#reading week was NOT a week for reading Or writing apparently.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: ghosttotheparty! @ghosttotheparty has 72 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 61 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@estrellami-1 or anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @ghosttotheparty:

love me softly

a mess of holy things

pretty girls (series)

hideout

fate

"This author has captivated me from day one. I’ve since gone back and read and re-read everything they have in fandoms that I am a part of, and I’m highly considering reading everything, regardless of fandom!" -- @estrellami-1

They also had this to say: "It was so hard to just pick five fics—I’d easily pick all of them if I could!! These five are just a few of their fics that I come back to, time and time again. This author’s way with words is absolutely stunning, and I want to be like them when I grow up! 😉" -- @estrellami-1

Below the cut, @ghosttotheparty answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I honestly just adore them so much. Characters that are opposites have always been something I’ve loved; Nico di Angelo and Will Solace are the first to come to mind. I’ve loved them since middle school (I’m in my third year of uni now), and I’ve apparently drawn some connections between their dynamics and Steddie’s. I also feel like Steddie just has so much potential in regards to different dynamics. There are so many alternate universes in which they’re entirely different from the way they are in the original show but there is still a consensus within the community of what kind of people they are and how they behave, speak, or interact. Despite writing the same characters over and over and over, I’ve had so much fun being able to experiment with different personalities and dynamics.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I think everyone knows at this point that I lovelovelove hurt/comfort. Physical injury and wounds, nursing the other back to health, trauma recovery, nightmares or flashbacks, sub/dom drop, panic attacks or breakdowns, give me all of it. (Bonus points if this is pre-relationship and the comforter calls the other a pet name (cough baby cough) for the first time in the midst of it all. God.)

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

See above. In all honesty, I love intensity. Heavy emotions like grief and anguish and rage are my fucking thing, and I think most of my longer fics involve at least one heavy scene with a panic attack or emotional breakdown. Something about the release and expression of emotions followed by tender patience and sweet comfort is just so cathartic for me.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I write more fics than there are fics that I read, unfortunately, but the first fic to come to mind was in my life by mourningshowers (@keycarabiner on tumblr). Sososo sweet and tender. It ripped me apart and then stitched me back together and gave me a lollipop as a treat. I also adore the series The Rush of Thunder (That Brings You Under) by callmejude (@callmejude on tumblr). The pacing and characterisation and dialogue were fucking phenomenal. Print this whole series out and bury me with it when I go.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a few AUs that I haven’t actually explored quite yet; one involves teacher!Steve and another is about punk!Stobin (platonic, Obviously), and yet another involves artist!Eddie. But more generally speaking I would like to explore some heavier themes in the future when I have the guts.

What is your writing process like?

Good question. I have no idea. I write pretty much every night, usually with Youtube or Netflix on next to me (typically playing things I’ve already seen so I don’t have to pay full attention to follow along, but my main go-tos are documentaries/docuseries), and I tend to just get as much out as I can. I write most linearly; I tend to not skip ahead and go back, but occasionally I’ll have an idea for a scene that I need to scribble out to make sure I don’t forget it. But my plotlines and focus points tend to shift as I’m writing, so sometimes these scenes end up changing as well.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I hadn’t noticed any, but Bee (@jewishrat420) pointed some out to me: - I consistently use the word ‘press’ - I phrase actions in lists with commas and a finalising and. - I tend to have repeating themes (for example, warm and cold and the quiet journey a character makes from their loneliness to the warmth of someone else). I’ve also noticed that I really like writing visceral imagery; even in fics for other ships I’ve mentioned one character longing to claw open their partner and climb inside them. I love bloody imagery, which Steddie are perfect for.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

If I’m uploading a fic with multiple chapters, I generally try to stay ahead of my posting schedule with at least one to two chapters already written in advance of posting. For my current wip, though, I’ve decided to post only when it’s complete, and to post on a schedule just in case I get behind or lose track.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably a mess of holy things.

How did you get the idea for a mess of holy things?

Ah, my love. The inspiration for this fic came from dirty paws by inifiniteorangepeel (@infinite-orangepeel on tumblr). Her version of Steve had me by the fucking throat, and I genuinely could not stop thinking about him even though I think this was before she even started uploading actual parts of the fic. I knew that I wanted to write some kind of religiously traumatised Steve, naive and curious about Eddie fucking Munson, and the haze of an idea snowballed into whatever this fic became.

When writing a mess of holy things, what was something you didn’t expect?

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting how confrontational it would feel. I was raised Catholic, and I put Steve’s parents in a category of religious people that I’ve never really known well. I was never forced to go to church or Sunday school (in fact, I think I only went to Sunday school for, like, three weeks), and for the most part as a child, my relationship with God was amicable. My abuela was very religious when I was young (my mother likes to say, “She was more Catholic than the Pope”), but I never felt as though her faith impeded upon my own life. She would tell me that my artistic skill was a gift from God, and she would pray over me when I had tummy aches, and even though I wasn’t very faithful, I found comfort in it. I also have always found a peace in holy buildings; churches and church graveyards are some of my favourite places to just sit in silence. So I wasn’t expecting the emotional whiplash writing holy things gave me. Writing from Steve’s point of view at first felt like writing fantasy, making it up as I went because I couldn’t write from experience; I have healthy relationships with both my parents, and even though my father had a very difficult childhood, he’s done everything he could to be a good father to me and my brother, so Steve’s father was entirely made up. It wasn’t until I got further along in the fic that I actually realised how big an impact even a slightly religious upbringing had on me as a queer person. My parents never taught me anything hateful, never complained about anybody in regards to God, but somehow this general religious disapproval latched itself to my ribcage, and I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying it around with me my whole life. And I was forced to confront it, along with the distrust that I’d inadvertently developed toward religious people.

What inspired love me softly?

My darling!! This fic started as a random one-shot about Eddie bitching to Gareth about having a crush on a normie, but the feedback was so lovely I decided to write another part. And then another. And then another. At some point the vague idea of a plot appeared, and this universe became very dear to me. I still have ideas for follow-up one-shots, which I keep in a collection on AO3. I think this fic is also what started my love for Tommy Hagan, who I’ve since claimed as an OC. He’s mine now.

What was your favorite part to write from hideout series?

While I was writing this series, I found that I love secret relationships. The idea of Steve having something in his life that he could turn to for some sense of normalcy despite everything in his life literally being straight out of a science-fiction movie was something I loved, and writing the majority of it from an outsider point of view was a fun experiment/exercise.

How do/did you feel writing fate (series)?

Oh, GOD. I love angst. I had the idea for Eddie’s death, specifically him singing the Tennessee Waltz and the whole “Do you think God’ll let me in?” thing, and I worked from there. I actually considered leaving the fic at Eddie’s death, but as much as I love angst, I also love happy and hopeful endings. Even though my heart hurt the entire time I wrote this whole series, I loved it all. Wayne’s point of view was a fun (ish) shift in perspectives and I’ve since included sections in his point of view because I love him so much. (I do also have a one-shot specifically about him living in my head, but I have yet to put it into words.)

What was the most difficult part of writing pretty girls (series)?

I don’t know if I would really consider it difficult, but it did require some actual thinking to write Steve as transfemme, or genderqueer in the opposite direction as me. To take my own experiences and feelings and shift them so they’re upside down was definitely interesting.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is from one of my less known fics, spill my guts: “And I’m so fucking high right now, but Steve, I— I think I love you.” It just feels so representative of Steddie as a whole. (Honestly the whole scene kind of feels very Them: both of them high out of their minds and suddenly confessing their undying love in the most dramatic fucking way possible. Ugh. I love them.)

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m working right now on a fic that involves priest’s son!Steve and recovering addict!Eddie, and that’s all I’ll say on that <3

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not entirely relevant, but I make playlists and pinboards for almost all my fics (if I don’t have one of either for a fic that you’d like one for, literally just hit me up and I’ll put one together); here are the ones I made for Steve & Eddie <3 S - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dW3wTo8nD11RuqKs9aj52?si=9f98f4a287394152 https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/king-steve/ E - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4eWRFi07VIEKIoeaGwfFI5?si=791fa1f2dd6a4f7e https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/eddie-the-banished/

Thank you to our author, @ghosttotheparty, and our nominator, @estrellami-1! See more of @ghosttotheparty's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[6okuto]

MORNING KISSES

(time skip) osamu x gn!reader | suggestive (a make-out session), 1.1k

(tag list lmk if u want to be untagged for suggestive posts btw) u do a littol kissin! getting back to writing...bwah. didn't proofread. don't tell me about any mistakes. (/j) ill explode

"i'll get breakfast started 'nd you can come down when y'aren't so sleepy, then,” osamu murmurs before sitting up to stretch. light sneaks in through the blinds, and it casts a striped shadow across his toned back while you watch him fondly. it’s been a while since the two of you got to sleep in, you note. the restaurant’s been doing well enough that your boyfriend’s decided to take the day off to “focus on you instead."

you hum in response, pulling the blanket up to your chin in attempt to keep the cold away. he’s barely made it two steps out of bed when you call his name. “‘samu.”

“hm?” you don’t say anything, and he turns to see an expectant look on your face. he jokingly sighs before making his way over to your side of the bed and bending down. “how could i forget?” he asks, pressing a chaste kiss to your head and standing back up.

you pout a little before hiding under the covers again. it wasn’t exactly the kiss you wanted, but you stay quiet considering you chose to stare in silence as your plea. osamu raises a brow. “why'd you pout?”

“what? i didn’t pout.”

“yes you did.”

“no i didn’t.”

“i jus' saw you?”

“okay? you saw wrong?”

“darlin’."

“i—” his expression is disproportionately serious for his crime, you think, and you can’t help but laugh. shaking your head, you try to wave him off. “it was nothing, seriously. go make breakfast, ‘samu.”

osamu’s face is still scrunched in worried confusion. he's never been one to let it go if he's done something wrong, especially when it came to you.

it takes another second, but eventually his expression relaxes, and he smiles knowingly. this time he kneels fully to be eye-level with you. you blink at him. “what’re you—what’s happening?”

he exhales, and you stare. he’s close enough that you can smell his new shampoo, and for a fleeting moment you wonder if reaching out to touch his hair would be too out of place. he'd raise a brow and smirk at you. say something to embarrass you so he could watch as you'd bury your face back into the pillow and—

a hand is suddenly coming to hold your face, and a thumb runs across your cheek. osamu juts his tongue to wet his lips, and all you can do is continue to watch, flustered. “‘m sorry. i didn’t kiss you properly, right?”

and as if he could hear your “no” before you’ve even opened your mouth, he leans in to kiss you. denial dies on your tongue when his lips meld with yours, perfectly as if they were made to match. it’s gentle and loving, longer than his peck to your forehead. you relax under his touch but all too soon he pulls away to look at you, hand still warm against your face. “was that better?”

you think his voice is as soft as his lips were.

“...maybe.”

"maybe?"

“maybe.”

to be honest, you don’t think your brain has registered his question. all it knows is how light is reflecting in your boyfriend's eyes perfectly, and his messy bedhead hair is still calling for your touch. your gaze is honed in on his lips when they curl into a smile. and then they're coming closer.

osamu’s eyes are heavy-lidded, and you can feel his breath against your skin as his lips brush against yours. he teases, “well, that’s not good enough, is it?”

your only response is a shake of your head, earning a huffed laugh before he closes the distance between you. again, osamu kisses you. and this time your arms reach around his neck as if you could close the gap between you even more—force him to stay with you instead of cook eggs, or toast, or whatever you asked for 5 minutes ago. you don't remember, and you’re not sure you care, or that he’d mind with the way he presses forward and gently holds the back of your neck.

he groans a little when your fingers finally find their way to his hair and pull gently. he starts to pull away, and you whine, only to be met with a chuckle. “yer killin’ me, y’know,” osamu huffs.

yet he kisses you again. and again, and again, and again. his lips find yours and you sigh against them, chest fluttering at the way he gently bites your lower lip.

you maneuver so that he’s forced to get back into bed on top of you. he hovers, one hand beneath your head, and the other clutching the pillow above. the only sounds besides shifting bed sheets are your racing heart, soft breathes, and open-mouth kisses.

a hand eventually lowers to grip your hip and caress your skin. cold fingers slide their way beneath your shirt, making you gasp and reflexively pull him in. a groan escapes osamu when his hips momentarily grind against yours. his kisses get harder, more needy, his breaths heavier and his hold on your waist a little tighter.

your hand travels down his back, and you pull—you know he's strong enough that he wouldn't let himself topple onto you. he complies to your touch, and you become keenly aware of his chest pressed against yours.

but before anything else can happen, osamu pulls away. though not far. his nose brushes against yours and when you open your eyes, it’s easy to see him still staring at your lips. his eyes finally flicker up to yours and he smiles.

he leans down to your ear, and your breath hitches. “you're poutin' again,” he whispers.

“i'll assume that means that kiss was better?”

his breath tickles and you squirm, scrunching your nose and bringing your shoulder up as a defense. “tease. and i don’t know if that counted as one kiss.”

a gust of air is blown into your neck and you laugh before pushing him away. osamu breathes out a laugh of his own before moving back to hover above you. "okay, smart-ass. how about those ones?"

“i guess they were marginally better,” you tease. he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, narrowing his eyes. you get ready for him to blow more air at you, but instead he squishes your cheeks together and shakes your head.

you giggle and grab his hand with your own, not really doing anything to stop him, and osamu grins at you again. there's an almost sickening amount of love in his eyes as he sighs. “let me make breakfast, then i’ll kiss you properly as much as you’d like, alright?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #94

Danny falls through a portal to the DC world from a natural portal that opened up while he was in mid fight with Skulker a fight that began at Vlads where the creep put a collar on Danny that kept him in ghost form, Vlad thought he’d force Danny to reveal his secret to his parents by taking away his human form. Looking around he’s in a dark city with dark smog colored skies. Unfortunately he’s stuck here as the portal closed leaving him trapped. He tried to find help but no one can see him in his ghost form. He starts tailing the vigilantes of this world and eventually follows one onto this space station through this tube (possessing inanimate objects sure comes in handy). He wasn’t expecting for the random British guy in a trench coat to see him.

[lesamis]

being a fic writer is so funny. i just gave my phd thesis into print and literally my first thought looking at the final word count, the culmination of 3+ years of agony and research and blood and tears etc., was "well that's substantially shorter than the exr college au i wrote as a 19 year old in a depressed haze over six months"

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday💀

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @disasterbuckdiaz @hoodie-buck 💖

hi! so, yesterday I randomly opened the doc with the buddie death cast au - which is a fic I started writing last summer on vacation and never got back to it but then made progress lol it's gonna be MCD, which i know is not everyone's thing so feel free to ignore this 🤣 it's basically buddie in the universe of the "they both die at the end"/"the first to die at the end" books so it's gonna be sad, sorry lol (I never even read mcd, idk why i'm writing this but this idea just wants to be written i guess haha) gotta put this weird mood I've been in lately to good use and finally write this 🤣 not sure if I'm happy with this snippet, but it all needs editing, the first two snippets were written on my phone and haven't been edited yet lol

I posted two snippets so far, gonna link them both snippet 1 | snippet 2

___

“Is all of this clear, Eddie?” she asks in the end.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” he says shortly. He should've just hung up immediately. Or cancel this stupid subscription after Shannon died. Sometimes he wonders if maybe people who get the calls and coincidentally get into accidents, for example, just give up and refuse to fight because they think it’s their time. Not like Shannon could do much, her injuries were too severe when they got there, but the point stands. Maybe they get more reckless, thinking it doesn’t matter anyway. 

There’s a short pause on the line, but then Jane speaks up again, her tone softer, more sympathy seeping through.

“I know it’s not easy to accept, if you’d like some help with that, on out website you can find therapists and grief counselors specializing in-”

“Listen.” Eddie interrupts. He’s spent enough time in therapy. He’s not doing it on his supposedly last day. “I know it’s all bullshit. I don’t care. You said what you had to say, I listened, for whatever reason.” he rolls his eyes. He really should’ve hung up, or not answered at all. “Is this conversation over yet?” he asks and is met with another moment of silence. She’s probably wondering what everyone else always is: why is he even spending money on this if he doesn’t believe. He has an answer ready to go, but that’s not what she asks.

“Can I ask you a question?” she says quieter, whispering, probably not allowed to go too much off-script. 

“Sure, why not.” he shrugs. He’s wide awake now, anyway, he’s not in a hurry. Not like he’s dying anytime soon.

“If it was your last day, how would you spend it? You don’t have to answer, just think about it.” she adds quickly, her tone much softer and gentler now. Eddie’s mind immediately supplies a picture of Christopher and Buck, just a casual hang-out, like usual, maybe going to the movies, or the aquarium, or the planetarium, something fun for his kid. And later a gathering with the rest of their family, maybe a barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s, with Maddie and Chim, and Hen and Karen, all their kids, just everyone having fun together. Yeah, that’d be a perfect day. “There’s no harm in spending today just like this, if possible. Just in case.” Jane adds, still whispering. He doesn’t tell her that’s more or less his plan, anyway, for the evening after his 12-hour shift. During which nothing will happen to him, because Death-Cast doesn’t know shit. “Well, lastly, Eddie,” Jane’s voice is back at normal-volume, tone strictly professional but sympathetic, as she recites the end of her script, “on behalf of everyone here at Death-Cast, we’re so sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest.”

Eddie hangs up without a word.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @nmcggg @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @king-buckley @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @theotherbuckley @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @diazsdimples @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks

[sylvies-kablooie]

i sigh deeply and for a really extended period of time, to the point where you're like wow, where are they getting all of that air to exhale in such a dramatic fashion from? i mean, lungs can't really hold that much... can they? you try to subtly google the capacity of human lungs but i'm still sighing so extensively i don't even notice. and i wouldn't be offended if i caught you either way, because i am just as surprised about the whole thing.

[meraki-yao]

I'm trying to figure out how to summarize and translate Taylor's editorial from Port Magazine and oh...boy jeez this is gonna be a lotta work , the writer is really incompetent, the translation from Taylor's English to the written Chinese is choppy, the flow and focus are all over the place and I'm cringing

Still gonna do it though, I genuinely enjoy translating stuff for the fandom, and tbh rather do this than cell biology

[gentil-minou]

Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

----

The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.  

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC

[skitskatdacat63]

— Emperor Charles VI's diary entry on Count Althann's death

[text: "My only heart, my comfort, my most faithful servant, my soulmate, who loved me dearly as I did him for 19 years, [we] had a true friendship, we were one heart and one soul, and we never concealed anything from one another. He will always be in my heart, [my] beloved friend..I. have lost everything."]

[reddamselette]

the way my stress about colleges and my future goes away whenever i write valgrace should be studied actually (i’m dying and on my deathbed i actually hate this so bad)

powering through it I GUESS

[mobbothetrue]

Spotify prompt! Knuckles and tails, an 19 :)

Oh hoho! You managed to land FightSong by EVE (<- YouTube link), a song that by all rights shoulda been #2 (<- I refuse to pay Spotify money).

Hmm…. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with Super Sonic Speed, but I always did intend to write follow-ups…

.•.•.•.

The city is unbelievably loud. They’re in what Sonic had called a shopping district, and it’s apparently very popular. Knuckles would kind of like to go home, a lot, actually, but Tails is flirting from one shop to another and he doesn’t have it in him to shut the kid down. Sonic is somewhere on the periphery of their little group— he and Tails had bonded, thick as thieves, and Knuckles— well, he tolerated the guy.

Tails gasps like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time, excited enough that he’s lifting off the ground. Knuckles ambles over, grabs him by the ankle, and pulls him back down. He’s looking at some sort of… thing. Knuckles can’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s definitely saying something to Tails.

Hmm. He is, at least, familiar with the idea of shops. Chao liked to set them up, sometimes, selling fruit or handmade crafts for rings, but Knuckles has no idea if their idea of currency and everyone else’s aligns. Would the shopkeep accept a fruit? Most chao did. It isn’t like rings are a problem, so…

Knuckles turns, seeking out Sonic in the crowd. There he is— stiff as anything, glancing frantically back and forth between Knuckles and some other hedgehog, a pink one. One of his friends, maybe? They look irritated, maybe not. Knuckles steps away from Tails, invites himself into their conversation.

“and you just RAN OFF—“ the hedgehog is shouting. Sonic cracks his mouth open, a faint wheeze escaping.

“Hey,” Knuckles says.

“—do you have ANY IDEA how WORRIED I was—“

This looks like a battle Sonic is better off fighting on his own. Still, Knuckles needs his question answered. “Hey,” he repeats, slightly louder.

“—I mean, I knew you were alright because my cards said so, but—“

“Hey Knuckles,” Sonic manages to crack out, “this is Amy.”

Amy tilts her head at him, and then gives him a sharp, discerning once-over. “Are you one of his other friends?” She asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Knuckles says, and then “do rings work as currency down here?”

She blinks at him, as if this is a weird thing to ask. “Yes?” She says.

“Okay,” Knuckles says, nodding, “try not to scare him too bad.”

Any lingering confusion evaporates, and she whirls around to find Sonic trying to sneak away. “AGAIN!” she shouts, full of conviction, and Knuckles makes his way back to where he left Tails. He isn’t pressed up against the glass anymore, so Knuckles steps into the store. Yeah, there he is. Hovering— literally— over the same display.

Knuckles takes a moment to properly observe, rooting around for the terms Tails would use, in an attempt to ensure he gets the right thing. There’s a looping track, and a few other gadgets on the sides. A switch, one of them looks like, and some barricade, and a few blinking lights. On the track itself is a… sideways cylinder, set on wheels, connected to a few boxes, puffing out smoke— or steam, maybe. Tails is absorbed enough in watching it chug along that he doesn’t even realize Knuckles is standing right next to him. Knuckles’ll just have to make sure he comes up for air, occasionally.

He casts about the rest of the store, vaguely lost. There are a lot of displays, and a lot of colourful boxes. Knuckles picks up one, flips it over, and realizes swiftly he is out of his depth. He brings the box over to Tails, handing it to him. Tails holds onto it for a full few seconds, watching with bated breath as the cylinder switches tracks, before he looks down. His fur all along his spine puffs up, and he turns to look at Knuckles so fast he has to wonder if Sonic hasn’t started to rub off on him in more ways than one. That’s the right box, for sure.

“Really?” Tails asks, voice breathy with excitement, and Knuckles ruffles his fur instinctually.

“‘Course.”

Maybe the shopping district isn’t that bad.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Deep Water Prompt #2870

We’ve only just replaced the kitchen window when the next boy comes crashing through it, wings half on fire, begging my father to remove them. 

[trans-axolotl]

so hot out. fainted twice already today! chugged a gatorade. trying to do things but i think the rest of the day will be for lying on the floor. trying not to get lost in my brain but this place is full of ghosts and i am haunted. just going to hold. until i leave tomorrow night.

[mumintroll]

2morrow im going to message him asking to hang out. best day to do it bc i have plans therefore i have things to focus on that arent waiting for a reply from him and also its bonfire night so if he doesnt reply to me for an age i will not feel upset about it bc i can assume that hes busy all day. so rlly me waiting nearly 2 months to do this was a great idea its all worked out

[transsexual-dandelions]

Giving an irl your ao3 is insane love u girly

[love-fireflysong]

2. We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other

(gotta tag both @torahime​ and @nick-furcillo​ in this one now. kenize because I’m a complete moron who originally posted this like a week early and deleting the og post meant I had to make another one, and tora because she too hilariously enough ALSO requested this exact premise lol)

Nick had never so badly wanted to die in his whole entire life than right now.

Which, all things considered, he really should have expected considering that this whole shebang was really Jacob's idea in the first place. That wasn't to say that all the other counselors certainly hadn't made their own contributions in making this party what it was though, Nick included.

Emma had been the one to suggest making the party eighties themed in the first place and opening the drama cabin's costumes up to the camp so everyone could dress up. Dylan who made the playlist that everyone could dance to out of all the music records found. Abi who was in charge of decorating the lodge to give it a sufficient eighties inspired look and fun for the kids. Nick himself the one who recommended having supper that night be a 'make your pizza' party complete with too many soft drinks and bags upon bags of potato chips. Kaitlyn who organized the shooting stars tournament that would determine which cabin of kids would be making (and thus eating) their pizza’s first and getting first crack at all the ‘good’ ingredients.

And Ryan? Well he had had the most important job and contribution of all: convincing Chris Hackett that they were allowed to even throw the eighties themed dance party in the first place on such short notice. Especially with camp ending in just another short couple of days.

Though at this point, Nick was starting to wish that Ryan had failed, or that Jacob had never been punished with tidying the lodge attic that had resulted in him finding the music records that started this whole thing in the first place.

Which was a shame, because the night had been going so fucking smoothly too! There had been almost no arguments over the pizza toppings, and only one kid had burst into tears when they had dropped their pizza and it fell face down onto the floor. And sure, Nick had nearly sweated to death in the kitchen with the oven cranked as high as it could, but that happened nearly every night he made supper so really that wasn’t a big issue. Plus, he hadn’t changed into his own costume until afterwards, he probably would have actually died otherwise wearing the nearly all-white khaki ensemble with the heavy jacket (and that wasn’t even mentioning all the stains he would have ended up with too).

He had even been able to join in on the dancing himself once Kaylee and Caleb had both switched with him and taken over making sure that the punch and snacks bowls stayed filled and clean cups always at the ready. And, best of all, the last couple of those dances had been with Abi. Abi, the girl he’d had such an embarrassingly large crush on all summer, but had been, as Jacob so loved to eloquently put it: ‘too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it’.

And seeing as the last day of camp was pretty much tomorrow, Nick wasn’t exactly jumping at the bit to let her know about any of that. Not when the chances of them ever seeing each other ever again after they all split ways was pretty much nil, and he didn’t even have her number or socials or anything to keep in contact afterwards.

(Okay, fine. Yes, he still had her email address that had been listed on the orientation packet. Yes, he had maybe stared it at long and often enough that he had memorized it ages ago. No, he was absolutely not gonna be messaging her through it, are you insane Kaitlyn?! Doing that would just make him look like some sort of desperate creep oh my fucking god!)

So Nick was more than content to just share a couple of quick dances with Abi. Keeping a friendly and respectful distance between each other as they danced to whatever band Mr. H had apparently listened to in his youth. Occasionally laughing with her when the both spotted one of their campers doing some absolutely ridiculous dance move that apparently both were now too old to recognize as being the new, cool thing if one had to judge from the excited shrieks that would always arise from nearby kids every time one was pulled off.

It was nice. It was good. And if this was the last chance that Nick would ever get to spend some time with his summer crush, then he would enjoy every last second of it.

As the last couple of notes of Danger Zone had begun to wind down, Nick knew he should probably have excused himself and gotten back to the kitchen so he could relieve Caleb and Kaylee a song or two back now, and that he should definitely do so now. That was the responsible thing to do after all, but the problem was that he also wanted to stay and continue dancing with Abi a whole lot more. Not that he had time to make either choice when the music faded not into another of the hard rock songs that Dylan had been playing all night, but into a song much, much softer.

A song that sounded suspiciously like one someone would have to slow dance too.

Whatever shock was on his face though was clearly reflected almost identically onto Abi’s as well. Staring up at him with the same wide-eyes and almost gaping mouth, bodies frozen in place awkwardly as all the campers continued to dance around them, not caring or even noticing what the change in music meant as they grabbed nearby friends to dance with.

Slowly, Nick turned to look over his shoulder to where Dylan was standing with the music equipment, demanding to know exactly what the actual fuck he thought he was doing. Only to be met with a wide, beaming smile of encouragement. Encouragement only matched by the double thumbs up he sent Nick’s way.

Forget dying, he was going to kill that Patrick Star looking ass motherfucker if it was the last thing he did. And considering he felt like he was going to die from the mortifying embarrassment of staring at Abi awkwardly as literally everybody else in the room continued to dance, it probably would be.

And yet, despite the fact that this was literally the perfect time to excuse himself and get back into the kitchen where he could wither away and die in peace, he found that he wanted to leave the dance floor even less now.

“We...we can keep dancing if you want. I’m okay with it if you are...”

Nick could only blink down at Abi in shock. There was absolutely no way he had heard her right, no way at all. There was no way that she was fine still dancing with him, that she wanted to keep dancing with him. Not when the extremely romantic Listen to Your Heart was currently playing very loudly and clearly throughout the lodge.

If Dylan had thought he was being subtle with the message of the song, then he clearly had another thing coming. Cause his definition of subtlety was far, far closer to hitting someone up the side of the head with a brick.

“...You sure?”

“Yeah, totally,” Abi nodded, even as she kept her eyes firmly planted on her feet. “I mean, it’s just like any old song, right?”

“R-right. Yeah. Totally.”

Even with that agreement, neither still made the first move to actually reach out and put their hands on each other. Instead partaking in their own little awkward dance of trying to figure out where exactly the safest place to put said hands would be, squeakily apologizing every time their arms managed to collide into each other and pulling back before trying again. It took them both until about midway through the first chorus to actually get settled and into a somewhat appropriate position with her hands on the top of his shoulders and his resting lightly on her waist.

Nick’s honestly not sure what part is the most painfully awkward to look at: the fact that the full foot in height difference means that Abi’s almost straining to try and reach him even though he’s hunched down slightly to make it easier, or the even more obvious fact that Mr. H would have been thrilled with how much distance they were keeping between themselves as they held their arms stiffly out. Forget ‘room for Jesus’, Nick was pretty confident that Jacob could have easily fit in between them!

And, surprisingly, it was easy to ignore the soft weight (and warmth) of Abi’s hands up on his shoulders as they awkwardly swayed side to side. Though the main reason it was easy to ignore was due to the pure fact that she had cut the bottom off of one of her band t-shirts for tonight, meaning that Nick was trying extremely hard to forget the fact that he had his own (likely super sweaty) hands on the extremely bare skin of her waist.

“So,” Nick starts off, wincing and hoping that Abi didn’t notice the sharp crack in his voice as he did so, “the decorations look nice?”

He’s currently in the middle of kicking himself for the very unintended way his voice had decided to catch at the end, turning what was supposed to be a statement into a question, when Abi nervously laughs. “Thanks, but it was mostly the kids that made everything, I just showed them examples that I had already made to give them ideas.”

“Well they clearly must have had a pretty great teacher then, cause they did an amazing job.”

Nick can’t help but catch Abi’s face starting to go pink even under the dim lights, and as always he’s pleased with himself that he was even able to make her blush in the first place. He’s ready to continue in the same vein as those compliments—willing and able to say whatever it takes if it makes her continue to keep blushing pretty pink like that—when someone (ie: Emma) bumps into Abi from behind and sends her crashing into him.

“Whoops! Sorry about that Abi!” Emma calls over her shoulder (not sounding very sorry about it at all in Nick’s opinion) before she leads Jacob back to vanish into the crowd...or at least, she would have vanished if it wasn’t for the fact that the crowd pretty much consisted of nothing but kids that were still shorter than Abi and Kaitlyn.So instead Nick got to watch her head straight back towards where Kaitlyn and Ryan are also sharing a slow dance of their own. Ryan somehow looking more awkward than Nick felt and like he would rather be anywhere else but here as Kaitlyn does her best to keep a light mood with a forced smile on her face... all while Dylan watches them both with a not very well hidden sulk.

Nick would be feeling bad for Dylan honestly if it wasn’t his own fault that he was in this mess in the first place. That, and it’s hard to feel bad for him when all Nick can pay attention to is the fact that Abi’s all but pressed right up against him right now, her arms now nearly wrapped all the way around his neck to try and catch herself and his own hands having tightened their grip around her waist to try and steady her. Slowly, she turns her face up to look at him and the colour had changed from the light dusting of pink across her cheeks to a dark magenta that almost matched the coloured tips of her hair.

A shade that Nick was very sure matched the one on his face almost exactly.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaks out, hazel eyes wide as she tries to regain her footing. “I didn’t mean to!”

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers out, trying so very fucking hard to ignore the way that he can literally feel her pulse fluttering nervously beneath his palms. “It wasn’t even your fault to begin with. Really, it was just Emma being Emma if anything.”

“Yup!” Even as she nervously laughs it out though, he can’t help but notice how shrill and high pitched her voice is. “Just...just Emma being Emma!”

It only takes another couple of seconds to sort themselves out, but Nick doesn’t let go of her just yet. Doesn’t want to let go of her honestly. Now that they’ve started that dance, even as awkward and stiff as it was, he doesn’t want to stop until the song ends. So instead he swallows and works up the courage to say as much. “Listen, just because Emma was being—well, Emma, I guess—that doesn’t mean we should let her ruin our good time. I—” he takes a breath and readies himself for whatever may happen next “—I’d like to finish this dance if it’s alright with you.”

Abi doesn’t say anything. Staring up into his face with a contemplative furrow of the brows that he recognizes oh so easily as the same one that he sees on her face whenever she’s deep in sketching. He doesn’t know what it is that she finds, but whatever it is it clearly causes a shy smile to break out across her face. A smile wide enough that he can see her dimples starting to deepen at the corners of her mouth, and his breath can’t help but catch at the sight. “Yeah, I’d like that too. I’d like that a lot actually.”

This time when they both start the side-to-side sway from earlier, it looks far less stiff and stilted than before. Abi never bothered to remove her arms from where they had wrapped themselves around his neck and Nick was more than alright with that, hunching his shoulders down just enough so that she doesn’t have to reach very far like before but even that looks less awkward and more natural due to the fact that it means that his forehead is bent over hers. Nick’s hands are still on her waist as well, just holding her and enjoying her warmth beneath his palms, but even those are starting a southern drift until they rest almost naturally on the swell of her hips. Feeling not her soft skin anymore but the rounded studs of metal on her belts, and yet it’s somehow more intimate. They still make sure to keep some distance between them of course, but it's less Jacob-sized now and more like camper-sized, and even then only Daisy likely would be able to fit comfortably as the smallest of them all.

The silence isn’t suffocating anymore either—listening as Marie Fredriksson sings about voices wanting to be heard and the scent of magic—just enjoying the moment more than anything, but then Abi starts to chuckle lightly under her breath. He can’t quite help (and doesn’t want to, honestly) the wry smile that forms at the sound.

“Oh no,” he sighs dramatically, “what is it?”

“It’s nothing. Just surprised is all that you managed to go through this whole night in that outfit without a single pizza sauce stain on it. Was so sure that you’d leave the kitchen looking like you’d been attacked by a pizza monster or something.”

He snorts. “And that’s why I obviously never wore it in the kitchen, you dummy. Nah, I just made sure to shove it away somewhere safe and then changed into this when the pizza and dishes were all done. Was sort of the reason why it took me so long to join the rest of you guys: kitchen duty never rests and all that.”

“Well, I for one think it was worth it. Don’t know what you put in that sauce but that was definitely the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Nick pretends to groan as though in physical pain at her statement. “If you think that was what a pizza should be like, then I am so sorry for your taste buds. You savage Americans have no idea what a true pizza should taste like.”

Abi looks up at him as though offended, but the twinkle in her eyes is clearly saying otherwise. “Oh, I’m sorry, and you Australians do? At least we don’t put actual eggs on our pizza.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, thickening his accent just for the hell of it (but mostly because he knows that it will make her laugh), “and that’s because you guys are once again American savages who’ll gladly put something absolutely terrifying like deep fried butter on your pizza instead.”

Just like he had expected, Abi’s caught somewhere in between laughing and pretending to gag at his joke, and the pleasant flips that start in his stomach only spur him on to continue. “But I was talking about Italian pizza actually. Not even we Australians know how to make good pizza either, unfortunately, only Italians can manage that one.”

That alone is worth it if only for Abi’s sudden snort of laughter. “Oh god, that’s right. Totally forgot that you were part pompous, stuck up Italian, and that you came with all the high class opinions on what real food is because of it.”

He gives a mock, disdainful sniff. “Excuse me, but you should be thanking me and my ‘high class, stuck up and pompous’ opinions right now. You should have seen what kind of food Mr. H was keeping stocked in the camp kitchen before I got here. You’d have been stuck eating slop all summer if it wasn’t for me.”

Abi laughs again, and right on time too. Nick can feel his heart doing its usual gymnastic routine in his chest at the bright, ringing sound of her laughter. The laughter that he so rarely gets the chance to be the cause of, so just the fact that he knows for certain that she’s laughing with him (and not at him like he usually fears) means that the kaleidoscope of butterflies that had taken residence in his stomach at the beginning of summer are absolutely fluttering like crazy as well.

He’s so busy centering on the ever pleasant sensations that always seem to fill him when spending time with his crush, that it takes him a moment to realize that Abi had asked him another question. Only noticing after realizing that she had been calling his name for the last few seconds.

“Shit, sorry. What was that?”

Abi sighed, but it wasn’t without a great amount of amusement. “I was just wondering if you were able to speak any Italian as well?”

Nick shrugs. “Well sure. I mean there’s cappuccino, lasagna, spaghetti, pizza, piazza—ow!”

Abi laughed after having stepped on Nick’s foot on purpose—not hard enough to hurt of course, but just firm enough to make him stop. “I’m being serious right now, you dork!”

“All right, all right already. Sheesh, should report you to Mr. H for physical abuse of your fellow coworkers.” The grin on Nick’s face never fades even as he actually answers her question seriously this time. “But yeah, I can say a few phrases and words I guess. Stuff like hello, goodbye, thanks, ‘where's the bathroom?’, ‘go fuck yourself’. You know, simple and basic everyday stuff like that.”

Abi rolled her eyes but it’s clear even to him that she couldn’t help the grin that formed either. “God, should have known that you of all people would have absolutely memorized all the ways you could swear at someone in another language before moving onto hello of all things.”

“Be a pretty terrible Australian if I couldn’t do that now, could I?”

“Wait, doesn’t this mean that you could have just sworn in Italian the whole summer instead? You had a chance to actually keep swearing all summer unlike the rest of us monolingual idiots, but instead you wasted it!”

Nick snorts so hard that it actually sort of hurts a little. “Oh yeah, cause that’s not obvious at all what I’m really doing. And when all the kids start spouting off actual Italian curses every five seconds just to show off, Mr. H totally won’t figure out which one of us started it. The fact that one of the counselors has an actual Italian last name with the known Australian stereotype for swearing to boot, and not to mention has been heard saying random Italian words repeatedly is just a total coincidence.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe one day when you show me what a so-called ‘actual’ pizza should taste like, you can teach me some of those curses for the full immersive experience.”

The song’s finally starting to wind down now, but Nick’s not paying any attention at all to that. Not when he’s experiencing that rare moment of time again, the one where he swears to god that she might actually like him in the same way that he likes her. That maybe—just maybe—she’s been nursing a little crush on him of her very own. Because she just now pretty much came out and said that she would have had no objections to going out and spending some one-on-one time with him. And normally, this would have been a thought he could easily brush off as just seeing what he wanted to see, but not now. Not when camp is ending in just a couple of short days and there’s no time for them to meet up for a pizza and language lesson before they’re separating to different parts of the country again.

And Abi hadn’t said if he’d show her, she’d said when. As though it was a foregone conclusion to her that of course they’d be meeting up again in the future just for a pizza of all things.

Maybe, just letting her know that he likes her even this close to the end of summer wouldn’t be the worst choice in the world.

The song hasn’t stopped yet, still going through its last couple of repetitions of the title, but Nick has. Stopping the dance well beforehand so Abi can look up at him in confusion just as he looks down at her in trepidation.

“Hey,” he starts off nervously, trying very, very hard not to pay attention to how pretty she looks in her outfit under the atmospheric lighting right now, “can...can I talk to you outside?” If he’s going to actually do this, then he wants it to be at least somewhat private, and right now the wrap around deck outside is the best place even if they’d both be able to still easily hear the music playing inside. He’s not expecting anything crazy or inappropriate to happen, but he wants it to be a moment just for them.

Even if it turns out that Nick got this all horribly wrong and she’s just going to shoot him down in the end.

Abi’s eyes widen in her face and he’s really hoping that it’s a mixture of hope and excitement that he can see shining in her eyes and not anything else. “Oh! Um, yeah—”

“Alright Hacketteers! That’s the last song and I think it’s time for you all to get your butts to bed for the night!”

Immediately, all the lights are turned on and Nick is nearly blinded by how bright the lodge is as a loud chorus of groans and whines erupt from the campers. All aimed completely at Chris Hackett who’s standing just outside his office by the light switch.

“Come on Mr. H!”

“Just one more dance Mr. H, please!”

“But we’re not tired yet!”

Chris shakes his head. “No can do, already let you kiddo’s stay up later than I agreed to, and we all got a big day of cleaning ahead of us tomorrow before I send you all back home to your parents.” He turns his head to look at Ryan who had probably all but gladly extradited himself from his dance with Kaitlyn the second that Chris had turned on the lights. “Ry-guy, while I supervise the clean up here I can trust you and Kaitlyn to lead all these wayward souls back to their bunks for the night, right?”

“Yeah, of course Mr. H. You got it.”

Nick looks back down at Abi from where they had frozen in shock, still with their arms around each other in the dance from only seconds before. Hoping to take advantage of the confusion while Ryan tries to herd all of the still grumbling and complaining campers out the door and back to the cabins, he’s crossing his fingers that he’ll be able to sneak outside with Abi without anyone noticing. That no one will notice that they’re missing while they spend a couple of minutes having what Nick is beginning to think was a sorely needed conversation and confession before joining the others again.

He doesn’t even get far enough to take a step backwards, much less towards the door that leads outside.

“Abi, I’ll need you, Emma, and Jacob to start taking down the decorations and then mopping the floors. Nick—” Chris frowns in disapproval “Weren’t you supposed to switch back out with Caleb a while ago?”

Already feeling the ever familiar sensation of shame, Nick can feel whatever courage he had had already slipping out between his fingers as not only all eyes in the room turn to him, but Abi has already vanished from his arms to grab for the garbage bags. Her face is as red as he’s ever seen it. “Uh, sorry sir,” he apologies nervously as he awkwardly makes his way back to the kitchen with his hands shoved tightly in his pockets, “must have lost track of the time I think.”

Except as he walks into the kitchen with his mood somewhere near rock bottom now, he’s pretty sure he lost more than just the time. He’s getting the sinking feeling that he also just lost his very last chance of maybe becoming something more with Abi.