#bc SQH had to go on a long trip and didn't have time for him

[tcfactory]

i was going through some old asks and now im colluding concepts og!mobei finds out og!sqh is no.1 emergency fuck of the peak. bro is the sect bicycle. mobei is seething and he doesnt know why. sqh also doesnt know why. "WHY ARE YOU MAD YOU USE ME FOR THE EXACT SAME THING?!" the word 'use' makes him more mad. he is sulking and no one here realises its jealousy

Please imagine MBJ somehow arriving to the conclusion that SQH has to have some special magic dick that made them pick him as the best emergency fuck. And ofc MBJ has to try for himself, maybe that will help shed some light on things.

(They are not going to learn anything about why SQH is the sect bicycle, but they do learn that he has sadistic dom tendencies that MBJ enjoys probably more than he ever expected.)

[vodkassassin]

Lqg and sqh on a night hunt. Lqg didn't know that his shixog(spelling whatever) was so competent.

So uh, there WAS a night hunt... prior to this. Haha. And SQH didn’t actually end up being in this one, bc MQF took charge and I couldn’t say no to him when he looks so stern! Really! @dancibayo

This one ties in with the prompt from earlier that I wrote for @writing_frenzy

Liu Qingge barges into the office of Mu Qingfang with barely a knock on the doorframe. He stalks forward past the startled Qian Cao disciple attendant and plants himself across the desk from the seated peak lord, dropping into the opposite cushion with a quiet huff.

Mu Qingfang signs off on a discharge form, tucking it neatly into the appropriate stack. He tugs free the next form, going over its specifications before moving it to the rejection pile without making a mark on it.

Liu Qingge grunts.

Mu Qingfang ignores him and continues on to the next form.

Liu Qingge’s eyes narrow.

Behind them, the disciple nervously clears his throat and steps forward. “A-Ah, Liu-shishu, shizun is—is not seeking visitors right now? Um, as you can see, he is working —”

Liu Qingge whips around in his seat to face the quivering disciple, eyes wide and scowl fierce. The poor boy flinches back with a terrified squeak.

Mu Qingfang closes the roster booklet that he’s holding with a sharp snap. He finally looks up.

“How rude of you, shixiong,” he chides, “coming into my home like this and frightening my disciples. You should be ashamed.”

Liu Qingge glares at him.

Mu Qingfang arches a brow. “Come now. I know your shizun taught you the same etiquette that our teachers taught the rest of us.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. The disciple remains in the corner of the room, between the desk and the door, looking ready to bolt. Finally, with a sharp breath, Liu Qingge turns back to face the disciple and dips his head in a facsimile of a bow.

“This shishu apologizes to his shizhi.” He states, sounding annoyed.

“Sh-Shishu is forgiven,” the disciple stammers, gaze shifting from him to his own shizun and back.

Mu Qingfang sighs, setting his roster flat on the table before him. “A-Yan, please work on your confidence. A day will come when you must assert yourself over an unruly patient, and if you can’t manage that then you won’t make it further than a background assistant.”

The disciple stares down at the ground, shame-faced. “Understood, Shizun.”

“I know your Liu-shishu is scary—”

Liu Qingge looks affronted, and A-Yan’s face turns red.

“— but he gets injured all the time.”

“Hey.”

Mu Qingfang casts the objecting peak lord a severe look, somehow without changing a single muscle in his usual neutral expression, and Liu Qingge hunches down in his seat rather mulishly, scowl directed into his lap.

Mu Qingfang turns back to his disciple. “One of these days, you will be helping me treat him when the time comes, so I expect you to be able to handle yourself.”

A-Yan looks horrified. He glances at the sulking Bai Zhan peak lord, who stares balefully back at him, and turns his apprehensive face back toward his shizun. “Him?” He shakily asks, as if to clarify.

Mu Qingfang watches him, and then releases a breath. “A-Yan.”

“Sh-Shizun?”

“From now on, you are assigned as an assisting nurse for all of our Bai Zhan patients.”

“Sh-Shizun, no please—”

“A-Yan.” Mu Qingfang scolds. “Understood?”

A-Yan whimpers. The boy curls in on himself. “... Y-Yes, Shizun.”

Mu Qingfang nods sharply, folding his hands before him on the desk. “Very good. Now leave your shishu to me.”

The disciple dips a bow toward each of them, and then practically flees the room as quickly as he can while still being polite.

Liu Qingge scoffs after him, and turns an asserting eye upon his fellow peak lord.

“Harsh,” he comments, low.

“Our disciples need to learn the necessary skills for their respective futures, beyond simply training their blade arms,” Mu Qingfang answers primly, shuffling through the stack of paper on his desk. It’s something he has said many times before. “It doesn’t help that you have most of my disciples terrified of you. They aren’t the same as your own students, Liu-shixiong. You can't just pull your sword on them when they get in your way.”

Liu Qingge rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Mu Qingfang sighs, leaving the topic be. He knows how to choose his battles. The doctor glances up at the man sitting across from him, and raises an eyebrow. “What brings you to me today, shixiong? Were you injured on your last trip, and finally caved in to your pains enough to admit you need a professional’s help? Are all your bones in the right places? Is your shoulder still bothering you?”

The sword master grits his teeth, the muscles of his arms tensing and relaxing as he fights to sit still. “I’m fine.”

“Oh?” Mu Qingfang doesn’t look convinced, but he decides to let it be for now. “Then what?”

Impatient, Liu Qingge uncrosses his arms and slams both hands down on the table. “Shang Qinghua!”

The line of Mu Qingfang’s mouth goes flat. “What about him?”

“Why are you listed as his priority missions partner?” The other demands.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“When did that happen?”

“Neither, I would say, is that.”

“Qingfang,” Liu Qingge growls out, and Mu Qingfang narrows his eyes. “Why?”

The doctor releases a long breath. He leans back in his seat and taps a finger against the table thoughtfully. “Why are you asking?”

Liu Qingge stares at him. The man huffs, and shifts in his own seat, crossing his legs underneath him into the more comfortable lotus position, and clenching his hands into fits against his own robes. He’s always had a sort of fidgety energy to him. Liu Qingge isn’t good at sitting still, especially if he’s impatient for something that he wants.

The Bai Zhan peak lord tilts his chin down, digging it against his collarbone as he glares at the table.

Mu Qingfang sighs. “What was that?”

“Mission,” Liu Qingge grits out. “With Shang Qinghua. Went… well.”

Mu Qingfang straightens up. He eyes the peak lord sitting across from him sharply. “Ah,” he said. “Earlier this week? I was preoccupied with that rather intensive surgery….”

Liu Qingge glares at him. “You’ve been keeping him all to yourself.” He accuses.

“Nonsense,” Mu Qingfang snaps. “I’m the only peak lord in the sect that offers Shang Qinghua any due respect, whereas the others all nag on him. Talk down to him. Shen Qingqiu, before his fever, never passed the opportunity to make his life more difficult. Until recently, you yourself routinely attempted to beat him —”

“Spar.” Liu Qingge tries to correct, but Mu Qingfang shakes his head sternly.

“You and I both know sparring is the last thing on your mind when concerning Shang Qinghua. You’ve always seen him as weak, less skilled. That he is not anything close to someone who you would seek a challenge from, Liu Qingge. Speak truthfully.”

Liu Qingge sinks down in his seat, scowling.

“Given all of this,” Mu Qingfang continues, eyebrows coming together in a rare frown, “why on earth would you think that Shang Qinghua would ever want to go on a mission, with any of you? I was not ‘keeping him to myself’. Far from it; if I am Shang Qinghua’s priority missions partner, then that is because Shang Qinghua himself signed off on it.”

Mu Qingfang drops the stack of papers he was transferring to the opposite side of his desk. It settles with a dull but loud thud, and the mulish and silent Li Qingge winces.

After a long moment has passed in which the doctor continues to organize the tidy storm of paperwork that clutters his desk, and Liu Qingge stares at the wood grain of the table top and contemplates his life choices, Mu Qingfang once again speaks.

“I am curious, however. If I’m not available, our sect leader typically passes over Shang-shixiong for missions, given that we are, in fact, listed as each other’s preferred missions partners. How did you even convince him to assign Shang Qinghua with you in the first place?”

Liu Qingge continues to glare down at the wood grain, as if it’s personally offended him. His jaw is clenched tightly, and Mu Qingfang has always been the one person, beyond his mother and his sister, who can read him without fail.

The doctor gapes at him. “You didn’t? Shixiong! Did you kidnap Shang Qinghua from the sect?”

“No!” Liu Qingge denies loudly, jerking his head up to frown at his martial brother. “I didn’t kidnap him! I just… didn’t tell him that it… wasn’t. An officially mandated mission.”

Mu Qingfang stares at him.

Liu Qingge crosses his arms again, this time defensively.

“I didn’t kidnap him,” he insists.

“You’re staying for lunch,” the doctor announces abruptly. “And shixiong, you and I are going to have a long, in-depth talk about lying by omission.”

Liu Qingge huffs. Then, he perks up. “During which, we can negotiate terms of who gets to take Shang Qinghua on missions?”

“First of all, that is a discussion that requires Shang Qinghua’s presence. Second of all — that depends. Is he still in one piece?”

Liu Qingge pauses, blinks after a moment of recall, and then makes a face.

Mu Qingfang stands up from his desk. “This is something you should have told me immediately! How bad is it? Shixiong, you idiot! A-Yan! A-Yan, get me my medical bag! We’re going to— Shixiong, where is he?”

Liu Qingge blinks up at him from where he still sits at the table, startled.

“Where else? I dropped him off at his peak,” he shrugs. “For his disciples to deal with.”

Mu Qingfang takes in a sharp breath. “You and I,” he says, pointing a finger at the nonplussed Bai Zhan lord. “We will be having words.”

Then, he grabs Liu Qingge by the collar and whirls around, dragging the struggling, affronted man with him out the door. “A-Yan! My bag, now! We’re going to An Ding!”

“Mu-shidi! Qingfang, let me go!”

“Not when you’re this stupid, I won’t. You’re coming to face the consequences of your actions, for once!”

Their shouting was heard all along the journey from Qian Cao to An Ding.