he says as her chorus finishes with a hint of a smirk on his lips, clicking the pause button and sliding his headphones off to hang around his neck, “that’s probably as sweet as i can ever make you sound.”

it is exceedingly easy to misimagine juniper in the role that she has been given; fierce, fashionable, feral. the air of someone ever so slightly dangerous and imminently enviable, haughty and alluring. she plays the role of the unaffected, luxurious party girl as well as she does the role of the troublemaking socialite, despite being entirely none of those things - aside from, perhaps, something of a party prone sort. it is so easy to allow her the luxury of constructing this fierce girl crush persona for herself, to believe her to be untouchable and powerful.

and in her way, juniper would insist that she is in fact, quite powerful. but it’s a quieter power than anything as in your face as the brash and growling and fervent and frenetic performances she delivers. as if the huskiness of her voice and her resting lite-bitch face betray some truth to her, she allows these things to be built around her like a barrier, between the girl that is known to the public and the girl that is known to a few only.

gun has the luxury of knowing the latter. he knows her in the context of oversized sweatsuit sets and messy buns. he knows her between cotton sheets and in hotel rooms, knows her in muffled laughter and swollen lips, in stolen cigarettes and the brush of lips against a microphone, in frustrated tears four hours into a recording session, in perilous and paralyzing fear.

but, they both like to pretend that isn’t the case. to pretend she hasn’t seen him shaking and hasn’t seen him furious. to pretend she doesn’t know him in the rasping and raw voice of the early morning or the acrid black coffee of three am, of the trembling of his fingers after too much or too little of the many substances he relies upon. but he shuts down the memories of that time as easily as her foolish mind brings them up, leaves her rolling her eyes. “not that long ago,” she mutters beneath her breath, but he’s already sliding the headphones back on, and she follows suit.

it’s sounding pretty good. she’ll admit many things of him - that he’s an addict, that he’s a jerk, that he’s an idiot. but she’ll admit also that his talents can’t be particularly denied, that he adapts to each style demanded of him with incredible finesse. “so how on earth did you end up writing this?” she points out, slides it off her ears and flicks her middle finger up in his direction, eyes rolling at the insinuation. “i mean. it’s basically cotton candy and rainbows, did someone finally get conned into falling for you or did you just get the blowjob of a lifetime from some idiot rookie?” as if she hadn’t been such an idiot rookie once before.

#> thread.#> schedule.#> gun.#thread > tide.

dally.

@idjinsung, a misguided dalliance

keeping it in the company is probably a better idea than spreading her hormones across the idol world, but the simple truth of the matter is that only bad will come of this. only trauma and tragedy can come from her associations with jinsung. on a logical level juniper knows this to be true. the backlash if anything between them surfaced would be liable to be a firestorm of worlds spamming her instagram telling her to die. and while it wouldn’t be the first time that hate was leveled her way, she’s sure that the retribution for dating the golden boy of atlas would be swift, fierce, and monumental.

not that they’re even dating, really. maybe they are. they are adn they aren’t, that’s the thing, an on and off that pendulum swings fast enough to make her head spin. maybe they’re too alike, the pair of them. maybe they’re too stupid to know better. maybe it’s just all a big bundle of hormones trapped side by side for too long. how was she not supposed to develop a something or another for him, after all, when they’ve spent so long in orbit around one another? when he grew up the way he did, with the face he has, with the body he has? she’s only human, and juniper will admit herself to be a rather shallow one at that, a bit too heart over head. like a teenage boy she thinks in terms of desire first and common sense second, and it shows most easily in her association with certain of the atlas boys.

juniper is the kind of person who falls into something casual easily, drawn by the visual, but just as easily can develop a desperate personal interest, a crush, based on personality alone given the extended exposure of time, so is it a surprise that time and again she makes the same mistakes with jinsung, time and again she is forced to re-learn the foolishness of stumbling towards him? she feels this can’t be something for which she is blamed, this act of cyclical insanity.

they’re planning and plotting and preparing for a concert, and KJH is abuzz with the preparations, which means there are more than enough occasions to bump into him at the company building. it’s a fact she takes eager advantage of, gaze flicking up to catch his as he passes her in the hall. and at the hint of mischief in his eyes she so easily acquiesces to impulse and retrieves her phone, sends him a quick message. they reconvene in an unused recording room later, juniper with a black plastic bag of convenience mart coffee in tow, collapsing onto the couch beside him and tossing it to his lap. “i haven’t seen you in a hundred years,” she bemoans, the lament easy on her lips, belied by the smile that chases over her features, the sun eclipsing shadow, softening feral features into a sweetness few expect of her. “maybe since we filmed the mv right?”

#> thread.#thread > dally.#> jinsung.#deargod this is late

goblin.

@idaroon, recording studio.

after mediaplaying her connections, her skills, her visual, her clothing choices (read: their clothing choices for her), and just about anything else under the sun, kjh was finally coming around to putting their money where their mouth was with regards to her talent. that wasn’t to say that she thought herself of god’s gift to the industry or anything. but she knew she wasn’t a total slouch. she’d have to be a pretty big fuck up to still suck after all of the grueling years she’d put in this far, not to mention the fact she’d been basically born into music.

still, it’s nice to finally be recognized. she considers this hanging her head over the edge of the (tiny) sofa in her (also tiny) studio, a new addition to the company building that features, excitingly, a keypad for entry, the synths and equipment she’s worked (tirelessly) to afford, and so on. she’s basically living the dream, at this point, with her hair dangling to pool on the ground and all of the blood rushing to her head. “i wonder if increased blood circulation helps with vocals at all.” she tosses out the consideration as her vision starts to blur, hauling herself upright with a huff that is not the most ladylike of sounds. she swings around, feet planting on the ground as she slides her hips forward, canting her body in a rather impressive slouch. “i want to hear what you’ve been working on lately,” she tells him, has given over the captain’s chair (as she fondly considers it) to him, gestures vaguely in the direction of the computer in front of him.

“lets give it a listen. what lyrical genius has inferno’s prince been concocting.” she grins at him in an expression that unfurls slow and lazy, a testament to the exhaustion inscribed like runes into her ribcage. tendrils of that malaise claw at the edges of her smile, drag it back into a grin, dampen her amusement with a muted haze. it’s a familiar feeling, the one of dulled senses and the struggle to keep one’s eyes fully open. she feels this way often, when she’s burning the candle at both ends, trying to satisfy her creative urges without allowing her performance to suffer. sometimes she wishes she could cut out the dancing all together - it’d make things a lot easier - or at least just slow down the pace of all of this. like the world is spinning too quickly and she’s a hamster on a wheel, forever sprinting but never moving from the same place.

#> thread.#> aroon.#thread > goblin.

tide.

@idgun, slight past, recording.

it’s a good song.

they all know it. it’s light and breezy and it’s got the summer sweetness everyone will be searching for right now. so why not? why not deck the boys out in blues and pinks and peacock them around like the loving beacons of adoration that they are, so that their fans may sweep forward like moths to an oversized flame, drawn with a desperate desire towards that flickering light.

is there a strict need for her on the track? no. does her voice sound damn nice in the song? she’d say yes. but juniper isn’t that naive. she knows as well as anyone else that there’s going to be a backlash here - and just as surely she knows two things. one, that it won’t affect the boys’ income for the track at all. two, that she’ll get as much exposure as she gets raked over the coals. it’ll be painful but worth it. she has to believe that, to trust in kjh and their sometimes nonsensical choices.

she does wish, however, that gun wasn’t involved in all of this. she swings one leg up over the other and examines the gunmetal gray matte tips of her nails, filed to an impeccable oval and smoothed to a softened point. every inch of her is manicured to perfection as it often is, these days, with the whole “selling luxury” aspect. she finds this somewhat ill fitting a concept on her, even if it isn’t one she entirely hates. what’s there to hate about being wined and dined in paris, after all?

but she doesn’t fell that way, shimmering and splendid, rarefied and exotic. she feels in this room somewhat as she once did, a doe eyed hopeful slouched over a keyboard in an oversized training set, smudging linger against her cheek as she rubbed tired eyes, resting her head on his lap. it was a kinder time and a stupider one too, but innocence and ignorance often led to happiness, in her experience.

there’s probably not a real reason for her to be going over the track again, before final recordings, but he’s a perfectionist and she won’t lie. she loves to hate being around him. she likes that spark of anger in her stomach. the pleasant ache of holding a grudge or pressing at a bruise.

“haven’t we been at this long enough now? we used to have a lot more fun in practice rooms.” she brings it up mostly because she feels, in many ways, as if she’s a memory from his past he’d rather forget. one she’s more than happy to continue rubbing in his face, even if, in truth, that hardly makes her feel fabulous.

Visit Original Link

Of being a book that no one will read Of becoming a song that no one listens to anymore Of being abandoned like a film playing in an empty theatre I’m afraid

#> mp3.

shoebox.

@idaein, manga room.

the bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling, arranged by genre, title, author. the books are in perfect order, aligned one by one, a multi-color repository of ascending numbers. there is the slight musty smell of pages and the ruffling promise of untold stories, legendary battles, and universes yet to be explored. there’s a coffee bar and a snack counter, whereat one can order myriad greasy or sodium laden delights, caffeine or sugary drinks. every imaginable snack food under the sun stands in a delightful, rainbow-wrapped array, balanced precariously on slender wire shelves.

there are little rentable rooms, cocoons charged by the hour for silence, solitude, and oversized, over stuffed beanbag chairs. it’s a bougie luxury joint too, so this early in the hours of operation there’s the faintest smell of orange-tea-tree cleaner. she pulls books from the shelves in stacks, her credit card balanced between her teeth, and she shifts it all into one arm, handing off the card in a more dignified manner, orders an americano and buys an apple. she wants a banana, but every calorie counts right now. goddamned bananas. the most calorically dense of all the commonly available fruits. she clicks her tongue, flashes a grin, and slips back towards one of the rooms.

careful as she navigates the hall, she pushes the door open without so much as a knock, depositing the armful of volumes on the table, and drops into one of the chairs, across from a familiar face.

he doesn’t look up at her.

she scoffs. clears her throat. rolls her eyes.

he doesn’t respond.

in the end, she hefts a volume of attack on titan at him, which finally rouses his attention. “hello oppa,” she drawls over at him, nudges his leg with her foot. “what’re you reading? is it prince of tennis again?” she chuckles in the back of her throat and shifts, bites into the apple she’s carried with her as she opens one of the manga, flicking through the pages with distracted interest. she needs time to settle in before she can focus on much. “it was fun working with you guys.” she tells him, conversationally, glancing up at him. a lot of people have been down her throat, lately. that her featuring was unnecessary. that she took lines from daein, in particular, who was usually lagging in the back on that regardless. she bites at the inside of her cheek. pauses. twitches a grin into place, “you looked cute in all that hot pink. very barbie chic. but like, a gucci barbie.”

#> thread.#> choi daein.#> shoebox.

body

@idtaeho mv filming, as yet unreleased

kjh is always on about trusting in their plans. so far, their plans don’t make a lot of sense to juniper. send her onto this show or that, to play up her father, when she’s not even the focal rapper of the group. give her a solo and walk back all the rapping to focus on her vocals- sure, that kinda makes sense, since they’re miles stronger, but from a marketing standpoint she’s confused. put her in a featuring with atlas, okay, well, that seems like baiting to get her hated by every world from top to bottom of the peninsula.

and now this video.

it’s not releasing for awhile, they tell her, 99 hasn’t decided about it, but they wanted up and coming talent. so we offered them you. you have the right look. they spin a hand to encompass her figure and she thinks, oh, that’s what it’s about, and crosses her arms over her chest.

it’s not that she has a problem really, with the idea. the song is good. it’s not the most lurid video anyone’s ever shot. the problem in the equation really, honestly, is taeho. they’re tip toing a certain line, straddling the edge of some truths here, and juniper isn’t quite ready to try to face them on camera.

he smiles at her when she steps on set, and his grin is feral. he’s like a wolf, or a snake, rearing back to strike, all pointed teeth and sharp eyes.she draws the sad excuse for a robe, this flimsy black silk, around her figure and bows in greeting towards the directors. she can think of a hundred times she’s worn less than this around him, been closer to him, but right now his presence is overbearing, a heavy weight on her senses, as if to remind her she can’t avoid him forever. as if to tell her, she can’t keep denying the inkling of something that threatens to bloom in her chest.

because here’s the thing. juniper always sort of believed in those fairy tales about love. about girls who made beastly men into princes. not that she wants a prince, persay, but she’s not about to be shackled to a beast either. somewhere in the middle would be nice. and she still believes in that kind of option, that romanticized ideal of change. and maybe she believes taeho could change, could be the shade of the person she’s seen, sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking. but another part of her is sure that can’t be the case. that he can’t love. that he doesn’t have it in him.

so her own smile is wry when it comes, twists onto her lips and glitters mischievous in her eyes. “hello sunbaenim,” she tells him, with a bob of her figure forward, without any indication that this is not half so awkward as it should be, or that by virtue of that truth it’s become twice again as awkward. “please take care of me during the filming, i’m a little nervous.” she stage whispers this conspiratorially, enough for the director to chuckle softly. maybe she’ll get some nice media play anecdotes about her bright image on set.

#> thread.#> oh taeho.#> body.

whew fam i picked a bad time for a hiatus to come back to a bunch of changes! but i’m crazy excited about everything so hello again! its poppy back at you with juniper because how could i ever let this little babe go? i sure could not! she’s had some changes of course but nothing too drastic. some timeline adjustments and a much better biography (lol). on the whole she’s the same as she was, essentially. still struggling with feelings of inadequacy, fears of nepotism, and trying to prove herself while also doubting her own skills in an overarching manner. still acts out on instagram in the name of “authenticity” and is still a strange blend of rebellious and naive and sensitive and prickly. i don’t have a plot page yet (still...) but hopefully i will soon, and i’m also way more than happy to take up plots from anyone and everyone ok! just hmu and i’m down for it. ps stan ROTHY her new vc and a whole big cute talented babe ok thanks.

#guys i wanna write w u aall so bad lets go