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fandomweekly2026-01-05 10:34 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2026-01-05 10:34 pm
Entry tags:
[#285] too close to original (SVSSS)
Theme Prompt: 285 - Fresh Start
Title: too close to original
Fandom: The Scum Villain's Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: Minor language
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 992
Summary: Shen Yuan finds his habits run too close to the original good's at times. [note Shen Yuan = Shen Qingqiu]
Shen Yuan flicks the fan open with a snap and idly wafts it at the stickiness of his neck, his flushed cheeks. "Transmigrating could be considered a fresh start, an actual reinvention of a person like the 'new year, new me' but more, so I am exempt from resolutions, forever."
There's a deliberate quiet in the other room, a quiet that leans back to inspect around the edge of a doorframe with wide dark eyes before it creeps closer, and rearranges the same delicate trinkets scattered over a shelf for the seventh time.
Shen Yuan tips his head to the other side, scoops his hair over with his free hand. "This is meeting is going to be such a waste of time."
"I can tell them to leave, Shizun?" Luo Binghe hesitates in the doorway, a cloth wrapped round his fingers. His hair is loosely braided up and tied back, a few strands escaping to stick to his foreheads in a singular concession to the heat. Shen Yuan feels near scandalous next to him in only two layers, but he's giving himself the generous allowance that he's freshly recovering from another bout of Without-A-Cure which is the entire reason the Peak Lord meeting is happening in his house to begin with, and the simple fact that it is hot! He's used to air conditioning and single layers of breathable fabric and the ability to strip and lie on his bed until the heat bleeds away. Not working, not functioning like a reasonable member of society.
"No, Binghe," Shen Yuan sighs. He shifts his gaze to the ceiling, slumps further down in his chair. "It'll be fine, brief hopefully."
"Yes, Shizun," Binghe says, his voice strangled.
Shen Yuan glances over at him, wafts the fan more so there's a scrap of a breeze against the sweat beading in the hollow of his throat, soaking into the thin layers he's reluctantly folded himself into. "Get yourself a drink, Binghe. You're looking very flushed."
"As you wish, Shizun."
He misses that moment in the following shichen as the Peak Lords file into his house and curl in uneasy accord around his main room. Shen Yuan wears Shen Qingqiu's face well, partially hidden behind the lazy waft of his fan that barely stirs the muggy air. The windows are thrown wide and the door is propped open by some heavy ticking contraption sacrificed to the cause. Yue Qingyuan is the only one seemingly unaffected, both by the heat and the change in circumstances, settling at the vague head of the table with a murmured concession to Shen Qingqiu, some delicately fawning admiration over his home offered with both hands as if it would shatter. Luo Binghe flicks between the group, hovering mostly behind Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, but he's quick with a refreshment and sweet when he's complimented, gazing up at Shen Qingqiu between lowered lashes between.
Shen Yuan is a petty man and this feels like a dick measuring contest he could win, even if the stakes are unknown. The protagonist is his disciple, his sweet sticky lamb who jumps into action before Shen Qingqiu has even formed the thought, and the rest are stuck with nameless cannon fodder NPCs.
Shang Qinghua stumbles over his words in his report for the seventh time as Luo Binghe returns to Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, a fresh drink clinking with ice in his hand.
Eat your fucking heart out. Shen Qingqiu might be dying at the end of this, but he's winning all the way down, get wrecked.
Liu Qingge snaps first, his face pale except for a single bright smudge of colour over the bridge of his nose. "Why are we concerned by this?"
Hot weather breeds hot tempers and the peak has been teetering on the edge for too long.
Shang Qinghua isn't a confrontational man by nature, better suited to sneak and cower, but he steps over his limits as he smacks his ledger down on the table. The cups rattle. Shen Qingqiu lowers his fan an inch, his eyes narrowing.
"Why the hell wouldn't it be important? Do you like food, do you like having clothes? Bai Zhan makes up more than three quarters of the expenditures and it leads to costs elsewhere so if you want to try and lead your disciples—"
"That's Xian Shu peak's business," Liu Qingge retorts, rising to the challenge and swinging wildly. He argues like he fights: with immense collaterol damage for everyone involved.
Qi Qingqiu takes the bait and Shen Yuan enjoys a spectator's seat to an argument as much as the next internet commenter—he has some virtual money riding on the winner of just such an argument—but the realisation dawns sharp and quick as the table chips beneath Liu Qingge's ministrations, and Yue Qingyuan rises to his feet to join in, his hands cupped against his belly with that same placid smile.
They're in his house.
Shen Qingqiu stands, snapping his fan closed with a harsh snap. "Sit down!"
There's more words queued up on his tongue, a rant unfurling in his throat and inked onto his ribcage because how dare they, in his house, no less. Infringing on his time more than they have to, the nerve!
He looks around seated forms, heads bowed, and glances cast beneath lowered lashes. The circle is completed with Luo Binghe, similarly kneeling, his hands balled into trembling fists in his lap. A momentary pang of guilt washes over Shen Yuan—too close to the original goods, what must Luo Binghe be thinking of him—but he smooths it down as he turns towards his fellow Peak Lords.
"Out," he orders simply, gesturing with his fan.
They obey in a staggered huddle, some apologies dropped like offerings as he slams the door shut behind them.
"Luo Binghe?" Shen Yuan murmurs, fatigued and sticky and craving air conditioning like nothing else. "A treat for us both, please."
"As Shizun wishes."
Title: too close to original
Fandom: The Scum Villain's Self Saving System
Rating/Warnings: Minor language
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 992
Summary: Shen Yuan finds his habits run too close to the original good's at times. [note Shen Yuan = Shen Qingqiu]
Shen Yuan flicks the fan open with a snap and idly wafts it at the stickiness of his neck, his flushed cheeks. "Transmigrating could be considered a fresh start, an actual reinvention of a person like the 'new year, new me' but more, so I am exempt from resolutions, forever."
There's a deliberate quiet in the other room, a quiet that leans back to inspect around the edge of a doorframe with wide dark eyes before it creeps closer, and rearranges the same delicate trinkets scattered over a shelf for the seventh time.
Shen Yuan tips his head to the other side, scoops his hair over with his free hand. "This is meeting is going to be such a waste of time."
"I can tell them to leave, Shizun?" Luo Binghe hesitates in the doorway, a cloth wrapped round his fingers. His hair is loosely braided up and tied back, a few strands escaping to stick to his foreheads in a singular concession to the heat. Shen Yuan feels near scandalous next to him in only two layers, but he's giving himself the generous allowance that he's freshly recovering from another bout of Without-A-Cure which is the entire reason the Peak Lord meeting is happening in his house to begin with, and the simple fact that it is hot! He's used to air conditioning and single layers of breathable fabric and the ability to strip and lie on his bed until the heat bleeds away. Not working, not functioning like a reasonable member of society.
"No, Binghe," Shen Yuan sighs. He shifts his gaze to the ceiling, slumps further down in his chair. "It'll be fine, brief hopefully."
"Yes, Shizun," Binghe says, his voice strangled.
Shen Yuan glances over at him, wafts the fan more so there's a scrap of a breeze against the sweat beading in the hollow of his throat, soaking into the thin layers he's reluctantly folded himself into. "Get yourself a drink, Binghe. You're looking very flushed."
"As you wish, Shizun."
He misses that moment in the following shichen as the Peak Lords file into his house and curl in uneasy accord around his main room. Shen Yuan wears Shen Qingqiu's face well, partially hidden behind the lazy waft of his fan that barely stirs the muggy air. The windows are thrown wide and the door is propped open by some heavy ticking contraption sacrificed to the cause. Yue Qingyuan is the only one seemingly unaffected, both by the heat and the change in circumstances, settling at the vague head of the table with a murmured concession to Shen Qingqiu, some delicately fawning admiration over his home offered with both hands as if it would shatter. Luo Binghe flicks between the group, hovering mostly behind Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, but he's quick with a refreshment and sweet when he's complimented, gazing up at Shen Qingqiu between lowered lashes between.
Shen Yuan is a petty man and this feels like a dick measuring contest he could win, even if the stakes are unknown. The protagonist is his disciple, his sweet sticky lamb who jumps into action before Shen Qingqiu has even formed the thought, and the rest are stuck with nameless cannon fodder NPCs.
Shang Qinghua stumbles over his words in his report for the seventh time as Luo Binghe returns to Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, a fresh drink clinking with ice in his hand.
Eat your fucking heart out. Shen Qingqiu might be dying at the end of this, but he's winning all the way down, get wrecked.
Liu Qingge snaps first, his face pale except for a single bright smudge of colour over the bridge of his nose. "Why are we concerned by this?"
Hot weather breeds hot tempers and the peak has been teetering on the edge for too long.
Shang Qinghua isn't a confrontational man by nature, better suited to sneak and cower, but he steps over his limits as he smacks his ledger down on the table. The cups rattle. Shen Qingqiu lowers his fan an inch, his eyes narrowing.
"Why the hell wouldn't it be important? Do you like food, do you like having clothes? Bai Zhan makes up more than three quarters of the expenditures and it leads to costs elsewhere so if you want to try and lead your disciples—"
"That's Xian Shu peak's business," Liu Qingge retorts, rising to the challenge and swinging wildly. He argues like he fights: with immense collaterol damage for everyone involved.
Qi Qingqiu takes the bait and Shen Yuan enjoys a spectator's seat to an argument as much as the next internet commenter—he has some virtual money riding on the winner of just such an argument—but the realisation dawns sharp and quick as the table chips beneath Liu Qingge's ministrations, and Yue Qingyuan rises to his feet to join in, his hands cupped against his belly with that same placid smile.
They're in his house.
Shen Qingqiu stands, snapping his fan closed with a harsh snap. "Sit down!"
There's more words queued up on his tongue, a rant unfurling in his throat and inked onto his ribcage because how dare they, in his house, no less. Infringing on his time more than they have to, the nerve!
He looks around seated forms, heads bowed, and glances cast beneath lowered lashes. The circle is completed with Luo Binghe, similarly kneeling, his hands balled into trembling fists in his lap. A momentary pang of guilt washes over Shen Yuan—too close to the original goods, what must Luo Binghe be thinking of him—but he smooths it down as he turns towards his fellow Peak Lords.
"Out," he orders simply, gesturing with his fan.
They obey in a staggered huddle, some apologies dropped like offerings as he slams the door shut behind them.
"Luo Binghe?" Shen Yuan murmurs, fatigued and sticky and craving air conditioning like nothing else. "A treat for us both, please."
"As Shizun wishes."