head shot pop, no talk

  now it’s sunghee’s time! again, some info under the cut, links up there. just give this post a like or hit me up on discord @ moonpsy#4969

it was inevitable for sunghee to end up here at one point. the moment they heard about the performances happening at the “basement”, sunghee knew they had to find a way to get out of every single conversation they were dragged into in order to watch the performances for a little bit. it felt awkward in a way for them to be there. for starters, they knew that most of the perfomers looked down on them. as an idol, no matter how good they became as a rapper, none of them would ever respected them fully as an artist. sunghee didn’t think that they needed that, per se, but it was conflicting admiring someone who would always look down on them. 

◤higher higher

❝ i laid everything down i have nothing to lose i’m ready, from now on, fight for love this heat is getting hotter and hotter open, december, backstage at an award show

sometimes, if not most times, hearing something like that makes jihoon panic. he might not show it at first, but its visible in his eyes. he has had his fair share of torn pants, in various different area’s, luckily none on stage. “for the love of my sanity, please don’t tell me i ripped my pants.” he says, already looking down and patting himself to make sure that hasn’t happened. he didn’t want to get yelled by one of the staff, not at an end of the year award show. it was as stressful as it already was.

however, after a few more seconds he can’t find anything like that. so he looks up at the other, brows raised “okay, we got that out of the way. so what is wrong with it?” he asks. maybe it was something he couldn’t see, or maybe it was a small detail. honestly, with the while suits they had this time around, jihoon wasn’t going to be surprised if he had gotten make up on it. was his hair messed up? what was it, because jihoon was squinting at the other wanting an answer.

paying attention to what other people are wearing hardly comes as a natural thing for sunghee. there are exceptions to that, of course, particularly when they are interested in someone but otherwise they don’t think too much about other people’s outfits. with that said, sunghee did create a habit of checking out their members’ clothes during events or concerts, mostly because of how often they saw the stylists doing that same. it’s how they notice there’s something slightly off with jace’s pants, and why they point it out in the first place. 

open starter for anyone!

too many stars in the black sky — whatever, he’s turned into a shitty sap drunk. one that sits, wobbly when his body sways back and forth to the frigid rhythm of the air. it’s cold, but not enough that the alcohol doesn’t pack a punch when he feels the literal heat raising from his chest into his ears.too many people, no. too many assholes he doesn’t care about when his friends lie small and few, and the crowd leaves him to find each and everyone like a needle in a haystack. too bad he’s given up when he finds himself outside of the garden with that lackluster energy to even take the two steps in.

what he wants to do is lie down and sleep, but he knows that reckons another hour lecture and greater repercussions if anyone catches a glimpse of a blacked-out member, alone sulking away outdoors in solitude.

but he remains anyways for a few more seconds, realizes maybe he’s so drunk that he recognizes another figure approaching him — or maybe, that’s just his damn loneliness talking. what the hell, and he greets out into a void, no expectation of any call back. “you hear any good rumors today? or maybe, i’m the rumor and nobody told me. but that’s not the point — did you ever see these many stars in seoul? i call bullshit.”

any event with too many people is bound to make sunghee uncomfortable. it’s different when it’s a concert, when there’s a very distinct separation between them and the fans — sunghee loves them, they do, but they don’t really want any of them getting too close to them. airports are sunghee’s living nightmare, to the point where they cannot count the sheer number of times they’ve taken a different plane or a different exit, for their safety and peace of mind. they are not given any alternatives when they are attending a gala, however, not when attendance is mandatory. 

but still, they run away at one point. when the high of the weed they smoked earlier in the day has faded mostly, and the shaking of their hands take over. they cannot go outside, outside, so they retreat to the garden, shaking out a cigarette from their pocket and hoping no one is going to curse at them for smoking here when technically it’s a closed place. there’s a lot of irony to be found in the theme of the gala — among the stars. sunghee snorts. they wish they could be in space with the stars instead of here. 

“bad? repetitive? over the years i’ve learned that to a lot of people they pretty much mean the same thing.” though ultraviolet is still a fairly new group in the industry as they’ve only passed their second year anniversary, it was no secret that they had a lot of eyes on them. it’s what happens whenever a group debuts with such good scores—people were so desperately waiting for their downfall. she does think that, in the future, that downfall might come in the form of repetitively bad music. but the way they’ve been charting so far tells her otherwise so who really knows what’ll happen in the future. 

she’s surprised sunghee cares so much. or maybe it’s them being concerned. whatever it is, they seem to be showing more interest than she is. she’s been notified about what kind of sound they’ll be continuing with so this didn’t surprise her one bit. “me? i’m not really sure. i’d say my favorite ultraviolet song is stay but we all know that’s not title track material.” with a hum, she imagined what she would actually enjoy performing on stage. “something along the lines of lily maybe? or even some of equinox’s songs? i really don’t know.”

“i don’t think that’s necessarily true,” sunghee doesn’t believe in music being bad, per se. at least not most of the time. perhaps because they approach music from a producer and a musician place, sunghee knows most songs have at least something going for them, regardless of whether they personally dislike the genre or sound. “selene sunbaenim have some similar songs, and none of them are bad. it’s just a sound. a lot of people would argue catalyst also has a lot of similar songs and whereas i don’t like a few of them, i don’t think any of them are bad. they just are representative of a sound. not every group or artist is going to be able to showcase extreme versatility, so.”

there weren’t a lot of tracks in ultraviolet’s discography that jaein will voluntarily listen to in her free time. she enjoyed stay and that might be the only thing she’ll admit to. their title tracks were fine when being performed, but they aren’t the type of songs that she’d add to her playlist and recommend. that doesn’t mean she thinks that her group has a terrible discography or anything; just so much of it wasn’t her usual style. 

with a shake of her head, she responds. “it’s not mean. i pretty much agree,” she admits while peaking at the door in case their in-house producer walks in and hears her talking poorly of the work he’s put into her discography. “but hey, i don’t have much of a say anyway. i just do as i’m told.” it’s said with a melodic tune in which she’s trying to express how she’s pretty much in agreement with what they were telling her. “maybe you can change his mind or something. convince him that ultraviolet can use something else.”

sunghee doesn’t think they can sit on a high horse when it comes to music being released by other groups. they can both appreciate the stuff catalyst releases and still recognise that it might not be to everybody’s tastes. that’s fine, it’s not something they lose sleep over. but with that said, they do genuinely enjoy some of ultraviolet’s music. “i don’t think it’s bad, though, just repetitive,” sunghee shrugs, scrolling through the folder of demos. some of those sunghee had been presented when they were being made, some of them sunghee themselves had done. they are self-aware enough to know that it’s not like they are that much different from the rest of their stuff. “which is again, not bad. but i feel all of you can do more. not better, just more.”

jaein doesn’t know all too much about music. she has a preference like everybody else does, but she’s not worrying about the way ultraviolet’s music sounds or the instruments that make up the composition. if she had more interest in her career and wanted it to be long-lasting, perhaps she would have, but that simply wasn’t true for her. hence, she just sang and performed whatever gold star media decided to throw at her direction. even if that meant the same sounding songs for the past two years. it was a concept, for sure, but she thinks that a concept shouldn’t excuse their title tracks from sounding the same. it was just lazy work on the producers. 

she answers sunghee’s question with a shrug because she honestly doesn’t know. “i have no clue. i guess it sells?” that would be a pretty accurate assumption upon taking a look at how their past singles have done. “it’s the sound they’re trying to give us.” she has no other thoughts on the topic at hand, but she can see a lot of people thinking like how sunghee does. their music has started blending together, and she can’t deny that. “i’m not surprised though. i’m sure our next few albums are all going to sound like this.”

sunghee is not unfamiliar with the accusation of making repeated music. they know for a fact that there are a lot of people who are not particularly fond of catalyst’s sound and refer to any and everything they release as noise. they suppose that’s inevitably, considering it’s a conscious choice from dimensions to make their music very particularly. sunghee doesn’t mind it. they are, particularly, very fond of some of the batshit decisions that the producers make when it comes to the music they put out, even if their recent output is sunghee’s least favourite since debut. but. 

sunghee still doesn’t know whether it’s boldness or stupidity that has them leaving the dorm when they are very obviously high. well, obviously to them, sunghee reckons, as most people probably wouldn’t notice anything amiss, especially not with the sunglasses they are wearing, or the mask sitting comfortably on their face. maybe it is arrogance. there’s a lot money can buy, a lot money has bought sunghee both out of and into from the moment their mother married a man with more money than he knew what to do with. sunghee has— they could call them friends but perhaps that would be too much of a heavy word to describe them. acquaintances, would be better, that have gotten away with much worse, all because of their parents’ back accounts. oh, to be rich.

ultraviolet’s schedule was still fairly busy, between their first seoul concerts, season’s greetings, and their first japanese compilation album, on top of lux’s soon-to-release work with yoojin. they were grateful to have the time off they did, but they wouldn’t have complained if gold star had put ultraviolet on the back burner for the time being. they liked working - well, no, they liked performing, and little else about the job. they should have been a producer rather than an idol, in truth, and would have been if they’d known how very tiring the rest of being an idol could get. 

lux took note of sunghee’s reaction - there was no warmth in their eyes, no false politeness. in a way, it was refreshing. they weren’t faking nice for the sake of… why did people inject such false sweetness into every interaction? to seem nicer than they were? whatever the purpose, sunghee didn’t bother, and lux didn’t mind, though they felt a little guilty about interrupting them in their off time. they themselves would have probably snapped upon being interrupted by what was essentially a stranger. “yeah, good point. my bad, by the way, i just got excited. didn’t mean to bug you.” they say, their method of apologizing as they reached for the instrument of interest.

x

sunghee’s immediate reaction would be to say that it’s never okay for someone to intrude when someone else is clearly looking to be alone, but all of that died in their head before it could so much as go down to their mouth. it was mostly crankiness and tiredness that had their mood like this, as well as the lack of adaptability to their current circumstances, and it wasn’t lux’s fault in the first place. sunghee would never want anyone to feel bad about something that wasn’t on them. “it’s fine,” they lie through their teeth, which they momentarily proceed to grind, watching as lux grabs for the bass. “which instruments do you play?” sunghee decided to ask, going for the most democratic approach possible. 

whenever they are backstage, sunghee tries their very best to stay out of the way of everybody. it’s a truth that has applied to them ever since catalyst debuted, but even more so when they started working as an mc and got to experience hectic backstages every single week, as opposed to a few times during the year, during comeback season. for an entire year, sunghee followed the relentless work of the people that made things happen and realised that they are much more complicated and difficult than it might look like from the outside, or from the perspective of idols who really only have to show up, look good, dance and sing a little bit. it sure didn’t make sunghee envy people who work backstage — but it added to their respect for them.

at one point, sunghee’s opinion had become something others valued. they don’t know how, don’t understand why, but it is somewhat of a given at this point that people will seek them out in order to get— something. validation. or perhaps criticisim, since sunghee still struggles when it comes to lying about actual work related things, specially music related things. it’s only exhaustion that’s kept sunghee from making their opinion known in regards to catalyst’s music, for the past year. exhaustion and a busy schedule, both leading to them refusing to so much as buying any fights they know they can’t win. but it’s fine. sunghee doesn’t mind giving their opinion, as they go by the principle that if someone asks for honesty from them, then they are very much willing to take whatever they might throw their way.

famedopen > minhee & you?      setting: gayo daejun! 

“so…” minhee dragged out the o in the word as she approached, giving her victim fair warning before she sidled up right beside them and delicately wrapping one arm around their shoulder and saying, in a low and whispery voice seldom heard outside of lily’s most recent comeback, “do you love me?” 

almost immediately, her arm was pulled back and swatting childishly at her conversation partner’s arm instead. “what’d you think? – were you even watching our performance?” and without waiting for an answer she continued on, “isn’t hyeju lucky that she got that everyday for a month straight?” or not-so-straight, whatever… but, like, not like that with hyeju. ew. “last night’s intro and arrangement of the song at the melon music awards was so much better though. we should’ve just used that again.” as if they would ever do that. “how’d your performance go? or have you gone up yet?” red coloured her cheeks as she laughed off the awkward realisation that she was being hypocritical insisting that people watch lily when she had very little intention of watching anyone else. “it doesn’t even matter, right? it’s total fluff compared to proper shows where awards get given out.”

if there’s one thing sunghee was often grateful for was whenever someone let them know they’d be approaching them before they did so. nothing quite got to them like being approached by surprise. not that it made much of a difference in making sunghee less flustered — but then again, that was usually the effect minhee had on them. “hey noona,” sunghee still smiled at her antics, ignoring the chill that ran down their spine at her voice. “of course i was watching your performance. why wouldn’t i?” sunghee tended to watch as many performances as possible, both out of respect and wanting to check out what their colleagues were doing. sunghee was often impressed by their performance, so it was just a positive for them. 

lux was lucky enough not to be working on their birthday. thank god the staff seemed content to let them go off and do whatever, because they’d had no intentions of practicing that day. they found themselves in a music shop of considerable size, browsing through some records when they noticed two things - a familiar face and a cool looking bass. they knew, logically, that the one they had was fine, but this… it was gorgeous.

they approached the bass, and therefore the acquaintance, and glanced about, looking for an associate to allow them to try it out and see how it sounded. no one else in sight, they sighed quietly to themselves. “i might be getting myself a little birthday gift if this thing sounds as good as it looks.” they said, tearing their eyes from the bass for a moment to look in the other’s general direction. “i don’t see anyone around, though… think they’d mind if i tried it out?”

x

having recently finished promotions for catalyst, sunghee was given a lot more free time than they knew what to do with. even though end of the year shows were coming up, sunghee spent less time rehearsing than usual. it was fine — except it wasn’t, because going from being extremely busy to not doing anything at all was inevitably something that fucked them up a little bit. after one too many days doing absolutely nothing, sunghee left the dorm and decided to go check out one of their favourite music shops. 

with a mask covering most of their face and a cap sitting on their head, sunghee honestly expected no one to recognise them. they were so focused in studying a pretty gorgeous bass on the wall that they didn’t realise they were being approached at all, not until lux spoke to them. sunghee startled, inevitably, jumping a bit, heart immediately racing. as much as sunghee abhorred being approached without warning, they forced themselves not to react too harshly. still, they didn’t bother putting on a pleasant smile — luckily the mask would keep them from coming across as impolite. “uh, i don’t know?” sunghee looked around, heart slowing down. “i don’t think it’s an issue if you do. you could ask, but this is a music shop. if they didn’t want people trying out the instruments they wouldn’t display them, would they?”

despite the several years suji has spent writing music now, production was still an aspect that she found herself struggling with. frankly, she doesn’t think she’s tried nearly hard enough to get the grasp of it either, but she simply doesn’t know how to work the machines and programs that come along with it. the best she can do is play a few musical instruments that usually end up being re-written by a professional anyway. it’s through some mutual acquaintances that she ends up with the catalyst member, and she’s hoping that this mutual subject at hand doesn’t make this interaction as awkward as she thinks it’ll be. 

“i’m sure you’re better than me,” is what she offers before she clears her throat to rid of the silence. “see? you’re already much better than i am. i don’t think i’ve actually learned anything. or more like, people have attempted to teach me, and i haven’t been able to follow,” she admits as her brows furrow together from past memories of her trying and ultimately failing. “yes? kind of?” she sits up a little as she watches the program boot on their computer. “i think the most i’ve done is import some piano recordings that i’ve made, but then i always get stuck after that like i have no clue where to go from there.”

sunghee doesn’t do well with strangers. it’s an irony, almost, considering that their main current job focus, besides their catalyst obligations, is related to hosting. as an mc for music core, sunghee had to interview and interact with new people every week, and some of that exposure most definitely made the job a little easier as time passed. but that was still with a lot of people around, with mcs that they grew accustomed to, with a staff they saw every week for an entire year. it’s different from having to interact one-on-one with someone they barely even knew, especially someone who was their industry senior. but a favour had been asked and— well, sunghee is often doing things that make them uncomfortable just because they are too nice for their own good. 

“recipes are like starter packs, for sure.” leave it to andy to compare cooking to video games. the fingers of one hand had come to rub at the opposite side of their jaw as they thought, but pulled away and flicked out in precursor to speech, “but if you really wanna get better, learn from them, then throw them out. try new things. you’ll make some stuff that tastes bad, but if you get enough practice and knowledge, you won’t have to rely on any recipes except your own.” they’d heard the stereotype of the grandmother who had been cooking long enough they never measured ingredients, the most badass way to cook. andy didn’t have that kind of influence in their life, so if they needed to be their own gran, they’d be the best gran to exist.

at its core, andy just didn’t want to give the same answers as sunghee. not only as it boring for those watching and themself, sunghee played safe. they were more of a golden poster child for proper idol etiquette. proper wasn’t in andy’s vocabulary. whatever the next question was, andy’d go the opposite direction, spice it up a little.

how do you stay awake when studying for long hours? andy turned a brow up to sunghee, opening the floor.

sunghee wished they could be as adventurous in the kitchen as andy was willing to be. with their limitations when it came to things they could properly eat without struggling, sunghee didn’t have a lot of options but to follow recipes as close to the original as possible. though, the practice had taught them enough that now they felt more confident about changing some things here and there to make a dish easier for them to eat. “yeah, i agree with that. just like any activity, improving when it comes to cooking comes from practicing! just try things out. you’re going to be bad at it for a little bit, but that’s okay. you’ll improve with time.”

the question was — challenging, for sunghee. they didn’t think any of their methods were particularly idol friendly. for starters, they were homeschooled for the moment they stepped foot in korea, and they tested out of school with the necessary scores by the time they were sixteen. it had been a long time since sunghee last had to study for anything, really, and the methods they use to keep themselves awake when working were— either smoking pot or chugging cans of energy drinks. 

bullshitting was the way to go, then.