#GLITCHEDCRAFT

YOU CAN TELL A LOT ABOUT A PERSON BY THE MUSIC THEY LISTEN TO. PUT YOUR MP3 PLAYER, ITUNES, SPOTIFY, ETC. ON SHUFFLE AND LIST THE FIRST 10 SONGS AND THEN TAG 10 PEOPLE, NO SKIPPING!

retro memory - capsule

ava maria - gfriend

time machine - robyn

zero gravity - perfume

into the new world - girls’ generation

ai - neon bunny

gimme love - carly rae jepsen

playing dead - chvrches

chole in the afternoon - st. vincent

the healing song - casker

TO: @glitchedcraft​

Past relationships are taboo. Never to be spoken of, never to be remembered. All small pieces of the grand scheme of mistakes he’s made. Youngjae abides by his own set of commandments through thick and thin, on the days when his will is weak and others when it is strong. What comes from lingering on the walk leading to an unfortunate stumble, other than the humiliating awareness of your own misstep?

Nothing.

And, yet, he contradicts himself. 

(Much like every boy his age.)

Swiping through text messages from days, months, years past, Youngjae sits on the center of his bed in sweatpants and an overwhelming curiosity about all he’s attempted to repress. Most are conversations left on the edge of a cliff from the other party but, he didn’t expect much more than that. He ends relationships faster than he rips off a band-aid.

Then, the pad of his thumb lingers on a name he remembers with a familiar fondness: Insik. 

The last message is his own.

[SMS] you free? i’ll treat you to dinner.

He wonders what happened. Whether his former boyfriend disappeared from the face of the earth, or if he caught on to the game Youngjae would play on everyone who lended their heart to him. Whether he truly cared about the other, or if he led him on. It’s too much to remember, but he wants to know. 

So he types, a little wishful, a little hopeful.

[SMS] hey, it’s youngjae. [SMS] not sure if you remember me, or if this is still your number [SMS] but it’s been… a while… almost a year [SMS] just wanted to check and see if you’re alright?

For a girl preoccupied with the idea of love, and all that it encompassed, Candy was rather prickly when it fell into the palm of her hands. The feeling instilled a glow within her, something she’d never taste otherwise, but much like everything else, it was temporary. Guilt ate away at her ― the lies, the secrets, the inability to open up, due to a fear of not being accepted. When it became too much, she simply left.

It hurt her to think about the hearts she had possibly broken, or how personal humiliation kept her from embracing true happiness, but it was her burden to bear. Much like everything else in this existence, she refused to share it with another, allow the weight to sift. In her mind, she was strictly on her own and nothing would change that.

None of this could cure the loneliness constantly simmering within her.

Thoughts were devoted, whether singular or multiple, to all those who had claimed stake in her life. Occasionally, she wondered how Youngjae (Valentine to some, purely Youngjae to her, always) was doing. But it drifted away, like every other well-meaning idea she had.

One day, he crashed back into her life as quickly as he had flown out of his.

As the ever-familiar DO NOT TEXT BACK title flashed before her eyes, a slight tremor sounded in her chest, reverberating through shaky breaths.

Weak. You’re so weak.

(I know. I’m sorry.)

This was bound to end terribly, yet her fingers crawled across the screen of her phone, as if following a greater power than her own.

Certain people exuded warmth, the kind you wished you could drench yourself in for hours on end. Jieun, and the friendship she gifted Candy with, was someone she wanted to drown in, soaking up all the positive energy she had to offer. Anything to ignore the ringing in her ears.

Affection had never been her expertise, unable to stop noticing how flat her chest seemed pressed against another’s. Yet with fingers intertwined, frames sat side by side, Candy felt stronger, safer than ever before. Something she had lost, since her mother’s death.

Even as her voice wavered under the heavy conversation, she felt a pure adoration course through her. At first, she was taken aback, because how could someone like Jieun look at herself as anything but perfect? Candy’s heart only knew appreciation for the other, holding her up on a pedestal and waiting at the bottom to catch her, if she ever fell.

“It used to. Not so much anymore.”

She lied yet again. A tiny one, yet still it stung at the back of her mind.

While her haunts had diminished over the years, they still clung at night, waiting for the right moment to attack all she had built up. When she thought she had finally escaped, they became faster, stronger.

It didn’t hurt so much when looking into her friend’s eyes, knowing she was loved just as she was. This brought her serenity.

Securely sat within Jieun’s embrace, Candy allowed her eyes to close, arms looping around the other tightly. Air tainted with bad thoughts flew out, replaced with something else altogether. “You’ve already helped me more than you can ever know. I feel lucky to know you.”

The idea of self-love was a vague one, one she fought for every day of her life. There were times when it seemed tangible, right there on the tip of her tongue, and others times, it felt a million light-years away. Currently, it resided within herself and within everyone she held dear.

[ kkt: supermetroid ] i will make sure to post the link next time i watch one of your stream.  [ kkt: supermetroid ] if i can get past the cringe nayway. [ kkt: supermetroid ] i remember that one night i tuned in and the guys were bantering over which one will end up marrying mercy and i think i died a little bit inside.  [ kkt: supermetroid ] at least overwatch aint as tilting as league. don’t get me started…on that subject. i think i quit playing after the endless rounds of useless teammates. 

Wishes. An idyllic fantasy frowned upon in the Noh household. God gave His followers everything they could want or need, so fantasies were strictly for sinners, who longed for more than necessary. From a young age, Candy learned that stars were merely stars and making wishes upon them would give her nothing. The Maker of the universe would provide, not the universe itself.

Despite knowing wishes were a romanticized form of prayer, sometimes she thought of stardust whispering hidden desires against pink tinted cheeks. Then she’d wake up (pretty and petite), the star of her own picture perfect Cinderella fairy tale. But this was cold, harsh reality, where good things never happened to liars such as her.

She let out a small sigh, losing herself to dreamy thoughts, allowing another player to splat the humanoid squid character running around on screen. Looking back at the other, she offered a small smile, reassuring him that she was listening. His words imprinted themselves and she found the idea of them comforting. Yet she had become a pessimistic optimist over the years.

“Well, you know what they say, right? Be careful what you wish for. There’s a lot of stories where they get what they ask for, but don’t realize the consequences, until it’s too late. Like in that episode of The Twilight Zone, where the guy just wants time to read, then he becomes the sole survivor of a nuclear explosion, but ends up breaking his glasses.”

Candy shook her head in pity, knowing something exactly like that would happen to her, if she was given what she longed for. To be able to look at herself every day without feeling even a single ounce of disgust.

But a certain chirped request made her momentarily forget the depths of self-drawn despair. “The Switch is very hard to get a hold of! It’s always sold out. I’m lucky I was able to get it pre-ordered.”

Femininity was a concept she constantly attempted to embrace, but felt it brush by more often than not. After the loss of her mother, Candy was left to develop her identity purely on her own. Makeup was confusing and form-fitting clothes meant for curves sat slack against her scrawny frame. Eventually, she accepted it as useless and her style grew forth from a personal laziness. The sole items she allowed, which were considered “girly”, was the lengthy hair she wore and a penchant for the color pink (secrets were meant to be kept after all). Otherwise, to all outside parties, she merely appeared as a sluggish gamer, fueled by father’s bank account.

All of this equaled up to a difficult shopping experience. If she could not shop for herself, then how could she be expected to know what to get other women, especially a pregnant one? While her dear friend was not very far along, the dutiful Candy couldn’t help in wanting to splurge on maternity clothes. But considering how Carmen was the most stylish person she knew (who embraced black in the way she held pink close to her heart), she was at a complete loss as to what were appropriate purchases and what were inappropriate ones.

Her logic told her that piles of frilly and pink would not suit Carmen well (only due to the woman’s personal tastes, because in Candy’s humble opinion, she could pull off anything), yet that was all she held, bundled in her arms. Terrible. Once again, she felt lost within herself, the crowd sporting stylish cuts, compared to her own tossed together outfit. Suddenly, she was very aware of exposed long white socks covering what cut off jeans hid and how the sleeves of her button-up shirt fell past her hands.

Dread formed in her throat, as if she had swallowed an apple whole, the all too familiar acid of dysphoria creeping up on her again. To get a grip on herself (breathe, breathe, remember to breathe), she followed whichever direction her feet took her. And they swept her along, directly in front of another woman. One with cool features and even cooler clothing. “Excuse me,” she cleared her throat, “I hate to be a bother, but do you think you could help me? I’m buying clothes for my friend, and―” she motioned downards to herself, showing her lack of fashion knowledge, “obviously, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He realizes she’s forgotten what softness is when he touches her, and she goes astray. But even calloused skin has cracks, and he finds his way in through them. In the way she speaks more through her trembles than her words, he’s understanding her language unspoken; she leaves herself open just enough for him to slip through. 

He’d like to think he’s doing just the same tonight: there’s enough alcohol on the table and the sky’s much too empty for anyone to possibly feel whole. He should be stopping her at three glasses, but she keeps asking and the bartender keeps giving. So he just watches her, although never too far from her. 

Strangely, every time he looks at her, he thinks of havens. Haven, a world where everything is a sanctuary and nothing is a gun. 

So why is everything a gun.

He watches her come undone, one memory at a time. He doesn’t know the composition of the memories, but there is enough to be found in the syntax of her tears. He allows her more alcohol, lets her breathe, fixes her hair then only when she ceases to speak anymore to her heart’s desire, steps in to talk.

“Easy.” He’s returning the smile. “Too easy.” There’s confidence there, and it’s faux: he has none of it, but he pretends, because he knows it’s what she needs. “Then let’s make some new happenings to have you resurrect.” He leans over to her, placing both hands at her cheek. He brings her close until he places his lips onto her forehead, planting a kiss there.

“Let’s live a little from now, Candy.” 

There were times she wished to press her fingers into her eye sockets, wondering if the pain would drown out the thoughts constantly creeping within her. Anything to keep her quiet and away from others. But then as touch and reassurance was offered, she arrived to a certain idea: that hurt was worth it, as long as she surrounded herself with those she could rely on.

A single hiccup reverberated through her and then suddenly the skies cleared, meaning sobriety was approaching and logic (with a side of shame for acting so recklessly) came with it. The bar was cleaned off, a glass of water replacing the mess she had created. A clean slate, a new start.

Juwon was kind, if not a little too touchy (red blotches across her cheeks told everyone in the bar as much). When he spoke, she believed and trusted, understanding the hint of weariness in his tone. “Thanks,” she muttered dumbly, wishing she wouldn’t retreat into herself every time life tightened its grip around her throat.

If it wasn’t her father’s complaints, it was her own. Would she ever know peace?

Apparently not.

Instinctively, her eyes fluttered shut, as lips pressed to her heated skin. Were people watching (will you stop caring so much)? “That depends on what living a little entails, Juwon,” Nervous fingers ran through dark locks, shifting them back into place. “Kissing is a little much for me. I’m a pure Christian...” she paused, feeling ill even at the thought, “boy, you know.”

To be Candy was her dream, yet she couldn’t bear presenting as such in public.

( meme status: not accepting! )

If there was one thing (among many, many things) Candy loved unconditionally, it was dogs. She was weak to each one she met, stopping and petting them, even if their owners didn’t appreciate it. They would forever take up a huge chunk of her heart with their round eyes full of life and adoration. Each person a dog met was their new best friend and Candy wished to somehow strive to be the same.

But a certain Lee Jieun already occupied that status and neither of them would allow it to be given up.

After much coaxing from other people in her life, Candy decided the best way to battle the loneliness, which swept over her nearly empty apartment, was to get a fuzzy companion. Hours within the journey across various animal shelters, she stumbled upon The One. She was all black and more than eager to hold out her paw in greeting. Not only was she friendly, but she exuded the softness, which Candy longed to have herself. It was love at first sight.

“You’re just like a princess, aren’t ya, Zelda?” she cooed, scratching the dog behind her floppy ear. Zelda, who seemed pleasantly pleased with the new moniker, wagged her tail and bounced excitedly.

On the day Zelda came home, Candy wanted to go out and get some last minute toys and treats, but didn’t want to leave the dog in a foreign environment. There was just one option as to who to call for babysitting duties. Jieun had always been nervous around animals (for whatever strange reason), but she didn’t trust anyone else to look after her place and pet.

She was gone for an hour. An hour and a half at the most. Yet she came back to a war zone. At least three of her beloved plants had been knocked over, dirt and water strewn across the floor. Lamps had either fallen or were completely busted. But the worst part was her new custom painted pink mouse had been mangled beyond all recognition.

“What happened?” Candy finally managed to ask, an extremely nervous Jieun stuck in a nearby corner.

Her friend relayed a story of how Zelda tried to jump on her (”She just wanted to love you!” “No! It was scary!”), so she ended up running around the living room, trying to avoid her. In the process, a huge mess was made and the dog made a nice plastic meal of the mouse.

“I’m sorry. I was out of control. But it was mostly her fault.”

And while this was true, Candy had never been one to hold a grudge.

Thankfully, she had emergency money saved up for such an occasion.

Wrapping an arm around the still shivering woman, she leaned her head against hers. “It’s okay. Obviously, I need to shell out for a dog sitter next time, so you won’t be traumatized. But―” she spoke sternly, “you and Zelda have to get along! You’re both my loves and I won’t have you getting into fights or destroying my apartment every time you come over.”

This would end up being much easier said than done.

To him: If God created us all in His image, then why was I marooned in a body I can’t stand? Does Satan whisper venomous serpents against my ear, leading me away from the path of manhood I am meant to follow? If I am wrong, then let me be damned forever. If you are wrong, then I hope he forgives you, just as I have time and time again.

About names, possession and everything I have never admitted to anyone: Insik belongs to everyone (he is a lie, one of many; nothing more, nothing less), Candy belongs to me and me alone (she is the truth, the lone destination). She is a secret being, that I wish to be above all else. He is merely the dagger I use to stab myself, when I can’t stand it any longer. You will never be beautiful, you will always be stuck like this, nothing will ever change (I know, I know, I know).

To angels: When will you offer me your heavenly light? To brush your fluttering wings against my undeserving face would be divine (I miss her, please tell her so).

Questions to death: Sometimes, you are my enemy. Sometimes, you are a blanket wrapped around me for warmth. If I were to escape, could I become who I wanted? Does Heaven let in people like me? The mistakes? Those, whose sins outnumber the virtues? Will I, who is weak and wishes to discard my beliefs for simple comfort, be tossed away? Why did you have to take her away from me?

To her: Your absence stings through every moment, every breath I take. I miss the smell of your strawberry hair, how it cascaded over me, in times of worry. I miss being told, “it’ll be okay,” and being naive enough to believe it. I miss the softness of your hands brushing bangs out of my face. I miss feeling unbroken and alive in the grace of your presence (you are perfect, everything I could never be; she is was feminine, kind and pure).

Questions to the body: The days I can’t stand you, I want to cut myself out of the skin and find myself another home. Hair lining my limbs, deep voice, rough hands all remind me of exactly what I don’t want to be. The days I love you, I want to kiss myself all over in hopes you’ll accept my apologies. I’m sorry for never having the strength to see the girl I want to see in you. I’m sorry for doubting you. Can you ever bring yourself to forgive me? Do you want to abandon me just as much as I want to abandon you? I would not blame you, if you did.

To the heart: If I were born the way I longed to be, would you change? Would you be the image of innocence I wish for? Or would you be slop, along with my brain and insides? I’ve hurt you so much, since the day I realized everything that was wrong. I’m sorry for doing this to you. I want to be better, you deserve so much more than this. I push away the ones that make you happy, in order to keep my lies, my secrets, safe. How you’ve remained intact after all the years, all the pressure, I’ll never know. But thank you.