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fandomweekly2025-06-16 07:57 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-06-16 07:57 pm
Entry tags:
[#262] winning the battle not the war (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 262 - Soulmates
Title: winning the battle not the war
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: T
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 970
Summary: Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu share one mind about soulmates, but Shen Yuan can't resist prodding at old wounds. [Note - continuation of an AU, Shen Qingqiu is displaced into reflections only with limited ability to interact with objects outside. Shen Yuan is displaced into Shen Qingqiu's body.]
“And what would your thoughts be, master cultivator?”
Shen Qingqiu nudges the knife on the table back into alignment, catching the acidic green glint from his reflection. He keeps his face lowered as he surveys the table: Luo Binghe at his immediate right, his fluffy sheep wearing a set of high-necked formal robes and a trembling scowl, and beyond him sit the clustered members of the merchant’s family. They’re alike, dark hair cropped short through months of temple rituals to try and rid themselves of the ghoul, their robes well-crafted but fraying at the hems, embroidery torn out. The head of the family is a solid woman, her cheeks and mouth carefully painted in celebration of their long torment coming to an end. She sips her drink carefully before she speaks once more. “On the topic of soulmates, do you believe they exist?”
“No.” “No.”
Shen Yuan answers immediately in unison with Shen Qingqiu, but only his voice is heard.
Luo Binghe shrinks back and Shen Yuan spares him a glance. His poor disciple, it’s not his fault his teacher is three shades of a cynic.
“Interesting but not surprising given your profession.” She nods once and directs the conversation to her middle daughter, close enough to Luo Binghe’s age, with an ease that should be studied.
Shen Yuan scrolls through the system messages as she speaks, keeping half his attention focused on the conversation and the rest is directed towards the pale silent reflection in his knife.
He retires early, ushering Luo Binghe into the room next to him with some difficulty as his disciples’ fingers catch in his sleeve, a familiar pout on his features as the door closes behind him. Two glyphs later and Shen Yuan is as alone as he ever is, so not at all.
Shen Yuan removes the collapsible mirror from the array stitched into his sleeve, unfurling it like a flower until it stands upright. In the reflection, the bed behind him depresses beneath Shen Qingqiu’s weight, his robes a perfect match to the set Shen Yuan wears — high-necked and heavily layered until his ribs creaked — and his fan held so it obscures the twist of his mouth. Shen Yuan catches his gaze, sitting where he’s directed with a tilt of his head, just to the right of Shen Qingqiu’s reflected position.
“Say something, demon.”
“Something,” Shen Yuan answers, shuttering a grin at his scowling counterpart before he relaxes, letting his head tip backwards. Shen Qingqiu’s manifestations outside of the mirror is still new, best performed when Shen Yuan isn’t watching him struggle, a veiled attempt at distraction that doesn’t convince either of them. “What did you think about what the lady of the house asked us?”
Something brushes against the edge of his knee, cool despite the layers of fabric between them. The touch moves around to the side, nipping at the slight swell where his knee bends. Shen Yuan yelps, flinching away from the touch before he returns to the same position. He should feel more exposed than he does, the line of his throat bared before a superior predator, his gaze turned away from a potential ambush, but he doesn’t. It’s just Shen Qingqiu.
“She asked us a great many questions,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, a glancing wound for her that would have been an evisceration for a man.
“You know which one I mean.”
“Do I?”
Shen Yuan glances over at Shen Qingqiu, a scowl embedded on his face — and it is a scowl, not a pout regardless of what the System’s statistics counter says — and is met with a sharp smile around the edge of a fan. He hadn’t thought waking up in the body of the scum villain could ever be fun, but Shen Yuan is wrong a countless number of times. Somewhere, ignored to his right, the System chimes.
“Soulmates,” Shen Yuan says. “Do you truly not believe in love at first sight, that there’s a person out there meant for you, all that?
Shen Qingqiu’s expression freezes before it shifts in fragments, his eyes widening until the whites are visible around the sharp green, his smile shifts as his lip curls back over his teeth, and it is unsettling, panic and rage blurring together. Shen Yuan flinches, cold dread flooding through his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Never,” Shen Qingqiu hisses, “apologise in this teacher’s body. I will not allow it.” He swallows, his fan clutched in bloodless fingers. A single silver hand flickers into existence beyond the line of the mirror, the outline fractured as it curls into a fist, nails cutting through the palm. “There is no mercy in this universe if someone has been inflicted with half of a soul that matches this teacher’s.”
“It isn’t a weakness to accept help.” Shen Yuan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his splayed knees. There’s no keyboard for him to craft his arguments on, but he can’t let Shen Qingqiu win this section of the argument. He wouldn’t allow it. “This master is cared for by his martial siblings, his students.”
“Idiots.” Shen Qingqiu flicks out his fan, the manifestation copying the motion before it trembles into distorted pixels and copies the movement again and again. “They care for the demon wearing this master’s body, not this master.”
“This student follows his master’s teachings,” Shen Yuan snaps. Loud, too loud. He bites his tongue, grinding his teeth until it aches. “This student wishes his master to succeed.”
“Then you are as foolish as they are. Now, be silent.”
Shen Yuan obeys, his gaze lowered to his feet. He doesn’t look up at Shen Qingqiu at the touch to his shoulder, the crown of his head, and he misses the expression the other man wears, desperate delicate incredulity at being presented with something once thought impossible.
Title: winning the battle not the war
Fandom: Scum Villain Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: T
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 970
Summary: Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu share one mind about soulmates, but Shen Yuan can't resist prodding at old wounds. [Note - continuation of an AU, Shen Qingqiu is displaced into reflections only with limited ability to interact with objects outside. Shen Yuan is displaced into Shen Qingqiu's body.]
“And what would your thoughts be, master cultivator?”
Shen Qingqiu nudges the knife on the table back into alignment, catching the acidic green glint from his reflection. He keeps his face lowered as he surveys the table: Luo Binghe at his immediate right, his fluffy sheep wearing a set of high-necked formal robes and a trembling scowl, and beyond him sit the clustered members of the merchant’s family. They’re alike, dark hair cropped short through months of temple rituals to try and rid themselves of the ghoul, their robes well-crafted but fraying at the hems, embroidery torn out. The head of the family is a solid woman, her cheeks and mouth carefully painted in celebration of their long torment coming to an end. She sips her drink carefully before she speaks once more. “On the topic of soulmates, do you believe they exist?”
“No.” “No.”
Shen Yuan answers immediately in unison with Shen Qingqiu, but only his voice is heard.
Luo Binghe shrinks back and Shen Yuan spares him a glance. His poor disciple, it’s not his fault his teacher is three shades of a cynic.
“Interesting but not surprising given your profession.” She nods once and directs the conversation to her middle daughter, close enough to Luo Binghe’s age, with an ease that should be studied.
Shen Yuan scrolls through the system messages as she speaks, keeping half his attention focused on the conversation and the rest is directed towards the pale silent reflection in his knife.
He retires early, ushering Luo Binghe into the room next to him with some difficulty as his disciples’ fingers catch in his sleeve, a familiar pout on his features as the door closes behind him. Two glyphs later and Shen Yuan is as alone as he ever is, so not at all.
Shen Yuan removes the collapsible mirror from the array stitched into his sleeve, unfurling it like a flower until it stands upright. In the reflection, the bed behind him depresses beneath Shen Qingqiu’s weight, his robes a perfect match to the set Shen Yuan wears — high-necked and heavily layered until his ribs creaked — and his fan held so it obscures the twist of his mouth. Shen Yuan catches his gaze, sitting where he’s directed with a tilt of his head, just to the right of Shen Qingqiu’s reflected position.
“Say something, demon.”
“Something,” Shen Yuan answers, shuttering a grin at his scowling counterpart before he relaxes, letting his head tip backwards. Shen Qingqiu’s manifestations outside of the mirror is still new, best performed when Shen Yuan isn’t watching him struggle, a veiled attempt at distraction that doesn’t convince either of them. “What did you think about what the lady of the house asked us?”
Something brushes against the edge of his knee, cool despite the layers of fabric between them. The touch moves around to the side, nipping at the slight swell where his knee bends. Shen Yuan yelps, flinching away from the touch before he returns to the same position. He should feel more exposed than he does, the line of his throat bared before a superior predator, his gaze turned away from a potential ambush, but he doesn’t. It’s just Shen Qingqiu.
“She asked us a great many questions,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, a glancing wound for her that would have been an evisceration for a man.
“You know which one I mean.”
“Do I?”
Shen Yuan glances over at Shen Qingqiu, a scowl embedded on his face — and it is a scowl, not a pout regardless of what the System’s statistics counter says — and is met with a sharp smile around the edge of a fan. He hadn’t thought waking up in the body of the scum villain could ever be fun, but Shen Yuan is wrong a countless number of times. Somewhere, ignored to his right, the System chimes.
“Soulmates,” Shen Yuan says. “Do you truly not believe in love at first sight, that there’s a person out there meant for you, all that?
Shen Qingqiu’s expression freezes before it shifts in fragments, his eyes widening until the whites are visible around the sharp green, his smile shifts as his lip curls back over his teeth, and it is unsettling, panic and rage blurring together. Shen Yuan flinches, cold dread flooding through his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Never,” Shen Qingqiu hisses, “apologise in this teacher’s body. I will not allow it.” He swallows, his fan clutched in bloodless fingers. A single silver hand flickers into existence beyond the line of the mirror, the outline fractured as it curls into a fist, nails cutting through the palm. “There is no mercy in this universe if someone has been inflicted with half of a soul that matches this teacher’s.”
“It isn’t a weakness to accept help.” Shen Yuan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his splayed knees. There’s no keyboard for him to craft his arguments on, but he can’t let Shen Qingqiu win this section of the argument. He wouldn’t allow it. “This master is cared for by his martial siblings, his students.”
“Idiots.” Shen Qingqiu flicks out his fan, the manifestation copying the motion before it trembles into distorted pixels and copies the movement again and again. “They care for the demon wearing this master’s body, not this master.”
“This student follows his master’s teachings,” Shen Yuan snaps. Loud, too loud. He bites his tongue, grinding his teeth until it aches. “This student wishes his master to succeed.”
“Then you are as foolish as they are. Now, be silent.”
Shen Yuan obeys, his gaze lowered to his feet. He doesn’t look up at Shen Qingqiu at the touch to his shoulder, the crown of his head, and he misses the expression the other man wears, desperate delicate incredulity at being presented with something once thought impossible.