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[rianid-blog]

idjaeyul‌:

jae waits. his thoughts are cast off, examining the reality of her picture-esque home and all the small decorations to further accessorize it. to him, it’s a blatant reflection of her, but then again, he can find her in anything if he tries. his gaze dances around, then falls on the soju and beer he’s brought. “at least join me for a drink. i didn’t drive all this way for nothing, you know.” the tone is graceless; attitude wrinkled into messy lines. it makes him sound half-insincere and half-exhausted — like he’s aged in the still moment. 

june, with rian. ( @rianid )

there are a million was to misunderstand kim rian and most of them are done upon the first glance at her. it’s not the fault of the observer, to assume her some fragile creature spun of sugar, or some ethereal thing. some simpering princess in a gilded cage singing a sweet and lofty soprano. 

it is  not, also, entirely fair to say that she is the complete antithesis of that. she doesn’t begrudge the soft or feminine, she doesn’t eschew the luxurious or fair. she doesn’t resent her general styling as the nation’s supposed first love, nor on stage, or so forth. 

rian, as all people do, occupies a muddled mid ground, of soft purples and dusted over yellows, rust red and olive green. rian is a delicate haze of smoke and the softness of worn denim, the supple shine of leather hanging heavy around delicate shoulders. honey sweet and razor sharp, but both encompassed in the single bee.

overflowing. 

she’s too much. lately, for sure. between persona, between palette, she’s cornered on all sides. her house is like that too. mixed patterned rugs cover the warm wood floor. ivory walls accented in shelves and books, in plants, in a canvas of matisse’s cat with a red fish. the window unblocked, forever wide open to the skyline, such as it is. as if the distant flicker of the han provides some kind of respite, some hope of freedom she’s long since traded away. 

she slouches in place on her couch, fidgeting and frustrated because everything else has edged its way out of her senses, leaves her a bundle of nerves. taeho is on her title track and daehan is in her next film project and she’s angry. she’s angry that she’s forever being reduced to her association with men. as if they must be appended to her successes. it almost makes her furious how well the song is selling, with him on it, in a mockery of what they might have been once, if you squinted. 

“i’m just angry.” she tells him finally, reaches out to take a bottle and twists the cap off. she wraps the tail edge of the hanging metal seal around a few times, bends it serpentine. “at everything. or nothing. i don’t know.” she twitches her nose. “the point is, if i drink alone i’m an alcoholic, so i called you.” she grins, lets it twitch into place, “i wonder which korea would hate more, if i was an alcoholic or a whore?”

remedy.

[rianid-blog]

pastels.

there are glimpses of time in which rian sees the world as it must be for other people. she feels so far removed from that now. it seems so impossible to fathom a world where deceit doesn’t run rampant, a world where prying eyes don’t examine her every move. of course there are always shades of this in any office space, but rian doesn’t get the luxury of leaving it all behind. she’s forced to march through life with her head high or to be ridiculed for it and occasionally because of it at the same time. there’s never a real way to win anything except to keep plowing forward, trudging ever onward. she feels like a butterfly on it’s southern migration, a small creature impossibly ill equipped for such a lengthy and treacherous journey. 

seolhee understands. or, at least, she understands a bit better than others. while she may have had her group initially, she didn’t have them now, faced the world solitary and trembling. faced similar cruel criticisms and foolish expectations. if anyone knew with veracity of the loneliness and expectations that she faced, it was seolhee, and in her she sought comfort. rian was a strange thing, both flighty and flightless, both steel and silk - or no, perhaps neither. perhaps soft spun cotton and old wrought iron. she’s always been someone of distant sensibilities, a fondness for the slightly worn and the comfortable. ironic, given how bright and shiny they painted her over so often.

the warm summer sun filters through the windows of the rooftop patio, a quaint and quiet spot, recently opened and not yet fallen prey to the crowds of those searching out the latest and loveliest gems for instagram. it’s a rare moment of quiet on that afternoon that she sits across from the other girl, an iced chai latte on the table before her, fingers toying idly at the chic, bent and shiny metal straw, a move towards sustainability. “so tell me, how has it been these days?” she questions. her own life has upended itself, a sudden whirlwind dumped in her lap. “i can’t  keep track of my own life, much less anyone else’s. i need to pretend i’m a normal girl for an afternoon or i might go properly mad.” she laughs with the crinkling of her eyes and the quick scoff of sound, the twist of lips, not the raucous mirth of good humor. 

at the soft melody, my heart becomes like a child racing through the blue ocean @idsophia

[rianid-blog]

apparition.

                                                  so love became the wind                                       that you can’t catch, that you can’t have                                               filming persona with @idaein

karmic retribution is cruel, it’s taste bitter on her tongue, and it weighs heavy there. it slides down her throat and tangles there in a knot that refuses to unravel. looking at him is difficult but she does it anyway, askance and out of the corner of her eyes, from between her lashes, as if she can’t help herself but still cannot face him head on.

she remembers him in flashes.

hands that cup her jaw, thumbs that sweep soft against her cheekbones. she remembers the way he looked at her, with eyes that overflowed, with love that poured out of them, and it had been enough for her to drown in. and at first perhaps she had wanted that. she had reveled in the excess of him, given herself over to his earnest obsession. she had clung to him like a raft set adrift at sea, with desperation and desire. with love, too, and then with fear. fear of the unknown. fear of what would happen on the other side of this, when he climbed up the pedestal he had placed her on and realized she was simply human.

so when they had shuttled her off to japan and then immediately into new drama, it had been easy. it had been the simplest thing to do to give in to that fear. to slip off of the raft and into the murky, safe obscurity of the ocean underneath. with him an ocean away it had been easy to mute his calls, to delete his texts, to disappear.

so it makes sense that the universe would force her to confront how impossible such a task would be.

when they bring him onto set she knows for a fact that it’s all over. that every piece of her is crumbling in front of him. they’ve styled her hair silky straight this time and she fiddles with the ends of it absentmindedly. reading the initial articles of his casting released by kjh had been bad enough, had reawakened all that fear in her. and oh there was so much of it.

they’d always told her she seemed to feel too much. when she sang, when she spoke. in her acting for my ahjussi they had heralded her sorrowful acting, said it had seemed so real, had been such impressive range from her, unseen prior. how ironic then, that it had been the very thing she’d been displaying from the beginning, that strange tinge of the melancholic to her that so often caused her actions and words and expressions to be misread, misconstrued.

seeing him is like staring at the sun. she takes him in, in quick glances, in glimpses. she hides from this as if she can get through this scene without it. they’re taking too long to set up, but they’ve called them over, onto the street where they’re to film and she looks at him. really looks at him, for a moment, and feels the breaking in her heart in a literal sense. and how ironic then that she would have been the one to end things in the first place.

“fancy seeing you here,” is what she manages in the end, a quiet greeting. he stands resolutely still, shoulders held rigid. his features are arranged into the cold poker face she knows so well. his lips twitch slightly, twisting at the edge. “it’s been awhile.” she adds. she fiddles her fingers against the edge of the script, dogears a page absentmindedly. “have you been alright?”

[rianid-blog]

hello!!!!!!! everyone!!! idolize!!! my dears!!! i am so happy to be officially back with everyone. rian had very very many changes due to everything, such as the ending of jinx (goodbye jinx!!! T ~ T) and her no longer having any overseas-ness to her life (thus the name / url change) but she’s pretty excited to be a soloist now, truthfully. she’s still many things she once was; excessive, melancholic, hedonistic, overflowing. shes’ still acting, still nation’s first love, and still overburdened by that in an immense way. she’s also much much more lonely now T ~ T and needs much more friendship and support from the world please! with that in mind i’ve made her some new pages. please message me on here for plotting! <3 or on discord (blu.sclues#3775) but actually im usually more on tumblr than discord. PROFILE / RELATIONSHIPS /  CAREER/TIMELINE

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