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yiulee999 · 5 years

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Hey! What do you think of OPM season 2? I still love it & am looking forward to next weeks new episode but i just wish Saitama had more screen time ;-(

hey nonny~!

apologies for the late reply, its a combo of not getting notifications (tumblr u useless trashbucket) and being on surgery rotation (i miss sleeping so much)

firstly, i am truly glad you still love it and look forward to the new episodes!!! 💖💖💖please dont let anything i say from this point on dissuade you from that enjoyment

THAT BEING SAID

///cut for length

ive only watched up to the second episode, and i am having Such Difficulties convincing myself to keep watching. i know my rxns to ep 1 were overall pretty positive and I stand by it but the more i watch the more the Cringe/Hypercritique starts take over.

Turns out, the art style had a bigger impact than i thought on the length of which i enjoy shows. personally, i just really like when anime/shows have a happy marriage between writing and artwork. and when show directors know how to interpret writing, how to set up a scene (the angle, the music, the pacing), and then communicate with artists who have the skills to bring that idea to life using the medium they’re given -- that’s when writing becomes storytelling. OPM’s writing is still fantastic since they’re going off ONE (whereas GoT has the opposite problem where the production value is 4K and the writing is early 2000s livejournal/fanfiction lol god why is everyone dropping the ball in 2019??)

As for the art, since opm switched to jc staff and shingo natsume & co. left for other projects ( ;;_____;; im emo ), its inevitable we would see a drop in animation quality and i find myself constantly getting distracted by things i never used to get concerned about in the first season (bc of the high bar of expectations set by s1 artists/directors, like theres just no way jc staff would match up it to all of that and i feel bad for them, they’re trying their best but that doesn’t mean theyre immune to critique on the artistic liberties that they’ve taken that i feel as a viewer, may not have been the best choice?)

the shading: no, just, unnecessary and distracting and why is it the center of saitamas face, im by far no expert in lighting but a bish can tell something doesnt look right???

the shading pt II: color choices. just gonna say i was not expecting sai’s ‘hair shirt’ in ep 1 to be bright-ass neon green, it was a little jarring at first and i miss him in red ;-; i get hes supposed to have poor fashion choices but i dont see him as the type to pick something that stands out so much in the crowd, like he likes to be left alone. NEON doesnt really relay ‘hi dont mind me im just barely existing here lol’

the shading pt III: genos arms/neck. okaY so the bby looks good in screenshots. like he’s shiny and nice to look at when nothings moving. bUT this is animation?? movement of objections is different from still life manga so making every single scene almost 99% like murata’s panels translates a little awkwardly to the screen (like staff is lucky bc murata’s a force of nature with his panels playing out like a movie for ref). but when genos moves, the arms are just distracting bc everything around him is drawn simply without shadows so they stand out by themselves and i (visually) forget about the rest of him haha.

the pacing: it feels scripted, person A says this so we’ll show person A in the shot, then person B is saying something so we have to cut to person B, etc etc like keeping pretty steady to manga lines to the point where i was starting to get bored bc i knew what was coming. it was really intervaled? like someone had to be saying something at a certain effect and i think s1 had more dramatic pauses (lol) but thats how you can place emphasis on scenes to have an emotional impact if the character doesnt say anything and just let the soundtrack do some talking and the cadence of the script will change too (im 10000% talking about the sunset scene in s1 god bless. like it was slow, there was MOOD there wasn’t any rush and really gave the viewer time to think about the relationship between the two characters and what that moment meant to each of them) i feel like there were several scenes that could have been more like in the scene where sai protected fubuki, could have been a little more dramatically emphasized (aka just a pause) so the viewer could get a chance to understand that he purprosefully shielded her or when genos says that strong heroes are drawn to saitama--bUT nope its the same pace, like c l o c k w o r k just like my t eARS--

the fight scenes: how do i even start. the one scene that got me INTO opm (like watching the anime, reading the manga, drawing fanart, writing fanfic, reading fanfics etc) was kickstarted by the fight scene between genos and saitama in s1 that was circulating on tumblr a while back. i thought the characters were interesting and the fight was badass and it just looked SO COOL. (also the forehead flick at the end just kinda sealed my fate). going from that to s2 fight scenes where its mostly cut scenes and freeze scenes?? where theres a cut out behind the characters back?? during a fight scene????? this isn’t a calling card or an anime opening??? i dont understand. when they dont do cut scenes, its interesting but my initial impression is just underwhelmed. i can find good parts but it feels like i have to replay the scene to notice it? theres also an overwhelming amount of graphics/cgi manipulation that overpowers the actual art sometimes. its lacking some of the fluidity that comes from hand drawn fight scenes from first season. OTL

the sound directing: so i thought that the mood just felt off for certain scenes and the sound didn’t seem to support the scene as well (unless it was like the character’s theme or smtg) and i looked it up and the sound director was also replaced (Yoshikazu Iwanami replacing Shoji Hata). i have no idea if the sound director is also in charge of character lines but there were parts were fubuki was monologuing and i had no idea she was inner monologuing, i thought she was talking out loud and that just took extra effort on my part to re-orient myself (im nitpitcking i know but its just how i watch shows lol)

there are still some parts i like about the animation:

fubuki looks bangin and i love her👌👗

all of this just made me realize how insanely lucky we were to have an amazing s1 and just have it exist and how i really could not care less if they had just waited forever to make s2 as long as we had the same crew come back. but anime is still a business and the quicker they dish out merch/seasons, the more money they can bring in. which they do in the short run but they would bring in more if they spent a little more on quality in the long run and it becomes one of those classics that ppl will rewatch and keep recommending to ppl who want to get into anime and oh my god we’re never gonna have that now, are we. if im gonna rec it to a friend its gonna be ‘read the manga!’ or ‘just watch s1!’ uGH. its just an unfortunate situation, its not one person’s fault either, so many factors go into what made opm s1 so spectacular and seeing s2 just made me appreciate s1 more. i guess im happy to have a s2 regardless?

i’ll still watch to support (and bc i like suiryuu and wanna see sai in a karate gi and wig lol). maybe i just have to get used to the new style.

so in summary,

#this got outta hand real quicc #sorry nonny u really didnt ask for this😅😅😅#i just have paragraphs of emotions #my inbox is open hit me w discourse if u disagree lol #this is just imho #Anonymous

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

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My Design Verse IV

He was running late.

It wasn't a completely unusual occurance in the last six months since he'd been cleared of any involvement in the Copy Cat murders, but it still was enough to make Will feel on edge.

He couldn't quite tell when, but at some point during the night there had been a power surge from an electrical storm. His alarm clock had stopped and he had over slept. His months under Chilton's care however helped ensure he was up early and only running fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It was an unusual time of year for such storms though and he could hear the soft, knowing voice whispering to him that it was a sign, an omen. That electrical storms were the start of darkness descending upon an area. He fought hard to shake the voice from his head and the shiver it brought up from his spine. It had been a month since he'd seen her, and he was determined not to fall back into madness chasing after another ghost.

Will raced across the lawns of Quantico towards his lecture room. Hopefully the students wouldn't have left yet despite his tardiness. Today's lecture was on how to test a profile against another.

As he approached the lecture hall, expecting silence or the dull hum of many voices talking to each other at once, he found himself frowning when only the sound of his shoes on the tiles and one professional sounding voice could be heard - though the exact voice and words were muffled by the closed lecture hall doors.

Someone else was lecturing his class.

Walking faster, Will propelled himself forward and pushed through the doors quickly, calling out harshly, "Sorry that I'm late class, we're good to begin in a moment."

"No need to fret, Will dear. I've already started today's lecture for you."

The voice froze him in place, eyes wide as he looked across into the space beside his podium and his desk, where she stood. His bloody angel, illuminated in the glow of the teaching spot light.

She didn't look like herself though, her true self with bruises and blood stains and a smile that made his stomach twist every morning that he woke up having been inches away from claiming it amongst the blood and hauntingly beautiful imagery his brain would concoct for her each night. She appeared to have a brunette wig on, a shoulder length one at that which was almost dead straight with full bangs that drew him into her eyes through the bright red glasses disguising them. She was wearing a suit too - a navy pencil skirt and blazer with a plain white blouse. The heels she wore made him want to cry for the dirty boots she'd left beside his door.

However different she looked on the outside, as he stumbled towards her, he could see her - see you - underneath it in the twitch of her lips and the dark of her eyes. Will knew abstractly that his students would be whispering about him, about his jerky movements until he was at her side, about his hand twitching out to touch her arm to confirm she was really there. But they would have no idea what it was really about.

"Thank you for arriving though, Mr. Graham. I'll just continue now after the interruption." Her voice had a cool professional tone to it, as if discussing the weather not how to profile a serial killer, and held none of the warmth and twang he had come to associate with her. Just as he thought he was imagining her onto someone else, his lure shot him that smile as she clicked the teleprompter - flashing the crime scene he'd queried her about onto the board.

"Now, this here is a particularly hard case. Three victims. All young women. No signs of forced entry. Of any kind, mind you." her words were punctuated with a change in crime scene photo illustrating each point. "Each victim killed through a different means. Throat slit and fire. Disembowelment. Torture." The photos were almost too gruesome for the images to be shown to a class, and a few of the students appeared to be getting very near I'll. "Various markers around the scene - knife marks, the shaved hair clumps, the displaying of the last victim. What are your theories?"

There was a murmur through the class. Will rarely requested input in his lectures during such disturbing times - the last image being displayed a close up of the once blonde girl's face, bloody finger trails down her chin and to wrap around her bruised and choked neck - but their guest lecturer was unphased and unmoved as she stared about the class.

"Anyone?"

"They're another copy cat. With the presentation!" One of his cockier students in the third row called out, with all eyes suddenly focussing on Will for a few seconds.

"Wrong. This individual cares nothing of the evil doing of any one else nor hiding their tracks by copying." She corrected the response so quickly, flicking through a few more images - the pool of entrails at the brunette's feet, the knife mark in the hallway, the gas fireplace with the redhead's charred remains. "Next profile?"

"A sadomasochist - the torture was to get them off for some reason. Punish the girls too. Like a... Ted Bundy?" One of the few female students suggested, uncertainty entering her voice as she finished.

"Oh he wishes he was Ted Bundy." His angel's laugh was still the same and Will found himself leaning towards her at the sound, like an alcoholic in the desert trying to get to the last drop of liquid in his bottle. "Where the punishment is there, it's clearly not of a sexual nature. Can anyone hazard a guess how we know that?"

"He shaved her head." Will found himself answering, feet drawing him closer to her to lean in, hand laying so tantalisingly close to her own atop his desk. "She lied to him. She made him think she was someone else, that she was his real target. But she was a fake blonde and didn't live up to expectations. She had to be punished for tricking him so."

"Exactly, Mr. Graham, the hair gives it away." He might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn she sounded breathier than usual. Sounded fixated. Sounded drawn in too. He thought he felt her fingers twitch like they wanted, needed, desired to touch his as much as he did too. "She wasn't his target and so she must be punished for it."

Neither one spoke for a long moment, staring at one another as his pendulum swung and he realised how close her insanity ran to his. If he'd just take the leap, just take the plunge, just surrender to it.

"What about the other two then?" The voice of one of the students snapped the trance like a jolt. Like a lightening strike. Like an electrical storm.

"The other two... Yes, the other two! Why were they killed in the order and fashion they were? Any one?" Her breathy tone returned to the clipped professional, non-region specific accent she'd been masking herself with, as the fake brunette turned to look around the room. "Why was the red head first and why was she torched after death?"

"He had a thing for blondes?"

"She was the first to open the door?"

"She struggled first?"

Her head shook with each answer, though Will thought he'd detected a small laugh of a cough at the first shout. The more questions she asked, the more his students found themselves engaging like he'd never seen them engage with him before. His heart felt constricted watching her so close to him, so close to a potential reality for them side by side teaching the next generation all they knew from their own tortured psyche.

"There's truth to the blonde theory - he was there for her, after all. But there must be a reason to destroy the body. Incinerate it beyond almost all recognition. The only reason we know she's a redhead is from dental records and the last photo of her from that night. Why would someone destroy something to that extent?"

"Because he hates it. Because it torments them to see it." The seductive voice came from the auditorium doors and made the bile rise up on Will's throat at the sound. He couldn't be here. He couldn't come near his angel, couldn't be allowed to see her - see you - or touch her or taste her. Doctor Letter entered the room, stepping into the slightly darkened door passages from where he had been lot behind like a halo of light surrounded him before being swallowed by the dark. Will barely noticed Jack entering beside him in his blind panic to conceal his lure from his tormentor. "The man wanted it gone, never wanted to see it again. It hurt him to see."

"You'd be right and wrong at the same time. No one would go to such lengths to mask one type of death with another while also having the psyche to have left the clear markers on the other bodies - so clearly there is emotion involved." Her voice cracked at the word emotion, his angel's face transformed in an instant at Hannibal's interference with her lecture into something that made Will's stomach twist almost as much as her smile did. Or perhaps it was how her fingers finally touched his own, rubbing gently and unseen against the inside of his wrist. "But hatred? If he hated it, he would have shorn her like the other whom he'd since despised for her lies. This was a remnant of a love. A long forgotten or buried one, but from that source comes a toxic, rage-inducing and all consuming reaction to it, that clearly has left an impact still such that he hates to continue to see it any further."

As Hannibal moved to open his mouth, her voice cut over him rudely - so rudely - to announce the end of the lecture. There were sounds of dismay from the class as a whole, but the teleprompter shuttered down devolving the room into darkness. She'd not reset the lights so there were calls of confusion and laughs from the students as they began to make their way out.

He felt more than saw her shift beside him, her hand squeezing his once tightly as she whispered softly, "That monster has nothing on yours. I'm sorry I suggested otherwise before." There was another squeeze and he wished he could have held on forever before her fingers slipped from his grasp.

Will could tell Hannibal and Jack alike were waiting to speak with him, and possibly be introduced to the guest he'd allowed to teach that day. But Will knew the moment that the lights would be back on she'd be gone, lost in the sea of students.

As one of the exiting class members flicked the lights on, Will steadied himself to discuss whatever the pair were there to talk with him about. He didn't have to turn to know she'd be gone. As the duo spoke to him about some new case, Will nodded where he had to and smiled his awkward smile they were used to before agreeing.

It wasn't until he began packing away her notes that he realised the photos weren't the FBI's photos but seemingly her own with their own notations. On the back of the photo of the fireplace, there was a post-it not asking him the most taunting question of all - How was she set on fire with no wood or gas connection on?

#AU stories #my design verse

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grecoisms · 6 years

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title: so eden sank to grief [1/2]

fandom: xiaolin showdown

summary:

“Chase Young was once training to be a Dragon of Fire. Kimiko tries to make amends.”

Come slowly—Eden Lips unused to thee Bashful—sip thy jasmines As the fainting bee.

She is not yet nine when her father makes her sit down before - no, not next to - him, and not quite daring to meet her eyes, says:

"Kimiko, your mother has died."

As most children do not, she understands the definition of death - it is a sort of passing. And as most girls do, she is the cruelest to herself.

Thus she crosses her small arms and forces herself to be brave. Her voice is a tad bit louder than the usual;

"How?"

Tohomiko Toshiro looks at this strange child whom he does not feel being his own at all. She is tactless and wants to have everything.

Too much wildfire, is what this girl is - an emotional bomb, ticking to explode. Already burning herself up.

"My dear" the father says. For a moment, he cannot recall her name. "She killed herself."

Kimiko orders herself not to cry.

ii.

It is a relief, a redemption to leave the paternal house at the age of thirteen. Tokyo is suffocating - her father distant; her private school a prison. The fire in her soul hums low, starving - striving for a real family.

And this is what Kimiko finds;

The bond is not based on blood, but loyalty. It is but formed on one house and one greater purpose, heroic and ironic by any other name. She finds joy and she finds family, and these two somehow connect - cause and consequence - and Kimiko laughs and cries and feels more than she has since forever. She shapes herself and loves her siblings that are not of blood.

Clay, the ever-tower, firm and calm and her constant.

Raimundo, the light-hearted rebel; her first sweetheart.

Omi, the one who asks and answers his questions and others' too, always searching for parts of himself in the sharpest of shards. Even when very young, he is conscious of his place as a chosen oddity.

They all have their faults - and she loves them for these, truly.

iii.

Again, this is an old tale - perhaps the oldest there is -, but the girl falls for a boy. The daughter of fire thinks she loves the son of air, Raimundo with his tanned face and light eyes and his treacherous, endless heart. And when Rai leaves with and for Wuya, the witch from an older time, an evil time - only and only then, Kimiko does weep. Mostly without shame.

Raimundo arrives home in the first day of autumn, when the leaves are turning yellow and nature is turning towards rest. Although only a year older than Clay, he looks weary and somehow ragged and much, much older than his fifteen years.

When he reaches the gates of the temple, he holds his hands up high; a sign of surrender. His fingers are coated with blood, flashing brown under the sinking sun. His hands are empty. So are his hopes.

"Please" he pleads.

Clay wastes no time to hug him while Omi bows and accepts. But Rai is looking to catch her eyes, both desperate and daring, and she should love him as in the tales, yet she turns her face away.

Betrayal for a betrayal. Measure for measure.

Kimiko, under all that makeup, is still a child.

iv.

Omi turns fifteen in the summer Kimiko celebrates her sixteenth birthday. But unlike her clumsy attempts, Omi has territfying strength. And like her, he has a pride to match it.

The seas and the rivers and most people they meet along their travels adorn and bow before his every step. The rest of them, the three other monks, are well aware just how minuscule their roles are compared to the youngest among them. Yes, people respect him. Think him a legend.

But they are the ones who protect and tend for him, careful and watchful and loving.

It is such a long fall, Rai confesses to her one day, that dreamlike summer Omi turns fifteen. He is somber, a rarity. An easy fall. Easiest there is. Here I am, struggling to become an Apprentice while you are already on the way to becoming actual dragons, all because I was too cheap to resist temptation. And now I am here, always falling behind.

Behind them, Clay is teaching Omi the basics of playing the guitar. Dojo is there too, to argue, and be bossy. The air is light and the smell of the sun blinds the shadows on the ground.

Kimiko will remember Rai's words for a long time.

Indeed, she will remember, for from the myriad of people they encounter, one man - half-beast, half-human - stands out, dark as the promise of death. His name is Chase Young.

And Kimiko can almost taste the longing in his eyes; not for Omi himself, but rather, the potential he represents. Chase Young is infinitely proud and endlessly jealous, a reflection of Omi by a thread.

"He used to be a monk too. A pure soul." chides Master Fung. Omi and Clay nod.

But Rai and Kim know way too much about temptation to put a good face on. To let this slide. They are well aware just how much pride cost and how heavy the price for ambition. They can see right through Chase Young, straight into his old and black heart. Dry as shriveled leaves.

Rai knows this. He lived and fought and paid the prices, thrice, for his mistakes.

And Kimiko has long learned this lesson, this lesson of pride, simply through experiencing these falls through the other eyes and skins of the other monks.

Fire, after all, feeds on and from the other three elements.

vi.

Upon realizing Omi would never join the Heylin, Chase - this thing wearing the mask of a young man - simply vanishes.

And thus, the four of them grow in strength and beauty, and the years pass like seconds. Courage in their hands, hope in their hearts.

Fools, all of them.

Shaolin apprenticeship requires purity in the form of celibacy and so they deny themselves the means of physical love. It is an abstract, a passive way of life, something Kimiko would scorn were it not for the fact that the boys she is living with are siblings to her, and it is enough. It is everything.

Still, still. She catches Rai's eyes sometimes, in the early mornings when they can't quite control where their eyes shift. His expression is shy and open at once, all yearning.

Kimiko has forgiven him a thousand times and back again.

Still. She pretends she does not notice.

vii.

Not long after turning eighteen, on the brink of winter, Master Monk Guan requests their presence at the Northern Shaolin Monastery, to allegedly aid the residents fix the bell tower. Omi and Rai are very excited - they had not seen Guan for years now, and idealism still runs strong in both their veins. It makes Clay chuckle and Kim roll her eyes fondly. Some things do not change, even with time.

Dojo takes more time than usual. Even dragons grow old and Dojo is Dashi's age, older than Guan himself. So when they begin to ascend with a speed like none before, the monks know it is not accident or Dojo's will that pushes them to fall into the thick depth of the Lulang forest.

Scrambling to their feet is not easy while having a moutful and handful of dirt - Omi is the first to manage, but Clay is the one who begins speaking.

"Was that good old Jack?"

Then a voice, low and polite and more of a hiss, behind her, but in front of the boys.

"Please, do not jest."

Of course.

Omi is dumbstruck and Rai's scowl is a surly sight. Kimiko doesn't have to turn around to know who is behind her.

"I only wish to talk with one of my long lost apprentice here." How it resembles a soft symphony, this voice. Like a reassurance.

She only dares to turn around slowly, as if calculated.

Although he is stroking Dojo's head gently, the dragon goes rigid - the terror is apparent in their eyes. Kimiko knows well that Chase wants them to witness this mock-gesture. For him, their dragon owes up to a three-course meal and a nicely-shaped dessert. How many years has it been since that? Thousand and five-hundred?

"I am not your apprentice." snaps Omi with a great deal of condescension.

"Get away from our dragon, Mister" Clay's voice is polite, but his hands on his lasso on his side.

The closest standing to the warlord is Kimiko. Chase is standing but five feet away from her, but she is strangely void of fear. A challenge, a revolt. He is somehow greater than her, much taller and wider, all the armor and the ambition feeding him since centuries. His face is proud, vanity clear on the sharp angles near his mouth and she could not remember his hair being this long, this shining. It falls down like a regal mantle on his shoulders, till his narrow waist and sturdy hips.

He is truly beautiful. Deadly, with a terrible, black heart.

She has a terrible feeling, one that fumbles in her throat and struggles to pries open her mouth. With great difficulty, she resists the urge to lick her lips - to lick his, a voice whispers but she shuts it out. Instead, Kimiko bites her tongue. Blood oozes in and it tastes morbid and metallic. Good. This will sober her up.

Meanwhile, Chase's gaze grazes the boys - her boys, her blood - who all turned strong and stately yet remained stubborn. He even bows a bit towards Omi, as if submitting. But this is a lie. Young bows to no one.

Then, if it is possible, Rai grimace is worsening by each minute they spend here. Chase smiles his predatory and his bitter smile, sudden and pearl-white and harsh. The hole where her heart is grows narrow and all too small as this mythical nobody (he, after all, changes his names as his skin) looks directly ahead and drinks in the sight of her.

She is next and she knows herself. Knows him as well, how she might look through his eyes.

Small but strong, Kimiko has grown proportionately, her eyes the ocean, her lips the hue of blood. She has grown out her hair and dyed it not and put on no wigs to cover. Facade-free, Kimiko beams internally for she is exactly aware just how beauty born and bred she is, knows this from the faded photos of her parents that are ill-bound as of today.

It has been more than five years since they met. And she is a child no more. She is not afraid.

Yet when he looks (really, truly, genuinely stares into her eyes), she trembles.

His face is taken aback in his own manner. There is a certain softness passing over his expression now, the reptilian pupils grow dark and unfocused. And Kimiko's insides jump and there is something ancient and primal pooling down her stomach and through the vertebrae of her spine too. It makes her head spin and her breath hitch and she is getting lost and surely, if she would step anywhere now, she would stumble and fall. And oh. He trembles too, slightly, solemnly, subtly. Not of fear, and matching her tremors.

Oh.

It is such a long, long fall.

So this is what desire is.

Dissecting yourself alive.

viii.

"I have an urgent matter to discuss with Guan." As if hours or days passed between the previous sentence uttered. "It would be a verbal spar exclusively, I assure you."

Chase is acting nonchalant again by wearing the mask of total impassivity. Kimiko has never resented him more.

"Come with us to the temple then" her temper flares, wanting none of his bullshit. Fire is impatient and does not bear deferment easily.

Then she looks at the others, her boys. All of them are gaping at her.

"What?"

"Kim!"

"Helloooo" waves Rai. "He is E-N-E-M-Y. Gonna throw us off our own dragon at the first possible chance."

"I can wait for him here, palermo" Chase's laugh is silent. "Lest you die from fright."

Kimiko tears herself away from the sight of his mouth

Which turns out to be a grave mistake. Not even a second passes and the warlord is already heading towards Omi.

Immediately, Kimiko spins around and blocks his way. Behind her, Rai unsheathes his sword. The sound it makes is flat like a caress. They have long learned to fight as if making love.

"No" she prides on her voice to be strong and unwavering. "You cannot talk to him. At all."

Chase has to lean forward to be able to properly face her. He smells of smoke and blood and something utterly cold; the bronze tint of his shielding plate hurts her eyes, but she wills herself not to blink. Ultimately, this is a survey of power, a battle of discipline.

"Tohomiko" he murmurs. There is a clear crack in his mask now which can be clearly heard in his voice. "Your licence is not needed."

It is the exact moment Clay chooses. With an unnaturally blunt force, he reaches them, slamming himself into Chase who seemingly begins to roll, but is actually drawing the Dragon of Earth with him. Then, the nauseating sound of a bone or two breaking.

Clay bellows.

ix.

"Enough" screams both Omi and Kimiko. A great gust of wind mutes them - Rai has called his element for help and the trees crack under the boy's effort.

Not wasting any time, the tibetan monk launches himself to grab Chase by his hair, but he throws him over effortlessly, right onto Raimundo's face who swears something in Portuguese.

Kimiko jumps over both of them, at the collar of the armour, the other near Chase's face. The fabric of the cuirass starts to smoke at once. This is no threat, but direct action. It could easily melt too. The Star of Hanabi twinkles around her neck, pulses like a second heart and makes her hands too hot to touch.

"Enough" she repeats. She has become softer too, somehow more tender. Chase has a shadow of a smile playing around his lips, feral and full of scorn.

"Come to the temple, if you only wish to talk."

He shrugs his shoulders, an action much too light juxtaposing his expression. There are infinite depths to him. Then. He places his hands on hers but does not clutch. It is far from a violent move; it is just sudden. Lovely. Intimate. An alarm, shrill and shrewd, goes off in her head. But she doesn't let go.

Even through his gloves he is tangibly cold.

"If I go to Guan's temple, I will die." his eyes are shockingly yellow and not humane at all. This should scare her.

"Don't be dramatic" Rai sounds astounded as he helps Omi up. He adds, "Asshole."

"Yes. Guan would not hurt you" adds Omi. "Not a single skin on your hair."

"Hair on your head" this is from Clay, a muffled grunt behind the boy duo.

Chase stares at their group, all dirty from wallowing on the ground and hoarse from screaming. And he begins to laugh. It is more of a snarl - his canines are way too sharp. And he still hasn't moved his hands away.

This is a dream, decides Kimiko, I have eaten too much strawberries before dinner and now I have kamikazecrazy delusions in my bed. And: Omiwill wake me up soon.

Instead, the dragonlord cuts her narrative. Back to reality.

"The place itself is too cold for me." he explains, slow and languid. There is a lightness at the edges. He finds this - them - amusing. "It is far too high, above the valleys. Unlike your temple."

"Pneumonia?" guesses Omi.

"Acrophobia?" suggests Clay.

"Your heart" Kimiko whispers, dawning on her. "Your heart would stop. You are half-reptile."

Chase catches her gaze.

"Dragon."

She snorts.

"Whatever."

While Omi and Clay go to find and bring Monk Guan with them dragonbound, it is Rai's and Kim's responsibility to guard Chase Young. It feels ridiculous.

They are eyeing each other silently, all peril, if it comes to that.

Or rather.

The boy watches the girl, the girl watches the creature. The man.

"I don't like this at all, Kim." Rai stands very close to her and his voice is low and careful. "We both know that even if he came with peace now, it is all part of a bigger and definitely bad plan."

Yes, reckons Kimiko, observing this pale face, and dark hair. She reaches for Rai's hand, squeezes it as if to collect courage. Despite Master Fung's and Omi's optimism, this fair face hides impure intentions.

It pains her that she needs to remind herself.

#xiaolin showdown #xs #writings #chase young #kimiko tohomiko #clay bailey #Raimundo Pedrosa #omi

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murderincrp · 7 years

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PROFILE LOADED...「KIM HEECHUL」「UNAFFILIATED」「THIRTY-THREE」

“Thirty-three-year-old BAR & BROTHEL OWNER that goes by the alias ‘CHESHIRE CAT’. No known allies.”

✘ THREAT LEVEL LOW. NO PRECAUTIONS NECESSARY...

WARNING: ABUSE, PROSTITUTION, TRAFFICKING, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

[ BACKGROUND... ]

This is a story from rags to riches

i. Kim Heechul wasn’t a Seoulite by birth, but it felt more like home than Daegu ever did. Born into a family of two that soon became three was… pretty okay. His father had a good job and earned enough to support them comfortably when put together with his mother’s nurse’s salary. Since both his parents worked long hours he and his younger brother were practically raised by their older sister.

He loved them both dearly.

ii. Elementary and middle school passed without many hitches. Teachers complained about his hyperactive behaviour and smart mouth but never punished him as much as they could have. Heechul boasted that it was his good looks and natural charm that made them so lenient on him. Confidence was never the issue and would continue to serve him well through out his life.

iii. At age sixteen he gets disowned by his father when he finds out that Heechul has been having “unnatural contact” with men. With barely any clothes and a handful of cash he runs to Seoul in hopes to make it big. But things don’t go as planned.

iv. For the first year or so he supports himself by working multiple part time jobs and living in tiny shoebox rooms that barely fit a bed. He spends his birthday cleaning grills at a barbecue place. The second year is a lot worse as he’s abducted off the street by human traffickers and sold to the highest bidder, a madame of a brothel by the name of ‘Nabi’.

v. He spends the next few months being trained in the art of seduction and pleasure—but he doesn’t go quietly, earning him more than a few cuts and bruises as harsh reprimand. But he can tell that the Madame likes his spirit. Something about her smile as she scolds him with her riding crop.

Heechul’s first client is a soldier on leave—not much older than himself—that he finds himself drawn to. That dimpled smile makes him feel… safe. The client is patient with him and his attempts to be seductive for which he is grateful. His next client isn’t nearly as gentle and leaves him sore and bruised.

vi. Seven years go by with him as a fuck toy, used and abused by both men and women. He’s now twenty-three and has nearly forgotten what it was like to be free. The breaking point of his psyche looms closer with each passing day, the darkness driving him to wonder if it’d just be better to end it all. A cut on each wrist and he’d be able to rest in peace. Forever.

And then she appeared.

vii. She was a damsel in shining armour sent from the heavens above. It was love at first sight, as cliche as that may be, and with much negotiating she—Kimi—managed to buy his freedom from the Madame. After he left the building Heechul broke down and wept, the first time in many, many years, wrapped in the arms of his saviour.

viii. Kimi is his senior by ten years but that doesn’t matter for either of them. They’re happy. For the first time in years smiles come to his lips easily and the love making is as natural as breathing. She’s the light of his life, the best thing to have ever happened… too bad their story together got cut short by a stray bullet from a gang shoot out. They spent only five years together.

ix. Everything was left to him. Heechul is a wealthy widower but who the fuck cares? All he wants is for her to be alive, to hear her laugh and to feel her breath on his cheek as she kisses him good morning. His life goes into a downward spiral as he goes back to what he knows: selling sex. Only this time, it’s not his own body.

x. With the sizeable amount of money left behind, he manages to buy two adjoining buildings, turning one into a bar titled “Wonderland” and the other into a V.I.P. only brothel. His girls and boys are all consenting—he’d never force them to work for him—and in return he vows to give them the best protection and benefits he can. Security cameras, hospital check ups, days off, and the promise of being able to leave whenever they want.

Kim Heechul, no, The Cat does everything better.

[ BEHAVIOR... ]

Heechul is rather dramatic—over the top some would say—and loves putting on a show. He’s known to dress in drag and mingle with the patrons in his bar, occasionally even singing on the small stage which, surprisingly, draws a big crowd. To be fair, he looks gorgeous in a long wig and a dress with the right padding.

Another word one might use to describe him would be attentive. When he talks to others he gives them his full attention and tends to notice small things about them, some of their quirks perhaps. Years of being a prostitute has made him rather adept at reading the mood and playing people which is helped along by his natural flirtatiousness.

Though he may be confident and outgoing, Heechul is also a rather private person keeping his past in the past and deflecting pry questions with questions of his own. If he doesn’t want to talk about it you’ll never get him to say it, even under duress, he’s stubborn like that.

If you’re one of his employees—particularly if you’re a sex worker—you’ll know his caring side. Heechul knows what it’s like to see and fuck strangers day in and day out, slowly losing grip on reality and self and would have no one go through that pain. Even if they’re selling their bodies, he wants it to be their choice. He’s not one to turn away someone who needs help regardless of who they might be.

#mi:accepted #mi:unaffiliated #kim heechul #super junior #krp

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