#yfxdean

[yfxsoapbox]

"Dean juice" Wtf is happening I'm scared to read the rest of that thread xD

[yfxsoapbox]

is it bad that i’m willing to write plots for my second muse but not for dean?

but lbr.

dean already has all the plots he could have except a crush plot.

and that ain’t easy with him.

[yfxsoapbox]

dean’s name appears for the first time on the graffiti wall and it’s on a fuck list for choa

at number four

[yfxsoapbox]

dropped that second muse app in and now anxiously awaits saturday. 😍😍😍😍

[yfxseulmi-blog]

✨ addiction ✨

          ✦ — seulmi would go anywhere amber asked her to, that’s how devoted she felt to their friendship. anything amber asked for, she would likely agree to because she owed her everything. compared to the people who left her because of the incident, amber essentially took her in, remained her friend, and restored what little faith she had in humanity. a saving grace, if you will. but this was almost too far from her comfort zone, even if she’d heard of dean before, known of him, even seen him from time to time. it didn’t help that she knew he was friends with hoon, but that was a completely different story altogether. 

          dean was a story she hadn’t read, a synopsis she couldn’t search, and words she couldn’t place together yet. a string of vowels and consonants without rhyme or reason. the phone call hadn’t been abrupt but it felt as if it had been what with her looking so lost as she glanced at him. so they hadn’t changed the day after all. it was her own mistake, a common one she could make if not for amber setting her straight. how many friends amber herself had made it difficult to always get ahold of her or spend time with her so she ought to have been more diligent— normally, she is but her focus had been slipping as of late. 

          an accidental skipped step in her own choreographed routine, a misplacement of her notes, a forgotten change of date like this moment. so unlike her and yet she wasn’t always certain of what defined her anyway. she wondered if anyone at sunhwa knew that about themselves. but she had agreed to this in the first place, branching out and getting to know more people because as it should be, ‘any friend of amber is a friend of mine’ but she wasn’t quite there. even so, she did her best to smile, a wispy attempt of soft petals curling as she spoke. “so, i guess it was supposed to be tomorrow after all. she can’t come today. sorry!” 

[yfxconfessions]

ooc / shout out to dean mun the real mvp, your writing is so quality and you have so many plots going. keep doing you!!! :^)

yaas!

[yfxsoapbox]

already bringing in a second muse.

i’m weak.

[xyfxjimin]

mistaken for strangers,

Every step taken is heavy, threatening to fully drag her down completely beneath the dirt. Thoughts of reassurance are hinged with uncertainty, awkward, forced — swallowing them down is hard on a stomach that refuses to stop twisting and turning. The memory is a broken record on repeat:  third period history class, the usual expectations of mindless work met by the announcement of yet another project. The far from unexpected: his name called out, “Song Jimin” following right after — the pair complete.

Her reaction had been nothing but a slight nod in his direction, the slightest impression of a smile, amiable. They’d been more than just shared glances, quips of smalltalk in between classes — once, and only once. In her mind, it’s remembered as if it had happened ten years ago, rather than less than one. This is the kind of distance that she’d slowly been carving, stained bloody by past regrets, present guilt. It all comes down to this: there’s things that she shouldn’t have promised, things that shouldn’t have been left unsaid. The verdict: she’s a crook, a thief in more ways than one, and the greater crime is that she’s too much of a coward to face the consequences.

Breathe in, breathe out. Stand still for a moment. It’ll be fine, it’ll be okay. He doesn’t know, he’ll never know.

Just one project, just a small stretch of a few hours, and it’ll end there. That’s how it has been during the entirety of this semester. That’s how she imagines the rest of this time will be.

It’s with this vindication that she can find the strength to fully walk to where he’s waiting, back turned in her direction. The briefest nudge against his shoulder, greeting him with a raised brow when he looks at her — just for old times’ sake, to settle any sense of uneasiness for the both of them. “Looks like you’ve been here for quite a while.” Her tone is light, composed. “Ready to go?”