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fandomweekly2025-01-18 05:55 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-01-18 05:55 pm
Entry tags:
[#246] death by a thousand cuts (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: #246 - The Common Cold
Title: death by a thousand cuts
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: T, minor suicidal identation
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 838
Summary: Shen Yuan is used to being ill, why would he think a fantasy world would be any different? Shen Qingqiu doesn't handle it as well.
The door shuts firmly behind Mu Qingfang, the world once again narrowed to four walls and gentle darkness. Shen Yuan remains where he had insisted on staying, half-draped over the edge of the bed, an outer robe loosely thrown over his shoulders and the sheets pooled around his waist.
He coughs once, twice, his shoulders shuddering as he braces himself against the onslaught, aching ribs screaming, and tips his gaze upwards to the mirror. He’s heard the rumours thrown about because of his choice to move it closer, his recent habit of studying the nearest polished surface, the whispers of vanity and the louder cackles of debauchery, but he ignores them as best he can and his students take care of the rest.
Shen Qingqiu glares back at him, his green eyes acidic, burning through Shen Yuan’s skull. To one side, the System box flickers, the edges fragmenting into bleeding pixels before it stabilises into the current active quest.
‘Bless you, bless me, bless us.
Get better soon!
Reward: 5 B-Points.’
Minimal risk, minimal reward, and an answer to the age old question of what it would look like if a computer picked up an actual virus.
Shen Yuan picks at the edge of the sheet, drawing it further over his thighs as he folds his feet beneath the fall of it. The day is promising to be mild, the sun burning through the low lying cloud cover of morning, and it didn’t matter because Shen Yuan is not leaving this bed. One of the windows is cracked, a thin breeze winding across the floor and disturbing the latent scent of sickness and self-pity.
“Just a cold,” Shen Yuan rasps, scuffing the heel of his palm against his cheek, shoving his hair back from his face. His fingers catch on a tangle, a spike of dull pain shooting over his skull, and he just tugs his fingers free rather than try and extract himself. “A Without-A-Cure flare-up into a cold.”
Shen Qingqiu leans forwards, one hand extended to brace himself against the side of the mirror. He looks as exhausted as Shen Yuan feels, every moment of interrupted sleep staining beneath his eyes, his mouth drawn into a snarl that feels like it had been sewn into place. His other hand knots at the hollow of his throat, drawing the robes closed. His voice is a scratch, run ragged and bleeding already. “You should have let him die. Why did you save the brat?”
“He’s important. They all are, your students.”
Shen Qingqiu moves closer, his gaze burning, anger running so close to embers that it can only glow and spit. “And who are you to make that judgement, demon? You who stole my body and trapped this master like this.”
Shen Yuan tips his face upwards with a groan, layering his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t choose this, I’m just trying to survive. Saving Binghe—“
Shen Qingqiu snarls, near animalistic, and Shen Yuan flinches, jerking back to face the other man and answering him with a scowl of his own as he continues, “Saving Binghe, I panicked. This humble student begs for his master’s forgiveness.”
“You have killed me,” Shen Qingqiu says.
Looking closer, there isn’t just anger splashed across Shen Qingqiu’s features. It is the easiest to spot, thin face bruised with patches of mottled red high on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, his teeth bared in a fatalistic grin, but beneath it, his eyes are wide, his pupils shrunken to a frantic pinpoint of fear. It’s the same way an animal caught in a trap is driven to chew off its own leg, and Shen Yuan wants to soften the damage he’s done, something in his chest twisting and tearing open.
“Please, this student knows he made a grievous error, but this isn’t fatal. We won’t die like this.”
If Shen Yuan succeeds, they won’t die like he knows they will either.
Shen Qingqiu’s voice flattens, barely louder than an exhalation in the void between them. “Maybe it would be better if we did.”
Shen Yuan rises from the bed, kicking his feet free of the blankets tangled around his limbs. His head spins, a distant ringing in his ears as he walks, stumbles towards the mirror to kneel in front of it. His movement isn’t graceful, his limbs are leaden, his breath a rough wheeze against his ribs, and he leans forwards, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror.
“I’m sorry, I beg your forgiveness.” His words fog the surface of the mirror, concealing Shen Qinqiu’s answering expression behind it. “I’m sorry.”
“Xiao-Jiu?“ Careful footsteps as Yue Qingyuan makes his way into the room, skirting the delicate edge of the boundary Shen Qingqiu had drawn countless times. ”Oh!”
Shen Qingqiu snaps, his voice muffled and thick. “Don’t— don’t call this master that.”
Shen Yuan echoes him, softer. He’s so tired. He just needs to rest for a moment, then he’ll be okay. Just a moment. Just a—
Title: death by a thousand cuts
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: T, minor suicidal identation
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 838
Summary: Shen Yuan is used to being ill, why would he think a fantasy world would be any different? Shen Qingqiu doesn't handle it as well.
The door shuts firmly behind Mu Qingfang, the world once again narrowed to four walls and gentle darkness. Shen Yuan remains where he had insisted on staying, half-draped over the edge of the bed, an outer robe loosely thrown over his shoulders and the sheets pooled around his waist.
He coughs once, twice, his shoulders shuddering as he braces himself against the onslaught, aching ribs screaming, and tips his gaze upwards to the mirror. He’s heard the rumours thrown about because of his choice to move it closer, his recent habit of studying the nearest polished surface, the whispers of vanity and the louder cackles of debauchery, but he ignores them as best he can and his students take care of the rest.
Shen Qingqiu glares back at him, his green eyes acidic, burning through Shen Yuan’s skull. To one side, the System box flickers, the edges fragmenting into bleeding pixels before it stabilises into the current active quest.
‘Bless you, bless me, bless us.
Get better soon!
Reward: 5 B-Points.’
Minimal risk, minimal reward, and an answer to the age old question of what it would look like if a computer picked up an actual virus.
Shen Yuan picks at the edge of the sheet, drawing it further over his thighs as he folds his feet beneath the fall of it. The day is promising to be mild, the sun burning through the low lying cloud cover of morning, and it didn’t matter because Shen Yuan is not leaving this bed. One of the windows is cracked, a thin breeze winding across the floor and disturbing the latent scent of sickness and self-pity.
“Just a cold,” Shen Yuan rasps, scuffing the heel of his palm against his cheek, shoving his hair back from his face. His fingers catch on a tangle, a spike of dull pain shooting over his skull, and he just tugs his fingers free rather than try and extract himself. “A Without-A-Cure flare-up into a cold.”
Shen Qingqiu leans forwards, one hand extended to brace himself against the side of the mirror. He looks as exhausted as Shen Yuan feels, every moment of interrupted sleep staining beneath his eyes, his mouth drawn into a snarl that feels like it had been sewn into place. His other hand knots at the hollow of his throat, drawing the robes closed. His voice is a scratch, run ragged and bleeding already. “You should have let him die. Why did you save the brat?”
“He’s important. They all are, your students.”
Shen Qingqiu moves closer, his gaze burning, anger running so close to embers that it can only glow and spit. “And who are you to make that judgement, demon? You who stole my body and trapped this master like this.”
Shen Yuan tips his face upwards with a groan, layering his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t choose this, I’m just trying to survive. Saving Binghe—“
Shen Qingqiu snarls, near animalistic, and Shen Yuan flinches, jerking back to face the other man and answering him with a scowl of his own as he continues, “Saving Binghe, I panicked. This humble student begs for his master’s forgiveness.”
“You have killed me,” Shen Qingqiu says.
Looking closer, there isn’t just anger splashed across Shen Qingqiu’s features. It is the easiest to spot, thin face bruised with patches of mottled red high on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, his teeth bared in a fatalistic grin, but beneath it, his eyes are wide, his pupils shrunken to a frantic pinpoint of fear. It’s the same way an animal caught in a trap is driven to chew off its own leg, and Shen Yuan wants to soften the damage he’s done, something in his chest twisting and tearing open.
“Please, this student knows he made a grievous error, but this isn’t fatal. We won’t die like this.”
If Shen Yuan succeeds, they won’t die like he knows they will either.
Shen Qingqiu’s voice flattens, barely louder than an exhalation in the void between them. “Maybe it would be better if we did.”
Shen Yuan rises from the bed, kicking his feet free of the blankets tangled around his limbs. His head spins, a distant ringing in his ears as he walks, stumbles towards the mirror to kneel in front of it. His movement isn’t graceful, his limbs are leaden, his breath a rough wheeze against his ribs, and he leans forwards, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror.
“I’m sorry, I beg your forgiveness.” His words fog the surface of the mirror, concealing Shen Qinqiu’s answering expression behind it. “I’m sorry.”
“Xiao-Jiu?“ Careful footsteps as Yue Qingyuan makes his way into the room, skirting the delicate edge of the boundary Shen Qingqiu had drawn countless times. ”Oh!”
Shen Qingqiu snaps, his voice muffled and thick. “Don’t— don’t call this master that.”
Shen Yuan echoes him, softer. He’s so tired. He just needs to rest for a moment, then he’ll be okay. Just a moment. Just a—
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