#> thread.

[idjuniper-blog]

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?”

[idjuniper-blog]

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. 

[idjuniper-blog]

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.” 

[idjuniper-blog]

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. 

[archiveidjuniper-blog]

americano.

@idhyukjae // backstage at a music show (in the slight future) 

juniper should be thanking her lucky stars for the second chance that kjh has given her. deliverance on a silver platter, the promise of redemption. instead, she continues to be petulant, complaining  ow in her heart about the song they’ve been given. the one upside? at least she has a lot of lines and none of them are the repetitive noise fest of the so called chorus. 

it’s not that she’s one of those people who thinks pop music is beneath them. she loves pop music. she became an idol after all, if you don’t at least have a tolerance you’re probably a fucking idiot to be pursuing things. she loved the earlier songs they got to do; playing with fire, whistle, they were some of her favorites. she’d liked hobgoblin, and she’d obviously liked latata, having, you know, made it and all. but DDDD was repetitive in a grating way, not the cheery ear-worm way, and it felt disjointed to her, discordant and grating. not that she’d let that show on stage, for the most part, but she was somewhat less than thrilled with the whole thing. 

she would have liked to just give a song to the company, to have it be chosen, but to be perfectly frank, now that they were dangling the promise of a solo debut in front of her, she was hoarding the best for herself. not to mention trying to come up with content for unpretty rapstar on the regular, which was exhausting in itself. she should have just accepted the company offer of someone to write for her, or with her, but she’d been proud and stubborn (perhaps surprising no one).

at the sight of a familiar face she grins, sidesteps her manager and slips into the titanium waiting room after him, with a quick bow to the other’s. she’s been friends with the boys of titanium on and off for awhile now, closest with milo but a blooming friendship with aroon in the tangle of their survival show experiences exists, too. “hey, whats up?” she questions, hands sliding into her back pockets, elbows akimbo. “i was gonna go to that coffee cart down the hall, wanna come? we can pick some up for your boys too,” she adds, before milo can lurch over to insert himself into the conversation, half exhausted. they step back into the hall with a sigh and she grins over at him. “happy or sad, to be wrapping promotions? i liked this song.” 

[archiveidjuniper-blog]

round and round.

@idsohee // comeback preparation. 

her body is in disarray, skin clammy and cold despite the sweep of sweat across her brow. she’s exhausted from the pressure of all of it. recording the song with gun, working with him like everything is totally fine, like it isn’t awkward now, to try and work together after everything. like they aren’t constantly on the edge of just a little bit more. the show is hard, too, trying to keep up with the others, trying to deal with the comparisons that they heap upon her. will she live up to the legacy of her father? is it all just company media play? will she outperform ellie from her past season? what does it mean if she does? is ellie a better rapper or juniper? why does juniper bother rapping at all? a hundred pointed barbs disguised to look like questions, they hook into her skin like spines from a cactus, aching and tearing even worse as she pulls them free, attempts to discard them. 

kjh was supposed to be a spectacular second chance, but maybe she hadn’t deserved it, just as suggested. and maybe it had come at the expense of friendships, of her reputation- though she’d been doing a good enough job of that on her own. she’d slacked off on the instagram bullshit these days, because with real promotion underway she didn’t need to dig for attention quite as much. didn’t have as much time for it, anyway.  she’s tired of criticism and value judgements and trying to deal with the expectations of people who don’t actually care about her. people who don’t know her. 

her father always told her not to do this. that she was too tenderhearted for it. she sighs, pushes her hand back through her hair to tangle it up into a bun, flopping down to a seat on the cold wooden floor. “i can’t practice anymore,” she complains, rolls onto her side to press her cheek against the smooth wood. the whir of the fan is a pleasant white noise as sohee’s sneakers squeak across the floor and the music turns off. she hears the other shift to sit and drags herself upright, mimes reaching towards her, “water?” she questions, grins and accepts the bottle given. “how do you have so much energy?” it’s no secret juniper struggles with stamina, even now. she’s doing her best, but not everyone is a born dancer like sohee. “what do you think of the song? like, full truth and honesty and all that.”

[archiveidjuniper-blog]

wanderlust.

@idaroon // wandering the streets of chile

juniper is delighted in her anonymity. it’s not that she’s that famous back home, but there have always been people around her. people who knew her or her father. people who recognized her from the show as a baby and pinched at her cheeks, tousled her short-cut hair. people who felt the need to comment on her tomboyish style, or how big she had gotten. over the years it had abated, as she fled to the states in the wake of her father’s scandals, and with his absolution returned. by that point she’d been different. older, and changed.  

her life has been a series of changes in that way. from a celebrity’s child to a “celebrity” child to a nobody in america to a normal enough high school student -with a catch, a caveat. a trainee, and an idol, a member of her.oine and then a member of jawbreaker, and who knew what would come next? she’s trying now, to build herself up into something else. another new mask for juniper to wear. juniper the soloist this time, juniper the artist. juniper who can produce adn juniper who can rap and juniper who can write and juniper who can sing. and perhaps not so much juniper who can dance. it’s not that she’s the worst dancer ever, obviously, but her performance abilities and practice are what get her by and since her label has given the promise of a more stationary debut as a soloist (however far down the line that may be) she can’t help but be a little bit relieved. 

here, though, the sun is warm and sliding down, setting slow and languid across the horizon. here she isn’t anyone. she isn’t oh jua and she isn’t juniper oh. she isn’t her.oine’s juniper and she isn’t jawbreaker’s juniper. she isn’t the girl on unpretty rapstar and she isn’t her father’s junebug. she’s just herself, in the barest form, in the most basic and plain. with the finery and fuss stripped away as she winds her way down the long streets, she’s just a tourist, a face blurring into the crowd, with her arm linked through aroon’s companionably and a smile on her lips, that same smile she was once not allowed to flash so recklessly lest it undermine her image. “i like chile,” she determines, having seen a whole half a kilometer of it at this point, winding their way from the confines of the hotel in laconic steps. “what about you?” she drops her arm to link her hands behind her back, stretches them up with a sigh. “at the very least i like the weather. and walking. just...walking. without a fuss. ” there’s a satisfied nod to punctuate before, “where should we go?”