neverland.

do i dare disturb the universe? / bae rubi xxii

[idrubi-blog]

tangential.

[idrubi-blog]

idtaeho‌:

and once he’s in her zone it’s like he is trapped, completely encompassed by the way she goes on and on and on. it takes him a second to understand what she means. he smiles, looks down at his own coat. “i’d be lying if i say yes. but. now you got me wondering,” this is sort of a lie. taeho couldn’t care less about ducks and feathers or whatever the fuck. but he wants to keep her talking, and he wants to understand. so he goes along with it. “well. i can help you,” he says as he smiles at her, fixes the bandana on his forehead. “for variety all you gotta have is a storyline, you know. if you can’t come up with anything just give them good reactions. laugh loudly at jokes and look interested. with that beautiful face of yours, they’ll give you lots of airing time.” he leans in as he says this, takes a step and fixes her coat around her. and maybe that’s too much. maybe that’s a boundary he shouldn’t step on. but he does, anyway, waits as he lets go, smiles again, this time softly, just for her. 

she feels often as if she is drifting, floating on the wind, bobbing and bouncing against the surface of the water like a buoy. merciless to the waves of a cruel ocean. the world seems that way, to her. a bit too cruel, punishing.

she feels detached in the moment, a distracted glance around the bustling set, a rumination on duck feathers and cold weather and the importance of transparency on labels. fingertips thread back through her hair and she rubs her hands against the shell of her ears. her nose scrunches. “it’s too cold to film outside,” she complains, despite the fact that this is not at all how being an idol works. weather is a mere suggestion, a backdrop secondary to any real concerns for health or safeety. the only concerns regard the clarity for filming and continued access to the locations involved. she knows this much to be true with certainty.

she smiles, when he approaches. his words ripple through the lull of her consciousness and she remembers the night that they met. the way his voice had rumbled through her bones and settled in her chest. the smooth cadence of his tone as it slipped like honey through her senses. sticky like molasses she’d been caught up in him, a fly in the trap, drowning in honey. he’s dangerous. he knows it, and she knows it, and yet.

and yet -

she smiles. as he moves closer. as he tugs at her coat, overlarge on her frame - tall and willowy and narrow. “whats a good storyline then? perhaps a loveline is appealing? or should i not tread so dangerously at the edge of propriety?” she teases, tilts her head back to look up at him. she wants to move closer. she wants to tempt fate. or at least, to tempt him. but she refrains in the moment, for once conscious of her surroundings, and smiles instead like the sun itself, beaming. “tell me more about how beautiful i am, sunbaenim.” she lilts, with an air of haughty playfulness, an infectious mischief in the cadence of her demand.

[jisooq-deactivated20201205]

[ideunsol-blog]

fly high.

[idrubi-blog]

ideunsol‌: 

has been pushy, lately. about being afforded more opportunities – even if they’re opportunities divided from her group. she wants photoshoots, she wants commercials, and if they’re unwilling to shake nightmare up enough so that they get popular, well, then she wants her own solo opportunities on top of that, too. in eunsol’s mind, she deserves it. and it’s not like her father hadn’t donated a hefty amount in the beginning to get nightmare off the ground. “well, yeah. i guess it does, doesn’t it?” eunsol’s not really the person to go to if you want reassurance. just the truth laid out, and how to try and cheat the system if that’s what you’re after. “maybe you’ll get paired with an idiot, then everyone will feel sorry for you.” and at least they’re obscure enough that they don’t have a tidal-wave of antis ready to come crashing down on articles about the show, whenever those decide to start popping up.

“sexy ghosts.” she repeats, as if ruminating on what such a thing could mean. and yes, it’s true. such a thing would be the kind of shtick that afforded them likely popularity. “at this rate, we’ve only a comeback or two before the inevitable happens, the hemlines rise, the necklines plunge,” she gestures to both areas in turn as she does so. “i mean, that’s the way of it right? if we don’t get successful soon, we’ll be out of the rookie realm and then, well, the only way up is to take off your clothes, or pray for a viral miracle before you disband,” she laughs, nose crinkling upwards as she does. 

the whole thing is foolish, perhaps. to keep investing her hopes into a situation like this. eunsol helps her realize that more often than not, keeps her tethered. sometimes she feels as if she must be floating away, drifting off into her own headspace, only bright back again when eunsol’s blood red nails and dainty fingers snag her by an ankle and yank her back to the surface of the earth again. perhaps she would feel more at home in the distant stratosphere, removed from the earth she observes with such detached fascination. rubi feels, often, like an observer. a narrator. a being meant not to engage or interact but to record and report, perhaps to some distant authority on a far flung star. 

eunsol deserves more than group mates like dandelions, drifting on the wind, dallying amongst the clouds. eunsol deserves the world on a platter and has, to this point, been given it in most cases. but rubi wants to learn, too, how not only to want things but to demand them. would she have done better, if she had? if instead of taking each punch in stride, recovering to move forward after each setback, she had simply refused them, refuted them, as eunsol would have? 

no one can know this, of course, but she speculates. perhaps eunsol makes her stronger for knowing her. “one can only hope. i’m sure the likelihood of being paired with an idiot is insurmountable considering, you know, the ratio of idiot to not amongst men, particularly idols, is a bit dismal.” she sighs, nose scrunching, and soon call time comes, drags them away to pretend at the occult for the amusement of others. 

[idrubi-blog]

satellite.

[idrubi-blog]

idhikari‌:

but there’s suddenly that familiar melodic voice — it really can’t be, she thinks at first — it hits her ears, and her head shoots up from the pavement to the hooded figure. “rubi,” she practically gasps, her cloud of exhaustion parting. how the world could have predicted this reunion, in this city of over ten million, their paths cross again — she has no explanation for it. hikari stares at rubi, the female’s face illuminated by the path of holiday lights that adorn every corner of the city before she squeezes her hands gently. “i — um, wow. i didn’t expect to see you here,” it’s a light laugh, almost a physical sigh of relief. seeing rubi’s face felt like weighs lifting from her shoulders. “i saw your comeback before,” she continues, “you — well, all of you, looked amazing.”

“nor i you,” she says, her tone dulcet under the pale moonlight, every breath a sigh illuminated in white steam. it feels surreal. this moment, with the river a dark body beside them, a snake that cuts through the city with a mysterious vigor. this moment, with the flicker of lights as they speed across the bridges that canvas the river, down the streets that line the edge of it, skirting around the park. there’s distant honking of taxis and motorbikes, and the rushing wind. 

it feels like a film, like a dream, a moment suspended in a drop of water, glimmering and preserved. “oh, you did?” she lilts, surprised, nose scrunching with the laughter that follows. “i didn’t think anyone’s been watching a single stage of it.” she admits, lets their hands remained joined now, pretends its about warmth. and it is, the warmth of her palms. of her smile. of her sweetness, words that fall soft on her ears honey tinged in that still lingering accent. heavens, but, she’s beautiful.  

“do you like it, the songs? do they suit your taste? or do you just enjoy the forbidden promises of an apparent witch coven of sordid and dubious pursuits?” she teases in turn, clearly fishing for compliments, but she’s never pretended not to enjoy a little validation here and there, from those whom she tends to treasure, hikari once - and still, perhaps - among them. “lets step out of the wind a bit, hm?” she offers, tugs the other alongside her, linking their arms to step along the path to a little snack shop, orders a hot chocolate and lets the other order too, before she swoops in to pay for them both with a smile. “i’m your sunbae now so i should take care of you, no?” she teases, leads her to a little picnic table blocked from the wind by a thicket of trees. “and how are you, these days?”

[idrubi-blog]

tangential.

and i will go to you, like the first snow. @idtaeho, variety recording, outdoors.

every second counts. this is the truth of variety for a rookie. and for a rookie from a group that renders itself largely unmarketable, well, it is perhaps triply true. she reminds herself of this as the wind stings her cheeks and the crush of bodies around her proves annoying, if not yet overwhelming. she buries her hands into the pockets of her jacket. it is all but a sponsored sleeping bag and she wonders how many ducks lost how many feathers to fill it’s pillowy depths.

if one were to assume that a duck, the average duck, had say, 10,000 feathers and they were to take up roughly the same area of an average duck, well - no, she’d need to know the size of a duck, really, in kilos perhaps, or in square centimeters. what is the area of a duck, she wonders. what is the area of the interior of her jacket? her mind swirls with these thoughts and she retrieves her phone from her pocket and types the query into naver, ends up with a sputtering of content that proves invariably unhelpful: filling: 80% duck down / 20% feathers, 700 fill power

It raises more questions than it does provide answers. what is the difference between down and feather. perhaps the “downy” feathers more close to the duck’s body, but why are they not similarly considered feathers. and what then would that do for her preliminary thoughts? and on top of that, what in god’s name is fill power.

she’s shaken from her reverie by the sound of footsteps behind her. fearing her manager she stows the phone away quickly, turns to smile innocent and finds a man looming beside her, cheeks colored pink-under-gold in the cold air, and her smile softens, changes. “ah, sunbaenim. you’re guesting today, too?” she questions, pauses as her gaze roams over his long padding down jacket critically, “have you ever thought about how many duck feathers are in these?” there’s a pause when she adds, “i thought about trying to work it out but i think it would be prohibitively difficult. and, ultimately pointless, yes,” she flicks her fingers dismissively, as if already warding off his criticisms. “i’m not well suited to variety, i think.” she makes the announcement unbidden.  

[idsehan-deactivated20190326]

love ridden

[idrubi-blog]

idsehan‌:

“what you’re doing here, rubi?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. too harsh. “it’s late. you should be in your dorm.”

she tries, she does. not to let her stomach plummet to her feet when she sees him. not to let her heart constrict in her chest. tries to keep her features blank, devoid of any particular reaction to his presence. but whether or not this truly works remains up to sehan to decide. 

she’s got her guitar settled on her lap and the lights dimmed. it’s late, a quiet evening, and peacefully she has been working to record the arrangement for a new piece, a reworking of a maroon five song she wants to have the girls cover for her youtube. rock version, female version, better version. she’s just deciding on not changing up the pronouns and gender identifiers when the door swings open and she remembers again, in moments, immediately, everything about him. 

there’s something about sehan that remains burned into her skin, etched there, the memory of his hands. and in her heart the memory of his words, once leveled at her sweet and later still cruel and cutting, fingers that had gone from soft to bruising. she had been eager to fight back then, fire with fire, insistent on their future, insistent they could, would, should be something more. 

she clenches her jaw. 

“i’m in a recording room, thus, it can be clearly extrapolated that i am, in fact, recording,” she points out, as if he must be a bit slow. over-annunciates the words. fingers slide back to tuck a strand of rose gold hair behind one ear. “i don’t believe you’re my manager, and so i’ll thank you to mind your own business, sunbaenim.” she throws the formality at his feet, the words as cold as the dark side of the moon, trapped in shadow.  she bites at the edge of her lip. despite herself, she misses him. despite herself, she wants him still. 

that ship has sailed of course. she’s heard the rumors, of him and yerin. she’s not surprised. he moves quickly, like a shark seeking out prey. the girl seems kind enough - she hopes she can come to her senses quickly, but it seems unlikely. someone will get hurt, and she doubts it will be sehan. 

“you’re welcome to leave now.” 

[ideunsol-blog]

fly high.

[idrubi-blog]

ideunsol‌:

maybe that knowledge keeps her sane. knowing she doesn’t ahve to depend on it. that she still retains power, even if it is entirely financial. eunsol hums out, glances briefly at the clock to see how much longer they need to wait for the stage. 

rubi lacks foresight, in many ways. she thinks in terms of the immediate, goals for the present. there are vague things she desires for the future; nebulous concepts of success and happiness, of love and freedom. but eunsol has something rubi truly lacks, in the ability to plan and in her practicality. eunsol is the kind of person that makes things happen,  figures things out, while rubi dreams of them, grasps at them vaguely. at least fortunately rubi is tenacious enough to force the world to align to her will on occasion, auditioned until she got in to CEL, auditioned until she got onto superstar K, kept at it until she got picked up by KTM, and now, well, she was goign to perform and dance and sing and smile until.... 

something. 

that was the whole plan, really. to do her job. but eunsol? eunsol was smart, in a way that rubi wasn’t. eunsol could pick up on the big picture and the details alike. eunsol could piece together a future for herself out of spare parts, like tony stark building the iron man suit in a cave. “very true, unfortunately,” she notes as the other points out what they all know- that nightmare is on a path to nowhere, probably, and at most to “niche” popularity or cult favorite status. not what any of them had been aiming for. no one goes into the celebrity world aiming to be anything but the best and, more importantly, recognized for it.  “honey bee should give you a bit of a boost though, with a new image, and big names up there with yours.” she points out - the chance to work with heaven and cherry bomb seniors is going to be big for eunsol. “with your face and voice, i imagine more than a few fans will find themselves suddenly less loyal to their biases of choice.” 

she grins, something secretive and sweet, leans to the side slightly. “i’ll certainly let him know.” the words return twisted with amusement, a dryness. they’d tried on so many concepts over their trainee years with KTM, and it was hard to see so many of those ideas, more lucrative now, worn by their competitors. “i wonder if we’ll ever bomb enough to get an image change.” she considers, “ i can’t determine if we’re meeting expectations or not, for the company.” it’s hard to gauge success by any metrics when one considers the strangeness of their situation, conceptually speaking. it makes it too difficult to forecast, anticipate the next move. “i’m not thrilled about the dating show, either. it seems a bit desperate.” it makes me look desperate, is the implication there, and she finds it less than ideal. “it’s just a bit farcical.”

[idtaeho-deactivated20190714]

tainted

[idrubi-blog]

idtaeho‌:

and then he walks towards her and his mouth feels dry. he needs a drink. or two. he needs to talk to her face to face. when he reaches her, taeho smiles. “so,” he starts, “hit or miss?”

rubi doesn’t have a game plan. she doesn’t know what she’s expecting from this, from anything really. from her life as an idol or her time on earth as a human being or from this night, much less this interaction in particular. “of course you are,” she tells him, “humans are biologically drawn to those things and people which display conventional beauty. it’s instinctual. evolutionary. you are by necessity driven by the desire to procreate after all, which is, of course, why we’re even having this conversation.” she says this through laughter light and airy, as if this whole statement were a hilarious thing, and perhaps it is. the idea that human impulse can be so simply reduced to something so banal and awkward. she does find the thought silly. 

she doesn’t see him, seeing her. she’s not thinking about looking for him in the same way, with a hundred souls packed dense before her, around her, and she she lets her eyes close for a moment to focus on the silence on the other end of the phone, a low rumble when he speaks and it takes her a moment to put it all together. that he’s seen her, found her. “now, after what i’ve just said, i’m liable to take that as an insult,” she tells him, but she doesn’t. she can hear something like reverence in his voice and that’s enough to keep her mood up, a buoyant lack of fuss written into her innately, as if she bobs on the currents of emotion without delving deep into them, allows them a fleeting presence soon ignored. observed more so than felt. 

she doesn’t expect it to be taeho before her, olympus’ taeho, known for his striking visuals, known for the husky baritone voice that had greeted her on the phone, known for his charm and wit. she’d be a liar to say the sight of him, his presence so close to her, the slant of his lips don’t pull at something in her heart, sinking in tendrils like hooks to drag her to him. she slides her phone into the little purse that hangs from her shoulder, a suede and beaded number obscured in layers and darkness. she hums thoughtfully, tilts her head to look up at him, reaches a hand out to curl her fingers at his chin, turns his head this way, then that, with an owlish stare and slow blinking eyes. 

“a hit,” she determines sweetly, “for the moment. i’m rather fussy, actually, and find the visual stimulating for a short time only.” she tucks her hair back behind her ear. “you appear satisfied enough, though”

[idrubi-blog]

satellite.

@idhikari han riverbanks, present day. 

it’s cold.

it is more specifically frigid, the wind biting into her like fingers, slashing cruel against any skin left exposed. and truly very little of that remains, with the scarf and the down filled coat and the tights beneath jeans beneath thick wool socks, boots. she thumps a foot into a stray rock and sends it skipping out across the water, watches the black liquid ripple and ebb, a million reflected lights scattered over the surface and - as a glance upwards will tell you - not a single one a star. 

that is the very worst thing about the cities, she thinks - the lack of stars. the inky blackness of an empty night sky is somehow lonesome, no promise of other beings, other worlds, nothing but an infinite vastness fit to consume.

she’s the type of girl who enjoys in this moment the fact that no one has a half idea who she is, not really. not enough that now, in the dead of the night on a tuesday, anyone will notice it’s her, behind layers of cold weather clothing. 

it’s been awhile since she’s seen hikari and she’s missed her. that warmth in her life, that solidity. she spins and spirals, a balloon caught on the wind, but the quiet strength and determination of hikari anchor her, pull her back to reality. shared interests had become a shared bed, on more than one occasion, and she misses that, too. she’d lie to say she didn’t, and rubi’s never found much sense in lying. just a waste of breath. 

she sees the cocooned figure approaching and feels it must be her, it must be because she wants it. her want is rewarded with a familiar face, eyes curved smiling, and she shuffles with cold-stiffened limbs over to the other, grabs her hands, gloves on gloves, and smiles wide. “hikari!” she smiles at her, swings joined hands between them. “its been too long, hasn’t it?” maybe, maybe not. maybe it should have been longer, maybe they’re tempting fate, the way they orbit around each other, circle back again and again. 

[idrubi-blog]

orbit.

@idguanlin  backstage, present day. 

here at the tail end of fly high promotions there exists a panic. a nervousness in the certainty that one is about to have far less opportunities for promotions. she will spin back to the backburner once more and with certainty she will languish in the dark side of the moon, that unlit space where the sun doesn’t reach, waiting out the moment she is set free to shine again. but she is a pale light that is easily overshadowed in the brilliance and glitter of the industry, left to drift in an aimless reverie on the outskirts. those who debuted alongside her fade just as quickly, those with whom she ought to be in competition have far outstripped her. no one would put nightmare near the same category as honey or aurora after all, the latter two miles and a half away. 

so there is a melancholy that prevails, a frown arranged discretely between her brows, though it isn’t allowed to touch full lips - training precludes it as the willowy creatures bows and greets, decked in dark velvet as she nimbly navigates the backstage obstacle course of hopefuls, pds, abandoned set props. she wishes for the velvety confines of their strange cult robes of a few days prior, that had been a lot nicer. she is meant to be filming a pre-show interview for an upcoming escapade her company has sent her on - some sort of dating show, she hears, but she was most enticed by the promise of a trip to jeju island for the filming. 

now, with the questions of ideal types and perfect boys and what her last date was like spinning in her head, she finds herself drifting to the selfsame person who can answer, in part at least, more than a few of those questions. what sort of boy do you like, they ask her, and she thinks of quiet smiles and pauses a bit too long between words. why didn’t your last relationship work out, they ask, and she thinks of a hundred small and stupid reasons that chalk up to a lack of destiny, and what she tells them is “i suppose it wasn’t fated,” and now they think she’s a freak probably. 

she finds him lurking around, waiting to film something or another, and she slides into the seat beside him, far afield from where she ought to be and certainly a surprise, given the look on his face. she pats a hand against his thigh lightly. “i felt i might find you here,” she tells him, as if the universe had delivered unto her that understanding. “are you well?” she offers the barest ghost of a grin. “it’s been a little while.” 

[blackpinkjpg]

[xshayarsha]

Her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much.

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover. (via inkhcart)

[idtaeho-deactivated20190714]

tainted

[idrubi-blog]

idtaeho‌

he pauses again, drinks. inhales. “then i could touch your neck. slowly at first, we don’t know each other right? or do we?” he smiles against the glass, chuckles. “then i could kiss it there. slowly, trace it down your collarbones, my hands finding the hem of your dress. start lifting it so you could get closer to me. way closer. though i bet you wouldn’t be moaning just yet,” he pauses wets his lips, “what are you wearing?” he asks in hopes she’ll tell him, in hopes it’ll be easier to spot her. be it to at least know what she looks like. so he can either continue with this mess or hang up.

she wonders who he is. his voice is smooth and velvet soft, a rumble deep in the back of his throat, pitched low but audible even in the crowded room, even in the throb of the music. perhaps if she were a better idol, a better hoobae, a better fan of the genre she would recognize his voice over the receiver, but she’s never paid the closest attention to these sorts of things, stands with one foot in reality and the other in a dream, just barely tethered to the physical world, at best. she glances around the room in an idle sweep, but the dim lighting and constant movement and distracting flashes of strobe lights provide her little insight and only further her curiosity in the moment. 

“oh, darling, “ she sighs into the phone, “i’m wearing quite a lot of clothes.” she admits, perhaps to his chagrin. she wonders if he can hear the smile in her voice as it ripples over her lips. she’s read that line so many times and found it so very nice an idea, hearing a smile. knowing without seeing, happiness written into intonation. how funny humans are, how unable to disguise themselves. or at least, she certainly isn’t. mastery of her emotions and expression has never been a strong suit - but she is strangely calm regardless, seemingly allowing emotion to flutter past her as she observes it casually, as one might a passing subway train, with distracted curiosity. 

“i’m wearing rather a lot of layers, mostly. and all of them black. and lace. and crocheted. actually i think this shawl is handmade.” she tells him, just because. “i’m afraid it might be frightfully unsexual.” there’s a pause, “but i suppose you wouldn’t be bothered by that, considering you haven’t any idea what i look like anyway..” another pause, “ not, i guess, that it matters much. as a numbers game i suppose most idols are quite conventionally beautiful.” this pause is markedly shorter. “i find the men to be much more hit or miss.” 

the implication being, of course, that he prove himself a hit. 

[ideunsol-blog]

fly high.

[idrubi-blog]

ideunsol‌:

“yeah, it’s kind of.” she pauses, presses her lips together and slants her eyes toward the ceiling. twirls a lock of rubi’s hair around a finger as she thinks. “theatrical? it gives us more time on stage, anyway.” she had liked the concept. had liked the music video, too. has fallen quite happily into embracing nightmare’s entire concept. she just wishes they were rewarded more heavily for their efforts. pouring money into their endeavors doesn’t seem to be helping any, either. “oh, really? is that positive thinking, or did you have a grand prophecy?” that comes out sarcastic. not an ill-spirited jab, but the sort of catty bend to her words that would imply rubi’s in on the joke. it’s not like it’s a secret that they’re no honey. if those girls were a blockbuster hit, comparatively, nightmare would be that cult hit from the 90′s. die hard fans, a questionable script, buckets of fake-blood gore, while the general populace just doesn’t quite get it. if she weren’t such an attention junkie, maybe she’d lean harder into it.

bae rubi has lived a life of hand-me-downs from cousins, of holes in socks, of shoes with the soles worn smooth. bae rubi has lived a life of quiet mediocrity, of desperate grasping, of the kind of fervent dreaming that comes only when one desperately wishes to escape one’s true circumstance. 

her father had been a dreamer too, with his head in the clouds. her mother had spoken fondly to it, to his fanciful ideas and to his verdant and misplaced idealism, his optimism. where the daily grind of the korean work world had stolen those things from him, they flourished now in his child, grew like flowers in her, roots to trace her veins and knot in her stomach, blooming in wide eyes to tinge her lenses rose in hue. a part of her knows truly that she holds on to a desperate fancifulness that will only damage her, but without hope rubi has so very, very little else that it seems to her frightfully awful to be realistic. to admit her mortality, her foolishness, the fact that her career hinges on an alienating concept. 

no, it’s better to live in feigned ignorance, she thinks. 

“it is, at the very least, memorable.” and god knows they need to be memorable, heaven knows the last thing they can afford is forget-ability. they might not ever rise to vast prominence with a concept like this, but walking back from it now is sure to damage, allow them to fade into the countless other perfectly respectable debuts decked out in vibrant color pop concepts. aurora had stuck viciously to their vintage space girl guns until it had paid off, and that was their only hope. she just prayed that without midas to back them up they’d still have the time required to climb that high. 

she sighs. 

“yes, you see, it came to me in a dream,” she intones flatly on something of a whisper, perhaps a layman’s approximation of what the voice of a prophet might sound like, an oracle incarnate as she wiggles her fingers in a vaguely magical seeming gesture (she hopes). “we’ve been blessed by the gods of good fortune, finally, and are about to actually make a little bit of money, possibly, and keep ourselves afloat at least through another comeback cycle.” 

speak it into existence, that’s what her yoga instructor says. not that she understands what that has to do with yoga persay, but she’s willing to give anything a try at this point. hard work just isn’t cutting it, so maybe it’s time to get metaphysical, even playfully. 

[idmijung]

double dare

[idrubi-blog]

idmijung‌:

Mijung turned to her right and saw Rubi. She could do this with Rubi, her friend. She could do this. “I want a shot,” Mijung announced, a bit louder than she intended to. She wasn’t going to mention the dare. She already told Rubi she thought it was stupid, Mijung wasn’t going to admit, even to a friend, that she was just jealous. “Do one with me. Please.”

rubi seems to float through her surroundings only tangentially aware of their entire existence. there has long been an otherness about her, something that speaks to a foundling child of fairies perhaps, a romantic notion of a changeling, of a lost princess, of glazed eyes turned skyward in listless daydream. where her peers indulge in the excitement of a photographic halloween fit for instagram she’s shrouded herself in enough shawls and lace and layers to take the wool from a thousand sheep in the making, whole acres of cotton. and yet despite this glimpses of moon pale skin reveal themselves with her movements, as layers upon layers of largely see through clothing still afford tantalizing gaps of skin exposed to the eye upon movement. 

she doesn’t mind parties in the same way she doesn’t mind crowded shopping centers, in the same way she doesn’t mind empty rooms. rubi is generally unbothered by her surroundings, a self contained creature of cloud spun castles in the sky, of flights of fancy that spirit her far from her mortal confines. the crush of people is negligible and she watches with detached amusement, owlish eyes as obscene acts unfold around her, as foolishness reigns supreme. she can understand the impulse. the challenge to unwind, to let loose, provided in those dares to a population that is by necessity pre-selected for competitive spirit makes sense to her, though she herself finds it to be a distant amusement at best. she’s indulged in a few of the challenges by virtue of companion casualty, drawn up onto a table by a friend or prompted into a silly contest here and there. 

mijung appears before her from the obscured crowd, a knot of dark colors and flashing lights and familiar faces that seem to meld together into one great and terrible beast, the vastness of the congregation an impressive testament to the saturation of the industry. “of course,” she agrees with a smile, slides a slender arm through the other’s to link them together, feet moving fluid to spirit them towards the bar where she leans forward enough to let a smile flourish, red gold hair cascading over her shoulder to be delicately tucked behind her ear with one matte black painted fingernail enough to command attention from the crowd, if only for the oddness of her appearance, requesting the mentioned drinks and sliding it towards the other girl when served. “cheers, darling,” she lilts, forever prone to petnames, before she tips cold glass to her lips and swallows. she blinks away the taste owlish, wide eyed and pouting slightly, as if offended by the taste she had expected. 

equal parts eerily observant and startlingly oblivious she adds, “you seem uncomfortable.”

[ideunsol-blog]

fly high.

[idrubi-blog]

ideunsol‌:

including the kitschy horror-intros koala.t sometimes writes into their stage performances. it’s the entire reason why she’s outfitted in a large cape, hood pulled up and over to the point of almost obscuring her eyes. it’s part of the stage outfit for the filming later, but she’s crowding herself closer to rubi sitting on the couch next to her, phone lifted to take pictures of them both. eunsol’s almost shamefully active on social media – or that’s how it might be referred to if she found any shame in it at all. “more creepy, less little red,” she decides with a quick laugh, flicks at the end of a dyed-red strand of hair as she waits for rubi to pose. 

eunsol has this vibe to her that rubi finds endlessly intriguing. haughty and cold and at all times “too good for you,” off stage it continues into “too cool for this.” this could be a club in gangnam, backstage, a party at a friend’s place, a picnic at the han. maybe that’s a byproduct of upbringing, privy to the best and the most luxurious that life has to offer. it’s almost strange to see her in such a theatrical aesthetic, almost strange to see her committing to a performance with the appropriate expressions, when it seems off stage that eunsol would rather pull her own teeth out with diamond pliers than express anything she doesn’t sincerely believe.

rubi doesn’t ask her these things, but she wonders them. there are a million and one things rubi wonders about a million and one people. questions that bubble in her chest and rattle back and forth between her ears. is there a reason that you chose to do this? of all the ways to find fame this seems, to one uninterested, perhaps the most demeaning? of all the serial concepts we attempted as a budding group, which did you like, which did you hate? rubi, personally, had hated the sexy concept the most, shortly followed by the girl crush attempts. both had felt unnatural pretensions of strong emotions. she wants to act sexy when she feels sexy, she wants to act strong when she feels strong. she thinks a concept like aurora might have been nice- whimsical and dreamy. but she likes where they are. it feels good. like a play, like an extension of some moody darkness in her. they all suited eunsol just fine - it’s probably half again the reason she was chosen. the singing helps, and the visuals, and versatility atop it? of course.

she pulls the edge of the hood over her own features a bit and wipes the smile from her face at the older girl’s laugh, uses her best memories of modeling and posing lessons and suggestions to bring something haunted to her eyes. that’s her general angle, in the group, after all. the morning glory, alice lost in the woods, the victim fleeing an occult horror. she doesn’t mind that. she has enough existential dread wrapped in her bosom that she can easily summon it up. "better, unnie?" she questions, pushes the hood back a little to glance at the other. "i like the intro." she adds on in offer, "do you ?" she figures the answer is likely to be long the lines of as much as eunsol has ever liked any of this. "i have a good feeling about this comeback. i think it could be big for us."

[idtaeho-deactivated20190714]

tainted

[idrubi-blog]

idtaeho‌

“ah, nice, that’s a really sweet voice,” he says, voice low and husky against the phone. “i wonder how it’ll sound like when you start moaning my name.”

she’s new to this.  to the industry, to adulthood, to partying, to whatever. she’s new to halloween, too, in a way. it’s one of those western holidays that never meant much to her until she was old enough to go out and party, excluding maybe in her english classes sort of sometimes. but she likes it, well enough. she likes the concept of it - the real one, and the fictive. she likes the idea of masks and costumes and most of all she likes the idea of magic. 

which is half the reason she’s dressed as she is now, in laces and silks and satin, all black as the night sky, a stark contrast to pale (thanks company “encouragement”) skin and rosy red pink hair. she looks like this most of the time anyway, honestly, if anything, the only changes she’d made are to make the outfit a bit more risque, a bit more over the top, intentional, accessories speaking to the stars, a bright highlighter on her cheeks, like she’s moonkissed. 

honestly the whole “goth witch” vibe doesn’t stray too far from her natural inclinations. she’s susceptible to suggestion to help, so the whole thing has manifested in the moment as part of her identity. it is perhaps unhealthy to wind herself up in the image of her groups so much, when it is likely to be so fleeting, when they could very easily have a sudden swing to another concept at any point. she’s not sure how she’d adjust to that- probably well enough. she’d been training for something entirely different plenty of times before, after all. each company, each concept, flickering away and away before her eyes like a mirage. 

she sways in a distracted half-time to the beat as the music rumbles through her bones. it’s pretty par for the course, that kind of tropical house edm vibe, and it’s not really one of the kind of things she super enjoys. but she can appreciate anything with a driving beat beneath it, a gentle sway as she lets her eyes slide closed. she loses herself in the swirl of the melody until the phone at her hip buzzes, rattling in her bones. she slips it out and presses it to her ear with a distracted, half breathless, “hello?” 

the answer is not what she expected and she looks around initially to see if she’s being pranked. she steps to the side, a few paces, to find a quieter nook. “excuse you?” she laughs back, threaded into the words like punctuation. “and what exactly is going to get me moaning, then?”