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hot commodity.
+ Detail your character doing a variety show appearance ; @idjowi. + 5 exp. + 5 perf.Â
summer means two things.
heat and a comeback.
usually ryujin was down for both. a little extra sun. longer days. less layers. the chance to perform. to sing because he liked singing then. nowadays heâs a little more reluctant. clothes stuck to his skin. he prefers the night. a layer kind of guy. and performing. well, that required too much energy and in this heat? no way.
which one does he dislike the most? both. equally. least he gets paid for one of them.Â
he shuffles backstage in hair less vibrant because a comeback draws near, and he canât be seen in something so last season. so heâs orange now. and it is the new black. besides, the shade matches. marigold sunsets. glowing tans. the blazing sun centre of a cloudless, blue sky. (he has on icy blue contacts. thinks itâs exotic. thinks it suits him and the fantastical image he embodies.) heâs the sun he likes to think. zeus canât be less than captivating. itâs less about the comeback and more about himself. his time to shine. even though ryujin lacks drive. focus. and heâs battling the urge to fall asleep as he enters a dressing room.
because of all the members in olympus, he just had to be picked for hello counsellor. to listen to problems he wonât give a shit about but will have to pretend he knows sympathy for the unfortunate. which idiot thought this was a good idea. sucks not everyone can be him.
promotions also means two things.
random guestings and running into familiar faces.
it doesnât surprise him jowiâs there. the new it girl. sheâs everywhere, and itâs almost sickening. he finds himself changing channels when she appears just because sheâs san friend, and they donât get along.
for the most part. he likes to pretend those tense moments between them donât exist. that things have been strictly pg.
âwow, to whom do i owe this great honour to. me on the same episode as thee famous aj, iâm humbled.â ryujin jests, voice purposefully sweet, sugary and revolting. he has a hand to his heart but pretends to gag with the other. âand i thought today was going to be boring as fuck. guess youâre good enough to keep me entertained.â
all that glitters is not gold.
idsungki:
it takes him nearly thirty minutes (twenty-eight, his brain quips dryly) to find ryujin backed to a corner, his expression amused. sungkiâs eyebrows lift and an incredulous smile curves the corners of his lips a notch. what the fuck is that? the fuck was on his face? âyah,â he calls, loud enough to be heard from two feet away, the distance closing with every stride he takes. heâs full-out grinning by the time he reaches ryujinâs side, a finger reaching out to trail down his cheek, coming away dusted in gold. âwhatâs with the glitter? what are youâa chic tinkerbell?â
he doesnât sleep without drinking at least one pint of grey goose. anything to distort. even if the buzz is below radar. ryujin isnât addictive, no. he has a schedule. a routine he follows by the book and not. itâs complicated; heâs complicated. but when sungki calls at witching hour, heâs decided. strobe lights. bass too loud. too many people crammed like sardines. his type of shit. a bonus with a friend or someone arguably so. he likes sungki. values him. sees the differences, but it works out, oddly. he doesnât know why, but ryujin doesnât question it. lets fate pull the strings. lets bygones be bygones or whatever. ryujin doesnât dwell. doesnât try to make sense of what doesnât.
but he does wander aimlessly. the colours get to him. the bewitching reds and blinding blues. for once ryujin feels under-dressed. that the sequined, rainbow shirt and ripped jeans are dull and mundane. that his lime green hair and neon yellow nails are underwhelming. maybe itâs himâof course itâs just him. heâs predisposed to being eccentric. a type of maverick that demands attention and sulks without it. he wonât let anything upstage him. not the mess of humid bodies and the lights that glaze over glistening skin. ryujin stumbles into a corner, approaches some girls applying glitter to their eyes in the manic darkness and asks for one or more. definitely more.
so when sungki finds him. goads at the unicorn that vomited on his cheeks in splendid gold (how fitting), ryujin musters a drunken grin. âi love glitter, iâm not a quitter.â and that doesnât make sense, but when does he ever. he laughs. shoulders shake and jive, and he offers a drink of red and orange with those candied cherries he hates some girls bought him because theyâre fans, and they promise they wonât tell anyone they saw him here tonight. (âtell the world,â he almost says. but he bites his tongue, nods because he remembers scandals arenât for everyone.)Â
âdo you want some?â he means the holographic freckles sprinkled on his face. âwe can match.â as if thatâs an incentive to sing merrily over the thrum of edm.
action.
idjunhai:
thereâs not that many words pulling at junhaiâs tongue in front of ryujin in a plead to come out. maybe because he hasnât got any opinion on the member. or maybe it was that he didnât have that much to say to any of the members. either way, a question comes up only after a few filters are changed, landscape is set and the title is filled with a âwe hope this is working because the wifi isnât great k k kâ. âso how do you want to do this?â torso shifting towards ryujin, his forearm rests on top of the softness of the couch, eyes set on the other as if he was waiting for orders. âdo we just say we decided to hang out after practice or is that not convincing enough?â
itâs been a while.
ryujin canât remember when he last did a v live. canât remember when itâs just him and junhai or if itâs ever been just them talking to a camera about stuff for fanservice or whatever. but it makes sense to have one now. a comeback is near. some sort of summery one for the season. he doesnât like it. he doesnât like being thrown back into a group more dysfunctional than functional. where they have to play up this bond that doesnât exist. some days he doesnât mind. ryujin acts his role well. the free-spirited one. and thatâs putting it nicely. today is one of those days. junhai is tolerable. minimal words. knows his place. ryujin likes him or he thinks he does. they donât butt heads like he and san, but they donât get together after work like he and roman. an in-between relationship. almost diplomatic. the concrete definition of colleagues. work buddies.
he doesnât mind. ryujin pulls the handle of the fridge, bends his body to scour for a drink. he ends up with a water bottle to be safe although he wants something equally clear but highly more chaotic. the vodka can wait afterwards. he wanders to the living room, twists open the cap and lets water trickle down his throat. not sore or dry from practice because he took it easier than he should have. laziness, really. if anyone askes, his excuse is that heâs saving it for the comeback. main vocalist and all.
dropping his weight on the floor, ryujin crosses his legs and watches junhai work. doesnât offer to help because he canât. his cheek is on an upturned hand, eyes glazed in disinterest. he and junhai donât talk a lot. well, he does but junhai doesnât. which he actually appreciates. gives ryujin plenty of them to gab on about himself. and yes, he realizes he babbles. but old habits die hard, and he doesnât fancy changing anytime soon.
he reduces to a laugh. the kind that shows his pink gums and white teeth. âtheyâll believe anything we say.â maybe. arguably. theyâre not one of the more well-known ships. ryujin hates coining that term but truth is hard to unsee. he and junhai are a random pair. âwe can say that. and we can say we missed them and wanted to check up on them. ask if theyâve seen the car safety video we did. tell them to stay cool and hydrated. all that bullshit that makes them think we care. and weâre sweet. and weâll get posts on pann or tweets on twitter. the whole she-bang.â the tricks of the trade, really. too long in the industry, and ryujin knows them too well. manipulates them even better.
 idkisol:
It begins innocently enough. Kisol doesnât think much of it as he begins the dance to Signal, proudly knowing the choreography as a Honey fanboy. Though the loud laughter and beaming grin on his face are immediately replaced with an expression of grave regret when Lina steps into view. Her gaze briefly flickers upon Ki the exact moment his foot gets caught against the grip of the flooring and he trips over himself. Â
   His face burns scarlet.
perhaps theyâre caught by now. perhaps some fans are fantasizing strange, peculiar, abstract dreams in subtle lilac and pinks. perhaps ryujinâs too busy trying to analyze what goes on in othersâ minds that he moves to slow to lift his head from kisolâs lap. heâs on the ground for one, two, threeâseconds before he rolls to his side, rests his hand on his palm like some awaiting king to be hand fed grapes. the touches on his nape ghost as a remainder, and ryujin brushes nails against his scalp to quell the itch and lets green hair stick up in multiple angles.
heâs nothing but shameless, and itâs only amplified with kisol around. with kisol serving as some muse for his eccentricities to run unfiltered. but ryujin keeps the tendrils at bay. keeps them tucked away and swept under the rug because the sun is too bright. and there are far too many people he doesnât trust.
âorange is a nice colour. so nice, they named a fruit after it.â lame joke equal lame, pathetic laughter, and ryujin isnât marginally disappointed with his joke. thinks itâs ingenius or something close. witty, maybe. âi donât know your type. care to divulge.â the smile is knowing. sharp and sinister. fingers tap on the bone of his jaw. âin a name. better be moon ryujin.â
he prepares with his phone. aims it at kisol without hindrance and swallows any snickers. âi think you and i will be stuck together forever. at this rate we might as well take over the world.â scary thing is, heâs half serious and joking but ryujin is mostly focusing on kisol and the silly dance he commences. too busy laughing, enjoying himself to notice the blunder until kisol pauses too abruptly to be natural.
ryujin blinks, pauses then tips his head to see kisol flushed in mortification. âwhatâs up with you? youâre all red. do you have a sunburn?â he doesnât see the reason for a blunder. only eyes kisol with a mix of curiosity and maybe the slightest bit of concern somewhere woven in his face. in the purse of his lips. in the every breath he exudes.Â

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liaison.
idsuran:
his double layered comment doesnât go unnoticed, and her brow arches artfully. âiâd be here one way or another.â and she would be, if she had to step over the metaphorical bodies of her groupmates just to get signed for a solo to save her career. that was her end goal anyway, and god knew she could do it. or at least, she knew she could do it.
once his hand falls, ryujin shifts back into an position of authority. personnel that exudes confidence and grandeur. legs crossed, chin rested on an upturned hand, single finger incessantly tapping against the pinnacle of a cheekbone. he examines bystanders over suranâs head. past the wisps of her hair billowing in the faint breeze that only brings with it acrid warmth. the sun burns the air before it singes them. (apply sunscreen every three hours.) who saw the brief touch. who noticed and is brave enough to persecute. no one does (he thinks). theyâre too far. too blocked by the monochrome shade of the beach umbrella. sad its only purpose is to be stabbed through patches of drying grass now.
sports day is two things: a waste of time and dating grounds. and if theyâre not dating, itâs only a waste of time. ryujin doesnât involve himself running like a dog to some filmsy ribbon for a record only to run again two more times. he doesnât leap over a pit of sand and hope wings sprout from his back to take him further. there are too many idols jammed in place one. too many others he has to share the limelight with. today, ryujin doesnât bother.
at least with his shades on he looks unfazed. âwhat do the companies really get from this? everyone forgets by the next weekend.â there has to be a purpose, but ryujin sees none. clips of winners, of losers cycle through social media for two days. tops. then vanishes. come next holiday, they do the same thing... again. nothing changes. theyâre stuck in a rut.
some glamourized life of a famous person this is turning into.
âarchery...â he repeats but nothing comes to mind. âif you were hot, iâll see it replayed thrice as it airs.â because suranâs hot commodity. and korean networks are notorious for gratuitous replays people get sick and tired of. but he wonât get bored of her. well, not anytime soon (again), anyway. âthatâs the type of shit i like to hear. ambitious.â he doesnât like self-pity. doesnât like sympathy. so ryujin gives none. instead he praises where itâs due: suranâs never give up gusto. he likes that. finds it endearing enough to crook a smile.
G-Dragon in Letâs Not Fall In Love for anonymous đ§Ą
 idkisol:
   A smirk to match, he heeds the instructions of the Olympus member and sits down before him, legs crossed, close to knocking knees. âOh please,â he rolls his eyes, jokingly fanning himself as if the subtle flirtatious remarks have set his face into a blazing heat and reddish hues to match. âArenât you aware? Black is just my color,â Kisol smirks, âbrooding and mysterious, itâs fitting to the Romeo image, donât you think? I donât wanna look soft, I gotta look like a charismatic bad-boy everyone wants a piece of. Blond? Thatâs cute,â he teases, fingers brushing through the inky strands that curl to his face in their midnight shades. Thatâs not me. âYou should seriously consider joining me. As hot as you may look rocking the lime and apple head looks, I donât know how many fruits you got left to rob before you go bald, and I sort of like you better with some hair on your head,â Kisol jokes, a wink accompanying his compliment before his gaze narrows and his lips tug into a grin. He shifts his body forth to mimic Ryujin, and sets his chin in the palm of his hands, gaze holding his expectantly.
he doesnât have the luck of having many close friends who stay. who have his back. who can tolerate his bigger than life personality and ego. but he has kisol (and sungki), and itâs quality versus quantity. ryujin wasnât built on the foundation of loyalty (but royalty). in his life time shy of three decades (yikes), heâs betrayed as many casual friends as heâs made. kisolâs not one of them, though. not someone ryujin can turn his back on. this is family, right. at least some semblance of it. being there for one another through thick and thin. their friendship isnât a romanticized bond or anything close to. nothing pure. nothing bordering at heavenâs door. theyâre flawed. they accept one another. all that matters.
ryujin rests his head on kisolâs shoulders. not fanservice. not something to get an article written about them. but out of comfort. out of basking in theâalbeit annoyingâpresence of someone he enjoys. a smile pioneers, makes home on his façade, and itâs almost sweet if not for the words that materialize. âiâm aware orange is the new black. i was thinking of thatââ he traps a strand of fluttering lime hair between manicured fingers. ââorange. going back to orange. makes me look soft. angelic.â all they arenât, but ryujin still feigns to be.
well, itâs one of his many, endearing sides.
âmatches summer, too.â
laughter dances on the ends of his shoulders, arms shaking as he admires kisolâs face up close. none of his touches are shy. theyâre boldâgetting bolder as he cups kisolâs face and angles it to get a good look. maybe this is for show. âromeo, a charismatic bad boy that falls for a sweet girl his family opposes of. do you see anyone here that fits that description.â their eyes lock, and ryujinâs grins impishly with his as he lets go on kisolâs chin and lays his head on his lap. âi gotta use my hair before military service. whenever that may be. besides, black is your colour. it suits you more than it does me. but if you convince me enoughâtell me with aegyo or while dancing to a honey song, i may consider it.â now this is definitely for show.
idkisol:
   âOuch, Ryu!â Kisol dramatically utters, face pulled into a frown as he clutches his chest, âCanât believe youâd dare to go for my amazing ass when you can barely reach my shoulder,â he teases, that familiar shit-eating grin curving onto his features as his gaze narrowed into an amused pair of crescents. âI was just drawn over by it, to be completely honest. Itâs quite blinding, I just couldnât ignore? Do you plan to hit up cherry next? Or Apple? Apple head, see, thatâs a cute name, who needs Zeus when you can just be adorably called by a fruit?â He was beyond shameless, exaggerating remarks and joyous chuckles escaping his mouth without a second of hesitation. Thatâs what friendship was. Unrestricted, non-judgemental, and blatantly honest.
how dramatic.
it was almost cute.
ryujin smirks, and maybe his thoughts are obvious for a split second before the corners of his lips straighten. almost droop. kisol can be charming, he'll give them that. but they're idols. being charming comes with the job. an unsaid prerequisite. he slouches forward, chin perfectly nested in the upturned palm of his hand. his mouth is now pressed slanted. practically a sarcastic sneer as he eyes kisol up and down then flares his nostrils once the sun blinds him. âsit down.â he pats the empty space next to him. not an order but a suggestion because he neck was starting to ache.
a small part of him wishes to be on poizn's team. on any other team. jawbreaker and imperial are too boring---nice. roman and junhai are tolerable, but he isn't in the mood to hype the nonexistent bond within olympus. besides suran and cheol, there is barely anyone he wants to converse with. anyone worth a few of his words; they are sacred---he's sacred so he isn't pestered by jabs at his lack of height. makes him cuter (than kisol). suits the impish personality on the fifth side of his dice. same goes with colourful hair. all part of the image. all part of him. a package sort of deal of bright shades, traits. better than being generic.
âi'm an ass guy.â double-meaning glistens, and ryujin fits his knuckles against his cheeks to hide a quaint smile. this is no place for inappropriate comments. anyone can hear, get back to his manager, and he'll hear a mouthful from his company. as much as ryujin bedazzles his collar, olympus are still on leashes. âi've done red,â bored, he drawls. the chipped polish on his nails provide better intrigue. âi've done practically every colour. maybe you should consider something else other than black. go back to blond. anything works with your face.â
he doesn't fight fire with fire. that isn't part of his charm. ryujin delivers compliments. places others on pedestals only to knock them down. which isn't the case with kisol. kisol is a friend. someone he values to an extent. mischievous words and all.
idkisol:
   Approaching with a knowing and casual smirk printed to his cerise lips, he jogs over lightly, a hand stuffed in his pocket, slowing his pace as he nears. (Heâll need to run in a moment so he wonât get too close.) âYah, Ryujin!â Kisol calls out cockily, watching Ryuâs gaze snap immediately onto his approaching figure. A chuckle threatens to bubble from his throat, cutting off what heâs to say next, but he swallows it down harshly, suppressing it for the actual punchline. (Whether or not the Olympus member agrees, Kisol thinks heâs hilarious.) âStill sticking to that lime head look, huh? Are you planning on robbing all the fruits of their jobs?â he inquires with laughter igniting the edge of his question.
the sports festival, such a bonafide waste of time.
ryujin has to stifle twenty-threeâhis jaw stretches, mouth wide as a yawn trails in the hot, open airâtwenty-four yawns and the shitastic day had only begun. there are probably fan-accounts of him being bored, being utterly disrespectful for not paying attention to their beloved oppas and unnies as the aforementioned run around after some ball like mindless idiots pretending it was fun to be there the entire day, sweat the entire day. that is exactly why ryujin doesnât participate. heâs idle on the sidelines, legs stretched in front of him.
heâs in white, how terribly bland but it helps serve as a canvas for his hair too bright. pinching a strand, ryujin surveys the colour and frowns. itâs fading and fading fast. as perspiration trickles down his nape, ryujin is paranoid the green stains the neckline of the sponsored shirt. he doesnât care for the material but of his image. moon ryujin aka zeus will not look like a slob in front of hundreds and have it immortalized online because shit like that happens nowadays.
his chin is in his palm as he wipes the back of his neck with his free hand, thinking it will stop the bleeding green. mind floating on how to spend the evening (maybe with drinks, maybe with company), ryujin sets his eyes elsewhere and lets his guard down. shoulders sloped and boredom heavy on eyelids, he doesnât see kisol coming, doesnât notice him before that voice rings.
and a nerve snaps, jaw clenched. âyahââ itâs not the lack of honorifics that sets him off because their age gap was practically nonexistent but it was that voice: mischievous and badgeting. ryujin knows whatâs coming. kisol has a habit of teasing him, of testing his limits.
âwhat do you want? are you just here to make fun of my hair?â and he took offense in regards to the visuals he praises himself for. staring at kisol with more metallic life in his gaze, ryujin sneered. âiâm gonna kick your ass if you do.â no, not really, but empty threats gets the point across: he likes his hair.

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on the house.
friday night in july ; @idxrmn.
he likes drinks like he likes his friday nights: alcoholic.
moon ryujin flourishes under strobe-lights of blue and red reflected by some outdated disco ball. itâs his definition of fun. but tonight is different. tonight his dull green hair (fading, in need of fresh paint) isnât bobbing to a bass too loud, but in his eyes as he downs his... what, sixth or seventh shot. he doesnât keep count, doesnât remember which tipped glass is his or romanâs. but does it matter.
the pub is less frantic, less noisy, less crammed of people. while he suffers without someone handing him attention like it was air to his lungs, ryujin is eerily solace in the dark, dingy atmosphere of a hole-in-wall bar he stumbled in one night. which became many, and he eventually hauled romanâs ass to after schedules for olympus. ryujin figured they both need it. well, at least he does, and thatâs all the really matters. (himself.)
roman is good company. someone ryujin considers a friend. out of their group, roman might be the only one. thatâs fine. the sole time moon ryujin doesnât vy for attention is when heâs stuck with just olympus doing whatever it is theyâre forced to participate in: the fuckery of idol sports day and the ridiculous safety campaign for drivers because olympus is perfect for that.
whatever gets them paid, though. kaching, kaching.
and hits, articles, comments on naver and pann. maybe twitter if it reaches that extensively. (and it should because it involves him.) all those upvotes, reblogs, likes. the modern age.
laughter bubbles for no apparent reason, and ryujin hiccups. a sign heâs enjoying himself much too much, but the drinks are on the house courtesy of bartender he befriended. this is networking, this is business not rehearsing some speech about the importance or seatbelts the bulk wonât listen nor adhere to
because fans will talk about their visuals more than the message. but thatâs not ryujinâs problem.
âroman, my ro-man. tell me whatâs up. enthuse me with stories.â horrible jokes and willing to listen another voice but his own? moon ryujin is drunk.
precautions.
idohsan:
ryujinâs fingers dig in at his cheek, and san blinks an eye shut. something that will still manage to read cute if anyone snaps a picture. he still stiffens, lets out an annoyed huff of air through his nose. nobodyâs close enough to hear them. âjust fuck off for five minutes, wonât you? wait until theyâre filming at least.â it slips out in a hiss, quiet, just in case. sanâs always been paranoid. âyouâre giving me a headache. just shut up.â
there is no in-between when it comes to ryujin. an extremist, being in the middle isnât the scene he thrives in. heâs either at one end or the other. generally, people view him in similar light: love him or hate him, not both. never both.
moon ryujin isnât easy to like.
he learned this in school when classmates didnât kiss his pretentious ass like everyone else. must be something wrong with the water they drank, ryujin accused with a condescending smile that only pushed people alway. he didnât get it. why were others harder to please, why did he have to try for them to even so much give him a second glance.
his obsession with attention starts early on. what may be considered a vice, ryujin considers a virtue. pride is never a positive asset. it comes in askew smiles of maverick origin; it comes in the shape and form if moon ryujin.
he works with pride. if before he used it as motivation to complete ambitions goals, nowadays itâs what has him coasting. heâs much too prideful to do anything but judge, but crack derisive jokes no one laughs at (he does, though) and get under skin of those so easily irritable.
san has a temper, and ryujin takes advantage of it. he doesnât retreat when heâs supposed to, he doesnât give san his space although he canât stand being in his presence, and itâll benefit both if they seperate. cats and dogs. somehow the combination has proved adorable for whatever logic ryujin doesnât fathom and wonât bring himself to.
involving san, he doesnât bother knowing beyond surface level. they should be close, brothers-in-arms, but theyâre not. ryujin knows nothing of san besides heâs some manic workaholic that steps on his toes and throws dramatic fits every once in a whileâpossibly. frankly, thatâs all ryujin needs to know and even that is too much.
but members.
what can he do about it, but make the most if the circumstance and getting san tick. because annoying him is hell of a lot easier than getting along. much smoother on the stomach, too.
ryujinâs shoulders shake, laughter a choppy breeze. radio static, almost. he pats sanâs cheek, sees where it flushes red from pressure (or irritation, he canât). âisnât that sweet. you want a repeat for the cameras. if it makes your bossy ass happy, iâll oblige for once.â because they argued recently about work ethtics or ryujinâs lack-there-of. the folded speech arranged by a manager that trusts him little hidden in a back pocket is a testament to that. (smart man.)
connection ceases, but ryujin lingers, feet stuck on concrete. âthatâs no way to talk to your hyung, sannie.â voice hoarse, it scratches at his throat with fake melody. what pleases him bothers him, too.
see, no in-between.
liaison.
idsuran:
âhas anyone mentioned, yet, that you are in fact not actually zeus?â she begins with a look of utmost sincerity, âi donât want to be the one to burst your bubble, sunbaenim, but youâve got to understand that you are not in fact an immortal deity, king amongst gods, and are instead justâŚ.a man.â her cheek dimples, lips tilting lopsided. âanyway, itâs nice to chat. are you having the time of your life out here in the sweltering summer sun? â
compliance, ryujin likes that shit.Â
 when someone listens to him, heeds his words (commands), follows his advice (orders), his ego doubles in stature. dangerous, suffocating but his head remains straight (albeit mildly crooked) on cocky, loose shoulders. ryujin carries himself with an air of supremacy, thinks heâs above everyone else, that heâs special. he is, he is. his parents donât fail to remind him, his fans donât fail to support it---him in all his eminence.Â
eminence, he likes that word. brings a shrewd smirk onto pursed lip.Â
and ryujin likes his herd all the same: behemoth in talent, in charm, in giving him something for his psyche.Â
head thrown back, ryujin laughs sharply. he hears through the static, through the claim suran provides with what he defines as ersatz altruism. canât bother him. canât wipe the smug expression off his face. itâs something he was born to wear.Â
âyou underestimate me, love.â calling others that, segregating them by nicknames and twisted charms is ryujinâs scheme. âas if i think iâm really zeus. if i did, iâll strike you down with a bolt of lightning.â cheek in palm, his free hand breaks territory and pats suran knee twice. who the fuck cares if anyone witnessed, if fans in the stadium are gasping with shock. this can be played off easily. ryujinâs a master.Â
a friendly sunbaenim giving a proficient hoobae advice for her second debut.Â
might get an article written somewhere.Â
might go viral online.Â
the dream.Â
no one can know itâs an imperious bloke making the most of the situation. discreet touches, sly eye contact.Â
iso ryujin lets his hand linger, lets his smile grow bold and challenging. âhaving the time of my life?â he laughs again from the heart, from the gut. it slices through air, nose crinkled in potent delight. âthis is absolute fuckery, and i wouldnât be caught dead here if it werenât for the fans.â saccharine, achingly sweet and all lies. yet something else ryujin is skilled in.
but they all are world class con-artists. he sees through suran, has a glimpse of why sheâs there, why she lingers and remains. beneficial. the same reason why he beckons her over. but to kill boredom, too. âyou must be happy being here---still being here.â double meaning.
liaison.
isac ; @idsuran.
the heat gets to him, but moon ryujin is a master of disguise. so to the cameras, to the audience high in bleachers and melting under a sun too acute, heâs some green-haired prince charming. think shrek, but beautiful on the outside and horrible on the inside. he doesnât watch the events, lets his eyes linger on a certain sport and pretends heâs wholly interested when heâs really not. this, tiring themselves out for a meager medal is beneath him. running, sweating---all a vapid waste of energy ryujin barely participates in. if anything, heâs a glorified cheerleader.Â
go, white, go.Â
how mundane, but at least his hair stands out. so by default he attracts attention. but heâs moon ryujin, of course he catches eyes. what will he be without that. (nothing.)
heâs under a lone umbrella, protecting himself in a circle of shade. glasses cover eyes that pursue familiar faces and strangers alike mixed in a fruit basket of white, yellow and pink. none really intrigue him, none really spark curiosity to quell his boredom. he can yawn, doze off, get a pann article written about his lazy behaviour but too childish, too harebrained. he thinks of something else---of someone else when she lingers not too far away in a matching tunic.Â
jawbreaker on the same team provides a sense of folly. better than imperial. better than olympus. the group itself is a thing of fascination. questions buzz.Â
with the seat next to his empty, a throne awaits royalty or debauchery, and ryujin lifts a hand to his mouth. âsuran-ah!â not loud, not demanding but sweetly silver-tongued. âkeep me company. iâm bored!â this is a grouse from a man with a terrible sense of entitlement and a need to have someone feeding his ego. for whatever reason, suran does that. and ryujin is foolish, greedy, he takes what heâs offered without caution.Â
or maybe a little.Â
suran intrigues him. this is round two. despite the ending of round one, a sequel materializes. why, he should be asking, but instead ryujin pats the empty plastic seat next to him and smiles expectantly, the corner of his lips meeting his eyes.

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precautions.
schedule prompt ; @idohsan. + 5 exp. + 5 skill.
heâs in some monotone white polo tucked onto a pair of khaki slacks. equally boring, equally uninteresting, both sides of the same coin. ryujin hates anything insipid. tasteless, bland, vapid. similar words, really. but all sum up what he feels.Â
about the entire culture campaign.
a bore, a pain in the neck.Â
there are a plethora of things heâd rather be doing: drinking somewhere with people he values enough as friend, smoking somewhere with perhaps the same companions for the hell of it. but heâs out here, in the middle of a parking lot under the blazing sun. he ignores everyone, minds his own business. for once in his life, ryujin isnât trying to steal the show. heâs being attended to, anyway. someoneâs fanning recycled, hot air into his face. thus, irritation doubles.Â
worst part of all, heâs stuck playing nice with the rest of olympus. yeah yeah, ryujin gets it. he wonât be anywhere without them. yadayadayada. he gives them their due, credit for launching his name into the limelight, in glorified neon-lights. but he wonât thank them for it, for anything at all. itâs his pride that gets the better of him, keeps him silent when heâs naturally outspoken.Â
these days ryujinâs abnormally tame. although, thatâs relative. his definition of domestic is askew. most of his answers are. heâs someone hard to get along with, and he doesnât try to make it any easier. so when the director mulls on about the vision is he has for safe automobile promotional video, droning words flow in one ear and out the other as ryujin fans himself.Â
itâs hot. theyâre outdoors with measly shade supplied by assistants and managers holding umbrellas. ryujin rolls his eyes behind sunglasses nearly too large for his face. he doesnât want to do this, doesnât want to be cramped in a car bathing in the sunlight with san talking about the importance of seat-belts and pretending---acting like he cares about any of this because he doesnât give a shit at all.
but when his make-up is fixed, a powder puff to the tip of his nose, ryujin behaves with a sickeningly cute smile directed at san. apparently, theyâre popular when together, and that should be capitalized on. ryujin understands. commercialism at its finest. so ryujn commits to whatâs necessary to make this entire experience less of a nuisance and more enjoyable.
for him.Â
because he and san donât get along. on paper, they should. theyâre members of the same group they dislike. but utopia is all make-believe while real life is clenched jaws, fists and pretending it---Shangri-la exists.
âisnât this great? weâre lumped together.â teeth gritted, ryujin breaches personal space and pinches sanâs cheek. âagain.âÂ
Cuteness overload.ďź*/âďźź*ďź