i hate the morning

dependent mumu blog for astrolandrp - written by lo.

[ghostwhspers]

this blog is a dependent mumu blog for @astrolandrp

ahn yunsu (sunny) / musings / stats / pinterest.

choi jiwon / musings / stats / pinterest.

malik lewis / musings / stats / pinterest.

nie xiguang (xigua) / musings / stats/ pinterest

[ghostwhspers]

closed starter for the lovely lucy @inanuration location: galaxy skateway

Malik had skated here every day the summer he was fourteen. He knew this as a fact, the way he knew his own birthday, and he'd come out here on the theory that the body remembers what the rest doesn't. If he could just stand where he stood. Put his hands where they went - then he might remember. Really remember. As if it had really happened to him rather than another person in another lifetime. He stood at the lip of the bowl now, toes at the edge of the concrete, and waited for something to come up in him. The bowl was smaller than it should've been. Everything in this town was smaller than it should've been, and he couldn't tell anymore if that was the town or him.

There'd been a trick he could do. Everyone said so, his hands could almost feel the shape of it, and he'd stood here for twenty minutes trying to let it surface, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the curve of the concrete like it owed him something. Nothing came. Just a picture of a kid doing it, seen from outside, the way you'd remember a stranger. That was the part he hated most, that his own life kept arriving in third person. He crouched, pressed his palm flat against the sun-warm concrete, and held it there a beat too long, past the point where it looked like anything a person would normally do.

Footsteps on the gravel behind him. He was upright and turned around before the sound had finished registering as footsteps, weight already settled, his expression cautious. A woman. Her face unfamiliar to him. He looked at her the way he looked at everyone now, not a glance but an inventory, hands, posture, distance to the gate, and said nothing at all. She probably was just passing through after all.

[ghostwhspers]

closed starter for the wonderful richie @probablealiens where: the interceptor offices

The office after ten was Xigua's favourite place to be. The phones stopped, and she could finally think in complete sentences. She had meant to leave two hours ago. Instead she was still at her desk with next week's article drafted, her tea gone cold in its mug. However, the draft had issues, marked up in the editor's familiar hand. She had read the annotations four times now. She understood each individual word. It was the sum of them that refused to resolve, and she had been staring at it like some kind of unsolvable puzzle for the better part of an hour.

One note gently suggested a softer opening. Her opening was a fact: the county's largest employer had quietly restructured its pension obligations, and she had stated as much in the first line, because that was the news. Give the reader a moment to settle in was written beside it, and she could not work out whether that was an instruction about craft or about manners. After all, it was a newspaper. Was the reader not prepared to read news? Another note simply read warmer? next to a paragraph of figures. The figures were correct. She had checked them three times against the filings. The numbers did not have a temperature.

The sensible thing would have been to leave a note and raise it in the morning. But there was light under the editor's door as there often was at this hour, and Xigua had never seen the point of holding a question overnight when the person who could answer it was twenty feet away. She crossed the newsroom, knocked twice, and did not wait long enough for the knock to be answered before opening the door.

"Hey, Hirsch," She greeted, "Your notes on the pension piece." She stopped in front of his desk, laid the pages down and turned them to face him, one finger resting beside the offending marginalia. When she first started out, she was more hesitant with bringing up her questions. But by now she was sure Richie was used to her penchant for taking things too literally. "You wrote warmer next to my pension figures. I've been staring at this for an hour, and the numbers are right. I checked them against the filings three times, so you can't mean the numbers. What needs to be warmer?"

[ghostwhspers]

closed starter for the wonderful raine @uf0parking where: the retro rocket

The napkin between them had suffered throughout their lunch. Sunny had drawn on it twice, ripped both attempts out, and was now onto the sugar packets, arranging them on the tabletop while his coffee went cold beside his camera. "Okay, forget the drawing," He murmured intently, his eyes not leaving the packets. "Watch this instead. Let's pretend this sugar packet here is the flying saucer, you follow?"

"And...this Ketchup's the mountains." He slid the packet slowly across the table, keeping his eye level low, almost cheek to the Formica. "Shoot from down here, saucer's six inches from the lens, mountains are across the room, and the camera flattens all of it. Costs you nothing. You just have to hold real still and pray nobody bumps the table."

He straightened up and tapped the back of his camera. "And if you want the ship to glow, double expose it. Shoot your saucer on black velvet. And - don't wind the film, shoot the sky over it. Two pictures on one frame. Then you get your perfect scene."

It struck him, somewhere in the middle of all this, that he'd been talking with his hands for five straight minutes, which he did around maybe four people in this entire town. But that was the thing about Raine. There was something about them that made it easy to get comfortable, easy even for someone like Sunny who was always on edge. Talking with them never felt like small talk or forced. "I'm telling you. All that special effects shit they're doing with computers these days is unnatural and takes the fun out of filming." He mumbled, reaching up to scratch the side of his neck idly. "Like that dinosaur movie."

[cosmicwanderism]

The trip to the laundromat hadn't been planned, not even quite up to about thirty seconds before she stumbled through the door. The only reasons she'd made the detour rather than going straight home were because, one, she had gotten lost and two, the brightly lit laundromat had caught her attention even through her blurred vision. "Fuck," She hissed when the door falling closed behind her made her jump.

Evie was already in the process of pulling her shirt over her head when the deep voice reached her ears. "Sorry, what?" She slurred, squinting to try and get a better look at the person she had failed to spot on her way in. After all, in her mind it was a priority to get out of her clothes. Not only had someone managed to spill their drink right down her favorite top, she had then regrettably slept with that exact same person and fled the scene (a dirty bathroom stall) right after.

Now realizing the fluorescent space might have been a mistake, she had to blink hard to get her vision to focus on the stranger, finding it an easier thing to look at than the spinning machines that made her stomach uneasy. Evie finally managed to pull her shirt over her head and had to pause to replay his words in her mind before tossing the article of clothing in a machine, followed by her jeans.

It was then that her hazy brain remembered she had no idea what she was doing and she ran a hand through her hair, already on the verge of tears. While tempted to just kick the machine, she took a deep breath and internalized her anger, instead turning to her only hope at a better ending of her night. "Uh, could you help me with this? Quarters, quarters, shit." She pulled her jeans out again, slumping down to the ground as she pulled the dollar bills out of its pockets. "I don't know how these work, I just need-" She paused to swallow hard, hating the tremor in her voice. "Sorry, it's been a bad night and I need to sober up anyway so I can get home."

[ghostwhspers]

Sunny had been half looking away as the girl stripped her shirt, some automatic gesture of giving a stranger privacy she hadn't asked for, when the rest of the picture assembled itself. The slur in her voice. The hard blinking. The way she folded down to the floor to dig through her jeans like the ground had been the plan all along.

His jaw tensed, something in his chest going tight and old and familiar, a door in him easing open onto a hallway he knew every inch of. He'd done this before. Done this last night. Different woman, different decade, same wet-eyed fumbling with money that wouldn't cooperate, same it's been a bad night delivered in that voice people used when the night was the least of it. He hated how smoothly he moved into it, how there wasn't even a decision, just muscle memory dressed up as kindness.

"Hey - " He says, his voice gentle despite the electricity crackling in his veins. "You're fine. It's not you, these machines are older than both of us." He moved then, unhurried, keeping a couple feet of distance the way you would with anything easily spooked. He then shrugged off his hoodie, wordlessly handing it to her. "It gets drafty in here."

He crouched to her level rather than standing over her, forearms on his knees. "Change machine's broken more than it works, so the bills won't help you tonight. Lucky for you, I am the deputy of quarters." He fished the roll of quarters out of his back pocket, the one he kept for exactly this place, and cracked it against his palm like an egg. "Here."

He fed the machine for her, dropped the coins in slow enough that she could see the order of operations if her eyes felt like tracking it. "Cold water. Whatever got spilled on that shirt, hot water just superglues it to the fabric."

The machine shuddered to life. He straightened up and stepped back, restoring the distance, and nodded toward the row of plastic chairs against the wall.

"Wash cycle's about forty minutes. That's forty minutes of sitting down and drinking water, which works out, because it's exactly what you said you needed." He was already reaching for his backpack, pulling out a bottle of water and wordlessly lowering it onto the ground right next to her.

[ghostwhspers]

MALIK LEWIS  ・ 31 ・ CIS MAN ・ HE / HIM occupation : unemployed ・ year of arrival : local (but also 1997)・ face claim : damson idris written by lo stats. pinterest.

Before he became the question hanging over an entire town, Malik Lewis was the sort of person others relied upon without having to ask. Intelligent, athletic, fearless and fiercely loyal, he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who believed there was very little in the world he could not handle. He was well-liked - quick with a joke, quicker to defend the people he cared about and dependable enough that, when he made a promise, nobody expected him to break it. Least of all his younger sibling, Raine.

Raine had followed Malik around almost from the moment they could walk, trailing behind him with the unquestioning devotion only a younger sibling could manage. Malik pretended to find it annoying when it suited him, but he rarely turned them away. He remembered what they liked, included them when he could and understood them deeply.

On October 10, the night before Raine’s eleventh birthday, Malik went out with four friends. Before leaving, he promised that the following day would be entirely theirs. He would rent Blood Beach and Galaxy of Terror so they could watch both after school, before their parents returned home, and then the family would have dinner together. It was Raine’s golden birthday, and Malik had every intention of making it feel important. He had promised her. He never came home.

Of the five who went out that night, only two initially returned. What happened next only made the story more difficult to understand. Others resurfaced weeks later, unwilling or unable to explain where they had been. Another would eventually be found dead years afterward. Malik remained missing.

There was never a definitive explanation. Some blamed the kids themselves and whispered about an outdated hazing ritual that had gone too far. Others blamed the unscathed boy, the only one to walk away seemingly untouched. There were rumours about the nearby government research facility, strange lights and other disappearances that had never been adequately explained. Every theory created more questions than answers, and none of them brought Malik home.

His disappearance destroyed the Lewis family in slow, uneven pieces. For Raine, it became the dividing line between the life they had known and everything that came afterward. Malik had vanished the night before their birthday after promising he would be there, leaving Raine to spend sixteen years wondering whether he had abandoned them, suffered somewhere beyond anyone’s reach or died without ever being found. Then, impossibly, Malik returned.

At thirty-one, he still looks like the boy people remember grown into the man he should have become. He speaks with the same voice, carries fragments of the same humour and remembers details no impostor should know. He remembers October 11. He remembers the movies. He remembers the promise he never kept. Yet there is something about him that does not sit correctly.

The differences are subtle enough to dismiss individually. A pause that lasts a moment too long. A familiar expression arriving at the wrong time. The sense that he is sometimes studying the people around him rather than merely looking at them. Sixteen years is long enough to change anyone, particularly someone who may have endured something beyond ordinary comprehension, and Malik offers little explanation for where he has been or why he has returned now. He is guarded about the missing years, suspicious of questions and prone to anger when pressed too closely. Whatever happened has left him paranoid, proud and intensely protective of the few things he still considers his.

Malik insists he is still himself, and perhaps he is. Beneath the secrecy, there remain flashes of the brother who was once worshipped: loyal, funny and reliably present when it matters. But every familiar detail only makes the unfamiliar ones more unsettling. Whether Malik survived something unspeakable, returned fundamentally altered or brought something back with him remains unclear.

For now, he unemployed, a missing person returned from the dead without the convenience of having actually died. To the town, Malik Lewis is a mystery that has reopened old wounds and revived long-buried suspicions. To those who love him, he is something far more complicated: a person they spent sixteen years wanting back, and also a stranger they may now have to understand.

[uf0parking]

who: @ghostwhspers ( malik ) where: blockbuster video

The chime on the door startled Raine awake behind the counter. They had been watching a documentary and it wasn't that they hadn't found it interesting, it was just that they worked at both the park and blockbuster that day and they were eight kinds of exhausted. Tired plus informational videos made it impossible for Raine to keep her eyes open. Especially when no one else was around to help keep her awake.

Speaking of, who the hell just walked into the video store?

Dark eyes scanned the aisles till she landed on, who she assumed, was a straggling tourist looking for something to watch in a town with very little to do in that wasn't alcohol or Astroland related. "Hey sorry, I didn't greet you. I guess I zoned out." She laughed nervously, knowing she was lying and as a horrible liar it made her feel guilty, even if it was a white lie. She rounded the corner for the horror aisle and put on a smile, trying to get a better look at who she was talking to. "Um, do you need help finding anything?" It was obvious he was either new to town or just visiting.

Still something felt familiar about him at the same time.

[ghostwhspers]

Malik didn't startle when the footsteps came around the aisle, but only because he'd been tracking them since the counter even as his dark eyes flit from one neatly displayed video case to the other. Occasionally, they would stop at a CD case, his brows furrowing with soft confusion. How could a video fit into such a thin box?

His shoulders drew tight anyway as the person approached him. He kept his eyes on the shelf and made himself breathe like a man browsing a video store, nothing more, no reason to be watching the mirror dome in the corner. Zebra. Yapok. Xerus...

The place smelled like carpet and plastic.

...Vulture. Uakari...

It seemed too normal. He didn't trust it.

...Tarantula. Snake. Rabbit...

"You're fine," he said, a beat too late, without turning. He had relaxed enough to mask through the conversation.

"Actually, yeah - you can help me. I'm looking for Blood Beach." He said it the way a man picks up a conversation from earlier that afternoon, no weight on it at all, as if the errand were current, as if it hadn't been sitting untouched for over a decade. As if this very errand hadn't festered in his brain like a parasite. "And...Galaxy of Terror, if you got that. They're for my little sis."

Then he turned.

He looked at them too hard, the way he looked at everyone now. Exits, hands, face. Something snagged there, some small pull at the bottom of it, and he let it go, because that was how everything felt to him. Familiar and unfamiliar. A tired clerk. A stranger.

"So." He said, his head canting slightly. "You got them or not?"

[cosmicwanderism]

closed starter: nie xigua ( @ghostwhspers )

It had been a long day at work and while Nova would have loved to be the kind of person whose exhaustion helped them sleep, unfortunately the opposite was true. It was days like these where her brain refused to shut itself off and even tried to tell her she had chosen the wrong line of work. Dealing with other people's issues did in fact not erase her own, nor did it fix her relationship with her family or her own shitty mental health.

It happened often that she found herself out on her balcony, especially with the recent weather. Something about the air felt like a warm blanket that she hoped would help soothe her to sleep, calm her nerves. Another reason she kept coming here, was that she had found unlikely company in her next door neighbor, who at least seemed to share the sentiment of the night time being a good time to come outside and chill under the starry sky.

"Xigua?" She hesitantly called out as she stepped outside, unsure if the woman was even home or available for a... half chat, half parallel play in a comfortable silence. One of her cats brushed past her legs to join her onto the balcony, then proceeded to stand still to stretch right in front of her, causing her to nearly trip over the creature. "Shoot, you're going to be the death of me." She muttered, stepping over the cat to get a better view of the sky.

[ghostwhspers]

Xigua had been on her balcony for the better part of an hour already, a cup of tea long gone cold on the little table beside her, an unfinished thought about tomorrow's column circling her head. She heard Nova's door before she heard her name. The way it dragged along the balcony floor - loud, slightly swollen in its frame since the last hot spell, was as identifiable to her as a voice.

"I'm here," she responded absently. She didn't turn around right away. The sky was doing something worth watching, thin cloud pulling apart in front of the stars like cotton being teased off a roll, and she had learned that Nova didn't need her to perform attentiveness. It was one of the things that made them good company. Most people treated silence like a leak that needed fixing.

The small commotion of the cat pulled her attention over anyway. She watched the animal complete its stretch with total indifference to the human it had nearly toppled, and something in her expression softened

"I am convinced she does that deliberately," Xigua said. "She stops where you're already committed to the step. I've watched her do it four times this week. If she wanted to kill you there are more efficient positions, so I think she just likes the reaction." Her statement is coupled with her undignified giggle. "I half think all cats are secretly plotting how to kill us; don't you?"

She reached for the cold tea, scrunched her nose when the cold and bitter liquid touched her tongue, and drank it anyway. "Tea, Nov'?" She offered absently, tapping her delicate fingers against her ceramic tea cup, her nails making a pleasant tapping noise that was clearly amusing her. "Not this tea." She clarified, stating the obvious.

[ghostwhspers]

where: spin city laundromat when: late, closer to midnight than anyone should be washing towels who: sunny + open

The hum of two dozen machines had a frequency to it, something Sunny had decided weeks ago was either soothing or slowly driving him insane, and he'd stopped caring which. Spin City at this hour was his favorite version of it. No one fighting over the industrial basin, no kids launching themselves off the folding tables, just the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and the desert dark pressing up against the front windows like it wanted in.

He'd come straight from the Stardust, still smelling faintly of popcorn butter, a garbage bag of laundry in one hand because the actual hamper had given up somewhere around the second sister. Most of what churned behind the little porthole window wasn't even his. Cartoon shirts, a school uniform two sizes too optimistic, socks so small they kept escaping through the gaps in the wire cart. His own clothes went in last, whatever was left over, the same as always.

His camera sat on the folding table beside him, because it always did. He'd told himself he brought it everywhere for the paper, in case something happened in this town worth printing, but the truth was quieter than that. The truth was he'd already burned three frames tonight on the way the machines' round windows lined up down the wall like a row of portholes, laundry tumbling through them in slow, soapy orbits. Nobody at the Interceptor was going to run that. He'd taken it anyway.

Now he sat slouched in one of the plastic chairs, head tipped back against the wall, eyes shut. Not sleeping. He didn't sleep in public, didn't trust it, but there was a version of resting where he stayed aware of the door, and he'd gotten good at it. He'd grown up on this town's sounds, could map them without looking: the rattle of the vending machine when it dropped a box of soap, the cough of a truck out on the highway, the door chime-

The door chime.

He cracked one eye open toward the entrance, and whatever softness the empty laundromat had lulled him into folded itself neatly away, replaced by stiff curving of his mouth - a halfway polite, unreadable expression he kept for people he hadn't decided about yet.

"Machine on the end eats quarters," he offered, by way of greeting. "Not a warning I got, so consider yourself ahead."

[free-my-mindd]

[cosmicwanderism]

open starter!! location: stardust

She found the building beautiful. Maybe it was because of how spacious it was or how it smelled different than any other place she'd ever been. It didn't feel pretentious, like it was trying to show off wealth that existed in credit card debt. And while she had only entered the lobby, the place felt relatively safe. Evie looked around at the different movie posters covering the walls, her interest piqued by most of them. How was she ever going to decide what to watch?

Putting on her best smile she approached the first person she happened to make eye contact with. "Hey you, do you have a favorite one that I really have to see? I'm not exactly an expert and you look like you have good taste. We could go see it together, if you wanted, my treat?"

[ghostwhspers]

Xigua had been examining a poster with an unusually loud color palette, cataloguing the composition rather than actually reading it, when a voice cut into the process without any of the usual preamble people used when approaching a stranger. Her soft brown eyes darted as she turned.

She turned. The girl in front of her was bright-eyed, clearly delighted by the building itself, looking at Xigua with an openness most people reserved for someone they already knew. Xigua took a moment longer than the question probably warranted to answer it, less out of hesitation and more because she wanted to answer it correctly.

"Days of Being Wild," she said finally. "Wong Kar-wai. It's told through several overlapping voiceovers instead of one straight story, and nobody in it wants the same person at the same time as anyone else does. It's not flashy." She glanced at the posters lining the actual lobby wall, as if only now registering that the question had probably meant something showing here. "It's also not going to be playing at this theatre."

She paused, replaying the second half of the question, the part that hadn't been about the movie at all. "I'd have to check when it's actually playing somewhere, and then check my schedule against that."

She was already straight into the logistics of it, entirely straightforward. She then tipped her chin toward the brightly coloured poster. "I have been here for thirty minutes. Of the eleven people that walked in, eight bought tickets to this one. I guess it's the most popular."

[driflloon]

鞠婧祎 ju jingyi

[probablealiens]

who : open to anyone! where : astroland, independence day at dusk

it might look like he's come alone, but really, he hasn't. the rest of indika's band is scattered across the park somewhere―they'd all piled into his van to come see the fireworks and the second they were through the gate, it was a free for all and he'd instantly lost them―and he's been telling himself he's not bothered by that. ( he is not. he isn't. it's nothing like what happened before, is it? it's not like he's being ditched. ) there's enough here to capture his attention anyway ; an assortment of colors and lights and sounds all wrapped up in one sticky-sweet sensory thrill he can explore until the show starts.

indika wanders through the midway toward the ferris wheel with an inflatable plastic alien tucked under one arm ; he didn't actually win it, but the attendant working the whack-an-alien! game was sweeter than cotton candy and it hadn't been too hard to charm his way into a prize. now that he's got it, though, he's not sure he really wants it. green eyes dance across the many faces in the midway before landing on one on a whim and redirecting his course accordingly.

❝ hey, so i, uh―i don't really know how these invasions work, but he told me to take him to my leader? ❞ indika offers when he approaches, faux-confusion lilting his tone as he holds up the plastic green alien. ❝ and i don't actually know who's in charge here, so i thought the prettiest face i could find might be next best? i know i always listen when someone gorgeous is talking. ❞

they make a show of looking at the alien for a long moment before grinning as they look back. ❝ you heard that? he said i'm right, too, so... his words, not mine.❞

[ghostwhspers]

sunny lowers his camera just enough to look over it, first at the inflatable alien and then at the stranger holding it. the compliment earns no visible reaction beyond the slight lift of a pale eyebrow—which looked all the more sceptical with the silvery scar cutting through it.

❝ that’s unfortunate. ❞ the response is dry and a little clipped, spoken in a voice about an octave too deep to match the face it came from. for a moment, he lets it hang there awkwardly, busying himself with fiddling with his camera lens.

his sharp gaze then flicks to the alien, studying it once again with the kind of apprehension one reserved for criminals. ❝ he should probably keep looking. ❞

with a graceful movement, sunny shifts the camera strap higher on his shoulder, already half-prepared to move on. his eyes return to Indika’s only briefly, cold and assessing rather than amused.

❝ and you might want to workshop that line before the next invasion. ❞

[ghostwhspers]

NIE XIGUANG // XIGUA ・ 30 ・ CIS WOMAN ・ SHE / HER occupation : the interceptor photographer and journalist・ year of arrival : local ・ face claim : ju jingyi written by lo stats. pinterest.

known to be TENACIOUS, GENUINE, and ENDEARING, but also ROMANTICALLY INEPT, DRAMATIC, OVERCONFIDENT and INSENSITIVE, they have been in intercept ALL THEIR LIFE, currently working as a PHOTOGRAPHER / JOURNALIST for the interceptor.

Nie Xiguang, known to most as Xigua, has the kind of countenance that makes people decide who she is before she ever opens her mouth. She works as a journalist, and the same sharp, patient mind that serves her in a game of Shogi serves her there too, reading a room, a source, or a set of numbers before anyone else in it has finished forming their first impression.

Her resting expression is cool and distant, and people read arrogance into it, or entitlement, and rarely give her the benefit of the doubt because of it. In truth she is introverted, observant, and far more thoughtful than she lets on. What almost nobody sees is the flip side of that same composure: with the handful of people she actually trusts, she can be demanding, particular, even a little dramatic, a private pettiness that would startle anyone who only knows her cool public self. She also speaks with a naive bluntness that initially strikes people as strange and eccentric, but is endearing to those who know her best.

She is relentlessly hardworking, erudite and ambitious, excelling at nearly anything she commits to, which earns her quiet resentment more often than admiration. Praise has never come easily to her, and neither has popularity. When a plan of hers goes sideways, and she is certain enough of her own reads that this does happen, she does not panic or abandon it. She adjusts, the same patience that wins her chess games carrying her through the setback, though that same confidence in her own judgment can just as easily lead her to commit hard to a plan built on a wrong assumption, and it takes her a while to notice when it has.

Her private life is quieter and warmer than anyone would guess. She is a devoted foodie with refined taste, and the tea ceremony is one of her few real sanctuaries. She paints, too, using it as a wordless outlet for feelings she otherwise keeps to herself. She adores animals, horses especially, drawn to their strength and sensitivity, and at home she dotes on a pet rabbit named Chang'e with a softness almost nobody else gets to witness.

The image cracks in other ways as well. Her laugh is odd and completely ungraceful, nothing like the dainty picture she otherwise presents, and her humour is dry, strange, and slightly offbeat enough to catch people off guard. Stranger still, for someone who reads others so well, she is genuinely bad at being deliberately charming. The moment she tries to flirt on purpose, the effort shows, and it rarely lands the way she intends, a clumsiness that sits oddly against everything else about her. But underneath the calculation is a real capacity for unguarded feeling, and when she does let someone in, it is not a performance. It can surprise her as much as it surprises them.

Note: Xiguang is autistic. However, I headcanon her as being undiagnosed because woman-identifying autistic people often are. I still want to note this for the crowd.

[ghostwhspers]

AHN SUNNY ・ 25 ・ CIS MAN ・ HE / HIM occupation : the interceptor photographer ・ stardust concession stand staff ・ fuel me up cashier ・ year of arrival : local ・ face claim : (felix) yongbok lee written by lo stats. pinterest.

FULL NAME: AHN YUNSU NICKNAME / GOES BY : Sunny GENDER & PRONOUNS: he/him AGE & BIRTHDAY: 25 TIME IN INTERCEPT: local OCCUPATION: photographer at the intercept, concession stand staff at stardust, cashier at fuel me up. STRENGTHS: charismatic, neighbourly, protective, dependable, responsible WEAKNESSES: guarded, reactive, distrusting, chronic self-neglect FACECLAIM: Felix Yongbok Lee MBTI: ISTP BLOOD TYPE: A. BIRTHDAY: 25th of April FUN FACT: has a sweet tooth. cw: alcoholism, parentification Everyone at the Intercept knows him as Sunny, though the nickname sits a little oddly next to how guarded he actually is. He's twenty five, a local, and he keeps himself busy on purpose: photography work at the Intercept, shifts behind the concession stand at Stardust, and cashiering at a gas station whenever the schedule needs covering. Three jobs isn't ambition so much as habit. He's worked like this since he was a teenager, and slowing down has never really felt like an option to him.

He has the kind of face that draws a second look, striking features set against a lean, athletic build that still carries the shape of his old wrestling training. The scars complicate the picture a little. Most have faded to a soft, silvery colour scattered quietly across his skin, but two remain more visible than the rest, one cutting through his upper lip, another through his eyebrow. He's never explained either one, and most people have learned by now not to ask twice.

He was still in school when his father left to start over with a new family, and what came after landed almost entirely on him. His mother struggled in ways that meant she couldn't always be counted on, succumbing to alcoholism, so Yunsu dropped out to work, and he's spent every year since keeping the household running: bills paid, meals made, his three younger sisters, ten, eight, and four, raised as much under his watch as hers. He reads a situation fast and acts on it without waiting to be asked, which is part of why the weight has settled on him so completely. What he almost never does is turn any of that same care toward himself. Sunny often forgets to eat, barely sleeps and keeps himself going by the skin of his own teeth.

Get past his guard and there's someone genuinely funny underneath it, quick with a dry line at exactly the moment it lands best, and instinctively neighbourly, the type to clock a problem nearby and quietly deal with it before anyone thinks to ask. The same protectiveness has an edge to it, though. Corner him, or threaten someone he cares about, and the calm disappears fast. The wrestling isn't just a detail from his past. It surfaces, hard and immediate, whenever he feels backed into something.

Underneath all of it sits a betrayal he doesn't talk about, significant enough to have reshaped how he lets people in, or more accurately, how he mostly doesn't anymore. Trust isn't something he extends easily. Most of his relationships stay comfortably shallow by design, close enough for warmth and humour, never close enough to reach the parts of him that got hurt the first time.

Extras.

pet golden retriever called marie curie

[mavixsblog]

Ju Jing Yi plays the role of Lu Wu Yi in the drama Veil of Shadows. Episode 1

[yonglixx]

sleepy kitty ♡