![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Retreat, Move Forward
Author: Evandar
Fandom: SVSSS
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, Angst
Pairing: Pre-Shang Qinghua/Shen Yuan
Warnings: Self-esteem issues, AU - No Transmigration, References to Depression
Disclaimer: I do not own SVSSS and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: It’s on a whim that he checks his email inbox afterwards; he usually throws himself into writing straight away, desperate to get his words out and his deadlines met, but he was unexpectedly prolific yesterday and he can afford the pause.
He deletes most of them without thinking. He reads a couple of newsletters to remind himself that he used to be part of a community once, then deletes those too. His mouse is hovering over the mass delete function when a subject line catches his eye: Paradise Hills Writers Retreat: Your Reservation.
AN: Written for the 2025 round of![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
iddyiddybangbang!
Part 1, Part 3
It was probably a stupid decision. It was definitely an expensive decision, but he can’t bring himself to regret the dent in his bank account.
Proud Immortal Demon Way is his favourite novel. And, yes, okay, it’s badly written and full of cliché plot points and repetitive story arcs that end with wife no.??? being accepted into the male lead’s harem with promises of love and devotion and endless papapa only to be immediately forgotten as the next arc begins.
Shen Yuan isn’t in it for the unrealistic sex or the half-IQ villains. He likes the world of the book, the fascinating monsters with their stupid names, and the hints of world building that peek through the layers and layers of nonsensical dreck. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky isn’t a bad writer, is the thing. He’s actually pretty decent – certainly good enough to keep his readers engaged and provide regular updates. So, Shen Yuan had done something crazy.
He'd found Airplane’s email online and booked him a trip to a writers’ retreat: a couple of weeks in the mountains and some writing classes and a chance to relax for a bit. Maybe write things that make sense instead of just churning out words and hoping that they fit. He’d called the hotel and the retreat organisers to let them know that Airplane would probably contact them to change his name since it was a gift, and then he’d waited. And waited.
Airplane had never announced that he was going, but there’d been signs that he was accepting the gift. Extra chapters and back stories were suddenly available for purchase, and Shen Yuan had dutifully forked out for each and every one of them; they’d been decent, too. Not too heavy on the porn and intriguing enough that he’d left comments berating Airplane for not releasing them earlier; that so many more parts of Proud Immortal Demon Way made sense now that the information in those chapters had been released. He’s not sure if Airplane saw the comments or not – he's never been sure if he’s seen any of them; Airplane doesn’t really hang out in the comments – but the general quality of the more recent updates to the main story has been shaky.
Booking a room in the resort for himself had been a whim, but his parents had been so delighted to hear that he was leaving his apartment that they’d funded the whole thing and given him extra for excursions. He’s spent most of the day after arriving waiting in the lobby, looking up every time someone enters, hoping to catch his first glimpse of his favourite author and wondering if he’ll even recognise him when he sees him.
He's curled up in a chair, typing out his comment on today’s update, which has to be one of the laziest and most ridiculous things he’s ever read, when the front door opens again. It’s past midnight, and beyond the reach of the hotel’s lights, the world is dark, and yet the man in the doorway looks like he might bolt at the slightest provocation. Shen Yuan doesn’t blame him: he looks hilariously out of place in ripped jeans and a faded Tsinghua University hoodie. His hair is tied back in a bun, with stray wisps curling around drawn, tired features; he’s handsome in a scruffy sort of way, but he looks chronically exhausted and his face is pale in a way that doesn’t look healthy.
And for Shen Yuan, a frequent hospital resident and perpetual shut-in, to say that someone needs to go outside? It’s bad.
He watches as the man shuffles towards reception, head ducked as if he’s expecting them to kick him out at any moment. He leans forward, straining his ears to catch the man’s name as he checks in. He’s not expecting Airplane to identify himself with his penname, but he’s pretty sure that this guy is him. Not that he looks like a guy who writes terrible porn for a living, but more that he looks like a guy who can sit in front of a laptop and churn out ten thousand-word daily updates.
“Uh, I have a reservation?” the guy says. “Under, uh, Luo.”
No.
No fucking way.
Airplane you absolute fucking hack!
The fact that Luo Binghe, the super-cool over-powered protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way is apparently a self-insert is somehow both a complete revelation and the least surprising thing he’s ever heard of. He shouldn’t be surprised that a writer like Airplane would stoop to that and yet he is. He is surprised, and fuck it, he’s mad about it. He’s so mad that he wants to go over there and smack Airplane – Luo Binghe!!! – in his stupid, pretty face.
Ugh.
He resists the urge somehow, and keeps eavesdropping as the receptionist hands over Airplane’s room key and the information packet for the retreat as well as a brochure for the spa. He’s tempted to sneak over later and add a massage onto Airplane’s reservation because a guy with posture like that absolutely has to have back pain.
He watches as Airplane turns to head for the lifts. He straightens in his chair, clutching his phone tightly in his hand. For half a second, their eyes meet across the room before Airplane ducks his head and scurries off.
His eyes are weird, Shen Yuan thinks: a light honey colour that looked almost gold under the soft lights of the hotel lobby. Striking. Shen Yuan sinks back into his seat, mind whirring. How did a guy who looks like that end up carrying himself like a rodent?
He shakes his head and looks down at his phone. The screen is dark now, and his comment on Proud Immortal Demon Way is still unfinished, but he doesn’t feel like finishing it. He reaches for his cane instead and leavers himself up onto his feet. Airplane is already gone by the time he makes it to the lifts – it took longer than he’d thought to add that massage onto Airplane’s reservation.
He’s seen him. Airplane is here.
(Airplane is called Luo!!! Probably Luo Binghe!!!)
Airplane is here, and hopefully, the classes help him improve his writing. That’s all Shen Yuan wants for him.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: SVSSS
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, Angst
Pairing: Pre-Shang Qinghua/Shen Yuan
Warnings: Self-esteem issues, AU - No Transmigration, References to Depression
Disclaimer: I do not own SVSSS and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: It’s on a whim that he checks his email inbox afterwards; he usually throws himself into writing straight away, desperate to get his words out and his deadlines met, but he was unexpectedly prolific yesterday and he can afford the pause.
He deletes most of them without thinking. He reads a couple of newsletters to remind himself that he used to be part of a community once, then deletes those too. His mouse is hovering over the mass delete function when a subject line catches his eye: Paradise Hills Writers Retreat: Your Reservation.
AN: Written for the 2025 round of
iddyiddybangbang!Part 1, Part 3
It was probably a stupid decision. It was definitely an expensive decision, but he can’t bring himself to regret the dent in his bank account.
Proud Immortal Demon Way is his favourite novel. And, yes, okay, it’s badly written and full of cliché plot points and repetitive story arcs that end with wife no.??? being accepted into the male lead’s harem with promises of love and devotion and endless papapa only to be immediately forgotten as the next arc begins.
Shen Yuan isn’t in it for the unrealistic sex or the half-IQ villains. He likes the world of the book, the fascinating monsters with their stupid names, and the hints of world building that peek through the layers and layers of nonsensical dreck. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky isn’t a bad writer, is the thing. He’s actually pretty decent – certainly good enough to keep his readers engaged and provide regular updates. So, Shen Yuan had done something crazy.
He'd found Airplane’s email online and booked him a trip to a writers’ retreat: a couple of weeks in the mountains and some writing classes and a chance to relax for a bit. Maybe write things that make sense instead of just churning out words and hoping that they fit. He’d called the hotel and the retreat organisers to let them know that Airplane would probably contact them to change his name since it was a gift, and then he’d waited. And waited.
Airplane had never announced that he was going, but there’d been signs that he was accepting the gift. Extra chapters and back stories were suddenly available for purchase, and Shen Yuan had dutifully forked out for each and every one of them; they’d been decent, too. Not too heavy on the porn and intriguing enough that he’d left comments berating Airplane for not releasing them earlier; that so many more parts of Proud Immortal Demon Way made sense now that the information in those chapters had been released. He’s not sure if Airplane saw the comments or not – he's never been sure if he’s seen any of them; Airplane doesn’t really hang out in the comments – but the general quality of the more recent updates to the main story has been shaky.
Booking a room in the resort for himself had been a whim, but his parents had been so delighted to hear that he was leaving his apartment that they’d funded the whole thing and given him extra for excursions. He’s spent most of the day after arriving waiting in the lobby, looking up every time someone enters, hoping to catch his first glimpse of his favourite author and wondering if he’ll even recognise him when he sees him.
He's curled up in a chair, typing out his comment on today’s update, which has to be one of the laziest and most ridiculous things he’s ever read, when the front door opens again. It’s past midnight, and beyond the reach of the hotel’s lights, the world is dark, and yet the man in the doorway looks like he might bolt at the slightest provocation. Shen Yuan doesn’t blame him: he looks hilariously out of place in ripped jeans and a faded Tsinghua University hoodie. His hair is tied back in a bun, with stray wisps curling around drawn, tired features; he’s handsome in a scruffy sort of way, but he looks chronically exhausted and his face is pale in a way that doesn’t look healthy.
And for Shen Yuan, a frequent hospital resident and perpetual shut-in, to say that someone needs to go outside? It’s bad.
He watches as the man shuffles towards reception, head ducked as if he’s expecting them to kick him out at any moment. He leans forward, straining his ears to catch the man’s name as he checks in. He’s not expecting Airplane to identify himself with his penname, but he’s pretty sure that this guy is him. Not that he looks like a guy who writes terrible porn for a living, but more that he looks like a guy who can sit in front of a laptop and churn out ten thousand-word daily updates.
“Uh, I have a reservation?” the guy says. “Under, uh, Luo.”
No.
No fucking way.
Airplane you absolute fucking hack!
The fact that Luo Binghe, the super-cool over-powered protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way is apparently a self-insert is somehow both a complete revelation and the least surprising thing he’s ever heard of. He shouldn’t be surprised that a writer like Airplane would stoop to that and yet he is. He is surprised, and fuck it, he’s mad about it. He’s so mad that he wants to go over there and smack Airplane – Luo Binghe!!! – in his stupid, pretty face.
Ugh.
He resists the urge somehow, and keeps eavesdropping as the receptionist hands over Airplane’s room key and the information packet for the retreat as well as a brochure for the spa. He’s tempted to sneak over later and add a massage onto Airplane’s reservation because a guy with posture like that absolutely has to have back pain.
He watches as Airplane turns to head for the lifts. He straightens in his chair, clutching his phone tightly in his hand. For half a second, their eyes meet across the room before Airplane ducks his head and scurries off.
His eyes are weird, Shen Yuan thinks: a light honey colour that looked almost gold under the soft lights of the hotel lobby. Striking. Shen Yuan sinks back into his seat, mind whirring. How did a guy who looks like that end up carrying himself like a rodent?
He shakes his head and looks down at his phone. The screen is dark now, and his comment on Proud Immortal Demon Way is still unfinished, but he doesn’t feel like finishing it. He reaches for his cane instead and leavers himself up onto his feet. Airplane is already gone by the time he makes it to the lifts – it took longer than he’d thought to add that massage onto Airplane’s reservation.
He’s seen him. Airplane is here.
(Airplane is called Luo!!! Probably Luo Binghe!!!)
Airplane is here, and hopefully, the classes help him improve his writing. That’s all Shen Yuan wants for him.
