and backspace

oh my

thank you! <3 i haven’t checked this tumblr in awhile so maybe you sent this 2 months ago or 2 years ago, but regardless my gratitude is timeless

Original/Musings

The Etiquette of Food and Feed

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/145091566999/the-etiquette-of-food-and-feed

Miss Right -- my hypocritical thoughts on Tinder

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/147225258359/miss-right

Reply 1988

Love in the Air

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/137465334149/love-in-the-air-junghwandeoksun

Think Pink

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/137645063959/think-pink

Neighborhood Watch (1/3) 

More or less, they had all had their suspicions about Deoksun and Junghwan.

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/136644355894/neighborhood-watch-12

Neighborhood Watch (2/3)

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/136959938209/neighborhood-watch-23

Neighborhood Watch Extra

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/137429747109/neighborhood-watch-extra

Neighborhood Watch (3/3)

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/141478757284/neighborhood-watch-33

Cheese in the Trap

Outfit of the Day

Yoo Jung had always known that, rich or poor, everyone owned a rotating closet of personas. Personalities were just like clothes—customizable and seasonal.

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/138183971029/outfit-of-the-day-cheese-in-the-trap-fanfic

Benched

Baek Inho punched, scratched, and slapped, but he never scarred. They would bruise a motley palette of purple and green, maybe swell a bit, but they would always return back to their unblemished state in a few days. His fingers never looked as defective as they were, and that made him want to fight all the more.

http://andbackspace.tumblr.com/post/139686722049/benched

Selectively Permeable

Selectively permeable—the concept summed him up very well. Except where nature was passive about it, he was certainly not. People pestered and prodded him, always itching to get through to him, but no one ever did, except for—

“Jung.” Seol’s voice floated through his earphone-earplugs.

Right. Right. Left.

“Swiper, no swiping.” The sass floated down from behind and above his seat on the stairwell.

“I don’t think Dora’s on Tinder, mi amigos.” His eyes never left the carousel of portraits on his smartphone. He briefly paused to contemplate a duck-pouting brunette. That one was a left.

“Amigo, it’s mi amigas. Maybe you should watch some Dora.”

“Che, whatever.”

“Keep swiping and you’ll get Carpal’s tunnel. Or STD’s, if you’re lucky enough to get laid.”

“Or I could fall love at first swipe with Trinity, age 22.” He intoned her pithy bio out loud and then waved her carseat selfie profile picture at Mia. “We can be daft together over Daft Punk.”

Mia quirked an eyebrow as her hands began to motion the choreography to “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger”.

Leon smirked, swiped left, and moved onto the next girl. “GoT Game of Thrones? Down to take you over. What a refreshing way to say we should Netflix and chill.”

“I know right, charming.” They lapsed back into silence. Right. Left. Left. “You know, I didn’t peg you as a Tinder boy.”

“Mom’s suggestion.” Mia’s face had incredulity written all over it, so Leon just jumped straight into the explanation. “She’s getting progressive. Said there’s fish in the sea, but there’s more in the ‘Net. Online.”

“Then why aren’t you on eHarmony.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “Okcupid?” And then elbowed her.

“I can’t leave my romantic life up to an algorithm.”

“So you’ll leave it up to something as dumb as picking left or right?” His left hand went up to comb his hair as his right deposited the smartphone into his pocket.

“No comment.” He gazed out into the stairwell window, chin resting on his hand.

“I’ll have you know that there is a three-dimensional girl next to you.”

At this, Leon just hummed into his palm, and that sat in silence for a bit. Mia’s forearms rested on her kneecaps, and her hands were lazily mimicking Daft Hands.

“Yeah, you’re right for me.” He muttered, his words warbled and muffled.

“Hm?”

“I said you’re a right for me.” He repeated more confidently, batting her a cheeky wink.

The table that was set for four only sat one. Three pairs of chopsticks laid dormant over three untouched rice bowls. The sole pair in motion ferried vinegar-soaked eggplants and lukewarm spinach into a bowl. It was a leftover-of-a-leftover sort of dinner.

The dining boy exhibited a great deal of ambidexterity. As his left hand exercised his chopsticks, his right casually swiped across his phone screen. He went at his feed with more appetite than his food. It was the normal slew of selfies and hybrid junk food tutorials.

His infinite scroll down his infinite scroll feed was only interrupted by the nondescript ringtone of his phone and the wrinkled face that temporarily wallpapered his screen.

“Hello?” He asked, casting a glance at the vacancies around the table. It was the norm, not the exception.

“You guys can start eating without me. The commute is long today.”

“Okay dad.” His chopsticks reached for another piece of chili chicken. From the floor above him, his mother’s chair wheeled about. If he tried hard enough, he could pick up her faint yet focused mouse clicks over their backyard cicadas and imagine her hunched over her laptop, attention leashed to the graphs on the screen.

Excerpt:

Selectively permeable—the concept summed him up very well. Except where nature was passive about it, he was certainly not. People pestered and prodded him, always itching to get through to him, but no one ever did, except for—

“Jung.” Seol’s voice floated through his earphone-earplugs. 

Excerpt:

Gray stucco alleys, wet splintered patios, the odd littered newspaper—Ssangmundong never changed.

Yet, in its stasis, everyone else had—Deoksun included.

Seoul had noticed the area’s stagnation too, and that was why by the year’s end, Ssangmundong would be reincarnated into stiff, spiffy high-rises. Where ten families used to squat there could potentially be fifty, each one orderly stacked atop another. Neighbors would be closer than ever. Knocking at someone’s doorstep would take three steps rather than three minutes. Yet somehow, as the physical distance minimized, the social distance maximized. 

Deoksun was fairly sure the very concept of neighbors was dying. So far the most she had seen of hers was their snow-crusted boots. Granted, in Ssangmundong, there had never really been neighbors either—everyone had been family.

hello! this doesn’t offend me in the slightest, in fact it makes me smile :)

whenever i write, i release a few thousand words to the internet. and sometimes a few people will respond and say nice things. sometimes there’s no response at all, and it makes me wonder if anyone’s listening (well, reading). so messages like these always make me happy! and they never, ever offend me. ^_^

Baek Inho punched, scratched, and slapped, but he never scarred. They would bruise a motley palette of purple and green, maybe swell a bit, but they would always return back to their unblemished state in a few days. His fingers never looked as defective as they were, and that made him want to fight all the more.

hello! i replied to this question on soompi forums but i hadnt replied here yet, sorry :(i probably will not write it soon, because i am back in college and swamped with work, dance, and research. it’s also hard for me to break canon, haha :’(

thank you though! it’s because of messages like these that always make me think, i should write something for them again :)

Yoo Jung had always known that, rich or poor, everyone owned a rotating closet of personas. Personalities were just like clothes—customizable and seasonal.

not rude at all ^_^

thank you for the message! (to be honest, i’m not that into sunbora either haha)

hello! thank you for the compliment :)

tbh im back in the swing of college and i was a junghwan girl... but ill try to write some paragraphs, see if my imagination spits anything out LOL

Taek’s mind was a lot like a hot wire: never static and always on. It buzzed incessantly with moves and countermoves, with more moves and more countermoves. It was a mental landscape largely devoted to baduk, one that could be painted in grayscale. Black and white for the thousands of stones he had set down since the age of five. Shades of grey for the thousands of salt-and-pepper hairstyles he had encountered in his aged opponents.

Perhaps that was why Deoksun complemented him. She wiped away the white noise—the area optimization algorithms, the capturing tactics, the sacrifice strategies—with simple, uncalculated smiles. Around her, he finally didn’t need sleeping pills; his mind became a blank canvas on its own. And then she would unknowingly inject color back into his world. He would notice the Cinderella-blue dusting her eyelids. The sunburnt orange tone she caked on her face. The soft rose of her angora winter gloves. To Taek, Deoksun was a reprieve from the monochromatic world of baduk.

hello! :) i’m currently back in college so i’m not sure if i can promise anything

i am just as happy that i found a reader!!

thank you ❤ i hope my fic gave you more closure + happiness ^_^

but i’ve been hearing that my fic made people cry, so LOL

AHH thank you :)it’s really flattering to get a response from the writer that inspired me to write 1988fici would’ve probably let my writing hibernate in word otherwise