Beginning in the 8th century BC, many Greeks began to settle (some would say colonise) in southern Italy. They were organised into powerful city-states and brought the hellenic civilisation with them, affecting the locals. (various Greek tribes shown on the map)
It was called Magna Graecia, meaning Great Greece. It is now considered a historical region.
Their effect is still visible today with many cities and regions keeping the greek names given to them. (ex. Neapolis, meaning “new city” in ancient Greek, turned into Napoli most likely due to the Italian accent)
Greek culture flourished even after the people there lost their independence following the second punic war. Art, literature and philosophy had a great influence on the region. (South Italian Ancient Greek pottery depicting the goddess Nike shown below)
Most Greek inhabitants were latinised during the Middle Ages, however, traces of Greek language and culture remained. The Griko people are a community that still maintains parts of its Greek heritage, one of them being the Griko language.
In a poem by C. P. Cavafy called “Poseidonians”, he mentions how many people living in southern Italy continued to celebrate Greek customs and would still recite Greek names and phrases towards the end. The last part is said to sadden them as they had forgotten their language. (couldn’t find an english translation unfortunately)
Back to Hetalia, because of the amount of Greek culture affecting the south of Italy, I personally hc the human representation of this land to be half Greek. I also generally believe that this part of Italy has quite a few similarities with my country though I have yet to visit.
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Beside growing her hair + ponytail. Rukia's design gained 2 elements when she became a Captain:
🔴Ukitake left his Captain haori to Rukia in WDKALY
🔵She has a navy blue ribbon in her hair
🔵Just like her white sleeves when she became a Lt were given by Byakuya, we can see his new Oneshot design also has navy blue to match with his sister, coincidence or another gift?
🔴We know Captains have freedom in customizing their haori and yet Rukia chose to keep Ukitake's
🔵Just like her role as Lt, Kaien was set to become the Capt position. He is associated with blue, a nod to Rukia's role as the succesor of both
🔴Zangetsu's first design is based in SnS design due Rukia passing her powers to him. Ichigo has always been associated with red…
And yet now Rukia is associated with it too.
Mangakas give characters a specific color to make them stand out and create a narrative. I see Rukia's new design as a homage to her 'mentors', all of them taught her something valuable and believed in her potential.
It sucks but I made it so just avert your eyes politely on the way past ok? Don’t be mean
Thinking about Eddie and Steve as a Harley Quinn/ Poison ivy fusion. Without the joker ofc.
Eddie was pulled in by a charismatic psychopath (Billy?) and warped. Chewed up and spit out but he’s free and now doing his own thing. Still super illegal though.
It’s hard to have go back to a 9-5 after all that. It’s also not like he was exactly on the straight and narrow before it either,so. He’s a jack of all trades kinda criminal, goes by Oddity (odd-Eddie,get it? I’m hilarious) anyway
He’s staying with a friend of a friend, Steve.
Steve’s got plant powers, he worked in a greenhouse and definitely never substituted for plants for human affection and interaction. Nope. Working there he meets a biochemistry professor (Creel?)who lured him in with pretty words and lies about his work and used Steve to further his experiments into reworking humanity into subservience, thinking no one would miss him.
Steve survived, got the plant mojo and did the whole murder revenge thing. And then spent his time speaking for the trees and doing crime to pay for it. Can’t decide on his name tho (Pennyroyal?)
So they live together and Eddie will get a wild scheme going
And Steve will inevitably have to to step in and corral him from going too far or too hard and Eddie will be there to pull Steve out of the vines that twine around him and the flowers that whisper how much better it would be to just lay amongst them forever
With gentle kisses because even at his most primal state Steve would never let his poison get Eddie.
And when Eddie begins to fidget,unable to stay still/safe and just needs to go out and tear things up because it still doesn’t sit quite right, being able to just…be. He was always too much; too loud, too odd to be allowed. So he goes out and picks a fight with the nearest do-gooder or champions an underdog to the bloody end. And Steve will go along if asked, make sure he’s watched over if not and will welcome him back home without question every time. He’ll wrap him up and reseed his affection into Eddie’s skin with kisses and hope that the love and safety can start taking root.
mr started baking to center himself, to find something to do on a weekend night instead of drink, hook up, or pick fights. Surprisingly, it works. And he's good at it. His aunt gives him the idea to post photos online, which soon turn to videos. They do moderately well and mr feels less like he wants to fight the whole world. He creates moon cakes shaped like little white cats instead.
That's how cwn finds him. The chubby white cats, with pink ears, whiskers, and everything, is mr's most popular video so far. cwn catches it recommended by a coworker in the group chat that really should be for work discussions. cwn doesn't spend much time there, unable to connect with these other work-from-home individuals scattered across the country. He knows their names but not much else.
On another lonely night in an endless string of lonely nights, cwn watches the video. No one's around to judge him, a full grown man, from indulging in something unavoidably cute anyway.
He hears the soft music, sees the baker's dimpled smile and big hands expertly molding and decorating the cutest little cats. He's drawn in by the voice, soothing, rich, inviting. The warm glow of his kitchen.
cwn blows through all of his other videos by the next week. At the end of his work day, he curls up in bed and watches them with a hot cup of tea or a glass of wine. A part of him recognizes how foolish this all is. To look forward to a 20 min glorified instructional video. But something about mr--he learned his name from the enthusiastic comments--puts him at ease. For a short while, watching mr knead dough or paint tiny pink flowers on a cake, his isolated life feels less burdensome. When mr tells a joke, unlike the rapid fire group chat, cwn feels included. He smiles back. He even laughs softly to himself.
The time mr accidentally set the hand mixer too high and flour went everywhere, mr laughing openly and fully at himself, cwn joined in. Loud and unrestrained and felt with his whole body.
He still lived and worked alone but it didn't feel like an empty existence anymore.
cwn looking at mr's immaculate kitchen day in day out and starts to grow self-conscious of the clutter surrounding him on all sides. Now he knows mr can't see it but he keeps picturing him walking through the front door and the appalled look on his face.
So each day off, he harnesses that shame and tidies up a few items. Only a thing here or there, really, he doesn't have the energy for a big project. But over the months it adds up. And he actually used the cleaning products he ordered when he moved in.
It's. Not a great success. Plenty of trial and error and truly embarrassing search results (how to clean a shower wall). He still takes pride in being able to see his bedroom floor. To walk to bed without taking the memorized safety route.
And he starts taking care of himself in other ways too. Mr mentioned walking his dog and getting inspiration by the flowering trees in the park for a new design. It gives cwn the courage to walk around the neighborhood. For a short while. Covered head to toe despite the balmy weather. A lady with a dog walks by and she smiles at him. She can't see his face because of the mask so he nods back.
He had a pleasant interaction? With another person? That didn't happen behind a computer screen?
The unexpected high of that momentary interaction carries him along to walk a bit further than he intended. An hour later he gets back home, not sore cause he works out regularly at home, but feeling exhausted. In a good way.
When he turns on his favorite set of old videos, on the days mr doesn't release a new video, he idly wonders if mr would be proud of him for taking this great big step.
cwn had been living removed from society since he was a kid. He and his father lived secluded on a mountain all of his childhood. Honestly, he'd still be there if he didn't decide to set out on his own at 17, leaving the only family he had behind for good.
But the real world proved to be too much. He didn't know how to interact with others. And they took advantage of his inexperience. Slowly he withdrew into himself, appearing cold and aloof. Then he withdrew completely from the world again, retreating to an apartment he never left. Modern technology provided everything he needed.
The abundance of delivery boxes strewn across the apartment, that he kept meaning to take care of, were a testament to that. He stares at the stack of broken down cardboard, ready to be used or thrown away, and he feels that weird swell of pride again.
The next day, he downloads a step counter on his phone and goes for another walk after work. The weather's grown a bit chillier so he doesn't get as many odd looks. If it weren't for that lady being polite yesterday, he would have aborted mission and retreated back to the safety of his apartment.
He sees her again. She smiles again. cwn nods back. Her dog sniffs his leg curiously, its little tail wagging.
"He doesn't bite," the lady says, still smiling.
Oh. That must be a social cue to touch it. cwn kneels to reach, the dog is small and his legs are pretty long. Before he even makes contact the dog lifts its head and does it for him, tail wagging so fast the little nub might fall off. cwn gives it precisely three awkward pats then straightens, nodding at the woman who still regarded him with a friendly smile.
That night he watches the video where mr makes cookies that look somewhat similar to the little dog.
He contemplates getting a dog but he's only just now learning to take care of himself. It's too soon to bring another living creature into the mix.
mr has a favorite commenter. They came in with the influx of watchers after his bunny mooncake video.
It wasn't anything special. Compared to all the other comments filled with screams and excessive emojis, it was very plain:
"These are cute, thank you for sharing."
Not even an exclamation point at the end. Just a period.
mr chuckled to himself at the time, thinking it was some grandma who didn't know how to use the site. They had the default icon and a simple username, supporting his theory.
Still, he appreciated it.
These videos meant more to him than he let on to his family. He felt lost as the years since his mother's death dragged on. He had this rage and bitterness brewing inside him with nowhere to go.
His aunt and uncle, the kind people that gave him a home, treated him as their own when they had no real obligation to do so, they tried hard to help him deal with it. To reconcile the injustice weighing heavy on his chest. That the world could let a young woman die as if her life meant nothing.
But he didn't make it easy for them.
"This has to stop a-ran," his uncle said as he drove mr home from the police station. The tired frustration in his voice, like he was at the end of his rope, was a cold bucket of water over mr's head.
He felt ashamed. And scared. Scurrying off to his room the moment they came home and not leaving all the next day.
They've had enough. They're going to kick me out.
These thoughts ran through his head as he tried for the first time in ages, overwhelmed by fear and a vicious hangover.
That night, his aunt let herself in and turned on the light. She placed a tray of food on the nightstand, patted mr's back, curled up and turned away.
As she left the room she simply said "we'll talk in the morning."
It wasn't a dismissal or a reprimand but a reassurance. In her own way she told him 'you still have a home here.'
He swore never to get in trouble again. But that didn't solve all the aimless aggression crawling under his skin almost constantly.
A few weeks later his aunt suggested baking and the rest just seemed to fall into place.
He was more surprised than anyone it worked. A big guy like him? Making little pastries and unflinchingly cute things? But he enjoyed it.
He was good at it. Even more important, it helped.
He created, did something productive, focused his restless energy into a task that made him and others happy.
Like user cwn3779.
"You've done an excellent job."
"They turned out great."
"Very good job. I look forward to next week's video."
There was a blunt sincerity to these unadorned comments. The simple yet rigid praise made him smile.
While the other viewers playfully teased him for coating himself in flour after an admittedly silly mistake, cwn3779 said:
"Thank you for the laugh. I needed it."
He reread the comment multiple times that day.
He didn't know this person or their situation, the two of them perfect strangers, but he found a weird comfort in knowing he gave this to them.
It wasn't that long ago all his laughs were hollow, an act, hiding the deep chasm of resentment and despair waiting for him to fall in.
It probably wasn't that serious. They had a bad day at work and needed to chase away a bad mood.
Still. He made their life a bit better. And in turn mr felt better. Honestly.
He noticed their comments, while not enthusiastic, were mildly wordier on his animal shaped and floral decoration videos.
So being perceptive and attentive to his audience, he made sure to add at least one every month.
Why not? He enjoyed doing them and if it made cwn3- his viewers happy, it was worth coming up with ideas.
"I bet it's a sex thing," his cousin xm remarked as he caught mr smiling at his phone. "Some old pervert with a kink."
mr snorted, giving him a dubious look.
"You know about kinks now? Last time you thought cbt stood for 'closed beta testing'."
xm's entire face explodes in bright red.
"I still think you made that up! Who would want-- yugh!" He can't even finish around his disgust and embarrassment.
Despite his occasional comments, xm was supportive in his own way. He went on a rant about the poor quality of his original videos and gave him pointers disguised as nitpicking. And for mr's birthday a year later he received a far too expensive camera that xm loudly insisted he had nothing to do with though mr didn't ask. He sent mr 'dumb' cutesy animal memes to 'mock' him and not at all for inspiration.
xm was also the one mr called when he was in a knife fight that went real bad for him. The one who took him to the hospital and berated him with a such a pale face you'd think he’d been stabbed.
The one who punched his shoulder after he was stitched up then hugged him too tightly, cursing to hide the strain in his voice.
"You do this again I'll fucking kill you myself."
For once, xm didn't tell his parents. & mr finally understood this spoiled brat cared about him too.
That was 3 years ago.
Now, mr avoids the swipe xm directs at his head for laughing and nudges him back with his foot. He swiftly dodges the return kick.
"Okay, okay," mr says, difficult from how much he's laughing. xm's face had only gotten redder as he failed to land a single hit and mr's continued teasing. "Are you going to help me set up the new lights you just 'happened to find' or what?"
"I told you a friend was getting rid of them," xm snapped defensively.
"Right when one of my old lights broke. Fate sure does smile on me."
"What's this one about anyway?"
"Peacock macrons," mr answers nonchalantly, retrieving a box full of dyes.
"Why are you making those?"
"No reason." mr gives him a look that's not quite a smirk but enough to make xm narrow his eyes. They fly open the next second as mr continues, "And it's not 'me', it's 'us'. Mengmeng will be my special guest today."
"WHAT!?"
cwn stares at the title of this week's video for a full minute.
"Peacock Macarons with Special Guest"
Special Guest.
His finger hovers over the link another minute before he actually starts watching.
Sure enough, standing beside mr, stiff and making awkward eye contact with the camera, is another person. He's about the same age, but shorter and slimmer, made very evident by how his borrowed apron hangs off him instead of tightly hugging his chest, straining a bit with each motion, like mr's. Not that cwn notices these things.
An intense spike of jealousy hits cwn. He's used to sharing mr with thousands of viewers but they're all in the same situation, trapped behind a screen watching from afar. This person stood almost shoulder to shoulder with mr, his admittedly cute but stiff face stuck somewhere between exaggerated smile and very much not wanting to be there.
cwn frowns. It deepens each time mr says 'we' instead of 'I'. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at how the very concept angers him.
Then mr turns to the person beside him who looks ready to bolt at any second--angering cwn further for not treasuring the opportunity he's been given--and introduces him as his cousin.
His cousin.
cwn's possessiveness deflates at those two words. He's left feeling very foolish, sinking into the couch, ears pink. But he smiles too.
It's just his cousin.
The rest of the video clears away his unsettling reaction and puts him in that relaxed headspace he craves.
mr orders xm, the guest's name, to hand him items with a quirk to his smile, his dimples deeper on one side. The purple taint to his eyes, intensified by the new lights--cwn notices the change- dancing with an extra bit of something. Amusement?
For his part, xm starts to react, to furrow his brows and part his lips then seems to remember he's on camera, eyes darting back to it, and he plasters a painful looking grin on his face. He does as he's told.
The initial jealously aside, it's nice to see mr with family. On a Q&A video, a viewer asked if his mom taught him how to bake so well. cwn caught the flicker in mr's eyes, the momentary dulling of his charming smile.
The way his warm, inviting voice falters, only for a few words, as he answers: "No, she didn't. I'm completely self taught."
cwn speculated what it meant for days. He worried mr didn't have any family. His heart ached to think mr was in the same situation as him.
But it also built another layer to the connection he felt with mr. They possibly both grew up without a mom, lived now without a family.
xm's presence shattered that illusion. Instead of feeling put at a distance from mr, he's relieved. No one should be alone.
cwn has never been great at deciphering human interactions but even he can tell beneath the teasing and sideways glares, they're comfortable with each other.
Maybe he does feel a bit lonelier. And a smidge jealous this person gets to be with mr more often than his weekly videos.
But he made mr happy. Considering all the unexpected joy mr's brought to his life, he's grateful for that.
After the video, he quickly types and retypes a comment, trying to find the right words to express himself.
It's early and the sun has yet to set so cwn decides to go for a walk.
Bundled in his jacket, over a sweater, a scarf fit snuggly around his neck and wearing a ratty set of hat and gloves, with a white mask to complete the outfit, he strolls leisurely about the neighborhood.
Well, he strolls leisurely on a set path circling his neighborhood.
Halfway through his regular circuit, he hears a familiar excited bark. But the one leading the dog is decidedly unfamiliar. The little dog that barely reaches the middle of cwn's calves tugs on its leash making a beeline right for him.
The man on the other end is bearded, middle aged, and grinning broadly at him.
"Who are you?" cwn demands before thinking.
The man just tightens the leash, keeping the little black dog with a reddish-brown mark on its forehead from jumping all over cwn's white pants.
"So you're bingpup's new friend?" The man asks back, voice loud and jovial, completely unfazed by the suspicious death glare pinned on him.
"Bingpup?" cwn echoes slowly, despite himself.
The man gestures at the small ball of black fur hopping in place, desperately trying to get closer.
"He's usually indifferent to strangers so you must be the new friend my wife talked about."
Ah. Wife. Which made him the husband. Not a flagrant dognapper.
cwn unclenches the fists he fully prepared to clock this strange man with a second ago.
The little dog whines at being so cruelly kept at bay. cwn kneels down and gives it the precise count of six head pats; an upgrade from the initial 3. They had been running into each other long enough it seemed appropriate.
The dog whines again as he pulls his hand away. Hesitating for a moment, hand held still in the air, cwn gives it one more pat. Its little tail wags so hard and fast its whole body shakes with the motion, tongue lolling out and panting happily.
"Easy, you're going to vibrate right off your leash," the man says. He focuses his overtly friendly grin on cwn again. "My wife's too shy to make introductions. Let me: Xue Zhengyong."
He waits, face open and radiating a disarming geniality, for cwn to respond.
"Chu Wanning," he finally says, as if there's some doubt about that.
"Nice to put a face to the name."
cwn just nods.
The man makes genuine inquires about where he lived and what he did, wrangling more information out of him in the short conversation than his wife ever did in the 2 months of their routine but brief meetings.
By the end he felt overwhelmed and exhausted, like that first walk, even if xzy did most of the talking. He arrives home with a buzzing head, a name, and armful of fruit.
"No, please, take them! My wife says I buy too many anyway," xzy insisted as cwn firmly tried to return the bag thrust into his arms, laughing, loud and hearty. It shook his whole frame just like the dog wagging its tail.
This man was a bit coarse and forward.
...cwn liked him.
On a lazy afternoon, mr and xm sit sprawled on the couch, empty bowls on the table. Aunt and uncle were visiting friends in another city or neither of them would dare eating anywhere except the kitchen.
mr came over from his apartment to keep xm company under the guise of annoying him. And to make sure he ate something other than takeout for the whole week his parents would be gone. Both for his sake and his mother's beloved kitchen.
As they digest mr's expertly prepared lunch, mr checks his notifications while xm plays a noisy mobile game.
"Huh."
"What?" xm asks, suspicious already, not breaking eye contact with his game.
That's fair. mr did spend most of the morning teasing xm about the blonde guy obviously flirting with him at the store.
Unperturbed by his cousin's prickly response, he remarks casually, "Oh nothing. It just looks like you're appealing to blondes and old perverts."
"What nonsense are you spouting now?" xm shouts, nearly dropping his phone. If the drawn out, high-pitched scream emanating from his phone is any indication, he didn't need to worry about paying attention anymore.
mr shows him cwn3779's comment.
xm's face does a funny thing of switching from outraged to flustered several times, mouth flapping open and closed. He catches mr's smug grin and bats the phone away, settling on pissed off but red-faced.
"Don't get me involved in your weird sex thing!" He snaps, slumping back into position on the couch, nose particularly pressed against his phone screen. "And I told you that asshole was getting on my nerves, nothing else!"
"More like trying to get into your pants," mr says, retrieving the empty bowls. They'd stay there until right before his aunt came home if he left it to xm.
The comment earns him a horrified and disgusted noise, xm abandoning his phone to glare daggers at mr's back.
"Honestly, you could do much worse," mr throws over his shoulder on the way to the kitchen.
A couch cushion narrowly misses hitting him in the head. His retreating howl of laughter is almost drowned out by xm's litany of curses, chasing after him armed with another cushion.
mr really thought that'd be the end of it. Convincing xm to be in one video since he was already there, watching him squirm under those new lights he installed. He gets to share his hobby and prank xm a little. A temporary but satisfying win-win.
Imagine his surprise when xm shows up at his door a week later with an idea.
"Hello Mengmeng. Miss me already?"
"Do you think you can make this?" xm says instead of acknowledging his greeting or the obvious taunt. He rapidly unlocks his phone and shoves it into mr's face.
Humoring him, mr grabs his wrist to hold the phone steady enough to read it clearly.
It's a photo of two translucent, pink speckled fish 'swimming' on a blue plate. The caption reads: 'koi fish osmanthus flower jelly with rose lychee filling'.
mr cocks an eyebrow, regarding his cousin with a bemused look as he moves the phone away from his face.
"Where did this come from all of a sudden? Did you realize that blonde guy is way out of your league and you're thinking of ways to impress him?"
"Who wants to impress him?" xm shot back, wrinkling his nose disgustedly. "Stop bringing him up! Can you do it or not?"
"Sure. Mengmeng will have to be my helper again though," mr coos, his lips curling knowingly.
xm makes a big show of rolling his eyes, acting put upon, but he practically shoves mr aside as he walks through the door muttering "fine whatever" and heads straight towards the kitchen.
A shade of something softer touches mr's expression as he closes the door.
"Don't forget your apron Mengmeng," he calls sweetly to the kitchen.
"Fuck you," is the toothless response he gets back.
mr's smile grows, standing there a moment longer before joining xm.
xm and mr stand side by side, examining the fruits of their labor: a school of pink-speckled fish. xm pokes at one. He's been doing it for a while, jabbing each fish in turn, testing how they jiggle, fascinated by it.
"These are..." his voice trails off.
"Osmanthus jelly fish - as requested."
mr pats xm on the back and begins to clean up.
He does not expect or receive an offer to help.
"Without a mold, this is the best you're gonna get to show off to blonde boy."
"Shut up," xm lobs at him on reflex, eyes still glued to the plate. He grabs the rim and shakes all of them at once. It's like a real school of fish swimming through the water.
The fish wriggle wildly in place.
"You're right. Genius might be a better word."
"Asshole works better," xm retorts, angrily untying his apron he forgot to take off, too distracted by the fish.
"Before you storm out of here in a huff"-xm threatens to shove the washcloth down his throat to keep him from saying such stupid things but mr ignores it-"let me pack a few of these guys for you take."
Preemptively, xm fumes, "I am not giving them to Mei Hanxue!"
"Oh? Blonde guy has a name now?"
Caught out, xm clamps his mouth shut. He struggles to recover.
"Every- Everyone has a name!"
"Yeah but you remembered it."
"Because he's so annoying. Just like you!" xm tosses the apron to the ground. mr grabs him by the arm as he really does go to storm off.
"Okay, okay. It's not for that guy, I wasn't even going to mention him."
xm jerks free, the look on his face highly dubious.
"What I was going to say was, bring some home for aunt and uncle."
'And you too, silly Mengmeng.' He keeps that part to himself.
"Oh." xm stares at the plate then straightens a little, chin raised. "Right. I should show them my great idea."
"And if you want to save a few for ~Mei Hanxue~, I won't mind."
"Mo Ran!"
cwn is a creature of habit. Routines rule his life.
It's been this way since he lived in the mostly abandoned temple with his father. As much as he tried to put that behind him, venturing into the "unsightly" world his father did his best to shelter him from, he fell back on routines to cope with how overwhelming and out of place he felt.
When his routines are disrupted, he grows irritable and discomforted. Lost.
The daily walks were a part of his routine now. So were his brief interactions with the dog and its owners. When a week went by and he didn't see either of them, the very forward man or his reserved but friendly wife, walking their energetic dog, he felt an irrational sense of concern. Then an increasing sense of rejection.
He berates himself for foolishly reading too much into things.
Their conversations only lasted about 10 minutes on average. They were being polite, neighborly, nothing more.
At least he still has mr's videos to look forward to.
After day 8 of lingering awkwardly at their usual meeting place and pretending he isn't waiting for them only to trudge off disappointed, cwn decides to take a break. He stays locked inside his apartment for 3 days, nothing really when you consider the long stretches of time he'd spend indoors in the past. Before mr and this strange new turn his life was taking.
He settles on the couch, situated perfectly with the laptop on his lap and a coffee mug of Wu Liang Ye. His single proper glass is dirty. Recent events had sapped his productivity. Outside of work, he couldn't muster the energy to clean.
Sipping from the cat shaped mug he bought on a impulse because it reminded him of the cat mooncakes that introduced him to mr's account, he hits play on the newest video: Replicating osmanthus flower jelly koi fish without a recipe.
The thumbnail promises another stunning result. And mr, as always, delivers.
He lays the school of translucent fish on a blue plate, like the original photo he shared (with the owner's permission he stresses). Under the bright lights they shine and accentuate the flecks of pink mr painstakingly injected along their spines.
"What do you think?" mr asks to the camera, dimples showing. "Watch this."
cwn obediently peels his eyes away from mr's captivating smile to the plate. His eyes widen as mr gently shakes the plate and the little fish comes alive.
"My cousin gave me this idea. Make sure to thank him in the comments and I'll be sure to show him."
mr thanks everyone for watching and jiggles the fish one more time before the video ends.
cwn restarts it immediately. He sits there rewatching the same video, draining and refilling his alcohol, 3 times in a row.
Perhaps a bit tipsier than he thinks he is, cwn comments: "Please share my appreciation with your cousin for the idea and yourself for this video. I watched many times. It helped."
He closes his laptop, forcing himself to commit to what he's done, and retreats to the bedroom as if he can escape it in his sleep.
Post canon, t4t ming fan and ning yingying develop a fwb type deal. It's going great until mf misses a dose of his baby-b-gone pills…
To make matters worse (for him), the day he builds up the courage to tell nyy, she reveals she fell in love. Asks him if they can end their arrangement.
He can't bring himself to say it now. Just agrees and hides the news.
He throws himself into his work, volunteers for full snake babysitting duty. Far away from his fellow disciples where he can sulk in privacy. Except for zzl.
At shizun's request, zzl was put under mqf's care. His injuries were significant and left him in a coma for months on end.
zzl proves difficult during his recovery period. Needs close supervisor once he regains consciousness so he doesn't attempt yet another ill-advised escape. Not that he gets far in his condition.
Outside the ward in his quarters, he reverts to his true form. Its too weak and his injuries reopen. But he tries many times. Once he learns junshang survived as well.
Other than playing guard and caretaker in one, mf occasionally powers up the ward with spiritual energy. He isn't strong enough to keep zzl in the right form, facilitate his healing. It's more like throwing an extra log on a fire someone else expertly built. Adding fuel.
The two spend a month together in complete silence. Neither has the desire to speak with the other and has more important things on their mind.
Supplies are brought in by other disciples. mf refuses all their offers of switching with shixiong, giving him time to himself.
By the third month cohabiting, mf starts showing.
In such close quarters, under his keen eye, zzl notices. He's seen a pregnant person before. Remembers the fascination he felt looking on her all those years ago. The errant thought that his mother must have looked the same.
mf ignores the stares. Just like he tries ignoring the problem all together. An increasingly impossible and stupid course of action as his body gets bigger.
He absolutely doesn't tell nyy. How can he?
One day mf becomes nauseous so quickly and suddenly he can't make it outside in time. He's heaving his guts and the fresh meal nyy sent over into a tea pot full.of cold water. When the last of it subsides, he hears a voice ask "are you alright?”
He glares from his position on the floor, face hovering over a container of his own sick and water.
"do I look alright?" he snaps back.
zzl simply stares calmly back at him. Says no more.
The nausea gets worse. mf starts keeping a bucket nearby and eats only light, small portions.
It happens while he's in the middle of juicing up the ward. He breaks the connection, scrambles for the bucket. His hair comes loose from his ponytail as he does.
After several awful heaves, the last few dry, he notices his hair isn't sticking to his face or in the bucket. He pants, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand, staring blankly at the man hovering at his side.
Holding his hair back.
He broke the ward in his haste.
Panic rises up nearly as fast as the sick. He isn't a match for the snake demon in this condition. If he's honest with himself, he isn't his match at all. He gapes, sour mouth working uselessly. A hand subconsciously covering the growing bugle of his stomach.
zzl tracks the movement. He releases mf's hair and steps back.
"Are you alright?" He asks again, same tone as the other day.
To mf's amazement he doesn't bolt for the door or lash out. He stands a few paces away, staring at him with quiet patience. Awaiting an answer.
In the days and weeks and months he has been trapped in cqm, zzl has had plenty of time to think. Once the initial kneejerk reaction of "find junshang at all costs" proved fruitless, his mind turned to the reality of his situation.
His injuries were grave. Surrounded by cultivators, he had little chance of escaping the qing jing peak, let alone the entire mountain.
What use would he be to junshang half-dead and ill-formed once more?
So he decided to let the cultivators have their way.
They clearly wished him no harm. As much as he felt imprisoned, he was not so single-minded he couldn't recognize what they were doing for him.
He just had no idea why.
The sulky cultivator designated as his guard had no interest in him.
Not even a few words passed between them in weeks, good or bad. The cultivator fed him, provided items for his hygiene, and privacy, revitalized the ward that healed him.
But he barely gave zzl a passing glance. Like himself, his mind was evidently elsewhere.
Time passed slowly in this quiet routine. With little else to do, zzl studied the cultivator. At first it was just common sense, sizing up the enemy and familiarizing himself with their movements, weakness, habits.
Then it shifted more towards curiosity.
He noticed the cultivator had no desire to leave. He refused any attempts at relieving him from duty. His refusals we're so form that the others stopped asking.
Who would wish to spend all their time cramped in a small two room building with a prisoner?
zzl found the beginnings of an answer the morning the cultivator bent to grab something off the floor. This one has a very lean frame and this new angle had the fabric of his robes stretched over a bump on his front.
A bump, he observed, that only grew more each day.
Then came the violent nausea.
zzl inquired if he was alright and silently accepted the curt rebuff it earned him.
One or two instances became a regular occurrence. The cultivator had trouble keeping food down.
zzl thought back to the female cultivator that captivated junshang, that started all these events into motion. The sight of her round belly.
The swift sequence of disbelief, uncertainty, joy flashing in junshang's eyes. He settled in the end on mischief, cooing at her belly about a job done well.
He didn't know how to feel about it then. After everything that's transpired since, he still doesn't.
But this cultivator's predicament piqued his interest.
He observed the deepening worry lines on his face as the problem grew.
Without much knowledge to go on, zzl knew that's what it was at least.
If it were junshang convalescing against his own will here, he'd make conversation. Question the cultivator on the issue. Weave fanciful tales of secret trysts, moments of stolen passion leading to heartbreak.
zzl lacked the imagination or the desire for placing wild guesses.
Whatever his story, the cultivator had let his guard down. Nausea overtook him during one of his routine replenishing of the wards and severed the connection.
zzl admitted his first impulse was to run. Strike the distracted cultivator down and make for the door. At his current strength it would take him mere seconds to accomplish.
Whether he successfully escaped from the mountain itself would another matter.
He dismissed it easily as one does stray thoughts. On light steps, he approached the miserable man retching all the food in his belly it seemed.
Hair was matted to his sweaty face, the ends dangling dangerously close to the bucket.
zzl blinked at it, at his own hand ending in dark razor sharp claws delicately gather the strands. Hold them away.
Once the cultivator finished he noticed zzl's close proximity, his absence from the ward and the horrible mistake he had made.
He stared open mouthed, wide-eyed. zzl followed the movement of his hand — not reaching for a weapon but cradling that ever-growing bump.
With the cautious movements one uses near a spooked animal, zzl released his hair and stepped away. Beyond striking distance for either.
"are you alright?" he asked, expecting much of the same answer. He felt compelled to ask nonetheless.
Panic morphed into bewilderment on the cultivator's face, his own expectations very clear.
That brought them to the current moment, staring at each other in silence save for dying pants.
mf breaks first, a sound erupting out of him that is part cough, part scoff. He wipes the remaining sick and tears away as he stands.
"If you're not going to kill me or run, step back into the ward," mf says instead of an answer. His voice comes out raw but resigned. None of the snappish anger zzl thought he'd receive.
This bout of nausea particularly wore him out.
zzl complies.
Their conversation ends there. mf restores the ward, disposes of his sick, and disappears to find water.
He doesn't reenter the room until dinner.
"Thanks," mf says gruffly while sliding the tray of food across the ward to zzl. "For not killing me."
His voice quiets a bit and he adds "And the— the other thing."
zzl accepts the tray and regards the cultivator who stares at a point just above his shoulder.
junshang's voice sounds in zzl's head, urging him to ask with rapt interest and very little tact, "has your lover abandoned you? Is that why you hide in this shack?"
He mentally waves it away. The pang of separation remains.
"Killing you provides little benefit," he settles on.
The cultivator seems relieved he doesn't mention the hair holding. "shizun feels the same about killing you.”
zzl pauses, bun half way to his mouth.
He hadn't thought of master shen in these past months. It'd be way to write it off as his mind had other things to consider: his captivity, escape, returning to junshang.
But in truth, he avoid thinking about him on purpose.
His feelings for master shen are… Tangled. A pit of snakes where one cannot tell where one's tail ends and another's body begins.
He was honoring a kindness, he told himself. Deflected and denied all of junshang's insinuations.
It was the only time he lied to junshang's face. From his expression, junshang knew anyway.
Had master shen called for his head, while he was at the mercy of cqm, zzl wouldn't hold it against him. He'd only regret not returning to junshang's side. But how useful could he be in the state he was when they brought here?
How useful had he ever been, in the end?
True to his nature, master shen did not ask for his execution. He was the one responsible for his recovery, the mending of his battered and broken body.
He had a vague, half-memory of a hazy green figure visiting his bedside. Warm fingers touching his wrist, muffled words that put him at ease.
zzl stares at the bun. The cultivator who brings him this food--regarding him now with an arched brow--is master shen's disciple.
All of his needs are met by this cultivator. And by extension, master shen…
"Do you think my shizun would poison you after all this time? Waste all his efforts," the cultivator quips, less spiky than he was on their first exchange of words. "Can your kind even be poisoned?”
"master shen has poisoned me before," zzl replies and takes a bite out of the bun.
"Ehh??”
mf waits for the demon to elaborate but he simply eats his meal in silence.
It feels too awkward continuing the conversation after that, so he retires for the evening. The nap from earlier hadn't revitalized him at all.
This troublesome kid…
As he slipped into bed, mf thinks of the strange look in the demon's eye when he mentioned shizun.
Shizun saved him, convinced the other peak lords to spare him.
Does he still hold a grudge? About that past poisoning?
mf reasons this person is a demon so it isn't precisely dishonorable for his shizun, a peak lord of cqm, to poison him. /If/ he's telling the truth.
There's something about the way he speaks, matter of fact and placidly, that mf is inclined to believe him.
The little troublemaker shifted inside just as he drifted off. He runs the spot, scowling with his eyes closed.
Behind his eyelids, he recalls the moment the demon's yellow eyes glanced at his hand doing the same. How the action cause him to back away.
"He could have killed me," mf mumbles quietly to himself, the restless baby in his belly. "You and me both. Embarrassingly easy."
He's silent for a beat, throwing a look at the door separating them.
"But he didn't.”
mf repeats the phrase drowsily to himself a few times until it becomes nonsense and he drifts off to sleep, hand outstretched on his growing stomach.
The next few days pass in oddly companionable silence. They go about their routine as though nothing had changed but there's a different feel to it now.
mf is sick each day. That doesn't change either.
He resents agreeing to that stupid arrangement every time he's hunched over the bucket. As he drinks water trying to wash away the sour taste in his mouth.
He's bitterly angry at himself for botching the pills mqf gave him. After he gathered all his courage to sit through the most awkward conversation of his life.
Mostly he's scared. And a bit sad.
He gave up that stupid infatuation with nyy so many years now he hardly remembers having feelings for her at all. It seems silly even trying. They are friends. The only close friend mf has.
And nyy has a lover now. A real one. Not someone to fill a need.
How can he ruin that by telling her about the baby? Wouldn't that put unwanted expectations on nyy?
If shizun found out, would he demand they marry?
What will people say when he can't hide it anymore? They'll make all sorts of assumptions about him.
If he doesn't tell nyy, will she think he did those types of things with just anyone?
A knock at the door rescues mf from the sinking hole of questions dragging him deeper and deeper.
He shakes them loose and rises to answer. Until a voice on the other side has him freeze in place.
"Dashixiong? Are you sleeping while you should be working?”
nyy's tone is light, teasing, but mf goes cold all over.
He rearranges the front of his robes — a task made all the more difficult with the tremor in his hands. He can feel zzl's eyes on him but he can't be bothered about what he's thinking right now.
Another knock then nyy calls again, voice mildly concerned. "Dashixiong? Are you there?"
"I'm here, I'm here!" mf grumbles as he opens the door. It takes a great deal of will power to meet her eyes.
He's so afraid she'll know. If the bump doesn't give him away.
nyy stares at him for a moment and mf swears it's all finished.
He breaks first. "I'm here. Did you really think I'd fallen asleep?"
"No," nyy says slowly. She glances over his shoulder at zzl, sitting quietly in the wards at the back of the room.
"When you didn't answer right away, I worried our, um, guest may have caused you problems."
mf follows her gaze, grateful for the short reprieve. He scoffs.
"Him? Shizun's esteemed guest is too busy having me tend his every need to cause problems.”
He turns back to find her big eyes scrutinizing him once more.
"Are you really alright?"
mf had been asked that same question a few times now. He'd rather hear it from the unlikely mouth of a snake demon than his friend and shimei.
He doesn't have a ready answer.
"You've been here for months now, refusing to let anyone else take your place."
"It's- It's an important task. I can't trust it to the others." mf fumbles his words.
nyy looks unconvinced.
"Your face is a paler and thinner but," Her eyes dart down. "But you've noticeably put on weight."
A lump rises in the back of his throat. As though sensing his panic, the baby kicks.
Or maybe it senses its mother nearby.
That thought has his stomach lurching. How fortunate he emptied it not long ago.
mf blurts out the first thing that his floundering mind grasped onto. "The pills."
"Pills?" nyy repeats, entirely lost.
"Those pills," mf clarifies in a hushed voice. The pink rushing to his face isn't an act.
Few people within qing jing peak knew about their arrangement, and what reason he needed such pills. He isn't exactly comfortable discussing it in front of others. Least of all a demon.
The irony of that being the demon knew more of the situation than nyy did.
nyy's brows raise as realization hits, mouth in a little "o" of recognition. Then her lips curl in a knowing smile.
"Still so embarrassed about such things. Dashixiong is too cute.”
The sudden heat on his face chasing away the cold sweats leaves him a little lightheaded. He draws the sharp line of his mouth tighter.
"shimei teases me too much. I used them for her, in case she's forgotten.”
The sharp edge of his tone has her smile faltering. He pushes on, mood suddenly soured.
It's a relief from the crippling panic. "What did you need?"
"I was worried," nyy says, concern creeping into her expression once more.
"There's no need. I'm doing the task shizun asked if me and shimei should do the same."
"Are you angry with me? About ending it?"
Jealousy would be such an easier problem than the one he's quite literally carrying with him now.
"No. What is there to be angry about? We were simply helping each other out until we found something better."
That sounds harsh even to his own ears. nyy frowns.
"Liu-shimei isn't better than you, she's just different.”
"Different then." mf desperately wants this conversation to be over.
But once it is, and nyy goes back to her lmy, he still has to deal with the consequences. Alone.
The fear of nyy discovering his secret, the disruption it might cause her blossoming relationship, has very rapidly been replaced by anger.
He didn't make this problem by himself. Yet he has to carry it, and whatever public scorn that comes with it, on his own.
Otherwise nyy will resent him for standing between her and the person she loves, tying them together with this unwanted child.
He doesn't want nyy to hate him.
The whirl of emotions in the span of a few moments has exhausted him.
"I'm not angry. I'm fine," mf says, hand on the door. "Those… items from mu-shishu. They're to blame."
nyy knits her brows, perplexed by the swift changes in his moods. Doubtful of his words.
"If you say so… I'll ask shizun for tea and some snacks next time I visit here. It may help."
With a few concerned glances, nyy eventually leaves. mf closes the door on the outside world for a little while longer.
He walks straight into his side bed chamber, slamming the door behind him. It rattles the tray of food left untouched by zzl's feet.
His hands itch to break something. His heart demands he break down in tears instead. All of him feels like collapsing on the bed and not moving.
nyy returns sooner than mf would like.
She comes bearing the tea and snacks she promised. It's a wonder shizun was able to convince that husband of his to cook for anyone other than him.
Among the treats is a sachet of medicine. There's a note attached to it. nyy claims she only told mu-shishu he seemed unwell. The doctor gave her the medicine and asked her to deliver it without reading the note.
A quick glance tells him she followed his instructions.
It's something to help with the nausea. mf mumbles his thanks to mu-shishu, folding the note and stowing it away. Pointedly ignoring her inquisitive gaze.
mf thanks her for taking the trouble. He readies to usher her out the door when she retrieves a small parcel from her robes.
She addresses zzl. "Shizun asked me to give this to you."
Up to this point, zzl pretended he heard nothing of the cultivators speaking a few strides away. He stares placidly at the young woman speaking to him now.
The young woman responsible for much strife it seems.
zzl had been subjected to his caretaker's poor mood following her previous visit. That brief period of understanding vanished.
The cultivator didn't mistreat him, he wouldn't dare.
He simply performed his daily tasks shrouded by a foul air.
Whenever he wasn't sick, he scowled and moved about their rooms noisily. Steps heavier than they needed to be, motions stiff, tense. His actions carrying an undercurrent of violence.
He didn't slam the food tray down at each meal but it was a near thing.
Usually, the interpersonal relationships of qing jing disciples held little interest for him.
He's convinced this is junshang's influence. His thoughts turning frequently to his caretaker's predicament as a form of longing for where he ought to be.
He can't conceive why else he'd care.
"Send master shen my thanks," he begins, holding his hand open. The array allowed outsiders to step through but kept those inside contained. nyy smiles, passing the parcel along as he finishes. "Though I would appreciate it more if master shen restricted visitors."
nyy's smile slips. Behind her, mf eyes snap to zzl but says nothing.
zzl levels nyy with his unblinking stare.
"master shen has taken such care with my recovery. I believe he wishes for nothing to hinder it."
nyy withdraws her hand.
"I will relay the message," she replies, none of her usual friendliness. She glances at mf, expecting something.
He shrugs, walking for the door. Opening it for her.
nyy stands stiffly a moment. Waiting. Then leaves with a quiet parting word telling her dashixiong to take care.
They lock eyes once nyy's footsteps fade. The perpetual crease in mf's brows remains, the slight tension of his jaw.
Yet the look in his dark eyes is devoid of anger. For zzl at the very least.
zzl watches him process all that's transpired, accepting that a demon knows more of his personal affairs than anyone else (or so zzl guesses). And this same demon, for reasons unknown, relieved him of a problem causing him untold amounts of stress.
It's clear he doesn't quite understand zzl's actions but mf leans hard into the relief. The tight coil of his body loosening in degrees as he goes about brewing the tea shizun sent and after, the medicine.
It does help. Amazingly well. As to be expected of mu-shishu's skill.
mf eats a full meal without struggling to keep it down for the first time in weeks. Though there is a slight side effect of drowsiness.
By midday he's dozing at his desk.
"You should rest," zzl suggests after the fifth time mf jerks awake where he sits.
mf's eyelids feel so heavy, his body sluggish, he nods easily and retires to his chamber for a nap.
He dreams of green coils, thicker than tree trunks, encircling him.
A far away part of his mind tells him he should be afraid. With so little effort these coils could crush him, reduce his body to rupture skin and shatter bone, a bleeding mass.
But he isn't. They don't.
He's dragged from sleep with the phantom sensation of being held safe, secure.
It takes moment for wakefulness to settle and he understands the muffled sound coming from the other side of the wall is voices.
He's instantly on alert.
Shizun cautioned him of other cqm disciples unhappy that their peak was harboring a demon and one partially responsible for the near destruction of their world at that.
mf thought better of mentioning that shizun regularly and blatantly welcomed a very prominent demon on their grounds. He rushed towards the other room but halted his steps in the doorway.
Standing in front of his charge, not acknowledging him, was lbh.
His presence filled the entire room. mf felt the pressure of it the moment he went to step inside. Heavy, thick in the air. A purposeful display of power.
mf catches a glimpse of zzl over lbh's board shoulders. He remains unmoved by the nearly tangible aura pervading through the array.
"I'm trusting you with his well-being," shizun had said. "Oversee his recovering and guard him against outside influence."
How was he expected to guard against the current demon lord and shizun's beloved?
Forget whether shizun would forgive him, he wouldn't live long enough to worry about it! The days of dashixiong bullying weak little a-luo were a distant memory. One he liked to leave in the past and hoped lbh did the same.
"This cousin of mine," lbh spoke the word with anything but familial affection, "Takes issue with shizun's abundantly generous accommodations?"
"This one wouldn't dare," zzl answers, unflinching.
"Yet you see fit to make demands of him. You who imposes on him still.”
zzl deliberately eyes the array, written in white on the dark brown floor then meets lbh's gaze once more.
"Please tell Master Shen I apologize for inconveniencing him during my extended stay.”
The aura in the room grows thicker. Tiny pinpricks erupt across mf's skin, threatening to become daggers, swords.
He clears his throat, the drowsy haze gone — replaced with only dread.
"Luo Binghe," he calls, voice neutral. "Shizun went through a lot of trouble keeping this one alive. He'd be very displeased if anything happened to him."
lbh turns his attention at last to his shixiong not quite cowering in the doorway.
His penetrating gaze sweeps over the protruding belly; digesting this new information and promptly tossing it aside, uncaring. Disinterested.
mf's face flashes hot as those eyes leave him. Shame, humiliation, and anger roil in his belly. Along with the stirring child.
He strides in front of the array, breaking lbh's line of sight with their guest.
"Has shizun declined his request for no further visitors?"
"He has not." His simple answer a challenge, a sword drawn.
Does dashixiong think he can order me around?
mf wouldn't dream of rising to that challenge. He instead says bluntly, "The sooner he heals, the sooner he'll be off our peak and far away from shizun.”
His ploy is transparent faced with someone like lbh. But he hasn't exactly lied. zzl has made it quite obvious he wishes to be far away as soon as possible.
Reinforcing his point, zzl speaks. "I have no desire to take advantage of Master Shen's hospitality longer than necessary."
lbh glances between them, taking in mf's physical change once more.
"Dashixiong requested this assignment himself? I hear he has rarely left these four walls." He speaks the address with a notable lack of respect. A formality done for the sake of another, not mf's position.
But the implication of his words are the greater slap to the face.
Demon lord or not, shizun's favorite or not, mf's temper reaches its limits.
"You—!" he spits, shaking, vein in his forehead bugling.
A placid voice washes over him, cooling his anger as it meets lbh's own simmering heat.
"Young master thinks too much of me, if he believes I have been capable of much else besides healing."
lbh tilts his chin, staring down his nose at zzl, who has remained sitting the whole while. "Who thinks of you at all? Only by shizun's bequest are you even able to speak with me now.”
"Yes, shizun brought him here. To heal. Then he will return to wherever he belongs. I hope shidi understands." mf holds himself back from shouting, voice strained yet low.
lbh retrieves his aura, the room seeming less enclosed and the air less heavy.
"Then I'll wish for his expeditious recovery."
He makes for the doorway, pausing to address mf one last time.
"Dashixiong take care of himself," he says, eyes cruel, "I will inform shizun you may need less strenuous task in future.”
Then the door closes soundly and lbh's presence dissipates, dark clouds rolling away from the sun.
mf screams. He kicks the bucket he had used for his sick, the now clean wood splintering to pieces on the far wall.
"Unruly brat! Just because he does /those/ things with shizun he thinks--" mf cuts himself off with another shout, another wooden item annihilated under his wrath.
A dull ache in his abdomen halts his venting, hands coming to clutch the spot. He hisses and doubles over.
His whole body goes tense.
He's dimly aware of a voice, closer than it had been, reminding him to breath. He gasps, blindly making his way to his seat. Collapsing into it.
His emotions cycle so quick and sharp in recent weeks.
Anger flushes from his system by pain and a cold dread. Not of lbh but for the little one inside. The pain subsides after a long period, his muscles unclench as he draws in steadier and steadier breaths. He can feel eyes watching over him, even if he cannot see their owner.
He turns and, for the second time that day, seizes up.
zzl is kneeling beside the edge of the array, watching him intently. Eyes huge and yellow, set in an elongated face. Much of his body has grown thinner, as had his hair.
Blood trickles at the corner of his mouth, fangs peeling back his paper thin lips.
The smattering of leaf green scales about his face and hands cover his entire skin now, shining in the lamplight.
He notices mf taking him in and flinches.
The red patch seeping through the layers of his robes darkens, spreads. On the very spot where an injury remained, slow to heal with with all those stubborn escapes.
mf logs the startling revelation away, too busy hurdling himself towards the array to give it much thought.
"Stop moving," he barked gruffly. Halting zzl from retreating further into the space.
Slapping his hands on the white lines, he pumps as much qi as he dares. mqf's framework facilities rejuvenation, stabilizing the patient and preventing escape.
It was not intended to protect zzl from the oppressive aura of an absurdly powerful demon. mf knew nothing of how the two compared but in his current state, zzl is no match. Yet zzl had sat there, unaffected, all the while his internal and external wounds reopened.
It's impressive. mf has little time for admiration. He focuses all of his attention on rectifying the damage. zzl sits stock still, long body curled into himself. He opens his mouth and mf catches a peek at a thin, forked tongue behind his wicked fangs.
He says nothing.
Nightfall comes and the exhaustion begins setting in.
zzl obeyed his command, sitting unmoving in the center of the array. Silently.
He would open his mouth, like before, then close it without a word. A few times. Either unsure of what to say or unable to speak in this form.
His eyes never leave mf.
It's a touch disconcerting, the feeling of being watched by wide unblinking eyes. By the time he disconnects from the array, sprawling on the floor, a bit lightheaded, he finds himself oddly accustomed to them.
He takes a moment to collect himself then climbs to his feet. There's a stiffness in his knees, his shoulders and arms. Nothing a night's rest won't solve.
Surveying the state of zzl's robes, a large splotch of crimson on pale green, he huffs.
"Clean robes," mf mutters, the events of the day clear in his rough voice. "Clean you as well."
"I am capable of cleaning the mess myself," zzl quickly responds, voice a hoarse hiss. Speech returning to him at last.
All disciples learn a basic level of wound care. He should check to make sure his external injuries are stable at least.
"Open your robes, let me see your chest."
zzl, whose features had reverted mostly back to normal, gave him an odd look.
"There is… no need." He says, low, a barely audible hiss.
"This day has been long and tiresome. I can have Mu-shishu visit tomorrow to give you a proper examination but for now just let me see your wound."
"Oh."
zzl lowers his head and complies.
He avoids looking at mf as he enters the array, clean robes and a damp cloth in hand. As he crouches to examine the gash that ran across the entirety of his scaly chest.
"Does it hurt?"
zzl shakes his head.
"Liar. How could that not hurt?"
zzl says nothing.
There's a peculiarity to this silence, the way zzl steals a sideways glance at his words, but mf can't put his finger on it. He's too tired.
"Well, you won't die overnight. Here." He hands him the robes and cloth. "Leave the mess in the corner, I'll deal with it in the morning.”
Pulling the dirty robe closed on his bare chest, zzl rasps a quiet thanks. mf scoffs at the modesty and exits the array. His entire body feels heavy.
He leaves zzl with a few words of advice: "I know demons hide their weaknesses but doing that again will get you killed.”
zzl can't sleep.
He really should, there's hardly a place on him that doesn't ache. The open wounds stopped bleeding but they burn, inside and out, the feel of freshly damaged flesh.
In a diminutive form, conserving the precious energy transferred to him, he lies curled on the bed. His lidless eyes focus on nothing.
Instead the same few images cycle through his mind's eye.
mf hunched in pain.
His view of lbh's black and red blocked by mf's white and green.
mf's dark eyes seeing him, truly seeing him.
Shocked flickered on mf's unique composite of sharp and rounded features but the revulsion, the pity, did not follow.
mf, newly recovered from whatever aches in his stomach he was suffering, flung himself to zzl's side. Hit his knees and placed his hands on the array with a resounding slap.
zzl recoiled, body acting on instinct.
Get away. Get away from him. He's seen me, he--
Next came warm energy surging into his body. mf ordering him be still.
He listened. He stayed put.
He had regressed so far he lost speech, fruitlessly trying to insist mf need not trouble himself. These injuries weren't life-threatening.
'Are you unaware young master caused you harm as well? It was not simply your temper putting the baby risk.'
'Do not overtax yourself on my account.'
'Stop…'
Eventually he stopped trying. Accepted the uninterrupted stream of energy flooding him.
It was warm, much weaker than junshang's and master shen's, not as abrasive as lbh's, yet robust. Sturdy.
Like absorbing heat from a sun-baked mountain rock.
He saw mf asking him to bare his chest. To expose more of himself.
The wound, he wished to examine the wound. Where had his mind gone?
He felt foolish, wondering if he had poisoned his mind with junshang's books after all.
The last image was mf advising him against concealing his weakness.
zzl expected anger. That mf would be irritated he had to expend a great deal of energy and time repairing the damage.
In truth, mf was a touch irritable but it had no teeth. Beneath that thin layer of gruffness, wrapped in tiredness and general frustration, he spoke with concern.
zzl reached that final thought and started from the beginning again.
Over and over until daybreak.
So deep in his thoughts, slipping into a strange meditative state, he missed the sound of a door opening and closing.
He senses mf's approach by the slight vibrations of the bed, a moment before he sits upon it with an amused noise.
"Is this really what you look like? A tiny green vine? A cute little sprout?"
zzl's mind stalls.
"Can you change back?" mf draws his thick, shapely brows together, amusement morphing into concern.
zzl slithers away.
"Hey-!" mf exclaims, grabbing for him.
zzl evades capture with ease. He halts at the center of his enclosure, transforming back now that they were far apart.
The robes mf provided last night hang loose on his lithe frame, loose and too short. It's an easy guess whose stouter body they were made for.
mf stifles a laugh. Poorly.
"I grabbed one of mine then?" He closes the distance, eyeing him up and down. That strange tingling sensation crawls across zzl's skin again, not quite discomfort and entirely foreign.
"You're practically swimming in that thing."
mf lifts one of the loose folds, shaking his head. zzl wants to fidget but he remains still.
"I'll find you another one for mqf's visit." He drops the fabric and zzl is keenly aware of the break in connection. "How are you feeling?"
zzl begins to say he's fine when mf retrieves his soiled robes he left by the bed.
"There's no need."
"No need? You think I want to be scolded by Mu-shishu for leaving filthy robes at his patient's bedside?"
He handles the bloodstained robes without a care. Without disgust.
"What would you do with them in here anyway? I'm not lugging a tub of water for you to clean them yourself."
zzl eyes are drawn to mf's belly, rounder in profile, as he exchanges the dirty robes for clean ones.
'If it were mine, I would never allow you to lift a finger.'
The intensity of his thought, the suddenness of it, startles him.
He had no plans for siring children.
He hadn't ever entertained the idea either. In his mind, it was a fact as solid and immutable as his devotion to junshang.
A fact reinforced by the mother he could not remember and the expectant mother he did.
No, in this life granted to him by junshang, he needed neither wife nor child.
But he owed his life to others as well now.
Master Shen. Mu Qingfang. The cultivator by his side day and night.
Ming Fan.
His own words echo within the chamber of his mind, accepting the clean robes. He barely remembers to thank him.
"I'll go request Mu-shishu take a look at you while you change."
And for the first time in months, zzl is alone in the little house.
All told together, zzl spent half of his life alone. He's used to the feel of it. The absence.
But it's this absence, his, that makes zzl aware of how accustomed he'd grown to feeling mf nearby.
And heightened the ache, so strong it's physical, stronger than any wound. The ache to be by junshang's side once more, to make sure he's alright.
See him alive with his own two eyes. Hear him ramble excitedly about his newest book, endure his teasing.
In what he believed to be his last moments, his own blood on his tongue, zzl only thought of junshang.
He regretted nothing. To die for him was an honor.
zzl's thoughts spiral down until he stoppers them like a bottle of medicine. Or poison. He places it in aside, not burying it but disregarding it for now.
He waits amid the silence for mf's return.
And he waits.
And waits.
The shadows grow long and still he waits.
Dusk folds into night but mf doesn't return.
Someone else does.
zzl hears footsteps; the sound drawing him from the silence shrouding his thoughts. He notices they don't belong to the person he's waiting for before he even has time for relief.
The young woman from last time enters. Her bright exuberance gone.
The doctor who tended his wounds, thwarted his first desperate attempts at escape, enters close behind her.
"I was told our guest requires aid."
zzl nods. His wounds were long forgotten during the interminable waiting.
"Good. Then I haven't wasted a trip."
With the female cultivator remaining by the door, he crosses the ward.
"Open your robes."
zzl does as he's asked, exposing his external injury for examination. Lifting his wrist so the doctor can check his pulse.
"Hm, nothing serious. You've been given sufficient care for both internal and external wounds it seems."
He makes no mention of mf. zzl finds it difficult to ask.
Would they tell him anything if he did?
A packet of what must be medicine is passed from the doctor to the young woman. "Brew and serve this to him twice a day: at morning and before bed."
"Yes Mu-shishu.”
zzl's stomach bottoms out.
This one will be supervising his recovery now?
He must have given himself away; the female cultivator regards him coolly, so different from their first meeting.
"Dashixiong overexerted himself caring for our esteemed guest. I sincerely hope you can be content with my presence while he recuperates."
The doctor raises his hand, gesturing for her to calm herself. He addresses zzl from beyond the wards, little box case in hand.
"Rest. I understand the confines of the wards would make it a challenge to do otherwise but no strenuous activity either. After four days of medicine, you'll regain any progress you've lost."
At that, he leaves. The female cultivator see him out then vanishes into the side room.
Without a word spoken on what happened. On how the new normal of zzl's life has changed so utterly in a single day.
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