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fandomweekly2024-12-30 01:04 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2024-12-30 01:04 pm
Entry tags:
[#243] for his Shizun (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 243 - Redemption
Title: for his Shizun
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: N/A
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 989
Summary: Luo Binghe stumbles into his Shizun's dream once more and finds an unexpected being waiting for him there.
There’s a strange shape to dreams. Luo Binghe ducks beneath an ornately set table that clings to the roof of the squat dwelling on his right and steps out onto a street made of a dark, dense material that arches abruptly to the left and broadens into a colossal plane. This isn’t his dream; the angles are wrong, too harsh in some places and curved in others, causing the surrounding buildings to tower over him, threatening to blot out the haze of the sky.
“Meng Mo?” Luo Binghe tries, his voice refusing to echo. He steps onto the sticky husks of his words, continuing along the quiet eddies of the dream.
There are no doors on any of the buildings he passes, faceless and featureless but, somehow, still watching him. Thin wood slats stretch over one half of the door, the other half broken open and cascading out into the street, fingers splayed in welcome or warning. Luo Binghe straightens, his gaze locked onto the shadows beyond the door. Something is in there.
“Shizun?” He often stumbles into Shizun’s dreams when he’s training, a lantern cast adrift and swaying into easier tides, but he never stays this long. Luo Binghe keeps himself separate from the other man on those occasions, skirting around the fraying edges until he can slip away, back into his own thoughts. It’s those moments he treasures the most, the same as the instances when he wakes before Shizun and there’s a gap in the blinds of the Bamboo House. If Luo Binghe opens the side door a fraction, he can make out the wash of sunlight over Shizun’s sleeping form, golden haze tangled in the spill of his dark hair over the blankets he wraps himself in.
Luo Binghe steps closer to the broken door, breathing in the stale tang of the air beyond. “Shizun?”
He reaches into the darkness to nudge the door sideways and steps inside.
Light flares as he does so, unnaturally bright, and Luo Binghe flinches, raises his arms to block, but it does nothing. Luo Binghe is still a student; why would he be prideful enough to think he could beat Shizun at his cultivation level, even this version of him?
“Why are you here?” Shizun snarls, a makeshift blade pressed to the side of Luo Binghe’s throat. He’s barely visible, carefully positioned behind Luo Binghe’s shoulder, a smudge of pale skin behind loose dark hair, his clothes dark and nondescript.
It’s not how Luo Binghe expects Shizun to appear, not the pampered and polished teacher he has grown to expect. This dream version of Shizun is young, likely younger than Luo Binghe, and several degrees slighter. The blade in his hand is patchwork but familiar, a thin core hammered out of a nail and bound in a strip of leather. His Shizun still carries it, a token of the man he had once been folded into his sleeve.
“Begging this master's pardon, this is a dream,” Luo Binghe answers. His throat shifts as he speaks, the blade does not. “You’re this student’s Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu scoffs, leaning closer to Luo Binghe. The sliver Luo Binghe can make out of his expression is cold, fury barely tempered beneath cracked porcelain. “I am not your Shizun.”
The space around them shudders, a fragment of memory bubbling up from beneath the warped ground and pale figures begin to move around the small room, pantomiming the actions Luo Binghe knows in his bones. It had just been a test, just another test because Shizun believes in him. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t move from his position behind Luo Binghe, his hand steady on the knife, but his attention sharpens into something solid, an extension of the fan he typically carries to smack unsuspecting combatants whether that is his own martial siblings or a bookseller who tries to deny him a new purchase. It is strange, seeing fragments of the man Luo Binghe knows in this child, in the entire man Shizun had been before his qi deviation and everything had changed.
“Your master,” Shen Qingqiu says, every word sounding like a strangled qinqin note, his fingers too tight on the strings like a trembling novice, like he is everything he hadn’t been in years. “Your master is unworthy of whatever redemption you may inflict upon him. His crimes are few and pitiful in comparison. This master trusts you will remember that.”
Shen Qingqiu spits a curse beneath his breath, turning Luo Binghe with his hand planted in the small of his back, the knife at his throat a bright line of pressure, until they’re facing the door.
“And now, this master—” Shen Qingqiu nudges Luo Binghe forwards and Luo Binghe moves with him, unable to deny his Shizun anything, even in his current confused state. “—is telling you to leave. I won’t give you an apology or explanation. You deserve neither.”
“This student understands. This student hopes that he will be deserving of his Shizun’s thoughts in the future.”
Shen Qingqiu makes a sound behind him, neither a sigh or laughter but fragments of them both. There’s no rage, only cold clung-to exhaustion. “Go.”
Luo Binghe stumbles out of the room, a smear of blood on his neck. He doesn’t look behind him, only continues walking through the dream. There’s a pulse of energy behind him that tastes like copper and he swallows wetly against it.
Meng Mo materialises between one step and the next, his fingers indenting his temples. He reaches for Luo Binghe’s neck with a frown and Luo Binghe steps away from him. Meng Mo sighs, again, louder. “Kid, you have to stop wandering into your Shizun’s dream. Are we going to have to talk about this?”
“No, Meng Mo,” Luo Binghe replies, as sweetly as he can muster with his heart gnarled with worry. He just has to work harder, prove that he can be worthy of his Shizun, for him.
Title: for his Shizun
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: N/A
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 989
Summary: Luo Binghe stumbles into his Shizun's dream once more and finds an unexpected being waiting for him there.
There’s a strange shape to dreams. Luo Binghe ducks beneath an ornately set table that clings to the roof of the squat dwelling on his right and steps out onto a street made of a dark, dense material that arches abruptly to the left and broadens into a colossal plane. This isn’t his dream; the angles are wrong, too harsh in some places and curved in others, causing the surrounding buildings to tower over him, threatening to blot out the haze of the sky.
“Meng Mo?” Luo Binghe tries, his voice refusing to echo. He steps onto the sticky husks of his words, continuing along the quiet eddies of the dream.
There are no doors on any of the buildings he passes, faceless and featureless but, somehow, still watching him. Thin wood slats stretch over one half of the door, the other half broken open and cascading out into the street, fingers splayed in welcome or warning. Luo Binghe straightens, his gaze locked onto the shadows beyond the door. Something is in there.
“Shizun?” He often stumbles into Shizun’s dreams when he’s training, a lantern cast adrift and swaying into easier tides, but he never stays this long. Luo Binghe keeps himself separate from the other man on those occasions, skirting around the fraying edges until he can slip away, back into his own thoughts. It’s those moments he treasures the most, the same as the instances when he wakes before Shizun and there’s a gap in the blinds of the Bamboo House. If Luo Binghe opens the side door a fraction, he can make out the wash of sunlight over Shizun’s sleeping form, golden haze tangled in the spill of his dark hair over the blankets he wraps himself in.
Luo Binghe steps closer to the broken door, breathing in the stale tang of the air beyond. “Shizun?”
He reaches into the darkness to nudge the door sideways and steps inside.
Light flares as he does so, unnaturally bright, and Luo Binghe flinches, raises his arms to block, but it does nothing. Luo Binghe is still a student; why would he be prideful enough to think he could beat Shizun at his cultivation level, even this version of him?
“Why are you here?” Shizun snarls, a makeshift blade pressed to the side of Luo Binghe’s throat. He’s barely visible, carefully positioned behind Luo Binghe’s shoulder, a smudge of pale skin behind loose dark hair, his clothes dark and nondescript.
It’s not how Luo Binghe expects Shizun to appear, not the pampered and polished teacher he has grown to expect. This dream version of Shizun is young, likely younger than Luo Binghe, and several degrees slighter. The blade in his hand is patchwork but familiar, a thin core hammered out of a nail and bound in a strip of leather. His Shizun still carries it, a token of the man he had once been folded into his sleeve.
“Begging this master's pardon, this is a dream,” Luo Binghe answers. His throat shifts as he speaks, the blade does not. “You’re this student’s Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu scoffs, leaning closer to Luo Binghe. The sliver Luo Binghe can make out of his expression is cold, fury barely tempered beneath cracked porcelain. “I am not your Shizun.”
The space around them shudders, a fragment of memory bubbling up from beneath the warped ground and pale figures begin to move around the small room, pantomiming the actions Luo Binghe knows in his bones. It had just been a test, just another test because Shizun believes in him. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t move from his position behind Luo Binghe, his hand steady on the knife, but his attention sharpens into something solid, an extension of the fan he typically carries to smack unsuspecting combatants whether that is his own martial siblings or a bookseller who tries to deny him a new purchase. It is strange, seeing fragments of the man Luo Binghe knows in this child, in the entire man Shizun had been before his qi deviation and everything had changed.
“Your master,” Shen Qingqiu says, every word sounding like a strangled qinqin note, his fingers too tight on the strings like a trembling novice, like he is everything he hadn’t been in years. “Your master is unworthy of whatever redemption you may inflict upon him. His crimes are few and pitiful in comparison. This master trusts you will remember that.”
Shen Qingqiu spits a curse beneath his breath, turning Luo Binghe with his hand planted in the small of his back, the knife at his throat a bright line of pressure, until they’re facing the door.
“And now, this master—” Shen Qingqiu nudges Luo Binghe forwards and Luo Binghe moves with him, unable to deny his Shizun anything, even in his current confused state. “—is telling you to leave. I won’t give you an apology or explanation. You deserve neither.”
“This student understands. This student hopes that he will be deserving of his Shizun’s thoughts in the future.”
Shen Qingqiu makes a sound behind him, neither a sigh or laughter but fragments of them both. There’s no rage, only cold clung-to exhaustion. “Go.”
Luo Binghe stumbles out of the room, a smear of blood on his neck. He doesn’t look behind him, only continues walking through the dream. There’s a pulse of energy behind him that tastes like copper and he swallows wetly against it.
Meng Mo materialises between one step and the next, his fingers indenting his temples. He reaches for Luo Binghe’s neck with a frown and Luo Binghe steps away from him. Meng Mo sighs, again, louder. “Kid, you have to stop wandering into your Shizun’s dream. Are we going to have to talk about this?”
“No, Meng Mo,” Luo Binghe replies, as sweetly as he can muster with his heart gnarled with worry. He just has to work harder, prove that he can be worthy of his Shizun, for him.
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