#sometimes even in ways that appear outwardly unkind

[i-dared-myself]

Idiot and Weirdo

Minho x reader

In which the freak that is your bandmate helps you through your period.

Cw: Periods (which are a totally normal thing and nothing to be ashamed of), passing out, and vomiting.

Periods are unexpected sometimes. For you, they’re so bad that you get incapacitated. So you rely on prescription medication that manages your periods. Keeps the pain to a minimum so you can continue with your life.

But things get busy. Life is hectic, and you can’t find the time to refill your medication. Eventually you forget entirely. Your little container is sitting in your medicine cabinet, completely empty. 

But it’s fine. It’s not like you even need it.

Until you do.

Until you’re curled up in the entryway to the dance studio, letting out short whimpers. You had barely walked up the stairs to the studio before collapsing.

The lights are out and it’s silent. You’re the only one here.

Sweat beads along your forehead, and you piece together the thoughts to promise yourself a refill of your medicine when you can. Or a hysterectomy.

The lights flick on, and the other members wander in. You’re surrounded by them, worried expressions and creased foreheads all directed at you.

Except Minho. He’s scrolling on his phone, walking past you to further inside the room. 

“Are you okay?” Chan demands, kneeling at your side. He brushes some of your hair away from your face, studying your expression.

“No,” you manage to grunt out. “I- Can I go home?”

“Of course.” Chan stands up and motions to Changbin, who immediately picks you up. You’re taken to the company van and driven to the dorms. They offer to stay with you, but you force them to leave.

They have to learn the new dance, and you know you can catch up later. You’ll be fine, just like every other person born with a uterus.

Except why does it feel like you’re dying? Why is your entire body trembling with the pain?

You’re slumped next to the toilet, clutching your phone to your chest. Do you call someone? But they’re busy…

You give in and call Chan, but he doesn’t pick up. You don’t bother to leave a voicemail and dial Felix next. You go through each of the members, save for Minho, before facing the harsh reality.

You’ll have to go to Minho for help.

He’s never exactly been your biggest fan. He isn’t outwardly unkind to you, nor is he openly hostile, but he doesn’t like you. It’s in the way that he looks at you. It’s obvious when he avoids touching you.

You text him instead of calling, not wanting to cry to him.

You: Hi, are the others busy?

Lee Minho: Yes.

You curl inwards as another set of cramps take over. It’s intense and spots dance in the front of your eyes.

You: Ok thank you. When they’re not busy can you tell them I need them? Just whoever’s there

The dreaded three dots appear, disappear, and return before a message pops up.

Lee Minho: K

You put your phone on the ground next to you and focus on breathing and not throwing up. You grab it again when it buzzes.

Lee Minho: Is it something I can help with?

You: I think I’m going to pass out. Tell Chan if he’s not too busy. Don’t worry him tho

You roll onto your side, trying to find a position that eases the agony you’re in. But nothing works. You just want a heating pad, but you lent yours to a friend and it hasn’t been returned yet.

Lee Minho: Omw 

You stare at the message for a moment. Is he actually coming? Why? Is he going to put you out of your misery?

You groan and go back to fetal position. 

You’re not sure of how much time passes before Minho comes. You’re fading in and out of consciousness.

“Where are you?” he yells from somewhere else. You rely with a weak sound and it only takes a minute for the bathroom door to push open.

“You don’t look so good,” Minho comments. He cocks his head at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Period,” you respond before getting to your knees and vomiting into the toilet. Your hair is gathered away from your clammy skin, and Minho hums gently.

“Is it always this bad?” he asks as he ties your hair with an elastic. 

You slump backwards against him, paying no mind to the way he tenses. “I forgot to fill my meds.”

Minho sighs heavily and drags you to your feet, arms looped under your armpits. “Brush your teeth.”

You blink blearily at his reflection in the mirror. Your brain is foggy. “What?”

“Brush your teeth,” he repeats. “Then I’ll get you to bed.”

You shake your head. “Nuh-uh. Can’t. Won’t.”

Minho tilts his head down at you inquiringly as he reaches for your toothbrush. “Why?”

“Might bleed on the sheets,” you murmur. You’re close to passing out again.

He runs the water over the bristles of your brush and deposits toothpaste on it. “So? I’ll do the laundry. Don’t worry about it.”

You take the toothbrush from him and brush your teeth before spitting into the sink. You wipe your mouth clean and let Minho support you to your bed. 

“You can go.” Your head is raised to he can slip a pillow under it. “I’m fine. I know you don’t want to be here.” 

Minho pauses, hands fisting your sheets halfway to your chest. “What? No. I’m staying, you idiot. You look terrible.”

Your head lolls to the side and your eyes flutter shut. “M’kay.”

The bed dips as Minho sits on the edge, hand pressing up to your forehead. “You don’t feel warm. I don’t know if you get period fevers, though. I have a penis.”

You lean into his touch, eyes peeking open to gaze at his face. His bottom lip is being worried by his teeth and his eyes have… concern in them? 

“I know you have a penis,” you bluntly say. “I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen my dick?” Minho demands, expression tightening. “When? Oh my- Are you some kind of pervert that stares through my walls!”

“No!” you exclaim, sitting up in the bed. “It’s- Jisung showed me a picture!”

Minho frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why does he have pictures of my dick?”

You shrug. “I dunno.” Another wave of cramps washes over you and you whimper, hiding your face from him. “He- He just had it.”

“Let me see your pussy,” Minho suddenly says. “To make us even.”

You stare at him, waiting for the pain to pass so that you can speak clearly. But even when it winds down, you still just gape at him. “What- I’m not- No. That’s a bad idea.”

Minho huffs. “It’s only fair. It doesn’t have to be now with all the blood at stuff. Later.”

“I’m not showing you my pussy!” You glare at him, wondering why Jisung has a picture of Mingi’s dick. “Just go home!”

Minho stands there for a moment. “No.”

“What? Go back to the studio and practise!” You grip a pillow and then throw it at him. It smacks him on the chest and he just narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re lucky you’re shedding your uterine lining right now,” Minho menacingly says. “Otherwise I would be suffocating you with that pillow.”

“Don’t discriminate!” you snap. “Come at me, bro!”

Then the pillow is being pressed over your face and you’re kicking and fighting for breath. This is your own fault, but you still blame him entirely. 

Minho lifts the weapon, scowling at you. “Get some rest. I’m going to go buy you some pads. And never call me bro again.”

“I don’t need pads.”

“I’m buying you pads.”

“Okay, well get the right size,” you relent. 

“Let me see your pussy so I know what size you are.” Minho crosses his arms, smiling smugly to himself. 

“Jeez, you’re a weirdo,” you murmur, shaking your head. Minho snorts before leaving your room, and you snuggle back into the bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re hungry. The cramps have faded enough that you’re left with the ravenous hunger that comes with periods. You force yourself out of bed with a grumble, kind of missing Minho as horrifying as that is.

You wander to the kitchen, open the fridge, and then your knees buckle beneath you. You collapse and barely avoid hitting your head on your counter. Everything goes black after that.

Then something is touching your face, and your eyes are fluttering open. Minho is glaring at you fiercely, muttering everything curse word you know, and then some.

“You idiot!” Minho grumbles when he notices you’re awake. He clasps your face with his hands, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Are you okay? Why did you get out of bed? You fucking idiot!”

“I- I was hungry,” you quietly say. Minho adjusts you so that your head is cradled in his lap.

“I was buying you lunch, too!” Minho points to a grocery bag set on the counter. “You’re lucky I’m here, otherwise you’d be dead.”

“I’ve been fine the rest of my life, and I’ll still be fine by myself,” you argue, sitting up. Minho stretches his arms out around you in case you collapse again, but you shove him away as you stand. “Just go home.”

“No.” Minho scoops you up into his arms and marches back to your room. He drops you onto the bed, and you bounce ones before he pounces.

It’s a struggle for survival from there. You’re trying to get away, and Minho is attempting to swaddle you in the blankets tight enough that you can’t move. You get a couple good hits in on before he eventually overpowers you.

“I hate you,” you furiously mumble as he finishes tucking a corner of the sheets in. You look like a cocoon. 

“I’ll be back with lunch,” Minho tells you, patting you on the top of your head. When you try to bite his hand, he flicks your forehead before leaving.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling. The audacity of this man to just- To just…

To just take care of you. Is that what you’re so upset about?

Minho returns before you know it, carrying a plate. He’s made you a sandwich with chips on the side, along with fruits and vegetables.

“Eat your fucking vegetables,” he says as he puts the plate down on your nightstand.

“I would, if I could get out!” you spit. “You trapped me!”

Minho laughs. “Oh, right. I forgot about that.” Then he unravels you from your blanket prison. “Eat.”

You eat the meal he’s given you, ignoring his stare. As soon as you’re done, he whisks the empty plate away.

“Chan wants me back at the studio,” Minho tells you. “So are you ready?”

“Ready for you to leave? Yeah. Get out.” You motion to the door, already turning onto your side.

Minho throws you over his shoulder, but is gentle to avoid hurting you. You put up a fight as he basically kidnaps you from your own home, taking you to his car. Minho puts you in the backseat, using some kind of complex safety belt to keep you in place.

“What is this thing?” you demand as you try to get free. But the belt has some kind of magic or something, because you can’t loosen it or anything.

“That’s a childproof seatbelt,” Minho says from the driver’s seat, voice tinged with amusement. “I got it for… reasons.”

You stop moving and narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Are you kidnapping children?”

“No,” Minho answers. “Not children.”

You blink and then turn your head to look out the window. “I- I don’t even know what to say.”

You arrive at the studio before you know it, and Minho exits the vehicle. He walks around to the back, opening the car door. “Are you going to behave?”

“No,” you reply, trying to undo the seatbelt again. “I’m gonna tell Chan that you kidnapped me!”

“I’m taking care of you!” Minho crosses his arms, levelling you with a threatening look. “Either you behave, or I leave you in the car.”

You go limp, and he smirks with victory. He unbuckles you and carries you inside, even though you’re perfectly capable of walking. All of your protests are promptly ignored, and Minho brings you inside the building.

The staff give you concerned looks, but Minho just continued onward. You reach the dance studio and the group all waves.

“Are you feeling better?” Felix worriedly asks you.

“Yeah, but Minho-” You’re cut off by Minho’s hand over your mouth. 

“But Minho what?” Chan questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Minho took care of our sweet, menstruating member,” Minho firmly says. “That’s it.”

“Menstruating?” Jeongin repeats. “That’s why you went home? Aw, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it gets pretty bad,” Minho answers for you. “But I took care of her.”

Changbin and Seungmin exchange knowing looks. You wonder what that’s about before Minho places you back on the ground.

“Stay here,” Minho orders. “If I see you try to stand or anything, I’ll give everything in your house childproof features.”

“Fine,” you reluctantly agree. You lean against the wall, shutting your eyes.

Jisung sits next to you, grinning. “So do periods make you horny?”

“Jisung!” Hyunjin scolds. “You don’t just ask that!”

“Um, I’m kinda just in too much pain to want sex,” you tell Jisung. 

“Okay, but if you were to fuck one of us, who would it be?” Jisung asks. “Like, who’s the hottest?”

Minho hovers nearby, gaze surprisingly interested. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just watches.

You’ve never really thought about it, so you just shrug. “I don’t know. Haven’t considered it.”

“Come on!” Seungmin goads, eyes flicking to Minho. “Who is it?”

“Uh…” You say the first name that comes to mind, since you had been looking at him. “Chan.”

Everyone cheers and claps Chan on the back, who just grumbles and tells them to get back to practising. Minho approaches you, scowling.

Minho looks you in the eyes. “Stay away from Chan. He’s a whore.”

You blink in surprise. “Yeah, I’m not actually going to fuck him. I just saw him and said his name.”

“Okay.” Minho rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “But Chan’s a slut. Stay away from him.”

You snort out a laugh, shaking your head. “Go practise.”

Minho joins the group and falls into place for the choreography. It goes well and they take a water break, in which Hyunjin sits next to you.

“So… Weird day?” Hyunjin inquires. 

“I guess.” You fiddle with your fingers, bored and uninterested. “Minho was fine. He’s pretty rude, though.”

Hyunjin hums, watching said rude man. “That’s his way of caring, you know. He doesn’t like to seem soft.”

“What? No, he’s just a weirdo.” You shake your head, looking to Minho. “A weird man who’s obsessed with his cats.”

“And you,” Hyunjin softly says. “He’s been totally obsessed with you. Haven’t you noticed how oddly he acts around you? He’s so whipped for you.”

“No, you’re lying- He’s not…” You shut your mouth, remembering all the times he’s cared for the members in his own way. And it’s true that as soon as he notices you’re in a room, his behaviour completely changes. “Oh, you’re right.”

Hyunjin gets to his feet, smiling at you. “We’re almost done, and then you should ask him out.”

And so when the practise finished and Minho walks over to take you home, you skirt out of his grasp.

“I was actually going to go with Chan,” you casually say. “I’m hungry and I think he was going out for food so I was-“

“I’m hungry,” Minho interrupts. “Don’t go with the whore, come with me.”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Chan-“ 

Minho takes you in his arms again, whisking you away from the studio before you can say anything else about chan. This time, however, you get to be in the passenger’s seat.

Minho buys you dinner to go and brings it to your place. You sit on your couch together and eat, watching some random anime.

“What time should I pick you up tomorrow?” Minho suddenly asks, standing up once he’s done eating.

“What? Why?” You chew carefully, studying him. 

“For our date.” Minho rolls his eyes. “Idiot.”

“Um, we have a date?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “I would’ve liked to know that.”

“So what time am I picking you up?” Minho impatiently asks. 

“Six,” you answer. “Bring me flowers.”

“Deal.” Minho leans down to kiss your forehead, a gesture so soft that it throws you off guard. “Now go get some sleep.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @lezleeferguson-120 @strawberryscentedd @mbioooo0000

[just-some-user-hunny]

Cha Hyun-su x reader headcanons

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

~ Cha hyun su is so shy around you. He's like a lovesick puppy, always by your heels, but silently and averting your gaze whenever you look at him.

If you suddenly turn and bump into him, he'll manage to mutter a soft apology as his hand hesitates to take your shoulder to steady you, blushing all the while whilst averting your gaze.

~ If he's not being your overprotective shadow however, he's usually somewhere close where he can see and listen to you. He'll be sat quietly close by, his gaze occasionally flickering to your face. Hyun su just wants to make sure you're alright, so he'll keep an eye on you whilst he can.

~ Definitely an acts of service person. You had something precious of yours left in your apartment? You'll find it laid neatly by your side after you wake from a nap. Even if it gets him a bit more beat up than usual, he'll limp to you with your belonging whilst trying to keep a straight face. He'll act blazè and indifferent when you shower him in thanks and concern, but on the inside he feels like his stomach is going to burst from all the butterflies. He'll play a little with the fabric of his sleeve and mutter a low reply back, anxious that you'll see how flustered he is.

~ The first time he smiled at you was when you were the only one who told him to stay safe when he was sent off to do recon around the apartment building. He peered down at you in frozen contemplation, before a very small shaky smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"I'll be careful"

~ If you get hurt, he gets very overprotective. He'll stay with you until he can get you help, delivering you to the others and stay to watch them patch you up before wandering back to his isolation room, now at ease, content knowing you're alright.

~ Sometimes he avoids you because he's worried about his monster persona hurting you. It's always a thought that lingers heavily in the back burner, everytime he feels himself grow more and more fond of you, it's there to remind him to stay away for your sake. Sad puppy boy will often isolate himself away from you specifically, and mentally beat himself up when he sees how dejected and sad you look from afar.

~ However his mind is set to ease, as not long after being trapped with the other residents, the moment the old convenience store owner snapped at you and raised his voice, hyunsu snarls at him that if he says one more unkind word to you he'll rip his throat out.

Everyone's startled by the sudden outburst from the quiet boy, but the sight of his completely blacked out eyes and intense glare with blood trickling down his chin shut them all up, and left the old man frozen in fear.

(Yes, that did inevitably earn him a couple of days in the isolation area, but it soothed hyunsu's worries of his monster side-who appeared to be just as fond of you)

~ He has the fluffiest, most touchable hair in existence. Seriously, it's just begging to be played with.

Not that he'll outwardly admit it, but he loves it when you play with it. He'll heavily slouch his shoulders to be more at your level (he's a big boy)

And will let you touch it to your heart's content. His favourite is when his ear is rested against your heartbeat and you're hands are running through the inky mess of soft hair. It's the fastest way to get him to fall asleep, just your touch alone lowers his worries and picks away at the heaviness in his chest.

Be aware however that this boys head is like a bowling ball (it's sooo heavy) So if you can deal with the pressure of his head compressing your ribcage like that, you're good to go 👍

~ Sometimes he'll gaze at you with the softest puppy eyes in existence. He'll just look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, listening to you attentively and carefully.

~ He purposely slouches when he's sat beside you, it's like he's trying to make himself appear less foreboding because he doesn't want to frighten you off with his rather imposing height. Yes, he has an absolute baby-face, but he's still very untrusted by the mass population of the apartment complex, and he doesn't want to give you any more reason to feel unsafe around him. You're one of the very few people there who treats him like a person.

~ He naturally struggles to talk to people, always murmuring and muttering softly under his breath,.but it gets worse tenfold around you. He'll stutter over words, freeze, and even go completely radio dead silent sometimes. You think he doesn't talk to you because he doesn't like you that much, but the truth is he gets so flustered around you he loses his voice. (Don't worry, the more effort you put into having conversations with him the better he gets at speaking with you. He'll get a little braver knowing you genuinely want to talk to him)

~ When he cuts his hair, he gets a little bit self-conscious about your reaction.

When you compliment him on it he gets so internally flustered, and honestly a little relieved. He'll reach to play a little with the ends of his hair, butterflies fluttering in his stomach after you told him it looked good.

~ Comforting him when he has nightmares

:((

You'll hear him thrash and whimper in his sleep, squirming beside you where you're lain on a sleep role.

His thrashing ceases the moment you press a comforting hand to his forehead, soothing your thumb over his pulsating temple. His pained expression goes gentle, ceases and melts into one of tearful content.

He wakes up bleary eyed and dazed, his blanket tucked up closer around him that he remembered, and he very slowly realises that you're holding his hand- your own form slumped sat against the wall, fast asleep.

Studying your smaller hand cradling his carefully, he can't help but swallow back his emotions and oh so gently squeeze your hand back. Thankful for you being there for him.

~ When it comes to his scars, he's not necessarily afraid of showing them, but he's also not keen on addressing them. You notice the fleeting hesitant look in his eyes when you capture a glimpse of the deep scarred slash along his wrist. There was force behind that cut, one that longed for peace. An end.

If you ever offer any comfort, or even just offer to listen to him, he may not jump immediately to the offer but his heart will clench and tears sting in his eyes a little. He'll nod after a few moments of silence, black hair obscurring his eyes and he hopes you can't see tears built up in his eyes.

Even throughout all this pain he's enduring, the confliction of seeking death yet unable to die like a human weighs heavily in his mind each passing day. Knowing that you will be there for him no matter what is enough to keep him afloat. Knowing that you'll listen is what is keeping him from drowning.

~ This man is very touch-starved, and he's just subtle enough to hide it. However you will catch him peering at you now and then when you're together, like he'll be looking at your hand almost longingly- but will grow quiet and shy if you ask him why.

"Is there something on my hand?"

"Ah- no,no- um... no, it's nothing"

"... y'wanna hold it?"

And he just very quietly peers up at from under his bangs and lightly nods, and he gets all flustered when you take his hand yourself and squeeze it :(( you can practically see the way his shoulders un-tense when you do so, and suddenly he looks a little more content.

(Ok but taking his hand and pressing your palm against his before carefully slotting your fingers with his to entwine them, and he's just gazing softly and silently at your face with his doe puppy eyes)

If you were to suddenly hug him, he'd be a little startled, but he'd melt so quickly in your arms <3 like he'd utter a soft confused noise the moment he feels arms wrap around his waist, but suddenly he feels his body feel warm and weightless and he just goes all gooey and melty and happily holds you back just as tight. And since he's quite tall, he'd be able to rest his cheek against your head and just stand there with you peacefully. Just big lanky arms gathering you closer, and he'd make little sad noises when you have to pull away :'(( so you just end up standing there for ages hugging each other.

~ He's very quiet and clingy to you, that he's practically your shadow. Wherever you are, he is usually not too far away.

~ He gets very flustered if you give him any type of compliments, this man will short-circuit the moment you utter out anything sweet towards him.

You mention that he has a really beautiful smile? He is gone. Windows xp bootup sound is the only thing ringing in his head right now, before he stutters over his words and clumsily thanks you whilst his ears turns red.

~ Hyun-su is just a very soft and protective boy, who'll go to any length of it means keeping you safe in this hostile world <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Totally unrelated lies of p content, but I wrote this a while ago and wanted to post it anyways 😅

[deliciousscaloppine]

Bound

I wrote that shibari snippet after all. Mature for vague descriptions of bondage?

Meng Yao smiled. He already held his coat in one hand. That's how it always began. With a silent smile that stretched to his eyes, but no words, not even the lightest of small talk. Mingjue preferred it this way, at least in the beginning.

It hadn't been his idea. It was one of Huaisang's many art projects, one that he couldn't quite put into words. They were drinking together, a rare moment since they had drifted apart, when he casually mentioned needing someone with some arm strength. He had laughed. “Why don't you ask me?”

He had blushed and lowered his head. “You wouldn't approve.” he had said.

But he was ready to make up. They both were. He showed him the pictures on his phone and he had laughed again. Mirthless, awkward. Huaisang had averted his eyes, a little embarassed to have been fooled. To have thought Mingjue's judgements had receded just because of one golden afternoon.

“Alright, I'll do it.” he had said. “You'll tie the knots, I'll help you set up the whole suspension system.”

Huaisang eyes had gone wide. “Actually, I don't know much about it. I was intending to take a workshop. Would you take it with me?” he had asked a little hopeful – he always detested physical, manual labor.

He had wished for it a long time; the moment he would gain some understanding of his brother, that moment when he wouldn't say unkind words about obsessive fixations. He had said yes and meant it. He hadn't spared a single moment to think how he would be affected.

Huaisang set up the lights, he took the shots, but he tied the people. It was all impersonal in the beginning, void of any passion. He had refused to let that hint of pleasure become something more. He focused on the movement of his hands, the technical intricacy of the knots, Huaisang's directions.

But then he started having opinions of his own, he wanted to make strange, contorted human shapes. Huaisang often praised that he had an eye for sculpture. It was a wild success, an unexpected success. “You can't leave me now.” Huaisang had said.

They took pictures together for art magazines, they gave interviews, Huaisang chattering away, blissful in this first effortless enthusiasm directed towards him. He stayed silent most of the time, and continued to tie people. To bend them, and hang them until they all blended into each other, odd weightless forms.

Each had a reason of their own to come. Some wanted to know what it was like to fly, others were tired of their arms, some thought with no restraints they would spill outwardly like injured, untethered masses. Some wanted boundaries, and others freedom.

Meng Yao had appeared one day in the studio he and his brother shared. He had seen how Huaisang had leaned talking to him, as if he hadn't managed to thoroughly convince him, a strange glow on his face like if Meng Yao said yes, all his dreams would come true.

He had thought, he loves him. And envied, because he had no one to love, no one to fascinate him.

Meng Yao had smiled and shaken his hand, and then he had taken off his clothes without as much as a word facing the startingly white wall of the studio. Barely making a sound. Removing each and every article of clothing with no rush, no hint of embarassment, and no wistfulness at all. Like a practice for something else entirely, methodically executed. He had understood why Huaisang had been infatuated.

“He is a professional model.” Huaisang had said. “I can't believe he said yes.”

Meng Yao had allowed himself to be tied up, and it seemed to Mingjue as he measured the length of the rope, that he fitted him for a gown- or an elaborate shroud. Meng Yao closed his eyes as if he knew he was getting dressed by someone else. Shedding the uncomfortable burden of living with no attachments.

Mingjue swore he could feel the air between their fingers turn to silk.

He had asked, “What do you like?”

“Anything.” Meng Yao had said. “Anything you want to.”

And that's how it had started; thinking about what it was that he wanted. Letting that tiny hint of pleasure sit on him like silk, kiss him on the face, slip past his lips to live inside him as a perpetual longing for unsaid things.

Unsaid, but recognized. Lived like a needle under his skin.

It started and it continued every time Meng Yao faced the wall and bended to take off his clothes, when he supressed the urge to touch his shoulder, only to affirm that the body he had in front of him was real. To warm it, knead the skin under his palm. To reach and plant a kiss on his throat. To say, you are loved.

Instead he braided his kisses into tangled knots. He wrapped with rope everything he wanted to embrace.

“These pictures have a glow” a well-known critic had said. “They are charged erotically.”

It is his smile, Mingjue had thought, it lives under his skin like sadness. And he imagined alone, drinking leaving space for himself in Meng Yao's bound form. He imagined them tangled together, tied with the same rope. Or sometimes he imagined a kiss, like a slow blink, like a rope around the neck, a leg restrained, like hands hanging down on the floor. A red kiss, deep and relentless.

“Why don't you talk to him?” Huaisang had asked, expression vacant like a man that has lost. Reviewing negatives one night, under the light of a bright screen, making his selection impersonally, with no passion.

The few times Meng Yao had come to the gallery he had smiled politely and made small talk, then walking from print to print with a measured stride, he left unseen and unremarked upon. Mingjue though back on all those times, when Meng Yao slipped from the world, rendering his silk tethers intangible and unreal, and he had said to Huaisang: “Maybe don't invite him anymore.”

He had offended him without meaning to. No one discards carelessly a prize. A prize it took a lifetime to achieve. But Mingjue couldn't have explained it, he wasn't much for words. He knew however the truth. About Meng Yao's reserve of love that he didn't know where to put.

You can find it in ao3 too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099666 

[thegreatgrahamellingham]

Post-Performance Pleasures

Another week, another performance.

For having spent so many years under pseudonym, earning his breakfast and dinner by penning words beneath other people’s names -- not to mention the years before that as but a tool for other’s personal pleasures or political leanings -- Graham took a deserved pride in himself.

While perhaps his pet project, ‘The Mask of Thornbridge’, in truth years in the making and longer than was performed, did not achieve such attention as he may have desired -- he was honored to perform as he did. And by the, unironic, ‘grace’ of the Lady Maymont he was pleased to have penned another play. In earnest, he had considered it rather saccharine from the first draft, but it appeared to have been taken well. Not only by they who had commissioned it and, to be plain, bought and paid for it -- but to those gracious and sagacious men and women of the Grand Alliance who were kind enough to serve as audience.

He felt pride in that.

Perhaps that was his justification for spending so much gold on himself at the festivities that followed.

Now in his defense, he spent most of the profitable purse of the Entourage on its more outwardly prominent members. Sarah Hadley, she who was the star, of course. Her work and earned patronage from the Lord Cartwell of Redridge had allowed the Entourage to have ever begun to begin with. More and more of late, as he had taken a greater role in the stage productions, he had grant gift and coin to Ignacio as well. Despite the impish, saboteur nature of the illusionist -- he was beginning to be an earnest friend. Although his penchant for the limelight and wanton search for pleasures both after and before performances was challenging.

And, of course, sweet Merrick. Their combined foreman and in some ways, troupe Mom. Although that would imply that Graham himself was to be the communal Father and that was not a role he felt particularly inclined toward -- for a variety of reasons.

He shuddered.

But it was quite plain to say that coin and gift, payment and pleasure were not withheld from those hard-working members of their fair, little company. And while he held no sense of personal distaste or resentment, Graham didn’t often spend upon himself. His own portion, fairly divided, of their profits often went to the maintenance of his estate -- wherein they all lived, without charge -- and toward marketing, travel and other necessities of his own profession as manager.

So he found it not unkind or unfair to spend a healthy purse of gold on his own pleasantries in the festival following their performance.

After joining the audience himself to observe, enjoy and to an extent take notes, on the following performers of the Tournament, he absconded alone to visit the various merchant stalls. One of which gathered his attention easily, as the proprietor was not only ‘in costume’, so to speak, but also possessed a rather voluminous lung capacity. Graham had heard the masked and cloth be-decked ‘man’ from all the way across from the rather loud Tourney grounds.

Even over the din of an unseated Duke and cries for gambling compensation, Graham had heard the Merchant.

A strange creature, that much was to be true. The Merchant -- and such was the only name he offered for himself, ‘merchant’ in the pronoun -- looked a bit like something out of a child’s fable. Some enigmatic, scarcely visible riddle-speaker or fortune teller. An interesting character, perhaps one to adapt for a novel later.

But beyond his unending eccentricity of thought, Graham found the Merchant quite charming. Polite in that manner than men and women of his own kin were so often remiss to give in earnest. Usually the demeanour of genuine cordiality came only from assessment of wealth, status, or might above their own. But the Merchant was simply fair, spoken with a conspiratorial humor, and positively flush with interesting items of enchantment.

Now, Graham was not often one to spend quite so much on himself. But, after spying so glorious and perfectly tailored a cloak as to bedazzle the eye, he had to inquire. And, as it turned out, the cloak was enchanted almost as if bespoke for his needs. Pliable, luscious to the touch, and fashionable -- able to alter to any pattern or color or combination of both that the user desired. It would flatten the whole swath of his wardrobe at home dedicated to cloaks and capes for formal events.

-- And not only such, it was capable of hardening to match even the stoutest plate-mail at will.

Now while it was the effort of the aging director to avoid conflict, he did still carry his estoc for a reason. Sometimes things simply escalated and force was the only measurement to be understood. Certainly so in Stormwind City as of late. So plated armor on demand, in a fashionable manner? Oh yes, it was worth the fifty golden coins.

After a young, ragamuffin of a man complimented the Troupe’s performance -- to which Graham, of course, offered his showman’s smile and earnest thanks -- he meandered away from the Merchant. In truth he had meant to simply observe the melee for a minor portion of the hour, then retreat to the Entourage’s private pavillion to indulge in a hot bath. It was cold outside, after all.

But the scent of plumeria took his senses and drew him into a rather unique booth.

Now it was not terribly common for a scent -- let alone one floral! -- to surprise his senses. Whatever could be told of Graham Ellingham, he was a man of sensual acumen. Most took that kind of assumption to mean something untoward, but in truth it was really just an appreciation for the fineries of the world. He enjoyed minutiae, especially those which were so riddled down with sub-community as to be nearly inoperable in regular conversation.

And so he followed his nose, quite literally, to the uncommon booth nearby the Merchant.

A tremendous and really quite unique woman helmed the affair. Her baubles and trinkets were of an inalienable quality, that much was obvious from the immediate venture. But it was her more exact stock of goods that acquired his attention -- that and her genial demeanour.

Indeed, it was not often he could find a mercantile entity of any kind who could appreciate his desire for a dwarf succulent aloe polyphylla, let alone actually have one in stock, in terrarium, ready to be purchased. Favor, fortune, Lady Luck, he thanked the blessing of them all. The terrarium would look gorgeous on the balcony overlooking his rhododendron bushes.

But such was not all that the woman held -- a lady named Maisha he later learned after some communal inquiry. Her friendly stature and her rather precise wares seemed tailor made for the good director. Well, good being relative but he considered himself such. -- Two large, thick-bottomed candles of a perfect gardenia. Blossoms were even embedded in the bottoms! He could have swooned.

Although the sting of some financial guilt did stall him before politely departing the lovely woman’s stall. He really ought to get at least something for the rest of the Entourage. Indeed, he had almost purchased a pair of goggles from the Merchant that seemed quite suited to Ignacio’s unique talent for illusory magic. A little ‘tell-all’ set of spectacles that could, perhaps, pierce even the Illustrious Ignacio Mordrey’s shadow play.

But they were twenty-five gold, and he had already spent fifty. Ignacio could buy them himself.

However, there were a few pairs of the most gorgeous golden cartilage cuffs at the lady Maisha’s booth. And while he had already spent quite the settling of coin, what was a little more? Besides, he could tell from the moment he spotted them that they would work in divine consort with Sarah’s wardrobe -- on or off the stage.

So, into the bundle they went as well.

With a few parting words, he left the lady’s stall and carried onward -- with some difficulty -- back to the Entourage’s private pavilion. Outside the greater noise of the Tournament grounds, it was a homely and soft-seated affair. Great, thick canvas makings on the exterior and a plethora of rugs and carpets run along the snow-cleared earth to provide comfort. Merrick had even set up a proper, claw-footed bathtub in a separate ‘room’, as well as a cast-iron stove with a flute affixed safely through the canvas roof.

He really did need to give their foreman a raise of some kind. Although recalling recent events, perhaps he already assisted in the improvisation of one, after a fashion.

“If you’re here, don’t look!”

He called out into the -- as he came to realize quickly -- empty pavilion.

A little ‘hum’ left his lips, still balancing terrarium and candles in one arm as he used his cane to walk further into the rug-laden ‘living room’. Merrick had got quite good at keeping a consistent floor plan to their excursions of entertainment enclosure. Yet where was everyone?

Sarah and Ignacio both had left quite quickly after the performance had concluded to go change. That was no surprise, as Sarah was wearing little more than a Westfallian woman’s blouse and skirt with a shawl, and Iggy was bare-chested but for a wet, stage-blooded bandage. Doubtless the cold would influence both of their mammaries to a warm comfort and change of ‘costume’ for the rest of the festival.

Yet he did not see them, nor had he heard any call of their voices throughout the Tournament grounds. Perhaps they were off on their own excursion, or perusing another half of the booths. There was little requirement for concern, especially if Merrick was missing from the pavilion as well. Doubtless he’d had both eyes on them.

… He really was the Troupe’s Mom.

Maternal care did deserve a raise, did it not? Graham huffed once as he set down his purchases in his own ‘room’, consigning the thought to memory. Next time he balanced the Entourage’s books and performed finance, he would adjust the scales for a special savings fund for Merrick. The man was a master of all things physical, constructive or otherwise -- but he was not great with money. Thankfully Graham was savvy to the use of coin.

At least while sober.

A-front of the standing mirror in his own curtained off ‘room’ of the pavilion, Graham took the leisure, alone as he was in the greater tent, to pose. He wrapped his new cloak around himself, willing it to different colors and patterns one after another. At first, having handled the item in front of the Merchant, he hadn’t believed it to work. So, thinking of a random pattern as he touched it, the entire cloak had metaphorically ‘exploded’ into hot pink polka dots in front of everyone nearby.

He ran taut his lips to stifle his laugh, recalling it. Embarrassment had run its course already.

From within his jacket pocket, he plucked the setting of golden cuffs. Perfect adornments for Sarah’s ears. Hopefully she would enjoy them -- a small gesture, he could quietly admit, in comparison to the extravagance of his enchanted cloak. But he had made his sense toward the woman known already, and he already had plans in mind for a more appropriate gift for her.

And besides …

He looked to himself in the mirror, standing with cane in hand, statured to showmanship as if he were holding court upon the stage, his cloak laid over one shoulder gracefully -- all colored in a subtle, charcoal pattern to match his suit.

… He was the Great Graham Ellingham.

Mentioned!

@tirasiantrouper​

@card-slinger​

Does ‘the Merchant’ have a tumblr?

[thecpdiary]

Book Review of Cerebral Palsy by Mai Cadiz

Cerebral Palsy: ‘A Story’ - Ilana Estelle

‘Finding the Calm after the Storm’

A Book Review –  By Mai Cadiz

Ilana’s book is an extension of her blog - The CP Diary which chronicles her life as a Cerebral Palsy patient. It has also become a community for people who are also diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. Her blog is more expansive as it dates back to 2010.

However, her book is an intimate look at a woman’s life with Cerebral Palsy. This book makes me confront my own view and perception on how to deal with people who have medical conditions that outwardly affect their appearance and their cognitive, emotional, and social struggles.

In this book, it gave Cerebral Palsy a name, a face, and a life. It tells me that Ilana is more than a check list of symptoms. She is human, just like you and I, she also feels pain – both physical and emotional, depression, anger, love, and the most important of all, hope.

The physical symptoms of cerebral palsy is made real because it is being experienced by someone who lives and breathes. The book makes me aware that people experience these difficult physical symptoms. The symptoms are no longer just a checklist to confirm a diagnosis – but a painful reality that some people live with every day.

I usually look away from people with Cerebral Palsy not because I’m unkind, but I feel pain for them. I also feel pity. It’s difficult for me to see how they live with their disability. 20 years ago, during my internship at a special school, I assisted in the therapy of a child with cerebral palsy. Although I was physically present at the child’s session, my mind was elsewhere because I didn’t want to see or feel the child’s difficulties. After my internship, I tried to erase all the memories of that child so I wouldn’t experience profound sadness.

This book makes me realize that patients don’t need pity. What they need is understanding and a support system that can make them function in their pace without making them feel as burdens. We have to understand that people diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy may be a bit slower in their thought processes, so we must not hurry them or get impatient. If they ask for our help, we should extend our hand not because we don’t want them to go on their way, but we want to show them that this world is not full of insensitive people.

Ilana’s childhood was marred with difficulties in physical and emotional milestones as her illness made the usual things impossible for her to do. She was even misdiagnosed at first with spastic monoparesis in her childhood. Reading this story makes me confront my emotions – it forces me to feel the pain and sadness and hope for Ilana.

Despite the anger and frustration, Ilana is hopeful. The hope comes from not knowing what might happen. To some this might scary, but the unknown makes her think that there was something else left to be uncovered.

The physical disability also takes a toll on Ilana. We tend to forget that aside from the physical pain that these patients experience, they also have to cope with the stress, anxiety, and depression caused by the disability. It’s an eye opener that we cannot just dismiss their feelings – expecting them to be hopeful day in and day out is something that we shouldn’t demand from them because we never really know what they go through.

This book also highlights the importance of intuition and listening to your needs and putting them first. The more she became aware of her limitations, the more she used those to her advantage to succeed in her career and latter education.

It gives hope to the readers that your weakness can be your guide to know what you can do best. Her diary, allowed her to put her feelings and thoughts into context. Despite her diagnosis of cerebral palsy at the age of 46, and autism at 56, Ilana has survived her struggles with grace.

This book tells us that we are not victims of circumstances, but we have a choice on how we live. I’m diagnosed with Bipolar Mood Disorder. Although our conditions are completely different, we share emotional struggles like depression. I have mood swings that are hard to control without therapy. It is sometimes challenging to see the positive side of life when things go south for me.  

Ilana could have become bitter and chose to blame everyone in her life, but she consciously chooses to be realistic and hopeful about her condition. She still chooses to achieve greater goals in life. She refuses to resign to her fate. She teaches us that there are things that we all cannot and can control. We can work with those things that we can control.

In the process, we can inspire to change the system that worked against us so other people can live a better life. This book empowers people with disabilities and illness – we are more than our diagnosis. Ilana refused to be defined by her Cerebral Palsy alone. That is inspiring.

Ilana also offers a sound advice – “Other disabled people can concentrate on things their disability doesn’t prevent them from doing well, and don’t regret the things it interferes with. Don’t be disabled in spirit as well as physically.” These words are powerful, inspiring, and most importantly – doable.

The description on how the brain works is very easy to understand. There are no complicated scientific terms. The parts of the brain’s structures are easy to understand, thus it’s easy for the reader to comprehend the difficulties of a person living with cerebral palsy.

Her letter to Cerebral Palsy is full one of acceptance, but she refuses to resign to her fate. Instead, in the letter, Ilana addressed Cerebral Palsy as a companion that she learned to work with as she lives her life with grace.

Ilana also highlights the importance of mental health. The body and the mind are interlinked intimately that it can never be broken. Cerebral Palsy’s physical symptoms can take a toll on the mind. We should never dismiss anyone’s emotional pain – especially those who are suffering from a disability. Ilana describes that it’s OK to sometimes feel down and even angry at what she was dealt with, but the most important thing is to rise back up.

The message of hope in this book is rooted in reality. It doesn’t portray the false sweet promises of positivity. It’s anchored on real human experiences of someone who is physically disabled – that some days are difficult to deal with. That sometimes, the disability can overwhelm every one.

She also acknowledges that with her condition, the complications will get worse as the brain continues to deteriorate. The knowledge of that fact is frightening. But instead of giving up, she chooses to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

Some people experience more difficulties with disabilities because their own family members, to a certain degree resent them. Ilana states that if we want society’s perception and treatment with people with disability to change, it must start with the home. Family members should be the first ones to show kindness and compassion, and the rest will follow.

Her argument that disability should be considered normal to achieve inclusivity may raise some eyebrows. How can someone who is different from the rest of the population be considered normal? They are two separate concepts – but when you think about it, inclusivity means accepting that everyone is differently-abled can also contribute something positive to society.

Ilana wrote that we as a society, still view them with pity. That we are still awkward around them, though it’s a normal human reaction. Ilana offers helpful guide on how we should treat family members with disabilities. The book uses actionable terms in place of abstract concept. She explains compassion is asking what the individual needs. She explains acceptance is engaging with conversation.

This book is not your typical self-help or inspirational book. It offers more than positive thinking that other writers peddle as life-changing. Ilana struggles and triumph are raw because she doesn’t try to portray herself as someone who has overcome every challenges in one fell swoop.  She is able to balance her emotional experiences, without the dramatic flair. The book is effective in its portrayal of her struggles and successes because they are rooted in her truth.

She still lives with her medical reality though it is filled with trips to doctors, countless tests, physical, mental and emotional struggles. Despite all the stacks being against her, she doesn’t lose hope and inspires people and who are differently-abled to embrace their condition with grace.