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fandomweekly2025-01-05 12:42 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-01-05 12:42 pm
Entry tags:
[#244] look at me, at us (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 244 - Picture Perfect
Title: look at me, at us
Fandom: Scum Villain Self-Saving System
Rating/Warnings: Teen - Mild cursing, future torture mention
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 999
Summary: Shen Yuan wakes in the body of Shen Qingqiu and has a moment to himself before the world intrudes once more. Or he thinks he does.
There’s the stillness of disuse in the Bamboo House as Shen Yuan shuts the door against the face of the final well-wisher. A yelp echoes from the other side, louder than it should be, and Shen Yuan flicks his gaze towards the System screen hovering expectantly.
The screen hasn’t changed since its most recent message, an unfurling of sparkles around a single damming phrase:
Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations.
Waking up from dying in a body doomed to suffer and then die at the hands of the blackened protagonist? Not good.
Remembering that he’d initially called — burning with the fervour of a dedicated reader — for the punishment to be harsher? Even worse. He’d had a spreadsheet to back up his points, there’d been sources. Shen Yuan raises his hands to his mouth, his cheeks a dull burn beneath the spread of his fingers, and ducks his face as he moves back into the main room of the house. There had to be a mirror somewhere, a moment of normalcy where he can try to catch his breath.
Shen Yuan stumbles over the trailing edge of his robe, a reflexive curse falling along with his stuttering steps as he gathers the fabric up in his hands. There’s a thin band of embroidery around the hem, simple enough as expected for sleepwear at first glance, but something shimmers throughout, a thin woven line of golden finery. Shen Yuan isn’t unaccustomed to expensive clothing, his allowance stretched to more than indulging in his hobbies, but this is far beyond what he’s used to. He takes another step and pauses once more. Above his ankle, near invisible in the low light cast through the shuttered windows, sits a heavy scar that wraps around the limb. It’s jagged, healed dark and uneven, and Shen Yuan can’t remember it ever being mentioned in the novel. Once the novel moved past the opening arc, Shen Qingqui did not play a feature role until his torture and the state of his limbs had been questionable, so what would be a single scar amongst countless wounds, against the removal?
The robes fall, whispering around his footsteps once more.
Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations.
A mirror sits off-centre to the huddle of a closet and Shen Yuan turns to that first, a desperate hunger chewing through his new bones, the empty twist of his stomach. He’d never cared overly about his appearance in his old body but he’d been fond of his features. His eyes were the same as his mother’s, his mouth like his father’s and he could see those same assortment of features displayed in his brothers and sister. This face is beautiful, refined, and Shen Yuan wears it like an ill-fitting costume, his eyes wide and his mouth slack, a dull flush splashed over his cheeks and nose. His hair falls loose down his back, a few strands loose and splaying over the side of his face. Shen Yuan tries to tuck it behind his ear and his fingers catch on a hidden snarl, yanking his head to the side with the movement.
“Ow!”
“This cannot be happening.”
That was a voice, distant and exasperated, a teacher pushed to their limit and then just beyond it. Shen Yuan turns, stares around the empty house and catches sight of his reflection once more. His eyes are green. No. A blink and they are the same dark shade they have always been.
He has wasted enough time in these clothes, his skin tacky with old sickness and too long spent tangled in the same sheets. He’s familiar with the sensation, the remembered biting scent of hospital corridors burning in his nose, and the robes hanging shouldn’t be too different to what he’s used to.
Shen Yuan emerges, sticky and sweating, his hair a loose tangle across his forehead and at the nape of his neck, a bundle of cloth thrown over his arm. “One of these has to be right,” he mumbles, chewing on the edge of his thumb.
“No. Absolutely not.”
The voice echoes again, a harsher edge to the words. It isn’t a prayer or an entreatment, it’s a command despite all futility.
“Hello?” Shen Yuan asks, keeping his bundle of robes clutched close to his chest. He slowly turns, his bare feet soft on the floor, and returns to the mirror once more.
“If you are a demon,” his reflection says, leaning forward to brace himself against the frame, his mouth curled into a sharp sneer. “Then you are incompetent to the point of agony.”
Oh fuck.
“You’re Shen Qingqiu,” Shen Yuan says numbly, a cold dawning horror sinking into his chest.
A nod, green eyes glittering with barely contained fury. “And you are? This master believes he should know the name of the one wearing his body.”
“Shen Yuan. I’m not a demon.” Shen Yuan shifts, curls his fingers into the soft fabric he holds. “I died, and I woke up here, in your body.”
“A likely lie.” Shen Qingqui reaches for something at his waist, his fingers curling around nothing. His features freeze into momentary fragility. “But one you will be allowed to maintain.”
Shen Yuan steps carefully towards the slant of Shen Qingqui’s gaze, a row of carefully displayed fans built into the wall of the house. He picks one at random — the handle cool to the touch and inlaid with heavy golden swirls; the pattern continues in delicate paint up over the thin slats — and returns to Shen Qingqui.
The man’s eyes narrow and he opens the fan with a sharp click, holding in front of his face. Shen Yuan mimics the motion, peering over the edge to check his posture.
“Passable.” Shen Qingqiu nods once. “This master will assist, for the moment.”
Shen Yuan bites his tongue. No point in questioning the inscrutable motives and whatever he is told will be a lie.
“Now, get dressed. You will not shame this master by treating his body disrespectfully.”
Quest unlocked: Young Grasshopper.
Title: look at me, at us
Fandom: Scum Villain Self-Saving System
Rating/Warnings: Teen - Mild cursing, future torture mention
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 999
Summary: Shen Yuan wakes in the body of Shen Qingqiu and has a moment to himself before the world intrudes once more. Or he thinks he does.
There’s the stillness of disuse in the Bamboo House as Shen Yuan shuts the door against the face of the final well-wisher. A yelp echoes from the other side, louder than it should be, and Shen Yuan flicks his gaze towards the System screen hovering expectantly.
The screen hasn’t changed since its most recent message, an unfurling of sparkles around a single damming phrase:
Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations.
Waking up from dying in a body doomed to suffer and then die at the hands of the blackened protagonist? Not good.
Remembering that he’d initially called — burning with the fervour of a dedicated reader — for the punishment to be harsher? Even worse. He’d had a spreadsheet to back up his points, there’d been sources. Shen Yuan raises his hands to his mouth, his cheeks a dull burn beneath the spread of his fingers, and ducks his face as he moves back into the main room of the house. There had to be a mirror somewhere, a moment of normalcy where he can try to catch his breath.
Shen Yuan stumbles over the trailing edge of his robe, a reflexive curse falling along with his stuttering steps as he gathers the fabric up in his hands. There’s a thin band of embroidery around the hem, simple enough as expected for sleepwear at first glance, but something shimmers throughout, a thin woven line of golden finery. Shen Yuan isn’t unaccustomed to expensive clothing, his allowance stretched to more than indulging in his hobbies, but this is far beyond what he’s used to. He takes another step and pauses once more. Above his ankle, near invisible in the low light cast through the shuttered windows, sits a heavy scar that wraps around the limb. It’s jagged, healed dark and uneven, and Shen Yuan can’t remember it ever being mentioned in the novel. Once the novel moved past the opening arc, Shen Qingqui did not play a feature role until his torture and the state of his limbs had been questionable, so what would be a single scar amongst countless wounds, against the removal?
The robes fall, whispering around his footsteps once more.
Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations.
A mirror sits off-centre to the huddle of a closet and Shen Yuan turns to that first, a desperate hunger chewing through his new bones, the empty twist of his stomach. He’d never cared overly about his appearance in his old body but he’d been fond of his features. His eyes were the same as his mother’s, his mouth like his father’s and he could see those same assortment of features displayed in his brothers and sister. This face is beautiful, refined, and Shen Yuan wears it like an ill-fitting costume, his eyes wide and his mouth slack, a dull flush splashed over his cheeks and nose. His hair falls loose down his back, a few strands loose and splaying over the side of his face. Shen Yuan tries to tuck it behind his ear and his fingers catch on a hidden snarl, yanking his head to the side with the movement.
“Ow!”
“This cannot be happening.”
That was a voice, distant and exasperated, a teacher pushed to their limit and then just beyond it. Shen Yuan turns, stares around the empty house and catches sight of his reflection once more. His eyes are green. No. A blink and they are the same dark shade they have always been.
He has wasted enough time in these clothes, his skin tacky with old sickness and too long spent tangled in the same sheets. He’s familiar with the sensation, the remembered biting scent of hospital corridors burning in his nose, and the robes hanging shouldn’t be too different to what he’s used to.
Shen Yuan emerges, sticky and sweating, his hair a loose tangle across his forehead and at the nape of his neck, a bundle of cloth thrown over his arm. “One of these has to be right,” he mumbles, chewing on the edge of his thumb.
“No. Absolutely not.”
The voice echoes again, a harsher edge to the words. It isn’t a prayer or an entreatment, it’s a command despite all futility.
“Hello?” Shen Yuan asks, keeping his bundle of robes clutched close to his chest. He slowly turns, his bare feet soft on the floor, and returns to the mirror once more.
“If you are a demon,” his reflection says, leaning forward to brace himself against the frame, his mouth curled into a sharp sneer. “Then you are incompetent to the point of agony.”
Oh fuck.
“You’re Shen Qingqiu,” Shen Yuan says numbly, a cold dawning horror sinking into his chest.
A nod, green eyes glittering with barely contained fury. “And you are? This master believes he should know the name of the one wearing his body.”
“Shen Yuan. I’m not a demon.” Shen Yuan shifts, curls his fingers into the soft fabric he holds. “I died, and I woke up here, in your body.”
“A likely lie.” Shen Qingqui reaches for something at his waist, his fingers curling around nothing. His features freeze into momentary fragility. “But one you will be allowed to maintain.”
Shen Yuan steps carefully towards the slant of Shen Qingqui’s gaze, a row of carefully displayed fans built into the wall of the house. He picks one at random — the handle cool to the touch and inlaid with heavy golden swirls; the pattern continues in delicate paint up over the thin slats — and returns to Shen Qingqui.
The man’s eyes narrow and he opens the fan with a sharp click, holding in front of his face. Shen Yuan mimics the motion, peering over the edge to check his posture.
“Passable.” Shen Qingqiu nods once. “This master will assist, for the moment.”
Shen Yuan bites his tongue. No point in questioning the inscrutable motives and whatever he is told will be a lie.
“Now, get dressed. You will not shame this master by treating his body disrespectfully.”
Quest unlocked: Young Grasshopper.
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