idmiji-blog

[idmiji-blog]

balance

isac solo, rhythm gymnastics

rhythm gymnastics had been something miji had agreed to do simply because it played to her strengths, that and she’d prefer to hang around with jowi. in reality? rhythm gymnastics weighed heavily on, well, actual gymnastics. but in isac the reality of it was obfuscated by dance, because that’s what most everyone did and most companies realized it was idiotic to have any idols that, by chance, had a background in gymnastics to go around doing anything strenuous for the sake of a possible (not guaranteed) spike in popularity. injury compared to a chance usually ended up in favor of playing it safe.

idols know how to dance, so that’s essentially what it turns into. dance with a ribbon. dance with a ball. wear something sparkly, look elegant. and miji can do that well enough. she has a background in dance, after all, something that’s different from most of the other girls. something that doesn’t branch into the kind of idol-pop dance as easily as jazz or hip hop, but still helped to hammer down the fundamentals, at the very least lent well to the elegance aspect brought up now. it played heavily into the old dance style she was used to. that she’d trained in for years.

so she mapped out a dance routine that played well with her prop. tossed in a couple of moves reminiscent of traditional dance, because she figured it might stir up the appreciation of anyone older who managed to catch the broadcast, and while miji had never been cunning to the extent of trying to wring out popularity out of any situation possible, she at least played her cards smart. why not use her background to try and pull in some positivity that branched out, looked somewhat unique in comparison to more contemporary routines?

it was easy enough, a better option that running herself breathless anyway. toss a couple of well placed smiles, glances at the camera. twist herself up graceful and delicate. until the song wound it’s way to a stop and she could flop back down next to jowi, wind an arm around thin shoulders and go back to trying to hide from the sun underneath the shade of umbrellas. she doesn’t really like the sweltering heat, or the fans that are piled up around them all. miji figures that nobody really does. but it’s the nature of the industry, too. to become a spectacle. that’s how it generally feels like. but more in situations like this. where they’re all crammed into a bowl of a place. where there are eyes on all sides, and you’re half expected to pretend that nobody is there. half expected to interact with your fanbase. but still keep yourself in check. it’s a good place to pick up phone numbers, sure, but you shouldn't be caught flirting. shouldn’t be caught doing anything that is outside the realm of their deemed acceptability. and that’s the reality of the situation. the reality of her career. her life. but then, that was what she asked for, isn’t it? that fame? all those eyes?

an odd place to be pushed into. where you start to feel unsettled by ones own aspirations. or at least, unsettled by the things that come packaged with it. still, miji smiles. links her fingers together with miji’s and makes silly faces for their fans that are clustered together on the bleachers in the distance.

[idmiji-blog]

ideunbi:

with little left to do except wait, eunbi pushes her weight back, falls with her back against the sofa cushions. she pulls up her extensive list of contacts, and scrolls until she finds miji’s name. everything in her says not to text, to not be so fucking eager and have a little patience. but as usual when it comes to miji, eunbi couldn’t give less of a shit about better judgement. she composes the text anyway, hits send without giving it a second thought.

[ ✉ ( sms → miji. ): where are youuu [ ✉ ( sms → miji. ): i bought sangria and i’m dying to crack it open ㅠㅠ

miji’s life sometimes feels like an strange assortment of odds and ends, all poured into a box and shaken up into a dizzying frenzy. mixed up, out of sorts. you’re not entirely sure what you’ll get when you reach a fist in. maybe something nice, with a shimmery veneer. or maybe something sharp-edged that scrapes painful at the knuckles. it’s not necessarily that she tries to hurt, tries to charm. miji just likes to throw herself into things. there’s little rhyme or reason. it was half the reason she ended up as an idol. it was something she wanted, sure. but it started out as a stupid rebellion. started out as a shotgun decision and she just kept running.

and maybe that’s how things are with her and eunbi. one of those shotgun decisions. miji as reckless as ever without quite realizing there are dangers to be had. a girl traipsing across a tightwire, unaware that balance is a potential risk to whoever she leads along with her. she’s always been like this. it’s not that her intentions are ever for the best, it’s just that they’re never really factored in at all.

maybe that’s why, when miji’s phone vibrates and she glances down to spot eunbi’s name, she doesn’t consider things much farther before tapping out a note of affirmation. that she’ll be over soon. because they haven’t seen each other in a while. because sometimes, cherry bomb!’s dorms seem stifling. because miji likes eunbi. likes the fox-lie curve to her lips, or the way laughter spills out between them when they’re both nearly drunk and too wrapped up in each other to remember, to worry over the fact that the world keeps spinning. the fact that they’re both still trapped up in it. 

so she goes. hails a cab after tucking purple hair underneath a cap and hoping for the best. but even if she got tailed, who would care, really? it’s just ryu eunbi. another girl, and what else could they ever be aside from the best of friends, at least where the media’s concerned. it makes miji’s life easier. reporters praying, forcing dating rumors into happening give her hives. when she gets there, she presses at the keypad buzzer and waits for eunbi to let her in when she makes her way to her building, waits again at the door before it’s finally cracked open, before miji finally slips her way inside.

“damn, you look nice. did you have a schedule?” she asks, lifts a hand to flick her thumb gently underneath eunbi’s chin before she drops her arm with a laugh, kicks off her sneakers. “now i feel under-dressed,” she teases, hair twisted up into a ponytail, and she lets her head sway from side to side to highlight this fact before stepping in a little closer. “need help opening that bottle?” miji questions out, a delicate, teasing quirk to her lips as she smiles past the words.

ashes & wine.

[idmiji-blog]

idmilo:

“you’re my queen, i’d never avoid you,” he promises sagely, pulls the top of the cup off and dumps in a packet of sugar, curses when his overzealous moments cause splashback, droplets searing against his skin. he whines, in a sound like a dog might. “how’ve you been? seems like i see one of you cherries every time i turn on the television.”

milo talks, miji snorts. a laugh that’s split through with incredulity. milo can pull that sort of thing out of her a lot. he has that way about him. the kind of hair she wants to ruffle her hand through, the quirk of his lips like her knows he’s being endearing and charming all at once. sometimes miji sees more to him, too. she doesn’t think it’s that hard to spot if you bother looking. that he’s bearing more weight than he should. that he likes to paint on war paint and pretend he can command an army. that he can roll out success story after success story. but all that pretending seems like it’s more for everyone else's benefit rather than his own. 

milo, she’s determined, is the kind of person that’s easy to trust. easier to like. the kind of person with a puppy-dog smile and a willingness to listen. and not many people can boast the same. so it’s easy, miji thinks, to let him do all of that and more. to let him listen, pour your problems onto his shoulders. wait for his advice. wait for him to fix everything. and in the same context, it’s easy to miss that a boy so willing to accept others problems might eventually become burdened by them. they might start to weigh down on broad shoulders, until bones crumble, despite the smile he’ll no doubt wear. but then, that’s just what miji thinks. that’s why she extends out a hand. offers him support of his own. because nobody is really that unmoving when push comes to shove. there’s a limit to humanity. nobody is marvel-movie strong.

miji laughs again and knocks an elbow lightly against milo’s side when he curses. “watch your mouth, before the microphones catch you. how will the fans cope then?” it comes out sarcastic. because they all curse. they nearly all drink, get up to things that would be deemed scandalous. that would headline across news sites. but it’s all things that normal people do all the time. things they’re supposed to pretend they’re not capable of. they’re idols, perfection personified. and apparently perfection is removed from the concept of general humankind. sometimes this strict definition of perfection seems far too childlike to make miji feel at all comfortable, but she usually keeps this thought to herself. 

if atlas fans weren’t lingering behind the glass miji might’ve reached over at that whine, tapped a few fingers underneath his chin like one would a dog, coo obnoxious until he laughed. but they are, so she doesn’t. they already have a handful of rumors circulating pann by virtue of the fact that they’re friends, that they like to talk to each other when cherry bomb! and atlas get scheduled together at the same events. “things are alright, we’re getting airtime at least.” miji cuts out all the darkened details. she doesn’t want to spare him that. “i think i see you lot on tv more though, what a superstar.” it’s a joke and not all at once, and the smile she shares with him is sweet.

only human

[idmiji-blog]

© amunaparty | do not edit

[idmiji-blog]

only human

as beautiful as the sea, glistening so dangerously. oh, we're human - @idmilo, prompt ( radio show guesting ).  

as far as schedules go, the radio guesting are kind of fun. they’re chill, she gets to sit in the air conditioning (or next to a heater, depending on the season). she gets a free drink, and can ramble on about music or whatever innocuous questions get lobbed her way. they’re never particularly invasive, not to the point that variety shows are. and they don’t demand nearly the same intensity. sure, they sometimes drag on later into the night, but it’s a decent enough trade off. it’s not like companies like to schedule large swatches of time-blocks open for sleeping, anyway.

and sometimes you get thrown in with a member of another group. miji likes that too, because while she definitely has a fondness for the members of her group, she works shoulder-to-shoulder with them for so long that it’s nice to get tossed beside someone knew. she’s always had an overwhelming quality to her. would rear up like a wave to swamp another person if given the opportunity. not in a terrible way, mind you. but she’s always run headfirst into things. always wants to fit herself beside someone new. is always pushing for more without quite realizing it. so she likes those opportunities. wants to meet new people. wants to expand her social circle now that cherry bomb! are solidifying their place on the music scene.

but her sidekick for today isn’t someone new. she can’t bring herself to mind though. they haven’t had much of a chance to see each other lately with how busy atlas has been. and then the small gap of time he’d had, she’d been promoting peek-a-boo. it’s a fate that seems common in their industry, but a smile sweeps across her face anyway when milo collapses in the chair next to hers, and she reaches a hand out to ruffle it through thick hair. she likes him, in the sort of way that she’d probably go fist for fist against someone who wanted to tear him down. in a way where she wants to ease some of that weight he always seems to be carrying around on his shoulders, like he’s determined to represent the core meaning behind his group name all by himself. 

“you’ve been avoiding me, now you need to defend yourself.” she determines this in a rush, a false accusation but miji’s smiling as she says it. nudges one of the takeaway plastic coffee cups toward his side of the table before she grabs at her own.

[idmiji-blog]

chasing this

we've been chasing this, all of our years. want it so bad, you're willing to face all your fears - @idjowi, shared dorm room

it’s dusk, and the pollution hangs like a haze in the sky. still on the tail end of spring, but it’ll rain tomorrow, and the sky will clear. the app on her phone will smile back at her, hearts in it’s eyes. she likes that, but she doesn’t so much like the rain. she is happy that her schedule’s finished with though. a bland sort of photoshoot where all the members would later get photoshopped in together because they couldn’t all make it on the same day and the company wasn’t paying them enough to force it into their schedule. but it doesn’t matter so much anymore, she’s just happy she’s getting paid. 

is happy to hop free from her van while her manager veers off to go pick up one of the other members. keys her way into cherry bomb!’s dorm and kicks off heavy sounding doc mary jane’s. they echo around the entrance, and it has her wondering if anyone else has made it home yet. there’s nobody in the kitchen, and the door to the other girls’ room is swung wide open, contents devoid of life. it’s a rarity. usually they’re all bunched up together, thrown into schedules, or else spilled back home altogether in a jumbled mess. miji doesn’t mind it. sometimes things don’t feel quite right. she knows they’re supposed to fit together like puzzle pieces. supposed to complete each other. but that’s not always how reality works out. she likes hyera, she really does. but it’s still hard for miji to read her -- and maybe it’s because of the gap in their age.

she gets to her own shared room and shoulders open the door. discovers she’s not quite alone after all. but she can’t bring herself to mind too much. jowi’s always been the one she’s felt at home with. tied together from the beginning, when they were both trainees. before they got tossed into the same group. when the two of them had still felt hopeful. that seems to have washed away in recent circumstances.

or now, with the smell of flavored soju lingering heavy in the air. jowi looks like she’s been drinking her way through at least a bottle before miji had gotten how. she lifts a foot to knock toes into jowi’s shoulder as she crosses the room. “do you need a bucket?” she asks, because she wants on a gauge on just how drunk jowi is -- fun drunk, sloppy drunk, or sick drunk. she hopes for the first option as she shrugs off a jacket she’d been asked to where as a promotion. something the weather had been far too hot for, tosses it on her bed.

[idmiji-blog]

hello everyone! i’m back from my unannounced, surprise hiatus. unfortunately some irl stuff came up that needed my full attention /: but i am BACK, and WELCOME!!! to all the lovely new members here, i would love to plot with you all ♡ and going off of that -- a lot of the people i was plotting/writing with before seem to have been removed in activity checks, so if you’d like to plot with miji please go ahead and like this post or throw an IM my way because i really need/want to be doing more with her!!! info can be found HERE and plots can be found HERE :^) 

[idmiji-blog]

[idmiji-blog]

catapult

nice try, you cannot turn away but nice try. turned your legs to little building blocks -- @idjowi​, schedule prompt ( weekly idol filming ).

her hair’s a little sticky near her nape. makeup blotchy, and there are a few stylists scurrying around them with brushes and sponges getting ready to pat everything back into place, until they’re all glossy and pretty again. but that’s just the sort of thing that happens when you attempt to whirl through a collection of your song’s dances at random. it’s a bit impossible to stay dewy and perfect throughout all that, despite what everyone wants you to think. so they roll their way into a break, and miji finds jowi when they finally deem her face acceptable and tug and tuck out her hair until it falls appropriately down her back once again.

she hooks an arm around her shoulders, ruffles jowi’s hair in the process enough to make a stylist toss a frown her way, but miji ignores it. jowi’s hair is currently straight, it’s not the most difficult thing in the world to finger comb it back into place before set. “how are you hanging, babe?” she tosses it out as she pulls jowi along with her, toward a smaller corner of the studio. away from prying eyes, from wayward ears, from the other members of their group. but miji thinks jowi needs that right now. that isolation. away from eyes that feel like they’re sticking to her.

being sequestered doesn’t make things better, but being out of the spotlight helps. helps miji sometimes, too. despite how much she wants this. despite how much she loves being on stage. but everyone hits a point where they don’t want to be stared at. everyone hits a point where they don’t want to be talked about. everyone hits a point where you don’t want to sit and wonder if what they’s whispering behind their hands is about you, and what those words they’re hiding out of sight are.

“i think we did a pretty bomb job, we should get compensated.” she teases out, winds a strand of jowi’s hair around her finger as she talks, eyes straying in an attempt to find a clock. her phone still tucked somewhere backstage in the jacket she’d come in. she’s always been stuck in between hating and liking shows like these. she likes the recognition, she likes building up a repertoire. she even like some of the things they do, talk about. but they always last just a little too long, and miji often gets tired of carrying around a person that’s not-quite-herself. 

[idmiji-blog]

idjowi:

“let’s go kill it.”  she sighs out, lips pursed as she tilts her head towards the other, an invitation to step out onto the stage.

“i think it’s technically slavery if we’re not getting any money.” jowi jokes back. sometimes it feels like they’re not only on a technicality. but they’re close, so close to paying off that heaped on debt. to getting more than the barest cuts of the money they drag in. of making something of themselves. it all seems so nebulous, the future. if they’ll ever rocket to fame. if their names will ever be remembered as something game-changing. famous. remembered. if she’ll ever have that wealth she’d once imagined, or if she’ll be relegated to a modest sum she has to guard.

they cut back into the real world, a crueler variation than their dressing room. miji doesn’t know how to deal with the cutting realities that jowi’s buried under currently. she’s just not equipped. she’s not sure anyone is, aside from maybe a professional. but when do they have time for that? so they bond instead, try to fit their broken edges together like puzzle pieces and hope it’s all passable in the end.

she feels jowi’s grip flex against her arm. holding fast, like she needed to anchor herself into place, arfaid she’ll be cast adrift if she doesn’t, left like chum for the sharks she imagines to be circling them now. at least, for the moment, it’s mostly idols. some cruel, some petty, but most at least understand the realities of the industry. what goes on behind those doors. those picture-perfect smiles. it’s not hugely comforting, but it’s all they’re left with.

“we have,” miji agrees. and they’re at least comfortable together. look good together. can fall into sync without much preamble when music clicks itself on. dancing together for years over will do that to you. miji’s never been a particularly strong vocalist, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make a pretty picture on stage. miji at least has the stage presence to try and make up for it, and that’s half the job of an idol anyway, right? make sure you keep people watching, hold their interest. if you’re boring and sing well, nobody cares. the public might pretend they do, will say they do. but when it really happens, it’s all glossed over.

“alright,” she agrees as they push their way onstage to practice, roll through familiar motions.

greedy.

[idmiji-blog]

NEW RELEASE: PEEKABOO 

-- +5EXP, +5SK, SCHEDULE PROMPT

promotions are relentless, and so is the preparation for them. new tracks to record, a new bottle of hair dye to fit the next step of a transformation. pictures taken for teaser, and mv’s filmed on crowded sets. or else, you’re flown on to locations and work for longer than you should. miji keeps herself awake sipping free americano’s they stack on set tables, picking at snacks. the fruit’s okay, the sandwiches are for the crew. it’s an unspoken rule. sometime’s you can cheat if everyone’s busy enough, but it hardly feels worth it anymore. miji still has backlogs of comments on articles describing her as thick, big-legged, and it apparently hadn’t helped that her and jowi had always been glued at the hip. apparently she looked like a giant in comparison.

so miji had lost weigh, and then a little more. now it’s in a weird flux of why’d she do that, doesn’t she still want her male fans to like her? and funny, she lost all that weight, but next to aj, she still...hmm, maybe it’s her build. you can’t win, there’s all these rules, but even if you follow them to a t, you can’t win in the end. it seems like a rule all of it’s own.

they’d dyed her hair this time around, again. they like to toy with her style. to fit the concept. that’s what they always cluck out when they drag along those moodboards with pictures pasted haphazard around the blocky cardboard. they’d had to cram her into some sort of style for electric shock, a wary set to the stylist’s jaw as they pulled her hair this way, and then that. pigtails, maybe? no. braids, then? no. what to do? asked in exasperation like it’s the end of the world.

it’s been easing up with every step in their newfound direction. by dracula, they’d let hair shift back to black. natural past the eclectic red-shimmer makeup they swept across her face. this time, it’s creeping closer in that direction. you know, you really fit this concept. with this hair? perfect. and miji has to wonder if it’s a good thing or not. you didn’t fit all the others, but now you’re fitting in. you really look like you might go out and murder a deliver boy. she’s not sure whether or not she should take it as a compliment. she decides to anyway. decides to ignore the fact that they tell her she matches well with all the concepts the public seems to dislike. go back, go back to electric shock. go back to red flavor. go back to when management keeps telling you to try harder, act more quirky, more bubbly. change, change, change.

and she has, hasn’t she? it feels like she has, changed. though not in ways she can pinpoint. 

she at least changes into ella onstage. shrugs on a micro-dress and lets them curl at the ends of her hair. layers of makeup and a smile paired with a smolder for stage. who cares if she woke up at five in the morning to get to the showtime recording? ella isn’t supposed to. she’s a pretty face, meant to smile and dance and pose in ways that will bait a journalist into taking photographs, posting articles that praise her body line. who cares if jowi looks like she wants the world to swallow her whole (because aj is supposed to be proud, happy, having the time of her life). who cares if what constitutes miji as miji feels wrong, at this point? unnecessary? unwanted?

when they all step in front of the fans it’s ella that smiles. ella that waves. ella that’s happy, a bundle of confidence and fan-service to spare. sometime’s miji wonders if they’d like the real her. but when it comes down to the wire, she’s too scared to ever really ask that question of them. she’s had enough rejection, has had enough prodding and poking, has had enough of given in to demands of that change. 

at least it’s hard to think when you’re this busy.

[idmiji-blog]

idjowi:

its her first stage since all of this, and the pressure is crushing.

“we’d be like the real working girls of the future,” she layers in an accent as she says it. thick with the country-like dialect of her grandmother’s history. breaks into a smile afterward, head tossed to the side to send her half-bundled up hair thumping knot-like in a pseudo hair flip. how lady-like (not). but miji’s never been that particular brand of classically demure. she can pretend, if they ask her. but alone, with jowi, they can let everything go. unleash the wilds they’ve stirred up and trapped in their chests. all that chaos, the cutthroat competition, that reckless need to keep going, to surpass, to maintain. there’s nothing demure about that. nothing kind.

and so neither are they.

but they can’t show it, can then? then they become foxes. all sly with rows of sharp teeth. cackling and vicious in the way they snap and plot. anything less than kind warps it’s way into sly, it seems. like they’re lumped in either one category or another. no shades in between. good, and innocent. or bad, and not. it seems like a trap, but one they’ve stepped into near-willingly. and what’s better, fending for yourself in the wild or living in that cage lined with expectations? she tries to assume the latter, because what was all that work for if it’s not?

sometimes it feels like she’s lying to herself. but that’s the endgame to the industry, isn’t it?

“you suited the blonde though. more than me,” miji determines, lifts a hand to smooth at jowi’s bangs, tucks a chunk of her hair behind her ear, fusses with messy strands until she’s arranged it into something she deems as fitting. it still looks a little disheveled, but perhaps like it’s been done on purpose. an artful interpretation of a mess (and that’s what miji sometimes feels like their lives are). she steps back, tugs at jowi’s hood, laughs at her counter and proceeds to shrug a shoulder, ignores the sentiment past shooting her a stupid looking face.

she can sense the shift as soon as they re-enter the world of the living, breathing, bleeding. that tension reappears, a quiver in her jaw, like she’s busy clenching her molars. miji throws an arm over the shorter girl’s shoulders. it looks casual, but she draws her a little closer, tucks her in against her side as they wander. jowi’s always seemed a little more comfortable when she’s pressed in close, at least with miji. slipping into her room, into her bed during late nights. bad nights. until heartbeats sync up and they can whisper out idle thoughts to drown out jowi’s anxiety. it’s not a cure all, but it’s what miji can offer.

“however many you want, babe.” she’ll bend to jowi’s whims, at least for now. she feels a bit helpless. sometimes she thinks that’s when msg likes her best. vulnerable, floundering, nearly-broken. that’s how they like all of them best. “it’ll be fine, when are we not?” the statement’s pumped up in inflated confidence, but there’s a truth to it. they made it. they scraped by. they shoved their way into cherry bomb! they debuted, they’ve danced through hundreds of stages. they did it. and they’ll continue to do it. “i work better with just you anyway,” she half teases, bumps their hips together before she lets her arm fall, scratches fingers across the small of the other girl’s back as it slips away.

greedy.

[idmiji-blog]

My heart has always beat thunderstorms instead of blood.

Gabriel Gadfly, Supercell (via books-n-quotes)

[idmiji-blog]

peekaboo ( i see you ).

-- public instagram edit / +05 exp, +05 skill.

[idmiji-blog]

vagabonds

troubled sea so deep, troubled home no sleep. you've been flying so high, avoiding the road, pretending to not feel alone. -- @idmilo , seasons change festival ( down time ).

it’s a nice day, at least. the sun’s bright overhead. one of those days that makes it feel like it might be summer. at least before the storm clouds swamp in and drown them all in rain and weather-affected melancholy. the fans’ll be happy. and miji’s relieved enough she won’t have to slide around the stage in heels. she rolled her ankle doing that, once. is glad whenever the company decides to spare them, throws boots or sneakers her way. who knew stilettos were a pre-requisite to dance? she catches sight of him out back, under the constructed awning hidden around the back of one of the stages.

it isn’t a surprise meeting, isn’t clandestine. she’d shot him a text a good half hour ago and mentioned meeting up. there was enough time to kill, and everyone was breaking off into chaos anyway. she figured she might as well catch up with him with how busy atlas has been lately. she’s missed him. they used to hang out more, before. when atlas and cherry bomb! were bother newer, less busy. it’s a bit different now. but they steal time away together when they can. 

“you’re looking dashing.”

it might’ve been a comment if not for the sweat sticking milo’s bangs to his forehead, or the way his sweatshirt seemed intent on toppling it’s way off of just one shoulder. a precarious situation, as far as garments went. he reminds her of an overlarge puppy. a messy toussle of hair, eyes hidden behind shaggy bangs, overlarge limbs and a proclivity to tumble headfirst into things, the size of his own limbs be damned (or forgotten). 

miji ruffles a hand through his hair when she gets close enough. 

“practicing?” she asks, tosses a half-empty water bottle back and forth between her hands as she waits for an answer, rests her weight against some kind of metal creation jammed into place to help keep the stage aloft. she lets her eyes slip shut, listens to the murmur of people just out of sight, out of reach. it nearly feels like they’re trapped away in a bubble. something that’s bound to pop sooner rather than later. silence chased away as they’re spilled back into their proper places. barbie-doll boxes marked off with cherry bomb! and atlas (or, well, he can at least be ken). “you have a special stage too, right? should i be excited?” she probably will be. it seems to her like he soaks up the very essence of all that poetry he reads, lets it consume his body onstage when it’s paired with a beat. a little rough, overwhelming. she’s always loved his style. 

[idmiji-blog]

idjowi:

“we should practice, yeah? but first, did you see the charts? debut at number two, better than last time. by a lot.” her brows raise, cheek dimpling as she grins, “all because of your teasers probably, my bangs were still too short in them, “ she half complains, lifts her fingers to the offending hairs, tugs them lightly as she examines the mirrors across from them, pouts at the memory of their betrayal.

miji is devoid of makeup. well, okay. not really. but it’s basic enough that everyone will pretend she’s barefaced, until someone decides to zoom in close enough to declare that she is, indeed, wearing some kind of base makeup (and who did she think she was fooling, and aren’t her eyebrows tattooed on anyway, and-- she’s been scrolling through the internet too much lately). her hair’s still a purple tumble down her back, though it’s half knotted up in a lazy twist of a hair tie. she doesn’t look put together, she doesn’t feel put together, either. she’s got second hand worry. it’s the sort of thing that comes naturally when you spend enough years with another person. you just sort of bleed into each other, like the oils of paint coagulating, dripping into each other on a sloped dish. perhaps not the most beautiful visual, but not many things are. beautiful. not the real things, anyway.

jowi’s had it rough. and miji’s been with jowi since they were teenagers. maybe not that close at first, but some things bind you together. like getting rejected for what is now a massively famous group. yeah, that kind of thing. anxiety is palpable these days, and miji’s not really sure there’s a quick fix to it all. it’s just shitty. everything about it is shitty. so she stops, glares, hangs around jowi backstage in an effort to chase away anyone willing to sneak around like rats carrying gossip on their backs. bubonic plague-like in their infectious fury, the way it ripples through the masses symptomatic. chop of their heads before they can scatter, that seems like the best solution to miji momentarily (if only).

it’s still far too early. before they even need to be on stage for dress rehearsal. but miji knows jowi well enough, knows at least that she’ll be sitting listless and wanting to move. to go through the motions. to make sure there’s nothing that needs to be ironed out. makes her way into the room jowi’s locked herself away in and throws her a smile. it widens fractionally at jowi’s words.

“maybe we’ll get a real paycheck soon, even.” she slinks an arm around the grils shoulders, lets her hand hang limp in the air as she tilts her head back just enough to catch her reflection in the mirror. her mask’s covering most of her face, it’s probably fine if they catch pictures of her before they paint her over like a porcelain doll. her nose scrunches at the compliment. she has to wonder if the reason they’re getting so much attention is the windfall from jowi’s scandal. she doesn’t mention it. she doesn’t really like mentioning marco at all. the name feels like a curse on her tongue. so she plays along instead. “of course, my teasers are always the best.” it comes out in a drawl. all self satisfied, though the crook of her brow gives away the joke. 

she shifts just enough to leave her arm in place, hand lifting instead to flick a couple of fingers into jowi’s now mildly-longer bangs. “they did look a little bit like you’d gone wild with a pair of scissors. at least they’re better now?” such is the idol life way. being stuck with hair, clothes that look atrocious on you. not being able to say no. not understanding why your company hired such a mediocre stylist. miji prods a finger into jowi’s cheek when she pouts, forces a dimple into place with the pressure of it. “so cute, so cute,” she hums out, says it like you would to a child. there’s something teasing in her voice, shoots jowi an impish looking smile before she lets her hand slide away, tugs at the hood of the girl’s sweatshirt to pull her along. “let’s go, before someone else steals the stage.”

greedy.

[idmiji-blog]

hey! catch me being super late even after i rushed to finish my stupid app ha ha h a a a. my blog was 900% under prepared but i put in some overtime after an unexpected outing and so i’m here to reveal a (lame??) profile and plots page. i’ll get back to welcomes soon, but for anyone else if you’d like to plot please like this?? or send a message my way and we can come up with something because i’m excited to start rp-ing with her! i’ll put some info about miji under the cut -- but think explosive punk princess, accidentally destructive, doesn’t take no for an answer. please, deliver unto me drama. i’ll forever be in your debt. (i’ll probably end up getting back to people sometime tomorrow why was i magically busy today).

she’s cherry bomb!’s main dancer who performs under the name ella. she was mostly trained in traditional dance, had been doing it since she was six.  however she’s spent a good 7 years as a trainee, so the standard ways of idol-dance style are deeply ingrained into her. they use it as a unique selling point though.

speaking of being a trainee forever, she got passed up for honey. they told her it didn’t fit her image. she also nearly got passed up for cherry bomb! too. she was the last confirmed spot. she pretends that didn’t take a massive hit on her self esteem.

seems like she’s always fighting back against the grain for something. like she’s constantly trying to be herself, but nobody really wants who that is. at this point she’s an odd mashup of both ella and miji. poised and graceful, charming smiles, stage presence enough to captivate. but with a loud mouth, an odd way of carrying herself, an eclectic taste and enough stubbornness in her that it seems like she could force her way into whatever her whims might be. 

style wise she’s a punk princess. leather jackets + boots + long as hell flowery dresses. usually her hair is dyed some electric-pop shade to match cherry bomb!’s style. it’s a miracle she was blessed with healthy hair, because it sometimes takes a toll on it. 

she’s a fighter. it’s hard to change her mind once she’s decided on something, even if her opinion is wrong. as mentioned, stubborn. tsk.

kind of is like ??? about life, because her group’s new-ish and she’s on the older side and doesn’t really think she can go solo or even act, she just dances so. what’s in store? who knows. horror. anxiety. a future of BJing (get your mind out of the gutter) on afreeca and being called a pathetic has-been? who knows the world is her mediocre oyster (maybe she should’ve listened to her parents after all).

kind of a mess idk i’m sure she’ll start something terrible at some point.

she’s bi but keeps it on the down low, considering she doesn’t want anything to really affect her group, ya feel?

anyway i want a ton of drama in her life?? angst?? accidental destruction?? despair?? heartbreak?? black ma  i l ???? i’m prob down for anything i’m just here to create messes. so please hit me up so we can plot!!