#idols.

[grimoircs]

give.

it is both familiar and not, being back in this atmosphere. it’s a far cry different from working with signal, a group of oversized puppy children, suitably singing about cats and dogs. they look at her differently, they have to spread already too - long legs to get their faces down to her level. they fall asleep in the chair while she blowdries bleach damaged hair and they simper noona at her with bright eyes and full lips and she dotes on them as if they might be her children, despite being only fractionally younger than her, an almost negligible difference. but sheltered, in their way, by the isolation of a grueling trainee life. 

here on set with gun is different, but those differences are familiar. it looks so similar to the first sets she’d worked with him, and the range of eyeliner options on the table before her indicates a similarity in the style. he wants a call back to the last, they’d briefed her. like a reminiscence on the success he’s found since those days, on the soaring career that lifts spread wings, now. so they’re bringing her back to the fold - but tread carefully, they add, with a pointed look. 

and sera will. 

that’s what she tells herself, pushing round spectacles up the bridge of her nose and gathering her hair into a ponytail, back out of her face. he looks half asleep as her assistant drapes accessories on him, and sera thinks of how strange it is to have gotten to the point where she has assistants and he has a say in his concepts, creative contributions from both of them so much more meaningful now. when sihyun steps away from him, sera moves in, doesn’t bother announcing the change, stepping forward to carefully place her fingers against his skin, swallows hard once before she adds a helpful, “keep your eyes closed,” and takes the liner to them carefully, watches the flutter first as he recognizes her voice, a slight grin playing at her lips. “so you’re back to a smoky eye, huh?” there’s a quiet laugh, “you hated it so much back then.”

[galaqsies]

vignettes

@grimoircs

old habits die hard. especially for seo yohan. it had already been hard to give her up the first time, hundreds of unfinished songs nestled in the depths of his computer concrete proof of that. and even as time passed, the ache, the wanting always lingered, never leaving completely. he never did know how to let things go. it took a while to get him where he had been before that fated radio appearance, a huge mistake on the company’s part, and now ... 

well, now he’s back at square one. 

history repeating itself by way of text messages sent her way sporadically, ‘accidental’ run-ins around the company and a small brush of fingers, attempts to sneak a meeting between them in the middle of the night. but circumstances are different these days. less free time, much less coinciding, and more difficulties in running around uncaught by cameras. and so as a result, they’ve seen each other maybe three brief times since the first night. each time seemingly shorter than the last.

now, yohan’s near bursting. a distracted mess, useless at their dance practice for what he’d personally consider their most tiring choreography yet. making mistakes left and right until his members have mercy on (or, rather, get annoyed at) him and call it quits for the day. leaving him to lie on the floor both exhausted and frustrated, one knee bent up and an arm resting on his warm, sweaty forehead. he could fall asleep here, he thinks, eyes closing for a moment like he might try to. he breathes deep, trying to slow it and his heart down, when he hears the door click open, slow. 

“oh good, you’re back. could you hand me my--” he starts, assuming it’s one of his members, pausing only when he slides his arm off his eyes and peers over at the door. “oh,” he says, startled, immediately aware of how unkempt he must look, how red his cheeks must be, how damp with sweat the bangs on his forehead are. “hey,” he continues, sitting up and grinning now because no one else from prism followed behind her. “you need the room, or...?” he asks, trailing off hopeful. 

[galaqsies]

all night.

the darkness before the sunrise seems especially dark @grimoircs / han & jowi at a hotel in jeju

a thirty-minute (second-to-ending) setlist tells almost nothing of the time put into getting there. about the relentless practice, the hours upon hours spent into making the songs, the wasted time in the clouds, traveling from one country to the next to the next and then back home, only to fly once more to an island that simultaneously feels more like home but also not exactly. and still, yohan always looks forward to those thirty-minutes. or even to those four minutes during promotions. or to those exhausting, yet exhilarating, two and a half hours straight in various arenas around the world. every time he steps on stage, he’s reminded of why. 

why he’s sacrificed a million things for just this one. 

but then, comes her name in the setlist. not as cherry bomb!, but aj. just aj, solo. then, comes the hotel. then, comes the overwhelming knowledge that she’s just one floor below him. knowledge he can’t ignore, no matter how hard he tries to with a bottle of wine and his laptop open in front of him with a potential solo song he still can’t get quite right. frustration bubbles and bubbles. he hates every drum track he lays down, every hi-hat, everything. the wine bottle is empty now. he knows what’s going to happen next. his headphones come off and a grey beanie comes on, tugged on low enough to hide the ashy blonde beneath. he looks in the mirror right before the door, considers for a second swapping his white low cut tee to something more presentable, but what’s the point? there is none, so, he leaves. 

a less-than-a-minute elevator ride down tells nothing of the hours he just spent trying to resist. and still, in some twisted, maybe masochistic way, yohan looks forward to this. wants this. needs this. knocks softly on her door with a rhythm too familiar. pitches his voice quiet, but loud enough for her to hear him speak her name slow, melodically, “ahn jowi, let me in.” and when she does, he grins, lips curving slowly. every time he steps into her room, he wonders why he sacrificed this. 

but, she doesn’t have to know that. 

“wine,” he starts, tugging his beanie off and tossing it onto the dresser, “i cleared all mine out already, you got any you want to share, gashinaya?”

[grimoircs]

bermuda.

@galaqsies, post-vacation & buyout.  sunwoo & yenny, idolverse. 

she knew, with the atlas vacation dwindling to a close, that the boys would reappear in the building. that she would come face to face with him again. she’s been trying to offset this by being in the building as little as possible, but with queendom coming up yewon hasn’t got much of a choice. she feathers her fingers back through her hair, drawing it up into a ponytail, as she sits splay legged on the floor of the studio. she’s leaning forward in a stretch, inner thighs screaming their dismay, to check rearrangement annotations when the door creaks open and she sees him. 

it’s not that she hasn’t seen him in years or anything. he’s everywhere: on tv, on billboards, on the news, on buses, on airport carts. it’s not even safe overseas anymore. he follows her like a ghost. but this, now, it’s not the same. it’s different than it’s ever been. its the first time she’s seen him, really seen him, since they were trainees. since they were young and stupid and in love -or at least, she’d been in love. maybe that had been her mistake. “ah,” she breathes out, unsteadied by the sudden appearance, by the curl of his hair as it droops in his face, that same all too familiar slouch to his shoulders. “vacation must be over then,” she points out, a soft smile flickering into place. it’s slightly soulless. “if you needed the room i can go.” she adds, because she’d rather flee than face him, if she’s going to be brutally honest. 

she’s never quite gotten past it, after all. it being him. it being that stupid flicker of amusement in his eyes, the projection of bunny shaped teeth, the dimple beneath his eye. at first at least they’d both been languishing in obscurity, so she’d felt vindicated int eh fact that few out there knew him as she did. now it seems like her affections are for a boy buried in the distant past, overshadowed by immeasurable fame and incredible promise. the sunwoo of days gone by is long gone, changed into something polished and sleek that she barely recognizes. “it’s been awhile.” 

[mymotherhadabrother]

🫰🥹🤳

[galaqsies]

moon and stars.

@grimoircs / jaesung & kiwon under the new zealand winter night

this happens often these days. jaesung, lying in bed, scrolling through fan comments and humoring them with replies, unable to sleep despite the heavy weight of his lids. they all tell him to sleep, and he counters that they should, too. but they’re up for a reason, they’re studying for exams and sometimes he feels oddly jealous of that. the regular lives they all get to lead outside of being a fan, while he lives and breathes atlas without a break because he can’t do anything else. objectively, he knows that he’s lucky, that he’s set for life even if the fall comes sooner than they hope, that he would’ve drowned in university and after in a regular office job. but, still. he can’t help but wonder, sometimes. he is thankful, though, and he tells his fans as much. thanks them for entertaining him with dumb edits and heartwarming messages alike, tells them he’s finally going to sleep now and that they should also. 

and then, he locks his phone. he sets it aside and closes his eyes. sleep never comes on nights like this, and tonight’s no exception. he sighs, whispering sunwoo’s name so quietly it’s mostly just a breath. maybe he doesn’t want him to hear. when the youngest responds with a resounding snore, he smiles something small, fond, and slips out of their bed. his slippers softly drag against the floor on his way to kiwon’s room and he shivers in his thin, long-sleeve jj pajamas as the door slowly creaks open. he closes it lightly behind him before sliding in beside kiwon, arms naturally sliding around the other boy’s waist to steal warmth. comfort. jaesung sighs against the back of his neck, nuzzling there and shutting his eyes once more. he feels better, now, with the faint scent of orange blossoms and amber near him. “kiwon,” he mumbles gently, “are you awake?” 

[switchbladekiid-blog]

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