#i unlocked a new shading technique are you proud of me

[roranart]

pov you're sanji and you forgot to lock the fridge

[moonchildsaurora]

The Racer who chased supernovas

»»—— Crew Member #7 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys: (no nsfw content)

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“your wings have always existed, all you have to do is fly and fly high for the winds will be at your command”  

the other individual that you could pick out from a crowd, especially by his high-pitched laughter

full of charisma and a youthful soul, he attracts all kinds of attention and has trouble reigning in his recklessness at times

Wooyoung is an Alxil-Rolgrie mix who survived on his own in the lower district of Liyutania, the other member of The Perihelion who didn’t really know the meaning of family until his path crossed with the others

[database file: Rolgries are very much human-like beings, only distinguishing features are their strikingly light-coloured hair (that comes in shades of ivory, lilac, silver and/or coral), heterochromatic eyes and slightly translucent pale skin. This is due to their inherent ability to camouflage with their surroundings, like a chameleon, if they so wish to. Alxils are a nomadic sub-group of Dark Elves, preferring to keep to themselves. Having darker hair along with a more ash-grey skin, glowing red eyes and defined elongated ears]

Wooyoung seemingly took on more of his Rolgrie heritage in terms of physical appearance & ability. His hair is of a lilac-coral mix (that resembles the hues of sunset as Yeosang once said), an indigo-coloured left eye & violet-coloured right eye, slight translucent ash skin and the Alxil elongated ears

his camouflaging ability came to him since his youngling years though he didn’t really master it until his adolescence. Used to need all the concentration he could muster just to hold a full blend or to make sure it was the correct blend in the first place but now he could hide his entire self easily with his eyes closed

this has proven to be extremely beneficial for him to make his way around town undetected and a free-‘get-me-out-of-this-mess’-pass

though Yeosang made him pinky promise not to use that during their childhood games of hide-and-seek because he knows Woo would cheat to win

“I would never!”

“…you literally have been standing there all this time and I’ve just walked past you at least 10 rounds making me look like an idiot”

“gotta admit that was pretty fun-OW OK OK!!”

the lower district community did look out for Wooyoung, knowing that the cheeky kid meant well and he was just trying to get through each day at a time

sometimes one of the more empathetic merchants would allow Wooyoung to sleep on a spare rug under their tents, other times young Wooyoung would be lucky enough to find unoccupied shelter on his own to stay the night. Elderly food vendors would drop off extra scraps to make sure he wasn’t going to bed on an empty stomach at least

has had a few rough run-ins with the Uppers that caused him to be defensive by instinct and personally biased towards their aloof, ignorant nature although his view significantly changed after meeting Yeosang

initially he thought the young half-Suva was an oddball because why would an Upper remotely be interested in knowing his name, least of all saving him from face-planting on the ground too?

the warmth he felt on that day was by far something foreign for him to feel especially after how Yeosang complimented his appearance and shared his oshiadilla bun. With the meekest “thank you” Wooyoung marked that day as friendship achievement unlocked

when Yeosang spontaneously invited him over for dinner Wooyoung spent majority of his time just gawking and taking in the sight of the Kangs’ residence, too afraid to touch anything in case he’d accidentally broke it, “is that really a golden fountain in the middle of your courtyard?!”

young Wooyoung got terribly confused as to why there were so many forks, spoons and knives for one person to use at the dining table too

he became a constant around the residence so much so that the Kangs adopted him and it took him a good whole month just to process the fact that he was now a part of a family, he belonged somewhere – Wooyoung would never trade anything in the galaxy for this

the first time Yeosang ever saw Wooyoung cry was when his parents surprised them with their new school uniforms and supplies. His mother helped fitted their uniforms, embracing both her sons closely afterwards and all Wooyoung could think in that moment was damn did it feel good to have a mother’s embrace

it also felt really good to receive Yeosang hugs too, not really knowing just how touch starved he was

academic studies wasn’t really his thing but he did try his best, being street smart was more up his alley, “no matter! Education is important and everyone should have an opportunity for it, so long as you come home knowing something you didn’t know the day before,” were the encouraging words his adoptive parents would give

he holds high respect for Yeosang’s intellect and wouldn’t shy from proclaiming loudly & proudly, “THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND AND OLDER BROTHER!” whenever Yeosang did his thing in the classroom even though he’d earn a forehead flick from a flustered Yeo most of the time afterwards

Yeosang may not be as openly affectionate as Wooyoung is nor show that he actually cares in an obvious manner, but he did make it crystal clear just how important Wooyoung is to him after punching a classmate who had nothing better to do than rudely reiterate the differences between Wooyoung’s ‘kind’ and the rest of them

from that day on Wooyoung swore to have Yeosang’s back, just as much as he had his. He almost cried out of fright that Yeosang had put himself and his reputation on the line to protect him. Ended up crying in bed at the overwhelming gratitude that he felt from receiving the amount of love that he himself still wasn’t sure if he deserved

“don’t you dare think otherwise, and besides the only one who’s allowed to roast you as per sibling’s obligations is me”

before Wooyoung joined The Perihelion as Hongjoong’s fighter/main gunner, he was the up and coming Drifters Arena’s rookie champion in podracing

as a youngling he’s snuck into the Arena a couple of times to watch the races and it wasn’t till years later, for a birthday treat did he return to the Arena (this time purchasing a ticket properly, courtesy of his family). Wooyoung not only found his passion in flying but seem to have a natural flow for it too

he learnt the basics and started practising with the other rookies by having casual races. Effectively catching the attention of a previous retired champion, Redline, who saw potential in Wooyoung albeit his messy improvised manoeuvres and technique solely based on instinct when in race mode

Wooyoung had to get Yeosang to slap him just so he could tell that he wasn’t dreaming when Redline asked if he’d be interested to train under his guidance

“IS THIS THE REAL LIFE OR IS THIS JUST FANTASY?”

“stop being such a drama queen! He’s right there you know?”

more yelling ensued when Redline set Wooyoung up with his very own podracer, a second-hand from the mechanics but reliable enough to still function decently. Over time with his winnings Wooyoung was able to spend it on extra parts and resources to spruce up his beloved baby; Aurora (yes he was very proud of the name he came up with for his podracer)

‘Little Speedstar’ was the nickname that Redline gave him but Wooyoung wouldn’t have it because, “I’M NOT THAT LITTLE”

“no you’re just vertically challenged that or gravity is just against you” Yeosang would snicker in lowkey

to say that it’s stressful watching a podrace would be an understatement according to Yeosang (anything goes in a podrace and racers aren’t conservatives when it comes to playing dirty at times), but it gave him nothing short of pride and joy watching Wooyoung effortlessly dance through the skies and be the first racer to cross the finish line

Wooyoung loved and appreciated seeing Yeosang amongst the crowd, it was a grounding factor for him before every race. What wasn’t a normal occurrence for him though was seeing his best friend being manhandled by an odd bunch of strangers

with post-race adrenaline kicking in and the need to protect strong he didn’t think twice about yelling at the group and power stomping towards them, not stopping even when he thought, “well damn, hello gorgeous” as San stepped defensively in front of Mingi to shield Wooyoung’s attempted swipe at him to get Yeosang back

fortunately over time more trust was established and their bonds were less of a rocky road, if anything Mingi empathised the most with Wooyoung for having similar backgrounds and lack of family in their early years of their lives

the other combo package deal that Hongjoong got with Wooyoung and Yeosang officially joining the crew

Wooyoung adapted fairly well to his new nomadic lifestyle and just when he thought his world couldn’t have grown any bigger, it did; now his family extending to that of the crew (he still dislikes being sent to Hongjoong’s room and will always complain to Seonghwa because, “I’m your favourite son right?”)  

San became his go-to whenever he needed to fill his daily quota of affection  

the party don’t start till him and Mingi walks in, drinking buddies along with Jongho (Wooyoung has a very soft spot for the youngest) & Yunho. Is openly smug about the fact that he’s got one of the best alcohol tolerance on board

when Jongho installed blasters onto Aurora, Wooyoung had dubbed it the glo-up of the century. Not only could he fly to scout/retrieve/act as a distraction but he could f i g h t now – he could make things explode (chaos levels have increased)

accidentally became the other half of the reason as to why Hongjoong banned any sexytimes on the ship and a sensitive content blocker feature was added in the Yunhogizers after Wooyoung sent a spicy photo to the group chat instead of his private fling

“Mother did NOT raise you this way”

major pouting over having bro privileges revoked but he’s been cooped up making a dozen new starcatchers for Yeosang and also has hijacked Seonghwa’s kitchen to surprise cook dinner for the crew as an apology literally wrestled a Grandu [database file: equivalent to a giant crab, a food delicacy] into the pot to boil and learnt that cutting onions truly is the demise of every being

all in all never forget (1) Wooyoung loves his family, very much (2) anyone who messes with them is sure to become target practice for him                                         

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)

[grumkin]

Early, Brooklyn, Present Day

I decide to ride my bike to the cemetery. The breeze will cool me down. Last night I dreamt of Grandma Klara and it seems like a good time to pay a visit.

I’m not a goth, but there is something I love about cemeteries. The inscriptions, the mausoleums, the crazy angels and plinths. All those bones beneath the grass, the years they’ve lasted. There are lots of trees in the cemetery, too. It’s kind of like hanging out in a sad, quiet park.

I lock my bike to the fence and wander down a side path. Some of these graves are from the 1800’s. Why do people bury their dead? This place is like an underground neighborhood, coffins stacked on coffins, bones taking up space. My mother’s mother, Grandma Klara, is buried here. She died two years ago. I loved her. I miss her. Before she died she was obsessed with her funeral, with who would be there, what Scripture she wanted to have read, what her headstone would say. She got it just how she wanted it, a Catholic ceremony, the tolling church bells. The only thing she wanted that she could have was to be buried in the cemetery in Gdansk, right next to Grandpa Peter.  The first reason she couldn’t have this was that Grandpa Peter wasn’t buried in Gdansk. He wasn’t buried anywhere we knew of. Klara believed they would be together in heaven, though. She was the one who made sure I was baptized, that I had my first communion. She made me go through confirmation too, which I did only because I loved her so much, biting the insides of my cheeks the whole time.

My mother Agatha grew up Catholic, but now she’s new-agey; she insists we Gorski women have witch blood. She gets all worked up about the patriarchy of the Church, things like that. She majored in Women’s Studies, was working on her dissertation on Women’s Religions. Then she had me, an accidental detour from a life of academia that never quite got back on track. Grandma Klara wanted her to be an English major, so proud of her ambitious American daughter. But Mom has never been known for doing what other people want her to do.

Grandma Klara once told me privately that my mother entered college as a literature major, but was seduced by the chair of the literature department. “Then,” Klara said, taking a deep breath, “Agatha, she got pregnant, by Chair of Literature. And then, Early, your mother did very sad thing.” Klara pressed her lips together. Tears stood in her eyes. “Very, very sad thing.” She sighed, sniffed, flicked her hand. “And then, Vomen’s Studies.” Klara thought I was a miraculous child, sent by all-forgiving Jesus as a healing gift to a woman who committed a grave sin. “Your mother so lucky to have you,” she told me all the time.

My grandmother’s headstone is the kind that lies flat on the ground, and I like to stretch out on it, especially in the summer, when it holds on to the coolness of the shade of the small pine trees that stand overhead. I don’t think it’s disrespectful. I see it as a sort of an afterlife cuddle.

Light comes through the pine needles above, flaring as the tree limbs rustle in the breeze.

Grandpa Peter died before I was born. I only knew him from the pictures, him with Lech Walesa, under the banner of Solidarnosc. Once, when I was nine or ten, Grandma Klara told me he was murdered by Communists, but I didn’t know what that meant. She was always promising to take me to Poland with her to see the old town of Gdansk, the Golden Gate that her father helped rebuild, piece by piece, after it was destroyed by the Nazis.

We never made it to Gdansk, I think, staring at her grave, and now I’m going to die never having seen it, not knowing my roots on either side, all that history that made my ancestors who they were and that makes me who I am.

I lie on her headstone, staring up at the sky, and calculate how much it would cost to get to Poland within the next forty days. A thousand dollars for a week there? Where can I get a thousand dollars? I picture going to Grandma Klara and saying, Grandma Klara, I’m going to die. How can I get a thousand bucks, quickly? She would laugh and elbow me and suggest I get a job. You gonna die, you better get job so you can afford funeral.

So. I won’t be going to Gdansk.  Where else will I never go?  If I die on my birthday, that is. The Dominican Republic, where who knows, I might have a whole half-family waiting for me. Budapest, where my great Aunt Julianna, Klara’s sister, moved after their mother died. Among many, many other exotic places that I can’t think of right now, not to mention the other 49 American states. Things I’d like to see but will never see, if I die on my birthday: the Nile, the Amazon, the Eiffel Tower. Among countless other things. I’m going to have to start another list, an “If I Live” list.

Feeling restless, I stand, say, “Bye, Grandma,” and keep walking, heading towards the center of the cemetery.

I scout the graves of children. It’s gloomy business. Some of them just say ‘Baby’ and the dates. One tomb has two sons lying next to each other, born ten years apart, each dead within in their first year. What are the chances? The epitaphs are all tearjerkers: So small, so sweet, so soon. And, Sleep, my little one, sleep. One tomb features a sculpture of a little girl sleeping, her golden retriever puppy asleep in her arms. Louisa and Puppy.  I have to wonder, is the dog in there with her?

What will my grave say? I assume they’ll bury me. I guess I could request to be cremated. Mom will never go for it, though. We bury our dead, she’ll say. Absolutely no cremation for you, young lady. The body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, according to Grandma Klara. That’s why you bury it in the dirt instead of burning it. That’s why Grandma Klara hated it that Mom smokes; it desecrates the temple. I personally have never felt a whole lot of Holy Ghost up in my own body, but I’m assuming that will change when I start having sex. I mean, with other people.

One grave, with a brass marker, just reads: VIRGIN. 1911-1923.

By the time I unlock my bike from the fence and leave the cemetery, the sky is reddening and I am thoroughly depressed. I miss my Grandma. And I’m suddenly very worried about the status of my virginity.

 My mother calls herself a Catholic feminist. She works at the community college and holds women’s groups at our apartment. Some of the ladies come from the neighborhood and some from the university. A few even from as far away as the Bronx. They are of all stripes, but they all love the Virgin Mary. And most of them have a pretty strong crush on Jesus, too. Mom definitely does. But they are also into Oshun and Santeria, and there’s a lot of chanting and incense burning. I make it a point to avoid these little gatherings. Drama.

Grandma Klara was very religious and superstitious, afraid of the evil eye and bad omens, which can be found constantly, anywhere. Passing someone on the stairs? Bad luck. Walking under a ladder? Puts one in league with the Devil, automatically. Put your shirt on inside out? Bad luck. Breaking a mirror, singing before breakfast, putting a hat on a bed, putting the button in the wrong buttonhole, an owl hooting three times, all these things are bad luck. Very bad. Conversely, sneezing three times on an empty stomach, putting your dress on inside out, getting your hair cut during a storm, an itch on the top of your head, all these are good luck. No wonder my mother is crazy, given her upbringing.

My own childhood was fraught with prayers to guard against the evil eye, Tibetan singing bowls, and creative visualization techniques. As a result, I can change stoplights from red to green by simply visualizing it, and I almost never go to church any more. I mostly keep the stoplight thing to myself—I’m not a freak, and I don’t want people thinking I am. I can do the same thing with trains, though, especially the j-m-z, which is my bitch. So people like hanging with me, ‘cause it’s convenient. I just have to make sure I don’t talk about it.

Lying in bed that night, I can’t sleep. The summer night wind blows my curtains gently up, and they float down again, making the slightest rasping noise across the carpet. The rasping has gotten louder and louder and it’s keeping me awake. Besides, there is something else bothering me. VIRGIN. She died without losing it. What is it they say about the Virgin Mary? She doesn’t die, she just goes to sleep. Like a Disney Princess.

So to some people, dying a virgin might seem like a holy thing to do. The purity of it. Unspoiled by human (male) hands. How did they know, though? How did those folks who put the VIRGIN grave marker over their dead daughter know for sure she was one? Did they have her hymen checked, post-mortem? Maybe she was one of those holier-than-thou Catholic school sluts who did it in every hole except that one. Or the kind of girl who had sleepovers with her girlfriends and they experimented in bed together, not that I would know anything about that. If you asked the dead girl what she wanted on her grave marker, VIRGIN might not be the first thing she would have picked. I myself have found the excuse of “I’m saving myself” fairly all-purpose when it comes to boys. But that was before the prophesy.

I do not intend to die a virgin.

Birthday List:

Good hair

Have sex

 I could have lost it before now, I guess. I know a lot of girls who have. Boys have wanted to do it with me before. My last boyfriend almost talked me into it, but I chickened out at the last minute because I was afraid his mom would come home and catch us. Irrational, since she was in PR and not due back for a few days yet, but I became obsessed with the idea that she might decide to come home early and surprise Justin, and catch us in the act. I hated the idea that Mrs. Torres could know something about me, anything at all. That if she saw me on the street, she might whisper to her friends, I caught that little puta in bed with my Justin.

Maybe I just wasn’t ready to do it. Justin was kind of a dipshit, when all’s said and done. He whined at me the rest of the night.

The curtains rasp across the rug, whispering virgin, virgin, over and over all night, and I toss and turn and wonder whether or not I can find someone worthy of deflowering me in the next 39 days.