rager teenager!

just wanted to let anyone i have plots with know i’m planning on keeping ash and mirae as of now. i don’t know that i’d feel good saying what positions i’m planning rn because i don’t want to pressure anyone (if you’re really stressed abt overlapping plans feel free to ask but? don’t worry about it), but i should be able to keep most plots for them if people want. i’m happy to re-plot completely for anyone who needs to, though as well! 

Sometimes, just sometimes, her intuition will fail her and place her in an awkward situation, and sadly, she has a feeling that she may have gotten the other’s identity wrong and put them on the spot. Feeling instant remorse, she shakes her head back and forth; a delicate laugh following suit to break the silence. “I’m so sorry if I totally caught you off-guard, that definitely wasn’t my intention.” She explains, literally bringing a palm up to lightly tap her forehead. “Honestly, you look a lot like the guys I sometimes see at my company. You know, the tall and handsome and kinda mysterious ones.” Offering a smile, she attempts to lighten the atmosphere, but has no idea if her attempts will be futile or not. “I’m still pretty new to Korea, so I don’t really know a whole lot of people… or anything about K-pop, really, but I’m hoping to change that the longer I’m here.”

Hopefully a small explanation will assist in smoothing things over, but she’s having a difficult time trying to read him… which only intrigues her more, if she’s being truthful. She’s always been a sucker for an enigmatic quality in another individual. It easily unlocks her more curious ( and interested ) disposition. “Ash? That’s sweet. Do you speak English, perchance?”

Michelle inquires, hoping to God that they can swap to her mother tongue, if so. Only if it was a good fit for him, too, of course. “Oh, and you can call me Mish, or Chelle. That’s what everyone back home calls me.” Pausing for a moment, she takes in the sight of him a little more—doing her best to do so as inconspicuously as possible. He’s hot, she knows that at first glance, but she’s trying not to overstep any boundaries if he’s not someone who’s comfortable with small bits of flirtation. She’s still trying to navigate her way through the cultural differences between the east and the west. “It’s my first time here, too. I looked up ‘cute coffee shops in Cheongdam’ and this was one of the first options on Naver, so here I am. It also doesn’t hurt that it’s pretty close to where I train.” Again, she has no idea if she can openly discuss her stance in the entertainment world, even if it’s been made clear that she shouldn’t.

After a brief pause, she hears her name called and wanders over to pick up her items; humming at the mere sight of coffee and cake. Not wanting to be rude, though, she turns back towards Ash and smiles; still invested in their conversation. “If you have the time, would you maybe wanna grab a seat with me? I’m not technically supposed to be eating sweets right now, so it may be better if I share all this with someone… what do you say?”

“ah,” he chooses not to acknowledge her comparison to the guys in her company because anything he has to say to that would come off as asshole-ish instead of self-deprecating if he’s not going to share that he is one of them, but he warms up to her at the mention of being new to korea. he remembers being new to korea and though he hadn’t been anywhere near outgoing enough to approach strangers at coffee shops to talk to, and he still isn’t, he can sympathize with what she must be going through. “it can take some getting used to, but people won’t fault you for not knowing idols. just always assume you need to be talking to people in the most polite form possible. that’s the number one tip i learned.”

“i moved here myself twelve years ago,” he opens up, switching over to english as his response as to whether he can speak it. it’s hard to believe it’s been that long. less than a year and he’ll have spent equal parts of his life in san francisco and seoul. he’d spent so much of his life hung up on his birthplace, that he stills feels like he’s brand new to the city at times.

he wants to tell her that if she’s passionate about debuting, neither telling strangers she’s a bc trainee nor having coffee in public with him are the best ideas, but there again comes that pesky problem of the omission he’s committed himself to. he glances down at his wrist, an action that has no payoff when he remembers he hadn’t worn a watch today. “uh, yeah,” he says, looking up, and it’s his sympathy for her situation that makes him agree to stay in spite of his wariness of new people and socializing with strangers, “if you’re not meeting anyone. i wouldn’t want to intrude on your plans.”

ash’s words hole a sharper edge, a reality cut straight down the center to expose heartbreak for what it really is — a vessel, a cesspool of unresolved actions and what-if words dying at the tip of the tongue.

and she’s remember when she’d been one to take a backseat in perspective, no thought nor extra detour away from the first-hand account of what it feels to be cuffed, bare and raw. “do you think that kind of art, where you put your all is one that only comes once in a lifetime? or does the destruction hinder any sort of next piece work of art in line?” minjung speaks, roundabout — each word burdening the sentence that’s hard to swallow entirely. 

but for the sake of what rests, she musters up the remnants of energy left to coax herself in believing.

she props one elbow along the edge of the sofa, tucking her knees underneath, and a palm that slides over to catch her cheek. tongue in cheek, minjung pauses — lets the beat of silence click as she listens in. “so, what happens when you’re a lovelorn addict? you can hypothetically tell yourself you won’t fall into it again — but in the end, addiction takes a toll and you plop yourself right down the middle. at this point, i think it’s an incurable disease, and anyone who takes a gamble with it, falls right into its traps, knowing full heartedly it’s too late.”

at this point, it’s barreling her conscious, pulverizing it into the gashes of memories she’d rather push away. one step in, and she’s stuck — cemented in ground, knee deep in misfortunate what-ifs and second chances. (but that’s wishful thinking, and wishful thinking only ushers together a mishap of disappointment).

“i can decide to be lonely all i want, but that’s actually taking words for more than face value. sometimes the heart acts ten steps before the mind can catch up, and by then you’re too late.” her head tips towards the left, taking a pause. “and if you want another perspective — it seems they know something’s missing, so instead of waiting it out for the pieces to fall in place, they become proactive vying for a way to salvage it any way they can. in that regard, isn’t it tragic how it takes fantasy and fairy tales to catalyze the void in the real world we’re all desperately searching for?”

her question doesn’t bring forth the immediate answer he assumes it will. even veiled in metaphor the way their conversations so often go, when he speaks from experience, recollections bubble to the surface in a visual response in his mind whether he wants them to or not. this time, he has to force himself to look back. he hadn’t given his all last year. he’d dipped his foot into boiling waters and drawn back each time it hurt, only to go back until he’d inflicted burns that couldn’t be ignored.

and his last relationship? that had fallen apart because he couldn’t give as much as had been asked of him, much less his all. and if that hadn’t been his all, surely nothing else had been.

he’s silent then, for a long time, eyes looking through minjung unfocused as memories play a new movie in his mind, this one one only he can see.

“i’m not sure,” he finally says, not willing to confess out loud that he’s not the person to ask. “by nature, i don’t think people want to give their all to anything. not completely. because what’s left if you give and are given nothing back? but i like to imagine someone could do it, give their all more than once.” someone much more open than he is. “every art piece or love is once in a lifetime in its own way anyway. no one writes two songs the exact same and no one loves twice the same way.”

his own arm slides onto the couch to face her more fully, his head cocking to the side as he leans. “then... you suffer.” a humorless chuckle, far more bitter than it is amused. “addiction doesn’t reward anyone for getting wrapped up in it. it’s a sadist to the core.” the victim being a masochist only makes it worse. “the only cure is to drop by heartbreak addicts anonymous and hope for the best.” but how much could that really do past feeding the delusion love addiction could be escaped? “but to me, that sounds bound to turn into a counterproductive lonely hearts club.”

(word count: 464)

—JUNE 24, 2021.

when i got the news i was debuting, i thought in ten years, i’d be on top of the world with members i couldn’t see myself apart from. i went to sleep at night thinking of all of the stages i’d get to perform on when i debuted. people that would fall in love with the music i created. korean would finally roll off my tongue without thought and i wouldn’t ever have to ask anyone to repeat themselves or talk slower. i’d write and sing songs that lived in the hearts of people all of the world. the kinds of dreams you can only have as a trainee. it was the only way to convince myself to keep going.

i’ve debuted. almost ten years have gone by. i’ve given it the old college try.

“you say that like art has its own clear-cut rubric in black and white. monochrome and art theory are a thing of a past — so, what happens when the destruction of a sculpture becomes a work of art in its own?” minjung doesn’t mean to play devil’s advocate, doesn’t mean to be smash sand on any unresolved wounds that dig deeper into her psyche.

it’s a matter of perspective, and whether or not the aftermath tales of a broken heart serve any purpose more than the croons of melancholic love songs and whiplash nostalgia that hits her at nights on end.

(but she guesses the opposite — it’s worth nothing but the constant parade of what-ifs drowning her as she dives head first, weaving together a facade like everything’s just fine.)

her hand grazes past her cheek, propping it still as her ears pick up the brash force of what the movie relays. “love’s blinding, i guess. supposed to numb the pain in the high — but nobody ever tells you what withdrawal feels like. nobody ever explains how it feels to be oblivious to crashing head-first in a blind landing.” her words float into the air like clouds of smoke encompassing her whole, the echoes of what each missed encounter and half-spoken conversations with an anonymous silhouette holds. it renders her wayward, and now she’s gone girl, ripping apart shrivels of honesty inside roundabout glimpses.

her thumb taps against her chin, quirked. “does it always have to equal parts of emptiness for it to make you feel a faux sense of full?” wishful thinking builds a faulty base, cracked at the edges enough till it topples over. “i always thought the film focuses on the concept of soulmates and saving each other in hindsight, but given that you know the circumstances of how it’s bound to end. it’s optimism in fantasy, but i’ve found it’s impossible to salvage anything when the start all remains the same. maybe, it’s too much to try to save yourself and reassemble — maybe, we’re just meant to live with this blue and black heart and a cesspool of wasted memories.” 

“sure, but it’s all in the eye of the beholder either way. if someone puts their all into it and it’s destroyed, who could blame them for not seeing it as art anymore? and if someone barely puts effort in, maybe the never saw it as art in the first place. perspective defines everything, but everyone’s going to have a slightly different perspective. it doesn’t mean any of them are wrong.” when he thinks about it, it’s true. love isn’t something the people involved experience in the exact same way. no one experiences anything the same way. in this moment, not even he and minjung are. 

“they try to tell, but it’s not something anyone wants to pay much attention to.” hell, he’d spent a good chunk of his career, practically the entirety of his last album, trying to package what that crash feels like. people sing along, say they relate, but they go back to love over again anyway. he can’t judge. he’s guilty of the same. “we’re told not to do drugs over and over again when we’re kids. we’re told reasons why, but people still do them when they grow up. it’s human nature to not listen when the good feels so good. then, it gets bad, and for a short time, you swear to yourself you won’t go back. but it doesn’t ever really work out like that, does it?” funny, when he himself has decided dating won’t ever work out for him, that he’s done volunteering himself for the inevitable pain.

headcanon #050: ash as an infj

word count: 1,403 words

seeing him now feels the same as it had back then. like this is some secret thing that blooms forbidden between them. “you’re right, but don’t start believing you spoil me too much alright? i expect the same treatment i always get each time i’ve come, maybe you shouldn’t have been so consistent.” 

he had that way about him, that bright twinkle in his eyes and the easiness of his smiles, something both genuine and mischievous, boyish and brutal. like peter pan afraid to grow up, he’d been stuck in the rebelliousness of adolescence, he’d been overwhelmingly and impossibly rakish. don’t fall for this, she’d told herself. and then she’d gone and done it anyway. 

gyuri has a bad track record with love. if she’s being honest, she has a bad track record with most things that are not her career. perhaps the rest of her life needs to be a dumpster fire in order for her to be motivated t succeed. maybe it’s some kind of karmic balance situation. whatever the case, she knows one thing is true: yoo gyuri doesn’t suit successful love stories. 

so she calls ash.

ash gets it. gets her. she likes him. she likes his sweet face and his rough voice, the way the two don’t match up. she likes his strong arms and soft skin and his wild hair in the mornings, when he mumbles bleary words at her from around kiss bitten lips. she likes his lips too. it’s easy to remember that when she sees him like this. she sees all of him at once. the boy he’d been once, the man he was now. most of all, she likes that he’s a comfort. that they’ve never expected more of each other than what the other could give. 

“you think so?’ she teases softly, nuzzles at the line of his jaw. the wicked drawl on her lips belies the uncertainty that runs in her veins, the insecurity. with a deep breath, her hand found itself gravitating toward his; all muscle memory embedded deep into her bones, chasing the warmth and its crevices that she had memorized so long ago. as if they had been doing so all their lives, her fingers fitted perfectly with his. unconsciously, she grabbed his hand tighter, as if waiting for the support that wasn’t his to give – she had only realized her actions a split second later, and her grip relaxed somewhat. “they just don’t think it’s the right move right now, they want to keep me in dramas and soundtracks. pretty sure they’re also planning brand deals, commercial filming. anything but musicals, it seems. i’m not sure why when there’s other idols many years my junior in musicals but whatever.”

gyuri’s life is ruled, in the end, by fear. the fear of failure, the fear of despair. but her career, these days, should feel like something more. should feel like something that mattered. and it still felt less than, still felt lacking. what did satisfaction even feel like? would she recognize it, were it to descend over her like a cloud, wrap her up like a blanket? 

the question rings in between them and gyuri’s eyes are sad, when it registers. she feels like she owes him an answer even if she isn’t sure it’ll actually help. “if i’m honest, no. at certain points of my life, sure, maybe. i think once i feel that way, hollow and nothing but a shell, i’ll just,” the sentence trails off. what would she do? would she leave? would she be like ash, self destructive and finding ways for others to push him out? it’s difficult to say, to imagine a scenario she can’t see herself in. fights to never reach. “what are you going to do? just lay there and rot?”

"oh, never. even if i give you everything you ask for, you deserve more than that.” it’s earnest, because permanent impermanence has never put a stopper on that side of him when it comes to her. by their own unspoken understanding of what they are, anything he ever gives to her is a flash in the pan. breakfast in bed, affection, intimacy. despite how it may feel in the moment, nothing they exchange is wrapped in ties of exclusivity or a promised tomorrow. and that’s good when he’s so sure neither of those last for him long anyway, but he’s seen the way love has hurt her before. he’s been there to press his hands to her in hope it will stop her wounds from bleeding and wondered why her.

“should i show up at your bedside and feed you grapes from a vine? lay out the finest gold silk on the floor so your feet needn’t touch the foul, impure floor?” he’d let his sincerity linger for a moment before he breaks into jest, his arm tugging her even closer, if such a thing is possible, so he can press a fond kiss to her forehead.

he basks in the brush against his jaw, and it’s moments like these that he feels starvation for touch so deeply in his bones. it’s been months upon months since he’s been touched so freely and it’s his own fault really — or rather, the fault of years of hands reaching and grabbing against his will at airports and fan signs — that he recoils from touch from those he hasn’t trusted his body with completely. it’s a deprivation of self that leads to lowered tolerance, heightened sensitivity to the smallest displays of affection that gets him a little drunk off of something as simple as human touch.

he squeezes her hand back with instinctual reassurances and avoids pulling her into a kiss only because she’s talking. “hey,” he breathes, voice chasing after the insecurity he senses so he can turn it around and show her the truth. “i know so.” deep down, years in the industry lead to ash to know gold star won’t put her in a musical unless the payoff tops what she could be getting from having her face on television and plastered in stores. very apparent talent aside, she must be getting offers for commercials and brand deals left and right. silhouette may not be the top trend anymore, but gyuri is gorgeous. in all the obvious ways, sure, but the less obvious ways too: the light in her eyes when she’s excited, her laugh in the morning between waking kisses, and her drive for where her passion lies. “do you want to do that stuff too? the commercials, the brand deals?” he asks, shifting so he can look her in the eye. fight it now if you don’t, he thinks. it’s a losing battle either way, but retreat is easier to accept before you’ve sacrificed everything.

romance is for schmucks.

is what she wants to say out loud — but then, she’d be painted as a hypocrite time and time again when history presents the obvious opposite. so, instead she manages something in the in-between, a half-hearted smile. “by that logic, romance is merely art — some the creators, while others the buyers.” 

it’s the reserve for the buyers club of broken hearts she’s written in her books, herself the main culprit. it’s the foraging of each and every trace, hint lining humans in red. “self-made in the sense you force everything, twisting them around in that red line hoping you keep them fashioned in that moment in set time. yet, when you blink and close your eyes to open, you realize they’ve slipped out and all the force used has been nothing but empty energy when they fade away.” minjung lets the words sit in the silence, a pause — to hit a notch down when it hits too close to home. “at that point, i ask this too many times, is it really worth it when you put your heart and soul into forcing it only to realize it’s a concept, figment of make-believe. a part of art rather than reality?”

soulmates, and she’s constantly back and forth between calling the line at bullshit and miserably clinging on to a fraction of her past. yet, it all ends up shattering — leaving her drawn and lost smack dab in the middle of an ocean, drowning. 

the undertow comes in the crash of his words — ending scene. her smile blurs down, dulls gray and thin.

“what i think is, so many strings, all forged together — why? it’s what we make of it. force each string, add on more at different hues of red hoping one stays.” minjung begins, hugging her knees to her chest, chin pressed on top. “but in reality — one person cuts it off, and it’s over. then, i’ve come to realize — if fate in red strings were real, it wouldn’t be so easy for one person to cut off. it’d stay intact, so at this point, it feels like we’re clinging onto something transient hoping that believing in it will be enough to make it permanent. but that’s not ever the case, is it?” 

“it’s like any other art. anyone can attempt some basic form of it. some are better than others and some avoid it entirely. you can indulge in it for your own happiness, or seek to do it in a way that will earn the most approval from others. it works best as a collaborative art, but it doesn’t have to be. one party can bring their best materials to the table while the other brings their shabbiest and the sculpture falls apart in the end because of it.” it’s nearing a year since he’d trampled on his own heart and he likes to think it’s mending. that he’s able to talk about this so matter-of-factly at all could be a sign that it is.

the things minjung has said over the past few months have piled up and, less caught in his own web at the moment, he thinks he sees the halo of heartbreak around her. assumptions are always a dangerous thing to make, but such cynicism doesn’t blossom from a smooth path or an unmarred history.

“it hurts,” he says simply, a shrug and averted eyes accompanying it, “like nothing else does. red string turns noose or slices you right down the center of your chest. but there’s a reason love has been compared to drugs for eons. you’re not thinking about the inevitable crash when you’re high.” ash looks up to the screen again, thinking about all the times when he’s watched it before, whether he was in love or heartbroken or somewhere in between. “love is... i guess, the first time i ever saw this movie, i liked it so much because i liked the idea that that emptiness is there for a reason. that there’s someone out there with a matching emptiness.” he still does deep down, if he’s being honest, but he’s wise enough now to know it’s a stupid idea. “but the truth is, you just feel a little emptier every time you find someone and realize theirs isn’t the same as yours.”

to be alone: a soundtrack for a reprieve [spotify]

at first, silence is the only sound ash wants when he first starts visiting his new place in jeju. after all, that’s why he’d taken up the getaway house in the first place: to find peace and quiet the middle of seoul can’t offer him. silence means being left alone with his thoughts, though, and  no matter how much help he’s seeking, there are times he needs more than that ringing in his ears and he turns the bluetooth stereo in his kitchen on for background noise. he doesn’t create a carefully-curated playlist like he once would have; instead, this playlist functions more as a picture of a line of songs that might appear on an algorithmically generated playlist after a lot of feedback from ash to work with.

okay so i’m looking for a muse who would be down to claim akmu’s hey kid, close your eyes for release next year with ash (once it’s officially released + the submit is open of course)!

i know there’s two female vocals on the song but the call is for one for suhyun’s part first because, having mentioned possible collab albums for ash in 2022 previously (i’m thinking maybe one in summer and one in late fall?), i’m interested in seeing if someone might want to build a collab mini or full album with this song? akmu’s upcoming album the song is off of is something we could look at for sure but other songs from other artists/albums would be more than welcome.

i was thinking it’d be around the idea of more reflective / thought-provoking lyrical content and concepts they want to talk about, basically stuff that isn’t exclusively sexy songs/bubblegum romance (nothing wrong with that — just not what ash wants for this). probably very visual-based/mv-heavy too like akmu’s album is supposed to be, even if we don’t use a lot of songs off that album. i have a couple ideas, but it’d be a pair effort to decide what works and what doesn’t !

like i said in my update post, i’d want it to be with someone ash could be close to at the time (but this doesn’t mean they have to be close now — just that that can be developed toward and the idea could come fairly naturally and not be something manufactured by their companies) and ash would be involved with the writing/production, while the other muse can be, but doesn’t have to!

if no one’s down for that, i’d still be interested in claiming it as a non-promoted single though!

release date would be in june or july! could maaaybe push it to early august but june or july would work better imo

(point split for a non-promoted single would probably be 10/9/9, while point split for a collab mini or full could be discussed between a 50%/50% split and a 75%/25% split and i’d be willing to take the bigger contribution on uneven splits)

STYLE → HIATUS EDITION

ash has grown to care more about his own personal style over the years, but fashion has always been a very performative form of self-expression to him. how he looks is an expression of how he wants to appear to others and, at times, one of the most obvious ways for him to regain autonomy. in a world where he was never seen and never interacted with anyone else, he’d still be found behind a piano to connect with his emotions. style on the other hand? it wouldn’t be unlikely to find him cycling through different colors of the same t-shirt and sweatpants if what he’s wearing can’t convey anything to anyone else.

Jiah would like to think that she had a career with no previous incidents and occasions when she didn’t take her experience for granted, and always followed the necessary precautions to avoid injuries. It’s not the case. Not even close. And at Taeyong’s reminder to never take things like warming-up for granted, she’s reminded instantly of a personal experience years ago, when she didn’t do it and had suffered the consequences of dancing in heels for an hour without proper preparation. She doesn’t care about masking that from the cameras and just hisses while she tilts her head to the side as they finish their caution notice.

Jiah is very focused, or as much as she can manage to be while doing a stream, with one of the members of a very popular boy group. She listens carefully to his words, and although she’s still in position, she tries her best to relax her muscles since she at least knows that being tense in this type of situation just makes things more difficult.

Jiah adjusts her stance as she looks at Taeyong doing the same, and there are a few things that she remembers hearing from her previous training and follows her instinct, but she’s mostly being a good student. “Also, this is a mistake that I used to do when I was younger, and I think it’s just instinctual for some people,” she shows up her fist and hides her thumb inside her closed palm, “you’ll break your thumb and hurt your hand if you punch something with your fist like this. So instead,” and, she opens her hand again and does it the proper way this time, “like this, you’re less prone to injury yourself, I suppose, but I’m sure Taeyong-ssi is more qualified to talk about it.”

“she’s right,” ash confirms to their invisible audience. “that could be bad news, especially when you start to punch heavy bags or if you ever get in a real boxing ring against somebody. always keep safety in mind. that’s what’s most important.” he’s parroting what his instructor had told him now. “getting the stance down is the foundation of being a good boxer, but there’s a whole world of technique behind actually throwing punches.”

ash holds up his arm to the camera to show off a better look at his fist. “you don’t want to break your thumb, but remember that your whole body is involved in throwing a punch, too, and a wrist or shoulder injury won’t be any fun either. when you hit an object, there’s a force that acts right back against you, so make sure you’ve prepared your body to take that force.” he throws out a slow-motion punch in the air on a diagonal so he’s not punching toward jiah or the camera, and he redirects his instructions from the camera, as he’d been giving them, to jiah.