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fandomweekly2025-04-07 04:07 pm
yoshishisha) wrote in fandomweekly2025-04-07 04:07 pm
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[#255] Fighting On (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 255 - Defiance
Title: Fighting On
Fandom: Scum Villain's Self-Saving System
Characters: Shen Jiu | Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe, mention of Shen Qingqiu's shizun
Rating/Warnings: Canon-typical mention of injuries and mutilation (not graphic)
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Shen Qingqiu had decided to master music in spite of his limitations. That little beast had decided instead to blame him for its weaknesses. Pathetic.
Shen Qingqiu had made it a goal in life to master music.
Much like everything else, it didn’t come naturally to him. His shizun had noticed him for his strategic mind first. “Exactly like that,” that daunting figure had said, looking at him like he was a gnat on the floor as though considering whether he was worth the effort of squashing. “Keep that gleam in your eyes, don’t let it be said that Qing Jing Peak disciples can be intimidated.”
It was only later that Shen Qingqiu had recognized the words for the praise they were, when at the time all he’d felt had been terror and humiliation.
Strategy and ruse came naturally to Shen Qingqiu. Yet, when he was first sat in front of a guqin, fingers still straining from the hole he’d dug the day before and under the gaze of his fellow disciples who were younger than him yet had been practicing music for years, he had known that no amount of wit could hide his weakness in that aspect. That moment dogged him henceforth, and to this day Shen Qingqiu still believed that his shizun had deliberately engineered that instant so he would taste the bitter stench of humiliation and know there were some things he didn’t have control over.
It worked, but Shen Qingqiu already knew about the injustices of life. He also knew that Qing Jing Peak was the peak of strategy and arts, and that he wouldn’t fail in one of its core aspect. He couldn’t afford it.
And so Shen Qingqiu decided to make music his lifeline. He worked, and played, and listened, and read, until his fingers bled, until his ears rang, until he could hear and feel and breathe music without input from his consciousness. He made music his lifeline until it became such a core part of his identity that he could stand nothing other than become the best at it. It became the proof that he could finally do something right, that he wasn’t deficient in the way the entire world had attempted to convince him. He became proficient in music until there was no denying with his honed strategic mind that he would be the next Peak Lord of Qing Jing.
He may not have liked his shizun, but he would forever be grateful for the opportunity he’d been given to find his path after a lifetime of fighting for it.
And even now, Shen Qingqiu didn’t tear his gaze away from that little beast’s red gaze, its taunting smile, yet still entirely devoid of satisfaction because Shen Qingqiu would never give it what it wanted.
“Tell me shizun,” the beast said, crouching in front of him so it could better grip his hair to pull Shen Qingqiu’s head into a painful arch. Shen Qingqiu stared back, with the carefully empty expression he’d learned most enraged those who were looking for a reaction from him. It worked, the little beast having learned nothing from its time at Qing Jing Peak and rising to the bait like a child denied its sweets. Pathetic, Shen Qingqiu thought, letting his disdain show in his eyes. He was ready for it when his face smashed into the ground, and could feel the blood dripping down his face when he was pulled up by his hair again.
“Tell me shizun,” the beast repeated, uselessly, as though insisting would change Shen Qingqiu’s answer or lack thereof. It snarled, eyes red and demonic mark glowing on its face. “When will you learn that nothing you do will set you free? When will you learn that you don’t matter, that nothing you do will ever change your outcome.”
Foolish beast. Shen Qingqiu had learned that lesson long ago, and it was obvious now that the little beast still believed it could change its own fate.
There was no answer that could satisfy the beast, and Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to give it the satisfaction. He swallowed, feeling the absence of his tongue in his mouth that had become familiar since the little beast had torn it away in a fit of rage. It probably didn’t even know that the removal of his tongue revealed more about the beast’s weakness than it did about his own. Even with his legs reduced to stumps at the thighs, even with one arm torn at the shoulder and the other barely hanging on by bone and sinew, wound being torn open anew by those blood parasites to make sure his pain was constant, Shen Qingqiu was stronger than that nameless little beast, one who didn’t know its own place and would forever be miserable for it.
“You can’t change your station in life,” Shen Qingqiu wanted to say, but his missing tongue kept him from doing so.
He pressed his lips together instead, leaving only a narrow opening so air could flow out freely. When he breathed out, it came with a whistle that he modulated into a sound the little beast would be swift to recognize. A music that made Shen Qingqiu feel at home in a way nothing in Qing Jing Peak had quite managed to. Shen Qingqiu felt his lips rise into a sardonic smile as he watched the recognition slowly come over that hateful face. Realisation was swiftly followed by a burst of pain from within his body, like starvation and torture all at once brought about by those blood parasites he would never be rid of, and yet Shen Qingqiu could do nothing but whistle and laugh, humming the song louder and louder as the blows came over his body. He knew what he looked like. Broken, shattered, and yet still defiant.
Defiance was Shen Qingqiu’s default state, the one he came back to when other reactions failed him.
He grinned, spitting out a glob of blood before he could choke on it. Defiant he would remain. If everything else was taken away from him, the least he could do was withhold satisfaction from his captor.
Title: Fighting On
Fandom: Scum Villain's Self-Saving System
Characters: Shen Jiu | Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe, mention of Shen Qingqiu's shizun
Rating/Warnings: Canon-typical mention of injuries and mutilation (not graphic)
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Shen Qingqiu had decided to master music in spite of his limitations. That little beast had decided instead to blame him for its weaknesses. Pathetic.
Shen Qingqiu had made it a goal in life to master music.
Much like everything else, it didn’t come naturally to him. His shizun had noticed him for his strategic mind first. “Exactly like that,” that daunting figure had said, looking at him like he was a gnat on the floor as though considering whether he was worth the effort of squashing. “Keep that gleam in your eyes, don’t let it be said that Qing Jing Peak disciples can be intimidated.”
It was only later that Shen Qingqiu had recognized the words for the praise they were, when at the time all he’d felt had been terror and humiliation.
Strategy and ruse came naturally to Shen Qingqiu. Yet, when he was first sat in front of a guqin, fingers still straining from the hole he’d dug the day before and under the gaze of his fellow disciples who were younger than him yet had been practicing music for years, he had known that no amount of wit could hide his weakness in that aspect. That moment dogged him henceforth, and to this day Shen Qingqiu still believed that his shizun had deliberately engineered that instant so he would taste the bitter stench of humiliation and know there were some things he didn’t have control over.
It worked, but Shen Qingqiu already knew about the injustices of life. He also knew that Qing Jing Peak was the peak of strategy and arts, and that he wouldn’t fail in one of its core aspect. He couldn’t afford it.
And so Shen Qingqiu decided to make music his lifeline. He worked, and played, and listened, and read, until his fingers bled, until his ears rang, until he could hear and feel and breathe music without input from his consciousness. He made music his lifeline until it became such a core part of his identity that he could stand nothing other than become the best at it. It became the proof that he could finally do something right, that he wasn’t deficient in the way the entire world had attempted to convince him. He became proficient in music until there was no denying with his honed strategic mind that he would be the next Peak Lord of Qing Jing.
He may not have liked his shizun, but he would forever be grateful for the opportunity he’d been given to find his path after a lifetime of fighting for it.
And even now, Shen Qingqiu didn’t tear his gaze away from that little beast’s red gaze, its taunting smile, yet still entirely devoid of satisfaction because Shen Qingqiu would never give it what it wanted.
“Tell me shizun,” the beast said, crouching in front of him so it could better grip his hair to pull Shen Qingqiu’s head into a painful arch. Shen Qingqiu stared back, with the carefully empty expression he’d learned most enraged those who were looking for a reaction from him. It worked, the little beast having learned nothing from its time at Qing Jing Peak and rising to the bait like a child denied its sweets. Pathetic, Shen Qingqiu thought, letting his disdain show in his eyes. He was ready for it when his face smashed into the ground, and could feel the blood dripping down his face when he was pulled up by his hair again.
“Tell me shizun,” the beast repeated, uselessly, as though insisting would change Shen Qingqiu’s answer or lack thereof. It snarled, eyes red and demonic mark glowing on its face. “When will you learn that nothing you do will set you free? When will you learn that you don’t matter, that nothing you do will ever change your outcome.”
Foolish beast. Shen Qingqiu had learned that lesson long ago, and it was obvious now that the little beast still believed it could change its own fate.
There was no answer that could satisfy the beast, and Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to give it the satisfaction. He swallowed, feeling the absence of his tongue in his mouth that had become familiar since the little beast had torn it away in a fit of rage. It probably didn’t even know that the removal of his tongue revealed more about the beast’s weakness than it did about his own. Even with his legs reduced to stumps at the thighs, even with one arm torn at the shoulder and the other barely hanging on by bone and sinew, wound being torn open anew by those blood parasites to make sure his pain was constant, Shen Qingqiu was stronger than that nameless little beast, one who didn’t know its own place and would forever be miserable for it.
“You can’t change your station in life,” Shen Qingqiu wanted to say, but his missing tongue kept him from doing so.
He pressed his lips together instead, leaving only a narrow opening so air could flow out freely. When he breathed out, it came with a whistle that he modulated into a sound the little beast would be swift to recognize. A music that made Shen Qingqiu feel at home in a way nothing in Qing Jing Peak had quite managed to. Shen Qingqiu felt his lips rise into a sardonic smile as he watched the recognition slowly come over that hateful face. Realisation was swiftly followed by a burst of pain from within his body, like starvation and torture all at once brought about by those blood parasites he would never be rid of, and yet Shen Qingqiu could do nothing but whistle and laugh, humming the song louder and louder as the blows came over his body. He knew what he looked like. Broken, shattered, and yet still defiant.
Defiance was Shen Qingqiu’s default state, the one he came back to when other reactions failed him.
He grinned, spitting out a glob of blood before he could choke on it. Defiant he would remain. If everything else was taken away from him, the least he could do was withhold satisfaction from his captor.
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