Bottom Zhangmen-shixiong Week 2026

[bottomyueqingyuanweek]

Bluesky | AO3 Collection

Come spring, Bottom Yue Qingyuan Week 2026 will run from May 7th until May 13th. Each day has two NSFW prompts and two SFW prompts. This account will reblog all contributions posted to the tag!

Rules

⋄ Post your work with the tag #bottomyqyweek2026 on tumblr or bsky; post to the collection on ao3

⋄ Must be 18 or older to participate

⋄ Prompts are optional and just here for inspiration

⋄ All ships are allowed, including non-shipping contributions

⋄ Genderbends are allowed

Prompts

NSFW

May 7th - Erectile Dysfunction | Nipple Play/Paizuri

May 8th - Fuck or Die/Stuck in a Room Until You [x] | Guro

May 9th - Marking/Branding/Body Mod | Dacryphilia

May 10th - Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen | Breeding

May 11th - Monsters/Transformation | Hypnosis/Mind Control

May 12th - BDSM | Praise Kink/Degradation Kink

May 13th - Dress-up/Feminization | Prostitution/Public Use

SFW

May 7th - Xuan Su | Training

May 8th - Ling Xi Caves | Scars

May 9th - Ownership/Possession | Diplomacy

May 10th - Qi Deviation | Repression/Restraint

May 11th - Bailu Mountain | Political Marriage

May 12th - Leadership | Confession

May 13th - Forgiveness | Role Reversal

FAQ

Can I submit non-penetrative sex/switching/dom bottom/sub top?

You can do whatever you want forever. I only ask that you create with the intent to contribute to the theme of the event and not the intent to undermine it; whatever "bottom Yue Qingyuan" means to you in your heart is up to you.

Does my submission have to be NSFW?

No! Submit bottom zhangmen-shixiong gen if that is what is in your heart. You can do whatever you want forever

If I'm a minor, can I contribute as long as my submission doesn't have sex?

No. This is still fundamentally an 18+ event and it is safest for both of us if you are not associated with it.

Can I post contributions late?

Yes! I will continue to reblog anything I see on the tag to this account indefinitely.

[loratea]

bottom yue qingyuan week is already over but here is my (late!) contribution (combining prompts for days 1-4: xuan su | training; ling xi caves | scars; ownership/possession | diplomacy; and qi deviation | repression/restraint) — open in full view for best quality!

[id: scum villain fanart of yue qingyuan as an older teen in the ling xi caves, looking down at the ground and kneeling in front of his shizun. yue qingyuan is battered, bloody, and bruised. a bruise in the shape of a handprint is on his neck. xuan su, surrounded by flames, is pierced into his back. glowing scars in a lightning-style pattern surround the area where xuan su pierces his skin, as well as on his chest, neck, and jaw. his shizun has a hand on his head, more possessive than affectionate. spots of gray hair appear right below where his shizun's hand rests. /end id.]

[raineda-shipper]

Bottom YQY week day 7: dress-up💖

First drew SJ, leaving the gender and sex ambiguous on purpose, and then couldn't decide whether to draw Qi-ge or Qi-jie.

First sketch of YQY was really bad, a thousand thanks to everyone who helped fix it!

[apricotkin]

the utmost victorious exchange

bottom yue qingyuan week day 7 | role reversal

<- previous post

cross-posted on ao3

and it's then that he cannot help but think

i cannot allow for him

to seek revenge on Xiao Jiu

it's simple, in the end–

he rises and goes to meet his doom

in the form of an awakened half-demon.

he lands upon uneven terrain

the wind tears at his robes

flames dance all around the wreckage

(he blinks back charred walls;

a too-early mourning pyre, that's what it is

but not for Xiao Jiu – never for his shidi)

the two of them are there just like they were

just like they never would be,

not as long as Yue Qingyuan lives (and dies)

so he draws upon his qi

(a too-important life

is at stake for him to play fair)

a single move– Shen Jiu slumps to the ground

or, well, he lowers him to the ground

(takes a moment to check his pulse)

and when he turns to Luo Binghe,

his heart clenches; his mind prevails

better me than him– a mantra.

the coarse patchwork of Luo Binghe's robes

is rough against his fingers

he tightens his hold on those lapels

moves them closer to the edge

thinks of his shizun; tries to portray

Ju Liaotian's cold disappointment

of all those who have entered Cang Qiong,

you're the most wretched of all

if this one had known you to be a demon,

i would've slain you at the disciple trials

it– is hard to say that. he perseveres –

draws on his memories. better me than him.

looking into Luo Binghe's wide eyes

he should've found more pity in his heart

(Cang Qiong burning; a box; a message

a thousand poisoned arrows

and a man trying to drive him away)

he doesn't. the Abyss will take care of you.

and he forces himself to let go

(cements his changed destiny)

watches the rift close– and hurries back

to Shen Qingqiu. his shidi is unconscious

(as he should be). he sighs. lights a talisman

and calls for Mu Qingfang

the dawn of the next day is bright and cold

with the promise of a different future

the words come easy to him;

Luo Binghe of Qing Jing Peak is a half-demon

he attacked Qingqiu-shidi, so this one

had to push him into the Abyss.

surprisingly, there are no hushed whispers

no low tones doubting Xiao Jiu's involvement

(he's grateful for that; his shidi

wouldn't bear the blame this time around)

he slips away from Shen Jiu's watchful gaze

he wants to tell him; he doesn't.

(in the depths of Qiong Ding's libraries,

he searches for texts about soul bonds,

about changing fates,

obscuring and emphasizing memories)

and when the date is auspicious,

he excuses himself and carries out a ritual

a long-forgotten one, meant to subtly

highlight one's presence in a person's life

(used for love manipulation, no doubt–

and he feels no qualms in regards to

writing his name alongside Luo Binghe's

linking his fate to that half-demon's)

and years pass; Xiao Jiu is shielded

from the most unpleasant of rumors

safe– he yearns to make him even safer

monitors the other sects closer than before

(quietly takes away Qiu Haitang)

and Huan Hua's Luo Binghe calls for his trial

they don't even know he's a demon,

scoffs Liu Qingge (he's kept him alive, too)

they wouldn't care for rumors, he responds

besides, Lao Gongzhu knows that too well

so i will be going. he suspects how it'll go

(there are those who hate his genial persona)

and Luo Binghe's stare is focused

vestiges of madness beneath the surface

a need for power; desperation, too

he looks into those eyes– into that face

absent of any demon seal. smiles

and allows himself to be taken away.

Xuan Su is plastered over with more talismans

than he's ever attempted to fit atop its sheath

and he's chained down in the Water Prison

the faintest sort of victory hums in his veins

i did it. better me wasting away, alone,

forgotten; better me than him.

and he gets used to the chains;

to Luo Binghe's – now the emperor's – visits,

learns to pinpoint those episodes

when the Water Prison reminds him too much

of the Lingxi Caves (his breaths would hitch

and his eyes would glaze over)

and all he's able to do in such solitude

is strain his ears for the sound of steps

against the ever-present rush of the water

and hope– wish– yearn for these steps

to never belong to Xiao Jiu; for the other

to keep himself away– distant– safe.

[enbycupcake]

[ID, copied from ALT: a drawing of yue qingyuan over a grey background, arms behind his back. his bust is pushed up because the corset he is wearing. lashes fanned out, his gaze is down. second picture is zoomed out view of previous art showing that the corset is long enough to go past his ass. end ID]

bottom yqy week day 7: dress up/feminization. yue qingyuan in a hobble corset let's fucking gooooooo i love pretty men hngggggg

[raineda-shipper]

Bottom YQY week day 6

@bottomyueqingyuanweek, I love your work. The prompt selection is such a delicious buffet and the recs and explanations were so fun to read!

Gorgeous reference image to which I did not do justice!

[apricotkin]

devotion (sends people to their deaths)

bottom yue qingyuan week day 6 | confession

<- previous post

cross-posted on ao3

he watches the powerful blaze

hidden beneath the foliage

of a nearby mountain slope

Qiong Ding scrolls in his hands;

an irreparable chasm in his heart

Peak Lords and their disciples at his side

and as dusk grows, they spread out to sleep

herded by the remnants of An Ding

(blind ducklings without their former shizun)

they don't have anything, anymore;

what's remained of Cang Qiong

is now burning to ash, almost extinguished.

they– survive. try to adapt. not much is left

save for a legacy, save for the medicinal skills

that Mu Qingfang imparts on his disciples;

the braid techniques Qi Qingqi shows to hers

he does his part – guides his head disciple

through setting up defensive arrays.

and– they continue on, disjointed

barely pushing past the destruction

(he hears someone console a peakmaster

when the nightmares get too strong)

he keeps his lips shut. a smile on his face

(they glance at him all the same)

some venture into towns, heads lowered

do not attract any attention, he says;

goes on the first trip himself, remembers how

Xiao Jiu and him would avoid much notice

(if the remaining Peak Lords are surprised

by his rough accent, they don't show it).

everyone's too tired, too wrung-out

to really push back; they look to him

for guidance, for a plan. he stands straighter

and pretends that he has everything together

that he isn’t going insane with every day

that Xiao Jiu remains absent.

after the message– after the box –

he isn’t really himself. isn’t really anything,

just a maelstorm of fear; fury; desperation

all of which tear at his insides

threaten to unmake him once and for all

in the end, there isn't room for any debate

so, he writes a letter of his own

(Luo Binghe's challenge stark in his thoughts)

with whatever ink he's stashed away

folds it neatly by his bedside

wards it to allow access for any Peak Lord

and goes to find Qi Qingqi

her hands card through his hair

he allows it (he knows her self-grounding

rituals; knows of Liu Mingyan's absence, too)

checks to make sure that they're fully alone

(a strictly Qiong Ding and Xian Shu matter

despite both peaks long-destroyed)

and finally allows himself to voice it;

it is rather possible that i won't come back

a soft confession of the harshest truths

a determined showing of some of the most

desperate love that he's able to offer

and after he speaks, he awaits her reply.

her fingers still. she thinks this over

it is Xian Shu's people that are the ones

gathering information; following rumors

she knows because of whom exactly

he might not be coming back

she knows he wouldn't relent, not on this.

so– she allows her lips to thin

the heaviest sigh to escape her lips

goes back to fixing his hair. pauses and says

you wouldn't be telling me that

if you didn't plan for me to step up as a leader

(Xian Shu's lived in obfuscation and shadows)

he exhales. this one apologizes, but–

Qingfang-shidi has too much on his plate

none of the others are fit for leading

Shimei is this one's best choice

she accepts it, too much of a strategist not to

looks him in the eyes when he stands up

(sees the infinite exhaustion; the fear;

the brittle longing and the steady resolve)

remembers that soft, wistful tone

when he spoke of not coming back. tries to

make peace with losing another one of theirs.

and just before he steps outside,

she stops him. this one expects Shixiong –

both of her Shixiongmen – to return;

as Xian Shu's former Peak Lord,

i can say that Zhangmen-shixiong's death

will damage our remnants even more.

but, as Qi Qingqi– in the worst of cases,

may you two reunite at the Naihe Bridge

and he puts on a tentative, almost-real smile

weary as a soldier preparing for death

and leaves with the quiet words of

thanking Qingqi-shimei for her blessing.

[apricotkin]

silent unions doomed by fate

bottom yue qingyuan week day 5 | political marriage

<- previous post

cross-posted on ao3

phantom fires still bite at his

stainless, unwrinkled Qiong Ding hems

when he walks along the peak's paths

unseeing; the scorching light of the blaze

still stark against his eyelids

every time he closes his eyes.

he's given up on sleep; has resorted to

applying powders beneath his eyes

(no-one is allowed to know that

Qiong Ding's Yue Qingyuan is fracturing;

that Yue Qi's ghost sinks its clawed hands

into the wounds and presses).

he isn’t anyhow confrontational

not when it comes to his shizun

never when he sees Ju Liaotian's frigid gaze

but – a single stubborn thought remains

if Xiao Jiu's gone, what use is there

for me to remain alive?

and it takes little effort to sneak past

Wan Jian's guards; venture into their libraries

and look for accounts of cultivators

having accidents when fighting,

failing to control the bond between them

and their swords; dying in the process.

everyone should've been content

Xuan Su without a wielder;

Shizun free to choose another head disciple;

the vestiges of Yue Qi finally at peace,

buried beneath cold earth,

looking for Xiao Jiu at the Naihe Bridge.

instead– he shoots up in a Qian Cao bed

and his soul thrums

with even more wrongness than before,

and there are immortal-binding cables

around his chest in a tight weave;

the taste of defeat on his tongue

Ju Liaotian sweeps into the room

(assesses the damage;

surveys Yue Qingyuan's state

with the coldest of eyes, unthawing

or, rather, turning into even harsher ice)

countenance embodying the tian in his name

(calm, indifferent, unperturbed;

all that which makes a good Sect Leader

all that what Yue Qi has always lacked

that Yue Qingyuan has strived to emulate)

so, he looks to the other man

and braces himself for anything to come

he isn’t sure what Shizun's thinking of him

(he can guess– failure and a let-down;

the most grand disappointment,

they're all things that Yue Qi –

that Yue Qingyuan – has been his whole life)

he tries to– minimize

straightens as much as he can

(his bones creak in protest)

forces his turbulent qi to calm

(his soul screams)

and says this unworthy one

awaits Shizun's instruction.

***

a grand hall, screens of gilded gold

silks with the finest embroidery

a figure lounging in finery and splendor,

his robes glimmering with embroidery,

sure in his wealth and power,

and a man in simple robes steps up

says Gongzhu, news from Cang Qiong

their Sect Leader's planning to

replace his disciple – that Yue Qingyuan –

for not bonding with his sword properly;

he just doesn't know how to do so

without making trouble for himself</em>

silk layers shift; the figure hums

(an ancient snake that he is,

poison is still strong in his fangs)

dismisses the spy with a wave of his sleeve

we'll profit from this trouble of his

he muses consideringly, after all,

it isn't often that such grand opportunity

is able to come by. he leans forward

over a scroll; writes out a missive;

stamps it with a finely-made seal;

ah, Ju Liaotian, my offer's too enticing

for you to consider refusing.

he thinks back to the rumors in the sect;

recalls the hushed reports of

Gongzhu, Su-guniang was last seen

exiting Huan Hua and not wearing our colors;

charts out whispers of a demon lord

appearing in the jianghu.

you've picked the wrong person to betray,

he thinks, and– the price shall be paid;

a shame about the Xuan Su Sword

but, hm, what sense even is there

to use a damaged weapon? no, it's better off

to melt it down; reforge it into something new

he'll let the girl have

her final breaths of freedom

sneak around with that demon of hers

the snare will close – and she'll remain

within the gilded courtyards of Huan Hua;

Tianlang-jun betrayed and vanquished.

he summons an attendant

and orders him to start making preparations

for the grandest of weddings;

Huan Hua, after all, cannot afford

to be seen as anyhow frugal,

not even when the marriage would be a sham.

sunset bathes the sky in red

an auspicious color of festivity and blood

as he strides to the windows; looks out

at the glittering arches of Huan Hua roofs

soon, that red will be celebrating

a happy wedding; a demon lord's demise.

the sight makes something

dangerously content unfurl within him;

as much as he hides away beneath opulence,

he's no stranger to crimson soaking his hands;

they have to strike before Tianlang-jun does so

(Ju Liaotian's lost the sight of that).

***

what a pair we must make, she thinks,

bitter; the red ropes around their wrists

a mockery of the red string of fate.

(she spares the briefest of thoughts

for his famed cultivation;

what's happened to the Xuan Su Sword?

how come he's now like so,

red cables, and talismans atop his sheath,

lacking in qi and power and freedom?)

she can guess at the truth–

sect politics, that's all there is to it;

an agreement between two powerful men.

their wedding passes by in a haze

she doesn't think of much at all

(one persistent thought– i'd have wanted

another to do the bows with me

he'd light up with an unserious smile

and speak, boisterous, of human customs)

but there are too many schemes

to let something as fickle as fate win;

so she goes along. does the bows

and heads to their private chapters

with her newly-ordained fujun

who looks halfway to fainting all the while

her heart skips a beat; resourceful as she is,

she calculates several ways to take him down

(she'd never trust a cultivator not to plot)

in the end, she doesn't need to;

he speaks of their union's arranged nature

and, very quietly, of his heart being taken.

Cultivator Su surely relates to this, he says

a knowing look in his eyes, so this one

just plans to get himself drunk

and attempt to have a good night's sleep

there's still red rope around his wrist,

just like hers; she reaches for the wine, as well.

the pavilion they're given for married life

is in the heart of Huan Hua–

but its wooden doors creak with age

its carvings absent of fresh lacquer

she lights the few candles they have;

and he pauses to stare at the setting sun.

he's up early in the morning,

glances at her and asks in a quiet voice

would it be okay for this one to put up

a shrine with a memorial tablet?

she considers this. not easily accessible;

they mustn't see your weak points.

and the shrine gets arranged in his study;

a small, almost ascetic thing

absent of much decoration

that she knows Huan Hua would strive for

she watches him inscribe a name on the tablet

two characters, with the steadiest hand

(he leaves all the proper offerings beside it;

spends long evenings gazing at that name

in soundless contemplation)

and all she's able to pray for

is heavens, may i never erect

a similar shrine for Tianlang-jun.

[apricotkin]

steady determination (unspoken reliance)

bottom yue qingyuan week day 4 | qi deviation

<- previous post

cross-posted on ao3

a joint mission is always

for Cang Qiong's benefit; for a united front

and also to improve inter-peak relations,

Ju Liaotian's words echo in his mind

as he gazes at Liu Qingge's sword forms

at the steady swishes of his blade.

(it's a wonder he's been allowed outside at all

with so many Qiong Ding forms to fill

but– he tries to enjoy it

as much as he could enjoy anything

when the fire haunts his thoughts and dreams)

there's a beast to take down,

a request sent by an important merchant

so off they go, Liu Qingge and him

into the forests, across the fields

Xuan Su thrums by his side,

but he never takes it out; it isn't Cheng Luan

(it's only there for emergencies

and barring that, there's a spare sword

in a spare, non-warded sheath)

and he himself is more of a political assurance

since Liu Qingge's there for the slaying

(someone with a non-damaged soul, at least)

the path they're following opens up

to where the merchant's village stands

or, well, stood, since there's not much of it

left anyhow intact; a mighty wreckage

powerful claw marks left on wood

must be the beast the request's mentioned.

and as he surveys the damage

(flickering fires too-present)

he catches sight of a huddled street urchin

fleeing the blaze. just a brief moment–

that moment's enough to cause his heart

to leap; qi to bubble in his veins.

embarrassingly, all he thinks of then is

i won't be able to explain this to Liu Qingge

and the entire sect will know

and Shizun will be disappointed even more

(there he goes, failing to uphold

Qiong Ding's – Cang Qiong's – image)

and he forces himself to flag

through the haze of unreality;

slumps down into Liu Qingge's arms

he's strong enough to withstand– and if

Yue Qingyuan tries hard enough, maybe even

strong enough to overpower him.

(and maybe, just maybe

there are calloused hands

holding him steady;

not letting him fall to the ground

maybe there's a current of crisp qi

flowing into him; tethering him to this world)

he doesn't remember much of anything,

but there's the vaguest sense

of assurance; certainty; strength

(maybe, just for a moment, he doesn't have

to bear the too-heavy weight; maybe someone

relieves him of his eternal burden)

and when he awakens, he prepares himself

for questions that he sees in Liu Qingge's eyes

but nothing is voiced except for

the beast was taken care of,

so we'll need to find the merchant

leaving the negotiations to Shixiong.

despite himself and his aching bones

he huffs the slightest of laughs

(the slightest peek of Yue Qi through

the cracks of Yue Qingyuan's stone statue)

says this one thanks Shidi for his care

and finds himself actually meaning it.

[maaame755]

媚薬

もしかして、小説用企画だったりするのでしょうか。

岳清源受けが大好き過ぎて、記念参加させて下さい😂

[apricotkin]

misstepping in a long-forgotten dance

bottom yue qingyuan week day 3 | diplomacy

<- previous post

cross-posted on ao3

he wakes up and opens his eyes to

an unfamiliar ceiling; an unfamiliar body;

an unfamiliar life. he doesn't know the year

nor his name nor his occupation. all he has

is a sparsely-furnished room, a sword

sheathed by his bed and a mighty headache.

he sits up. studies the unfamiliar ties

of his unfamiliar robes. checks for blood–

there isn't any (at least that is relieving)

stands up– wobbles a bit –

and goes to search for clues

(to recover at least something)

there isn't much to, not with how spartan

the room is even despite its size. there are

letters addressed to Yue-zhangmen

he studies the strokes; traces a finger over

the mountain of the Yue. tastes it

on his tongue. he's that Yue-zhangmen, then

despite not remembering anything,

he'll have to be him. the letters get stacked

into a neat pile; he looks over the jewelry–

and there's so much of it, earrings and

pendants and shimmering guan crowns

all dusty; dented; scratched.

glances down at the dark sheath; if it

wasn't important, it wouldn't have been

placed by the bed. takes it into his hands;

the sheath is colder than he'd have expected

it to be. still, that doesn't stop him

from carefully drawing the blade.

light. so much light captured in a one sword

frigid; biting; merciless; the mightiest of all

he feels something rush through his body;

as if something had seized his veins

and pulled, as if it tried to unwind

his bones and organs and soul alike

he doesn't remember much

of what happens later. isn't even sure

that he exists, not when he's lost

in that too-bright abyss;

he's even less of a person

than he remembered waking up as.

it continues on, longer and longer

until time itself disappears

until he's unmade down to his foundations

stripped of anything physical or mortal

hands grab his lapels (do they even exist?

does he exist?) and he's gasping for air.

another wave of foreign energy

sent through him; he doesn't fight it

has no strength or will to, not when he knows

that it wouldn't matter; not when he feels

so very weak. what sense is there to fight

a current when it's already dragged one down?

yet– he surfaces. draws air into aching,

exhausted lungs – opens his eyes (again)

(he still doesn't remember his name

besides that too-formal Yue-zhangmen)

to see a man crouched by his side,

robes smelling of herbs; the sword's sheathed

this one cannot even imagine why

Zhangmen-shixiong would do such a thing

the man says, surely, the entire sect

must have missed out on why

he's chosen this exact day to be suicidal

ah, so the sword was off-limits.

so he sits up and apologizes

(the words so familiar on his lips)

asks the man's name; he supposes that,

being Yue-zhangmen, he should really

uphold diplomacy for the unnamed sect's sake

and for his usual self, as well

the man stares at him, surprised. takes

his wrist; sends some more of that energy

through his veins. finally tells him that

he's lost his memories due to some plant

(he's already figured out the memories part)

and introduces himself as Mu Qingfang

and as he's looking down at hair strands

that haven't been gray before the sword,

his door slams open, loud in the silence

a whirl of exquisite qing fabric;

long sleeves and hurried steps

and a face tightened with anger.

what did he do to cause such a storm of qi?

the newcomer demands. Mu Qingfang's eyes

flick to the sheath; back to the man;

Zhangmen-shixiong has lost his memories

he answers, somewhat hesitant, and

unsheathed Xuan Su, which is tied to his soul.

the words almost echo in the silence

not just a silence– the total absence of sound

and there are hands on his lapels (again)

and the harsh tone of this one would've

never expected Yue Qingyuan to be

such a reckless fool desperate for power.

(and amidst the tirade all he's able to think of

is that the beautiful stranger

has gifted him his name of Yue Qingyuan)

he catches Mu Qingfang's Shen-shixiong

catalogues that address; thinks of the sect

and Yue-zhangmen. thinks of diplomacy

and so answers this one apologizes

to Shen-shidi for any impulsivity

an angry red blooms on the man's cheekbones

and– even when Zhangmen-shixiong

isn't himself, he still chooses to say

useless, worthless apologies

he wants to respond to that –

he doesn't know how to. is unable

to soothe Shen-shidi's anger, to avoid

stoking it further. he doesn't really

have the energy– flags almost physically,

sits back down on the bed not to fall.

assessing the facts – i cannot fix this

without knowing what has been broken

(but there's still a vague curiosity;

a desire to get to know the other

to unearth the reason for that anger

and that faintest of flushes).

***

the next day, sunlight dapples bright spots

atop the scrolls; paints Shen Qingqiu's silks

(such an elegant sight, the Qing Jing scholar

concentrated on his work). they sit together

pore over those scrolls; he finds himself

enjoying these quiet, still moments

(still no clue about their history–

but they have paperwork to do, and

Shen Qingqiu has reluctantly offered

to guide him through the essentials

we cannot allow the sect to take blame

for Zhangmen-shixiong's idiocy, he'd said)

surprisingly, the scrolls and the

special array seals aren't difficult to parse

muscle memory; his hands reach

to take his brush by their own volition

surprisingly, Shen Qingqiu stays almost silent;

doesn't say much and focuses on writing

(he would've expected a bit more

anger or scorn); the other lifts his head

only to stare at the gray in Yue Qingyuan's hair

a wordless, taut look

full of some hidden, intense emotion

that he cannot parse due to not knowing him.

evening pierces Cang Qiong's highest peaks

bursts to flow down mountain slopes

covers the valleys below;

the light in their study is dim when Shen-shidi

puts down the brush; looks at him;

announces we're going to get drinks.

he doesn't know him; he should refuse;

he thinks of a determined hand writing out

characters, back straight all the while

and– it's diplomacy, to foster good relations

(it's a personal yearning to get to know

his shidi even a little more)

and they're flying down to some town;

he's too unsteady atop his spare sword,

so Shen Qingqiu holds his hand as they go

and they're sitting down in some inn

(the other has rented a private room;

it would be unbecoming otherwise)

and he studies the warm tint that candlelight

brings to Shen Qingqiu's silks

(if he were a painter,

he'd try to capture that moment)

those fabrics shift as his shidi

settles a wine jar atop their table

and then his head's spinning

(did his past self even drink?)

he tastes wine on his lips

glances at Shen Qingqiu,

at the too-tight hold of the other's cup

you seem to know me; tell me about me

(and about yourself, too – a mystery

of a person). and, well, if whatever

they have going on benefits the sect–

then he doesn't want to make matters

anyhow worse, for him and for his shidi

and for that unknown entity of Cang Qiong.

but as the world spins around him even more,

all of it suddenly becomes– too much

too rough. overtakes him

akin to the mightiest of waves

how can he react; give back; give himself over

if he doesn't even know who he properly is?

an abyss in his heart; it rushes up

stings his eyes with too-hot tears

and he lets them fall as he freezes in place

not fight, nor flight, just–

an absence of anything

as he's overwhelmed and so utterly lost.

and– a pause. silence falls, rough, merciless

he thinks he can see Shen Qingqiu

almost-gaping at him, so much surprise

in the other's eyes. he should–

probably apologize for not being

a good shixiong; a good anything

instead, all he's able to do is cry even more

double over under the weight of such emotion

maintaining diplomacy – what a joke

in this state, he cannot maintain much

not relations, not even his health

(gray strands stand out against the black)

and he closes his eyes (shuts them)

spilling more moisture down his cheeks

so stupid of him, but he really doesn't

wish to face his shidi's reaction

not when he probably should've ignored

the gaps in his memory; focused on the other.

he doesn't know what the future–

what the next minute – will hold

doesn't know how to be

Yue Qingyuan nor Yue-zhangmen

doesn't even know how to reach out

to get to know whoever he is.

[enbycupcake]

[ID, copied from ALT: a screenshot of ao3 for a shen jiu/yue qingyuan fic titled "something about him is mine" by enbycupcake. the summary reads: Shen Qingqiu is tired of watching Yue Qingyuan amicably let anyone and everyone with an agenda hang off of him at inter-sect conferences and events. On this specific incident, however, his jealousy is sparked into something more when he sees a physical cultivator trying to seduce the sect leader. the author's note visible reads: we stay cooking up fic the night before salute emoji combining day three and day four prompts for this fic: marking/branding and aphrodisiac/sex pollen, but i'm a silly and chapter one is the aphrodisiac lead up and chapter two, which i still need to write after work today, will be the marking/branding and the in-text explanation that shen qingqiu is acting Like ThatTM because he got poisoned. that's just how the cookie crumbled [keysmash]. end ID]

#bottomyqyweek2026 day three!!! but using day four's prompts it's explained in the author's note. LET'S GET THAT SECT LEADER FUCKED!!!! AND MARKED UP LET'S GO SHEN QINGQIU

fic link [ here ]

[apricotkin]

the quietest of unvoiced mournings

bottom yue qingyuan week day 2 | scars

<- previous post | next post ->

cross-posted on ao3

he knows, ultimately, that

the one before him isn't Xiao Jiu anymore

they're spending a quiet moment in bed;

the other's running his fingers

across Yue Qingyuan's skin. reaches for a scar

and asks where he's gotten it from

(he remembers that scar all too well

an angry shopkeeper; Xiao Jiu frozen

behind his too-weak, too-desperate frame;

him clutching at Yue Qi in the nights to come,

wary of infection and ailment and death)

now, there's unguarded curiosity in his eyes.

the best method of testing for possession,

he thinks, wry (defeated). a single question

to pierce my heart and flay my soul

somehow, he knows that Xiao Jiu –

even as Shen Qingqiu – would never forget

those too-long nights fraught with uncertainty.

the one before him isn't Xiao Jiu, then–

not a difficult pill to swallow, given

all the other eccentricities – rather,

the final few drops of a slow-acting poison

quietly vanquishing any remaining resistance;

he opens his mouth and lies about the scar

(after all, everything's built on lies;

Yue Qingyuan is a hollow thing constructed

from falsehoods that flow in his blood

stitch together his skin. he's lied to his shizun

and Mu Qingfang and everyone else;

this imposter, too, would judge him)

still, it is not fully impossible

to cling at this fragile domesticity;

to watch the one wearing Shen Jiu's skin

finally relaxing Shen Jiu's bones

finally loosening Shen Jiu's tense weave of qi

he watches; longs to give all that to his ghost.

(it remains easy to give himself over;

submit to the touches and attend to the other

then, he was pleasing his Xiao Jiu

now, he's seeking penance for not recognizing

that he's lost him, that Shen Qingqiu

is now even more of a stranger)

he doesn't show it, of course. or, well, shows it

but doesn't say it (never says anything right)

stares into familiar eyes devoid of familiarity

and asks Qingqiu-shidi to please be rougher

and the other acquiesces (were it Xiao Jiu,

he wouldn't have had to ask him)

it gets– easier, just a little

both of them are (were?) Shen Qingqiu

both had worn that mask of nobility

both had clutched at the position's status

it gets easier to call the other Qingqiu-shidi

four syllables; a confession of his failures.

their nights are long, the passion unflagging

too-hot nights and too-cold mornings;

he wakes to find the other shivering

goes to cover him with a blanket. feels that

same pang within his heart – now, he can only

take care of Xiao Jiu's body and not his soul

(for the soul, he makes a small shrine

two characters hidden beneath an array

Shen Qingqiu looks at it, curious

but doesn't say anything). and then

the other gets poisoned; and Yue Qingyuan

fails to protect even Xiao Jiu's body.

he's more attentive, after that

keeps up careful touches and brings him

herbs and remedies instead of jewelry

nothing works; it seems that his hands

bring ruin to any (to every) Shen Qingqiu

that he comes across.

and then the shrine is joined by another one

the impostor kneels beside him, mouth drawn

circles under his eyes; hair matted

the name of Shen Jiu's most hated

and Shen Qingqiu's most loved disciple

carved out in three of the neatest characters.

they mourn together, hands stained with

the crimson of two deaths without two bodies

he recalls Luo Binghe's smiles,

so different from Shen Jiu's;

cannot find it in himself not to mourn

what Xiao Jiu would've celebrated

cannot find it in himself to hate the interloper,

not when they've fused together like so

Shen Qingqiu grieves; takes out that grief

on Yue Qingyuan's body. he welcomes it

can't not welcome it; speaking out against it

would mean burying Xiao Jiu once and for all

(he also suspects that if Shen Qingqiu

doesn't harm him, then he'd harm himself;

Yue Qingyuan's penance gives him an outlet)

all's good that is good – he also cannot afford

to lose the lord of their second peak

and it's all a wonderful, vicious cycle.

so he watches over Shen Qingqiu

pays attention to the other's health

for Xiao Jiu and for the stranger and also

for all that which the faceless façade

of Shen Qingqiu the second Peak Lord

represents for Cang Qiong.

those three figures congealed into one body

he supposes that it's a heavy burden to bear;

just as is dragging along

the too-heavy ghost of Yue Qi fused to his soul

(he got rid of the body in the Lingxi Caves).

cold mornings fade into warm afternoons,

heated by braziers and talismans;

the firelight glints atop the oil

and he clings to the other

because he cannot lose Xiao Jiu

and cannot lose the impostor

and Cang Qiong cannot lose Shen Qingqiu

(it cultivated him like it's built Yue Qingyuan

up from Yue Qi's cracked bones

and fractured meridians) – it takes and takes

and never gives back. and he's too unworthy

to meet Xiao Jiu at the Naihe Bridge.

[primtheamazing]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shen Jiu | Original Shen Qingqiu/Yue Qingyuan Characters: Yue Qingyuan, Shen Jiu | Original Shen Qingqiu Additional Tags: Sex Pollen, Bottom!yqy, Top!SJ, gentle gege dom YQY, soft dom yue qingyuan, nervous virgin Shen Jiu, bitey overwhelmed sub Summary:

“Ah,” Yue Qingyuan says as he realizes what has happened, recognizing the golden dust after he’s already inhaled it. Being the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain, a cultivator of some repute, this is not the first time someone has attempted this sort of scheme on him; the taste is almost familiar. It is a common but effective aphrodisiac, relatively easy for malicious actors of this sort to get their hands on. 

“What–?” Shen Qingqiu asks, throwing an arm up over his face, trying to block the dust with his sleeve. But he coughs, and Yue Qingyuan can already tell that it is too late for him as well. They have both breathed it in. 

Oh, no. 

-

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu both fall prey to a particular pollen, and must seek their cure in each other. 

@bottomyueqingyuanweek

[apricotkin]

light-filled strings stitching together a soul

bottom yue qingyuan week day 1 | xuan su

cross-posted an ao3

the sheath stares at him

from its place beside his bed in Qian Cao

he looks away. gives his wrist to Mu Qingfang

lets the other access the damage

(it's wrong of him to ignore it–

he still does exactly that).

there was– a moment of complete permeation

when Xuan Su had reached into his soul

made his hands swing at Tianlang-jun

tilted his head to keep the demon

in his (in their?) field of view

and pushed qi through his meridians

(bypassing the adrenaline rush in his blood,

that scared him– not the permeation,

but the implications of it. that if

he were to encounter Xiao Jiu's ghost,

the one conversing with it wouldn't be him,

but the sword owning his soul)

but, ah, all things end. Mu Qingfang

releases him from Qian Cao's bright rooms

and on his way out he picks up the sheath

the sword within it hums. its reverberations

flow through his bones; thrum in his veins

(a reminder of their eternal connection).

he knows what to do; what he has to do;

what Yue Qingyuan needs to do

to continue being Yue Qingyuan

(to continue all that placed on Yue Qi's

too-sharp and too-weak shoulders and

pressed down until his bones had crumbled)

Cang Qiong needs a Sect Leader

and Qiong Ding needs a Peak Lord

(and he needs to catch a ghost's sleeve;

something he'll never achieve)

and there's too worrying of a disruption

in his meridians. ununified. unseemly.

the only solution– unification

harmony with one's sword (with one's soul)

so his steps echo against a secluded path

not the caves – never the caves –

but an empty pavilion out of the way enough

so that no-one will hear his screams

(it's always scary to bare himself

to the connection talisman; to Xuan Su's

judgement hardened by centuries of use)

he perseveres, persevering is all he has left–

activates all the privacy talismans and sits

sheath in his palms. reaches out.

and he's slammed to the floor

a thousand phantom hands hold him down

weightless robes heavily settle around

Xuan Su's too-corporeal specter

it bypasses speech; transmits its ire

into Yue Qingyuan's thoughts.

(he can guess why it's angry–

disdain for its wielder,

fury at being shut away)

he doesn't fight it. slumps further down

even as its hold constricts around his chest

phantom hands tighten; a calculated warning

a little more, and his ribs would give out –

both of them know that. in the end,

he doesn't reach for his qi, doesn't

do anything. cautiously breathes in and out

whatever it will do with me,

i have no means of stopping it.

it is a soft sort of surrender

its surety stark in the crisp cold air

this is how it went. goes. will go for all eternity

(he isn’t a person– just a vessel,

and a poor one at that). so he cranes his neck

and lets Xuan Su overtake his entire self.

[enbycupcake]

[ID, copied from ALT: a screenshot of ao3 for a qijiu fic titled: there's something still inside. the summary reads: "Yue Qingyuan gets poisoned, and Xuan Su has to step in so that its soul's second half doesn't die. It thinks that it can cure the poison by itself, but the answer turns out to require dual cultivation." end ID]

BOTTOM YQY WEEK BOTTOM YQY WEEK BOTTOM YQY WEEK!!!!!!! this is only implied bottom yqy, unfortunately, but for day one: xuan su!

link [ here ]

[bottomyueqingyuanweek]

bottom Yue Qingyuan week is almost upon us - or in some timezones, it's already here! remember to tag your contributions with #bottomyqyweek2026! no worries about being late; I'll continue to check the tag and reblog contributions even after the week is over.