#rmxmiyoung

[realmonstersrp]

INTRODUCING KANG MIYOUNG, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF SUPER STRENGTH

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) talkative, smiles a lot, likes to take care of other people (–) short tempered, competitive, my.. short legs.

BACKGROUND

Boxing is what kept Miyoung going. The first time her father started training her, she was 12. It’s something he’s been doing all his life. At first, she thought of her short height being a disadvantage (it still actually is, but let’s not talk about that), but now it’s fun to see the surprise on people’s faces when they realize that she defies every expectation that they had of her. Just because I’m short, doesn’t it mean I’m not strong, she had said with a big grin. Others thought it was impressive, other people laughed at her. She was made fun of a lot when she was younger and because of her short temper, she had ended up in trouble. The reason her father started training her was to get all that anger out of her system and what better way to do so if not punching a heavy bag?

Her mother left them when she was 4 years old and to this day, they still don’t know why. She had packed her bags and just left. The sister of her father had helped taken care of her. She didn’t exactly see her aunt as a mother figure, but Miyoung was grateful to have her there to answer questions she would have asked her mother instead. Miyoung didn’t like to admit it, but it kept her awake at many nights. She tried to think of any reasons why her mother could have left. She doesn’t want it to phase her, but some things are hard to avoid.

When she grew up, she didn’t notice the changes herself, but her father did. Without noticing, Miyoung had left a crack on their marble countertop in the kitchen (Him, yelling: Miyoung, how in the hell— Miyoung, running away with a laugh: I don’t know what you’re talking about! Was a commom occurrence in their home,) or when she accidentally pulled off one of the cupboard doors, just by opening it (Her, asking with a confused expression: Maybe a screw or two were loose? Her father, standing there with his arms crossed: I fixed that yesterday. It’s time we figure this out).

Not long after that, she unintentionally punched the bag off its crook. Another case of Miyoung, what the hell? And this time, she couldn’t believe it either. She was short and not strong enough (yet) to be able to do it and it was heavy. Very heavy. She had felt some sort of unexplainable rush coursing through her. Her father put the bag up again and they resumed the training, but it kept happening. When her father tried to talk to his sister about it, all she had said was Maybe that’s why she had left. He was baffled and didn’t understand it at first, but later he would. They both realized it was something unusual, but practical, since her father could use her help. He didn’t let her go to any competitions though since that strength might accidentally kill someone and she understood, but Miyoung was still bitter about it. Another reason for her to be angry. One day, she went to do a session by herself and she had kept going until she passed out. Miyoungs father and his sister found her on the floor of the training hall, snoring loudly, sleeping like a log. They took her home and when she woke up a few hours later, she could feel every muscle in her body screaming out of pain. She had pushed herself too hard. Learning her limits and living a careful life has been hard for Miyoung, but so far, she had managed it. Breaking things every now and then still happens, but not as often as before and she tries not to, but when you’re super strong, what can you really do about it?

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

DEFINITION

Super strength. I can lift heavy things, but I can also unintentionally create a crack at whatever surface I put my hand on if I’m not careful enough. It’s convenient when taking out opponents and also very helpful when my father and I were working on a project on our house and I could hold up and lift whatever, but I have also accidentally pulled doors off it’s hinges and broke our couch when I threw myself down on it. It’s easier to control now though and everything I do, I’m as careful as possible. It’s not as much of a bother in my every day life now that I’ve stopped growing (it was uncontrollable at first) but I won’t at least accidentally break someones hand when shaking it (It hasn’t happened yet!)

WEAKNESSES

My body doesn’t know when to stop pushing itself, because it seems easy, but my body takes a lot of damage. For example, I might be able to lift a car or a truck, but if I hurt my back during it, it won’t be noticeable until after the effect has worn off. The ability allows me to lift up to 10 ton, but more than that, and the effect will wear off quicker and I will collapse. From what I know so far, it doesn’t have a time limit, it only wears off after I have pushed myself enough and then I have to rest/sleep for at least 4 hours to recharge, so to say. It’s always activated, which leads to me having to be careful all the time.

DID YOU KNOW?

I love to experiment with my hair! One day it’s orange, a few weeks later, it’s black, one day it’s short.. You’ll never know what’s coming.

[rmharim]

& ø ツ

“ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. 

( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) what’s proper gym terminology( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) how do i communicate w the gym buffs( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) how’s “are u getting yoked my fellow protein lovers”( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) is it yoked?? “pumpin iron my kindred strength trainers”???( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) oh shit ur probs sleeping my b

“&” for a LOVING text. 

( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) chill out dude( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) the world isnt gonna stop spinning bc u couldnt be there for someone once ( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) it’s fine( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) ur a REALLY great person( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) trust me

“ツ” for an EXCITED text.

( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) I DID IT( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) I FRIED A FUCKING EGG( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) oh my god im actually crying rn( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) should i ask gordon ramsay what he thinks ( sms — +82 32-####-#### ) ( attachment )

( TEXT MEME! )

[rmseokwoo-blog]

t: introductions

there are earbuds shoved loosely in his ears, and the content, despite what the general public might think, is not music. third year classes have him wound up so tight, he’s barely got time to study let alone review shitty notes, so his phone plays a constant loop of his voice; pre-recorded textbook terms and definitions. he’s half there, intermittent static buzzing in his ears now and again. the boy pauses in his dull, zombie-like funk, when he feels an odd stickiness at the sole of his shoe. squints in vexation then, and yeah, would you look at that – there’s gum stuck on the bottom. fucking hell.

it starts here, the dismal onset of a bad day.

he thinks he sees it coming, wired and hungry, a tightness in the back of his neck when he looks down at his options in the vending machine. he goes for his regular, a habitual slip of a coin and press of a button. drops his eyes to his phone, a lazy scroll through messages before he’s looking back up, and— “ah.” it’s stuck. okay. this is fine. he can work with this. a quick glance down the hallway confirms he’s alone before he lifts his foot for a shameless, rough kick to the base of the machine. once, twice. nothing. third time’s a charm? nope.

it’s late, he’s starving, it’s been a long, long day, and he’s usually not one for such extremes measures but, “fuck it,” he dips into a squat, locked jaw, pursed lips, before shoving his arm straight up into the machine. it’s a bit of a twist, he’s not exactly sure how he gets there, but he’s got long arms and fingers. he breaks out into a smile; a genuine, unadulterated smile when the bag of chips settles into the palm of his hand like it’s made to be there. holy shit. he tugs. and this is where it comes full circle. his smile plummets, along with his blood. cadaverous shock, right down to the tips of his fingers.

he’s stuck.

“oh. oh no.”

saturday, 8 p.m, kim seokwoo, age 23, immaculate poster boy: squatting deeper than your girl on a weekend night, metal arm wrenched into a vending machine.

an amalgamation of unfortunate (sticky) events.

“ — oh my fucking god.”

[rmyunseo]

@rmxmiyoung

[  sms : text this # for guaranteed soreness  ] →  i know this is kind of late but is it possible for us to change our session time for today?? i’m running a little behind in general... →  if there’s like a rescheduling fee or something i’ll definitely pay since you’re doing me a favor already...but if it isn’t possible could i add on another day or something for this week? →  feels like there’s actual progress being made but then here i go messing with things!

[rmjunhao]

HIT THE TOP

throwback to JUNE 2018 with @rmxmiyoung

if he could have stayed there forever, where the mirror lined walls and gently worn mats made him feel a peculiar, but not unpleasant, kind of way, junhao was pretty sure he wouldn’t pass up on that opportunity.

he’s grown accustomed to the whirring of the equipment; the beeping of the treadmills. at seven, they were a source of fresh novelty and boyish wonder. at nineteen, they’ve become the white noise he finds being replayed in his mind as eyes trace the patterns of his ceiling at night, lost somewhere between the worlds of his consciousness.

yes, it has become somewhat routine for him; something he remembers doing almost as soon as his two, stubby toddler legs learned to walk, but in this case junhao finds the mundaneness of such a routine to be a comfort; one of the only constants that exists within the grand fiasco that he calls his unpredictable life.

it’s therapeutic, even, being able to simply let his mind go blank, with only the numbers of reps and sets exponentially increasing consume his thoughts. and so he welcomes this regimen with open arms—perhaps as a way to destress, or maybe more so to have an excuse to stare unyieldingly at his own reflection for an hour or two. either way, junhao finds that the opportunity most certainly does not go unappreciated.

he’s halfway through the usual, ( lift, inhale, spare the fangirls watching a glance ) switching off every button on the control panel save for the autopilot, when he sees her; so jarringly out of place it halts junhao abruptly in his tracks; causes the train whirring inside his head, going at full speed to come to a screeching halt, dangerously close to crashing and burning all together. and as he watches, he can’t help but widen his eyes. left thumb hovering, mid-insta scroll; right arm with enough decency to slowly put the dumbbell down on the rack that it came from—all because of a certain girl’s seemingly over ambition.

junhao’s not the world’s greatest math whiz, that he’s sure of. said girl is putting on what looks to be about nine hundred pounds of pure agony onto her bench press, that, ironically, he’s also pretty sure of.

something about the whole thing; her small frame and the harsh lines of the bulky weights—the juxtaposition of the two silhouettes just didn’t sit well in the pit of his stomach; in the depths of his mind; in the very center of his self-esteem. so the boy does as he knows best: retreat into the realm of doubts and incredulity because overly perpetuated gender norms are always strictly accurate, right?

“woah, take it easy there,” he calls out as she adds yet another ten pounds to the mix. then, with an octave of doubt in his voice and a bemused look on his face, ( eyebrows quirked and all ) he closes the distance between them with a few lazy strides; the smugness dripping off the fingers that now rest on his hips can be deemed as too much for some.

he shrugs partly out of condescendence, mostly out of habit, “you sure you can handle that, princess?”