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fandomweekly2025-09-15 07:27 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-09-15 07:27 pm
Entry tags:
[#273] things come in threes (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 273 - Bad Timing
Title: things come in threes
Fandom: The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System
Rating/Warnings: minor injury and cursing
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 885
Summary: Everything is going surprisingly well for new Head Disciple Shang Qinghua. It's a shame if the plot interupted that.
If Shang Qinghua, the author formerly known as Airplane-Shooting-Across-The-Sky, has learnt anything from his time reincarnated into his own novel as the two-bit minor stooge intended to die off screen during the second act, it is not to panic.
The System chimes merrily, popping back into existence next to his elbow, and he bites back a scream, frustration sour and bumping against his ribs as he forces himself to breathe evenly.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖Reminder that User's secondary role must remain undetected until Quest Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! completed.⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
"Yeah, yeah," Airplane mutters, swiping it away as he pushes his palms along his cheeks, turns on his heel and keeps pacing across the Head Disciple's quarters. His quarters now as of five hours ago, the official announcement by his Shizun quickly dissolving into a general booze fest with wine coaxed free from the official stores and a devastatingly strong moonshine from the senior disciples.
Shang Qinghua would have preferred to still be out there — it reminds him of his student days, the early years at his corporate job when he still had hope for a bright dawn in his lifetime — but his king called and Shang Qinghua would answer.
"It's not that I'm panicking, my king, but the timing on this assassination attempt, with your recent efforts at the border and my own martial siblings celebrations… it's suspicious timing."
Meaning: please please please don't kill me early for saying this.
There is one piece of furniture that Shang Qinghua had managed to move from the smaller single room of a Senior Disciple to the cottage of the Head Disciple with the rest of his items still carefully packed into boxes and placed along one wall, and it's a couch, low-slung and carefully padded so it's closer to a bed, really. One luxury that Shang Qinghua would allow himself — apart from his tobacco — and Mobei-Jun dominates the space like it was intended for him.
It had been a fraught handful of minutes for Shang Qinghua to steal away from his own celebration at his king's command, not that he would be missed once the second set of bottles had been opened but the optics wouldn't look great. Mobei-Jun had been his usual brand of distinctly unhelpful — a frozen weight against Shang Qinghua's shoulder — as he'd collected his king from the hissing remain of the portal and tipped a substantial amount of spiritual energy through him to halt the bleeding. And then more again when Mobei-Jun regained a fragment of consciousness and ripped the blade free from his side.
Shang Qinghua steps closer to the couch, to the spill of tangled hair and cloth over the arm. "My king?"
"What?"
Mobei-Jun doesn't move as he addresses Shang Qinghua, his words tight through his clenched teeth. He looks young like this, his pale skin flushed a soft shade of blue, his fangs exposed and similarly flecked. His robes are near destroyed across his side, his fur cloak draped across his legs.
His feet are bare and bloody.
Shang Qinghua moves around the front of the couch and kneels next to it, folds his hands in his lap to hide the tremor in his fingers. "I promised you when we first met that I would see you crowned," he begins, his gaze focused on the hollow of Mobei-Jun's throat instead of his face. It's easier like that, when Shang Qinghua isn't confronted by his painstakingly chosen phrases made flesh. "I hope this servant hasn't given you cause to doubt his work. This servant will focus his efforts on locating the traitor in your court, I have some leads I can pursue while you rest here and stay hidden from my martial siblings. In a way, this will be a benefit to us both. A power vacuum in the court will bring the scum to the surface so they can be dealt with and they won't track you here. I have more privacy now so you will be safe here, my king."
He doesn't mention his increased workload that is already beginning to spill across the desk he's been assigned in his Shizun's office, or the merchants that he'll need to skin for information as well as their goods, and the eyes upon him that covet everything he has and won't be above breaking into his quarters to steal it.
He'll ward the property now. And again in the morning.
And when he returns.
"This servant has worked hard to be useful for his king so he hopes that you will continue to place your trust in him."
Shang Qinghua — Airplane once more, his old persona leaning to the forefront — can almost remember which assassination attempt this likely was. Mobei-Jun's rise to power was suitably fraught so no-one could accuse him of showing overt favouritism and to lend some credence to Shang Qinghua's survival until a suitable moment.
Fuck, he regrets that choice.
"I'll return to the party and begin to gather some information for you, my king. So, please, allow this servant to handle everything. And… you're asleep. At a time like this."
Mobei-Jun's lashes cast dark shadows against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even as he dips into a deeper sleep. Shang Qinghua shakes his head, trying to commit the moment to his memory all the same. "Sleep well, my king."
Title: things come in threes
Fandom: The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System
Rating/Warnings: minor injury and cursing
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 885
Summary: Everything is going surprisingly well for new Head Disciple Shang Qinghua. It's a shame if the plot interupted that.
If Shang Qinghua, the author formerly known as Airplane-Shooting-Across-The-Sky, has learnt anything from his time reincarnated into his own novel as the two-bit minor stooge intended to die off screen during the second act, it is not to panic.
The System chimes merrily, popping back into existence next to his elbow, and he bites back a scream, frustration sour and bumping against his ribs as he forces himself to breathe evenly.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖Reminder that User's secondary role must remain undetected until Quest Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! completed.⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
"Yeah, yeah," Airplane mutters, swiping it away as he pushes his palms along his cheeks, turns on his heel and keeps pacing across the Head Disciple's quarters. His quarters now as of five hours ago, the official announcement by his Shizun quickly dissolving into a general booze fest with wine coaxed free from the official stores and a devastatingly strong moonshine from the senior disciples.
Shang Qinghua would have preferred to still be out there — it reminds him of his student days, the early years at his corporate job when he still had hope for a bright dawn in his lifetime — but his king called and Shang Qinghua would answer.
"It's not that I'm panicking, my king, but the timing on this assassination attempt, with your recent efforts at the border and my own martial siblings celebrations… it's suspicious timing."
Meaning: please please please don't kill me early for saying this.
There is one piece of furniture that Shang Qinghua had managed to move from the smaller single room of a Senior Disciple to the cottage of the Head Disciple with the rest of his items still carefully packed into boxes and placed along one wall, and it's a couch, low-slung and carefully padded so it's closer to a bed, really. One luxury that Shang Qinghua would allow himself — apart from his tobacco — and Mobei-Jun dominates the space like it was intended for him.
It had been a fraught handful of minutes for Shang Qinghua to steal away from his own celebration at his king's command, not that he would be missed once the second set of bottles had been opened but the optics wouldn't look great. Mobei-Jun had been his usual brand of distinctly unhelpful — a frozen weight against Shang Qinghua's shoulder — as he'd collected his king from the hissing remain of the portal and tipped a substantial amount of spiritual energy through him to halt the bleeding. And then more again when Mobei-Jun regained a fragment of consciousness and ripped the blade free from his side.
Shang Qinghua steps closer to the couch, to the spill of tangled hair and cloth over the arm. "My king?"
"What?"
Mobei-Jun doesn't move as he addresses Shang Qinghua, his words tight through his clenched teeth. He looks young like this, his pale skin flushed a soft shade of blue, his fangs exposed and similarly flecked. His robes are near destroyed across his side, his fur cloak draped across his legs.
His feet are bare and bloody.
Shang Qinghua moves around the front of the couch and kneels next to it, folds his hands in his lap to hide the tremor in his fingers. "I promised you when we first met that I would see you crowned," he begins, his gaze focused on the hollow of Mobei-Jun's throat instead of his face. It's easier like that, when Shang Qinghua isn't confronted by his painstakingly chosen phrases made flesh. "I hope this servant hasn't given you cause to doubt his work. This servant will focus his efforts on locating the traitor in your court, I have some leads I can pursue while you rest here and stay hidden from my martial siblings. In a way, this will be a benefit to us both. A power vacuum in the court will bring the scum to the surface so they can be dealt with and they won't track you here. I have more privacy now so you will be safe here, my king."
He doesn't mention his increased workload that is already beginning to spill across the desk he's been assigned in his Shizun's office, or the merchants that he'll need to skin for information as well as their goods, and the eyes upon him that covet everything he has and won't be above breaking into his quarters to steal it.
He'll ward the property now. And again in the morning.
And when he returns.
"This servant has worked hard to be useful for his king so he hopes that you will continue to place your trust in him."
Shang Qinghua — Airplane once more, his old persona leaning to the forefront — can almost remember which assassination attempt this likely was. Mobei-Jun's rise to power was suitably fraught so no-one could accuse him of showing overt favouritism and to lend some credence to Shang Qinghua's survival until a suitable moment.
Fuck, he regrets that choice.
"I'll return to the party and begin to gather some information for you, my king. So, please, allow this servant to handle everything. And… you're asleep. At a time like this."
Mobei-Jun's lashes cast dark shadows against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even as he dips into a deeper sleep. Shang Qinghua shakes his head, trying to commit the moment to his memory all the same. "Sleep well, my king."
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