#* | minjungfmd.

[fmdtaeyong]

@minjungfmd — no blueberries lyric & melody verification — probably around august(?)

it’s nighttime again. if he had the energy for it, he might read some sentimentality into that, but as it is, he cynically sees it as a given. he doesn’t have anything to do these days, as a consequence of bc finally giving in to his incessant requests for time off when it’d finally started to look like it would affect their bottom line, but other people are busy. they have lives. equinox is making a comeback soon, or they already have. he hasn’t been doing a good job of keeping up. or rather, he’s purposefully avoided news about the idol world. if he’s disconnecting, he has every intention of doing that fully.

he clicks around through the files on his computer, searching for what he’d named that track he’d been working on before. with a relaxation of the tension in his shoulder he hadn’t realized he was holding until it was gone, he pulls it up the track in his program and finally shifts his focus from his computer screen to minjung. “i have this track, but i’ve been having trouble putting words and a melody to it. care to give it a shot with me? it’s supposed to be for my next album, if that ever happens. i want to capture the feeling of the, i don’t know, the horror of... struggling to connect. people who don’t know you and you don’t know them, or even people you do know, but there’s that wall there and it kind of pisses you off but makes you wanna... run away from it basically at the same time. like distance... consuming you kind of. the little things about human connection that fuck you up in the head because it’s all just... fucked and eats you alive when you think about it, you get me?”

[taeyongfmd]

@minjungfmd | starter call

the second weekend of coachella settles in with more familiarity than the first. the palm springs rental bungalow he’s been holed up in for the week, ordering take-out and holing himself up in the makeshift studio he’d crafted, is almost comfortable now despite the entirely unused pool. but it always comes down to one thing in the end: a battle between his cocoon of introversion and the restless pull toward less quiet and, ultimately, of course, less sobriety.

it’s nights like these he’s grateful​ he knows a few people who always seem to be around events like this. most of them are attention-addicted social climbers who think ash’s group having a number one song and a grammy nomination for the shittiest song they’ve ever put out to their name will get them in the tabloids if they’re caught partying with him, sure, but god knows he’s had worse company. besides, dimensions has anything truly compromising on lockdown pretty well these days. and if something did leak through? well, maybe it could erase his association with dynamite from the public conscience.

so he ends up at some private coachella artist party with someone he’s met a few times in passing at private booths in la clubs and lets her introduce him to people whose names he forgets as quickly as he’s told them until he’s shaken off the weight of sobriety just enough to make and excuse and step out on his own.

“we’ve got to stop meeting like this.” accompanied by a self-humored half-grin, it’s what he dubs an acceptable greeting when he spots minjung amongst the crowd and joins her. the bar might be low, but he figures there’s a good chance she’ll be better company than the person he came with. luckily for the both of them, this time he’s neither shitfaced nor stone cold sober, but something more pleasantly in between. “then again, it’s probably my fault we only ever seem to run into each other when at least one of us has a drink in hand.” he’s hardly the most social without the incentive of mind-altering substances, after all. “i was thinking dropping by to watch your set might be the only time i’d see you this weekend.”

[miraefmd]

@minjungfmd

the evening hadn’t gone quite the way she would have willed it to had she had the power. there’d been no mass sweep of the awards by selene or by mirae herself. she’d won an award for a cover she’d been proud of, but a cover that had taken far less of her effort and commitment than any of her original songs or all of the work she’d put in with gentle monster for their eyewear collaboration. selene had taken home a vocal award and mirae herself had taken home an acting one for squid game, but both had felt like a given on reputation alone — selene’s as a vocal powerhouse and squid game as a massive success.

she’s not fed so much into her own hype that she’s let it get her down, though. she’d fared no worse than any other awards show the past season, really, and numbers and attention speak for themselves regardless of whether she takes home another award to line up on a shelf or not.

it’s a night for celebration — of another year of successes and progress and hard work —, so she lets herself alight with the energy of the party, flitting from group to group with a smile and a bubbling excitement to be in the midst of so many people she knows and the industry she’s come to call her home.

in a sea of laughter and gossip, the absence of a smile doesn’t go unnoticed and her eyes land on minjung when she’s engrossed in a group of other idols she sort-of, kind-of knows, several minutes before she slips away from them to show up at minjung’s side.

“if it isn’t the woman of the evening. best album and best song — that must sweeten the night, huh?” she grins wide and warm. “watch out for next year, though; i’m coming for those titles if i’ve got any say in it.” 

[taeyongfmd]

@minjungfmd

ash doesn’t like to think he could be easily described by any cliche, but it’s nothing but the truth that one minute he’s finishing off his drink, spirits heightened by the music and the night off, and the next, he’s realized he’d turned around a little too fast and a wave of nausea creeps up on him. it’s sudden and it’s nothing short of a miracle that he’s lingering near the edges of the party and there’s a trashcan within sprinting distance he can empty the contents of his stomach into instead of hurling all over the middle of the dance floor.

he remains crouched over the trashcan as he tries to both stop his head from spinning and mentally check that it isn’t going to happen again, but once he builds up enough confidence in himself to step away from the trashcan, he immediately wishes he’d kept his head buried in it. because nothing can ever work out in his favor, he’s met with the mortifying realization he’d missed the trashcan by just enough to also make a pair of shoes a casualty of his overindulgence. his face is tinted red when he finally makes eye contact with his victim.

shit.

“minjung!” well, shit. again. there goes his chance of pretending he’s someone else and running away. “i didn’t know you were going to be here!” maybe if it doesn’t acknowledge it, he’ll realize he’s in an embarrassing nightmare and wake up.

[taeyongfmd]

@minjungfmd //  2 + best friend rex orange county      →   may 2022

for the record, ash hates beer.

it tastes like rainwater left to collect in a pit in a field for a few days and doesn’t have enough alcohol in it to do anything for him even when he’s given his alcohol tolerance months to recover to normal human levels.

but he hadn’t felt like calling room service or ordering delivery and there’s no way he’s going to ask a manager to go out and get something more worthwhile like vodka or tequila and get subjected to an interrogation. so, he’d taken the overpriced beer out of the mini-fridge in his hotel room, laid himself out on the pressed cream-colored duvet and started flipping through television channels. he’d started with news delivered in a thinly-veiled dread-inducing tone and then passed through reruns of some mildly offensive mid-2000s sitcom and a game show that’s a clear knock-off of a more successful one. he makes it to some romance film about some guy in love with his best friend before he gives up and pretends to let it keep his attention for an audience of no one but himself.

suffice to say, he’s bored out of his mind and maybe some deep inner yearning speaks out action into the universe because his staring down the end of the empty beer bottle is interrupted when he sees the light of his phone screen in the corner of his vision. it only takes a moment for him to realize he’s in the middle of a facetime he hadn’t intended to start.

he fumbles to sit up and scoop his phone up from the other side of the bed, forehead wrinkled as he tries to figure out what happened. sense says his lazing around had pressed his elbow into just the right buttons to either make a call or answer one, but he looks no less confused as he steadies his own face into the frame.

“okay, i’m going to be honest; i don’t know what’s going on.” he hadn’t had enough to drink to completely forget he was on a facetime call with minjung. “not that i mind seeing your face or anything, but... uh, did i make this call or did you? because i didn’t mean to try and rope you into ‘ash kwon’s pathetic personal party for one’. america hasn’t turned me that sadistic yet.”

[taeyongfmd]

13

text prompts : accepting.

∗ 13﹕ an  intoxicated  text .

⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ do you reme,ber when we were like ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ m ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ -@ ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ i mean ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ 19 ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ well i was or you were ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ we werent both 19 ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ idk ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ like 2016 ⟨  ✉ ➝ minjung ⟩ was it just me or were thigns only like 80% fucked then instead of 800