#no clue what etiquette is on tumblr for posting fics i never do it
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you know im down bad when im actually posting my fics on tumblr.
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Lincoln McQuoid/M!MC || SFW || 3900 words :pensive: ||
Fic about two guys with terrible birthday experiences that are trying to do better. Set in a theoretical time after everything's been resolved. Timeline doesnt exactly match up since we're probably like a week away in game from Linc’s birthday but uuuh just pretend ok.
tw; mentions of under (american) age drinking (idk im european and he's 18 so its fine to me)
"Lincooooln." Horus calls lazily from the couch.
"What?"
"You know what day it is?"
Lincoln pads into the living room, his eyes narrowing at Horus. "The day the Elric brothers set their house on fire?"
Horus snorts, "Of course you would say that you weeb. Aaaand...what else is today?"
Lincoln sighs. "Who told you?"
"I'll let you take one guess at who'd be texting me about your well-being."
He buries his face in his hands and lets out another deep, soul-weary sigh.
"Abel says to tell you 'happy birthday' and to make sure that, quote 'he doesn't spend the whole day moping around his apartment alone watching daytime tv and getting drunk.' unquote. Ouch. You really spend your birthdays like that?"
There's a thoughtful frown on Lincoln's face, a look that Horus knows a little too well by now. He opens his arms invitingly, and a small smile plays on Lincoln's lips as he moves to join him on the couch, resting against his chest.
"Bad birthday memories?" Horus asks.
"Melancholic ones. I told you what happened on my seventh birthday. My mom still tried after that but it just... hasn't been the same since. And then I lost touch with Abel, and she..." his words trail off.
Horus' voice is quiet when he responds. "I know. I'm sorry."
Unsure of what else to say he simply wraps Lincoln in his arms. Instinctively Horus' eyes flicker to the empty spot on the wall where Silvia's portrait used to hang, a pang of guilt lancing through his heart. He must have apologized a thousand and one times already, but it still never felt like enough. Sometimes he catches Linc glancing over too, expecting it to still be there- for her to still be there.
His thumb subconsciously moves to twist at his mother's ring. It was a feeling he knew well.
"Okay I'm gonna be real depressing here," he starts, "but stay with me on this. Every year on my birthday my dad used to take us to this nice Egyptian restaurant. I'd get baklava and chocolate cake and some damn good chicken and then we'd go home and watch any movie of my choice, so we'd usually end up watching A New Hope again."
"And you're calling me a weeb? Nerd."
"Shut up, I'm being genuine here for once in my fucking life. Anyway. Point is. We'd get dinner, watch a movie together, I got some gifts, and it was the best day I could wish for. Then after... everything happened, Amalia and her parents took me out somewhere." He takes a moment to gather himself. Talking about the past five years was still hard at times, actually telling the truth of his hurt rather than lie and say he was fine. "I spent my eighteenth birthday crying my eyes out on the floor of a restaurant bathroom. Told Lia I got food poisoning, but I knew she didn't buy it. Next birthday was barely any better. Amalia was off to college by then, so me and my new best friend 'Fake ID' hit up every bar in town for a free drink for the birthday boy. I vaguely remember making out with some hot girl in a bathroom stall, but mostly I just remember feeling incredibly alone. And, well, nauseous."
"Is this story going anywhere or are you rambling?"
"Right. I'm trying to be profound. Well, tl;dr, birthdays sucked. At 20 I ignored my birthday and 21 I got shitfaced again, but this time legally. Then this year I happened to find myself in the area after a hunt. So I walked into that Egyptian restaurant, I got myself dinner and some baklava, found the nearest movie theater and watched, uh," he falls quiet for a moment, thinking hard, "I don't remember the movie's name, it was pretty forgettable I'll be honest. But it was the best day I'd had in longer than I'd like to admit. Whenever I closed my eyes I could almost feel my family sitting next to me. My dad's lame jokes, my mom's laughter. Annie stealing food off my plate when she thought I wasn't looking..." Horus is quiet for a moment. "Sorry, I'm making it about me again."
Lincoln turns over in his arms to face him. "It's alright. Honor their memory instead of burying it deep, right?"
"Yeah. But, if you do wanne just laze around all day and watch shitty movies I'm down for that too." he tightens his arms around him a little.
Lincoln hums, lying his head back down on Horus' chest, and he wonders if Lincoln could hear how his heart raced. Neither of them would spend another birthday alone if he had any say in it. They lay there a little while longer in comforting quiet.
Lincoln rouses after a while, quieting Horus' whine with an achingly sweet kiss as he heaves himself off the couch. "I think I know what I want to do today."
***
Their first stop was Westchester Elementary. Lincoln hadn't told Horus what exactly they'd be up to, wanting it to be a surprise. It was a warm autumn day, the warmth of summer not quite gone yet.
The sounds of children playing outside accompanied by a quiet ambiance of rustling leaves and birds' song. It was strange how nice Westchester could be when horrible men and creatures weren't actively terrorizing it.
"So, this is where baby Linc took his first steps into becoming a menace to society?"
He rolls his eyes, but smiles regardless, "You know Russ, I don't actually know much about what you were like as a kid."
"Me? A model student once they got me to stop cutting up my clothes."
"That's what I thought." he holds out his hand, and by now it's second nature for Horus to grasp it as they walk along. Lincoln leads them to the side of the building, stopping before they round the corner.
"Close your eyes for me?"
For me.
The gentleness in Linc's voice over shadows any dirty jokes in Horus' mind. He simply smiles, "Alright." letting Lincoln lead him a little further away with his eyes closed.
He stops Horus, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around.
"Okay, now, open your eyes."
So he does. And before him, Horus sees something that was-
A stunningly painted mural adorned the old plaster, a deep indigo blue of a night sky, swirling into the yellows and pinks of dawn. Against that backdrop was the silhouette of a woman, leading a chain of children of different ages toward the light of a new day under a bright shining star. More stars dotted the dark sky, painted in such a way that they almost seem to shimmer in the sunlight. Among them Horus managed to recognize a few constellations; the Scales of Libra, Aries the Ram, the Eagle Aquila, the Archer Orion-
His eyes flit to Lincoln, who in turn is watching him with searching eyes and a kind smile.
"It's gorgeous." Horus says after another breath. It was hard to put into words, but it felt as if a hopeful wish had been put into every brushstroke.
Having apparently found what he was looking for, Lincoln turns to the mural. "My mother painted this. She told me she started the first draft a few weeks after she found out she was pregnant. The actual mural didn't go up until I enrolled here, and I got special permission to 'help' her out during recess."
They walk up close, where painted in white, surprisingly neat, yet childish letters;
LINCOLN &
and then in a beautiful curling script;
Silvia McQuoid
Lincoln traces his fingers along the letters, closing his eyes, a smile painting his lips.
"There's more murals like these all around town. She'd always say this was her way of giving back a little kindness into the world. Something to inspire people." his eyes open again, looking up at the silhouette. "A couple were painted before I was born, but I loved coming along whenever I could. She always insisted that even if I just painted a single line, that I'd put my name up next to hers."
"She sounds awesome, wish I could have met her."
"She would have loved you, I'm sure of it."
Horus laughs, "Ha! You're just saying that because I'm your boyfriend."
Lincoln bumps his shoulder, "I mean it, Russ. Someone so full of life like you? She'd be making wedding plans after our first date."
Horus was not a shy or bashful man by a long shot, so the blush creeping up to his ears and the sudden stutter in his throat caught him off guard. His eyes flick over to Lincoln, who also seems to realize what he'd said with a start. He didn't want to read into it too much, his racing mind already looking for a way to change the topic, but a small voice in the back of his head tells him that if Lincoln had asked him right here, right now, that he would not mind at all. But then a suitable deflection comes to mind, blurted out a little too tense, a little too fast.
"I already promised to take you out for dinner today, no need to butter me up."
"Maybe I'm hoping to get free dessert too."
"I dunno, you find me a dark and quiet corner and I can get right on that if you're so impatient."
"At an elementary school? Really?"
"Ah, you're right. So are we going to your highschool next? Behind the bleachers maybe."
Lincoln laughs again, "Speaking of dinner, there's a few more murals I wanted to show you. Come on." Linc turns to head back to the motorcycle.
It was like a light bulb flickering to life over Horus' head as he realized exactly what he would get Lincoln for his birthday. He pulls out his phone, sending out a dozen texts as they walk, nearly missing the helmet Linc tosses him.
The last message is off and confirmed by the time they reach the second mural, and hours blur by as they ride all over Westchester. Every painting is somehow more gorgeous than the last, accompanied by anecdotes from Lincoln about inspirations, color choices, meanings. It was something incredibly dear to his heart, anyone could tell.
Horus steps up close to Lincoln, leaving a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Sharing this with me. But," he reaches his hand into Linc's back pocket, pulling out the motor keys, "I have a surprise for you too."
Lincoln raises a brow, but doesn't make to grab for the keys. "Where are we going exactly?"
"Ah-ah, wouldn't be a surprise anymore if I told you. But it's close by, I promise."
***
It's a short drive over. Horus parks the motor out on the side of the road, walking ahead down an alleyway to the back.
And as his friends had promised, strewn around a blank wall was everything needed to paint a mural of their own.
Brushes in all sizes, a dozen different colors of paint, lights that illuminated a smooth, blank canvas waiting to be filled. Off to the side lay a cooler filled with drinks, and a bag full of takeout food.
"But how…?"
Horus counts it off on his fingers, "Had Connor call in some favors at city hall for the permit, Lia brought the food, Joss got us drinks, Dee and Noah took care of the supplies, aaand," Horus lets out a sharp whistle, and Abel appears from around the corner carrying a cake, followed by the rest of their merry little gang. A chorus of "Happy birthday, Lincoln." rises from the group. Joss rolls her eyes.
"I'm just here for the cake." she nods her head toward Abel.
Linc's eyes grow wide."Is that…?"
"My mom's recipe? Yeah, I promised, didn't I?"
Horus pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting the candles.
"Happy birthday to you." Abel starts, and Horus, Amalia, Connor and Dee are quick to join in, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lincoln, happy birthday to youuu."
The look in Lincoln's eyes is part horrified, part touched and wholly embarrassed as the song comes to an end.
"C'mon make a wish."
Lincoln walks up and thinks for a moment, and if Horus wasn't head over heels before, then the way that the candlelight flickered in Linc's eyes surely would have done the trick now. The moment passes as he closes his eyes, blowing out the candles in one big breath.
"Let's see if this cake lives up to the hype." Noah walks up, knife in hand, offering it to Lincoln to cut the first piece.
Abel looks offended, "You doubt my baking skills?"
"Cut him some slack," Connor says, "being a ghost for a few years made him forget his manners."
Noah just shrugs, taking back the knife to cut up pieces for the rest as Lincoln takes the first one.
The silence is broken by an incredibly inappropriate moan from Lincoln that almost sets something off in Horus. But that would have to wait until he had him all to himself.
"Just as good as you remember?" Abel says, unable to keep a large, goofy grin off his face.
"Better somehow." he takes another large bite.
Horus is handed a piece next and wastes no time shoving a large piece into his mouth. "Oh shit, this is good." Agreements ring out as everyone digs in. Their impromptu party is however quite short lived.
"As much as I wish I could stay," Abel says, "I was in the middle of grading papers that I really need to finish by tomorrow."
Amalia pipes up, "I should go too, I got a long drive ahead to get back in time for my lectures tomorrow if I want to get any sleep. Cake was totally worth it, though."
Connor walks up to Dee and Noah, slinging his arms around their shoulders. "The three of us promised Harper we'd stop by tonight to check something out, so we should get going too."
Jocelyn grabs another bite off the last slice of cake. "And I'm not hanging around to play third wheel to these two, so bye."
Horus waves her off. "Good night, Joss."
"Night, Red. Keep the old man’s spine intact.”
“Old man? I’m not even 30 yet.” Lincoln replies.
“I make no promises about his ability to walk tomorrow.”
Jocelyn grins, “Nice.” and heads off.
Abel hangs back for a moment, watching the others leave. He walks over to Lincoln, whose eyes still betray his feelings of guilt. Apologies were exchanged a while ago, but Horus could tell that Lincoln still had a hard time letting go of the hurt he caused.
"Abel, I-" but his words are cut off as Abel envelopes him in a hug. Lincoln hesitates for a moment, before hugging him back.
Abel lets him go, a kind smile on his face. "Happy birthday, old friend." he turns to Horus, giving him a nod, and Horus nods back.
And just like that it was only the two of them left again. Horus polishes the last crumbs off his plate, quietly thanking Abel and his mother for what was maybe the best cake he'd had, ever.
Lincoln walks up and hugs him tightly, burying his face in Russ' neck. And now it was Horus' turn to stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he returns the gesture.
"Thank you," the words are a quiet murmur against the crook of his shoulder. "Thank you."
"I'm glad you like it."
"No, I liked spending the day with you. You doing this for me? I love it. I-" he hesitates on the word. Lincoln pulls back a bit, cupping Russ' face in his hands. "It means a lot to me. I just don't know what to paint."
He pulls him in for a kiss, short and sweet. But being pressed up against Lincoln's back all day on the motorcycle has left Horus with a desire for something more than that. He walks Lincoln backwards until his back hits the empty plaster wall, nearly tripping over a bucket of paint in his haste. He opens his mouth, and it was delicious, both of them still tasting of whipped cream and cake.
Lincoln flips them, so Russ' back is now to the wall and pulls back. A groan escapes him as he leans forward after Lincoln,
"Don't move." he places another kiss along his jaw.
"Hm?"
"I just figured out what I want to paint."
Horus stood there, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. "You're just going to leave me like this?"
He laughs, a bright and joyful sound, "I didn't exactly bring lube along."
"I'll run to the corner store and make the most suspicious purchase of my fucking life, I'll even throw in some roses, don't test me."
Lincoln comes back with a bucket of paint and brush in hand. "You can do whatever you want to me back at my apartment. Just keep still."
He opens the can, a deep blue, and gets to work tracing an outline around Horus, lingering around his hands, leaving kisses as he goes along. Up his arm, over his shoulder, a kiss under his ear.
"You're making it very hard to stand still, you know."
"Better keep at it. Don't want to get paint in your hair- hold out your hand a little."
Horus does as asked, moving as little as possible, as Lincoln traces the paint over his head and down his right side.
Lincoln steps back, admiring his handiwork- or maybe admiring Horus. With the way his eyes darted around it was hard to tell. He turns, reaching for a new brush and another can of bright red paint. It doesn't escape Russ that it's the same shade as the color of his hair. Lincoln holds them out for him to take.
Horus shakes his head "I'm not much of an artist."
"Just the rough outline, I'll take care of the details." Lincoln stands with his back against the wall, hand overlapping with the silhouette of Horus beside him.
"Alright, fine. For the birthday boy."
Horus then realized that he probably had not held a paintbrush in his hands in a decade, if not more. He wasn't nervous per se, but still very cautiously went to work, part of him afraid to mess it all up. He kneels down to get started by Lincoln's legs. The red paint stands in stark contrast against the gray wall, overflow dripping down, and suddenly Horus freezes.
His hands shake, breath catching in his throat, whole body tense and ready to spring. Blood dripping down the brush, out of a creature's mouth, covering his hands his eyes seeping into his chest the ground thick in the air-
A hand clamps on his arm and distantly his name reaches his ears -"Russ!"- his father telling him to run, Annie calling after him- he tries to pull away, hand balling into a fist so tight that his knuckles ran white, nails digging into his palm, fight or flight instincts setting in and he was afraid and wanted to, no had to fight there was no one else left-
"Horus!" Lincoln's hands frame his face, forcing him to look into his eyes.
"I'm-" the word comes out as a ragged breath. Adrenaline ebbs out, his heart still racing at a thousand miles a minute, but he was back in the here and now at least. Realizing what had just happened, Horus slaps on his trademark grin, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. "I'll get lost in your eyes like this."
"You're shaking."
His hands still tremble a bit as he pries himself loose, "Low blood sugar, you know how it is. Maybe we should eat some of the take-out before it goes completely cold." he drops the brush back into the bucket, avoiding looking at it too closely.
"Horus-"
"There's one with chicken and one with beef, which do you want?"
Lincoln wraps himself around him from behind, plucking the beef noodles from the bag. "Talk to me, Russ. You were gone for a moment there."
Horus hops up onto a crate, opening his food up, his voice quiet, but finding its confidence as he talks. "Ugh. It doesn't usually happen, red is my favorite color, and I've seen worse whenever I need to dye my hair again- seriously makes my bathroom look like someone died there." he lets out a breath, combing his fingers through his hair, "but, I guess the paint just… took me off guard. I'll be fine after I eat something."
Lincoln sits next to him, frowning,
"I should have realized-"
"Don't. Don't start pitying me or, fuckin' saying its your fault. We were just making such good progress in getting you to stop blaming everything on yourself-"
"That's not true," Linc says matter-of-fact, "I blame plenty on Matthias."
Horus laughs. "True. But, yeah. I don't want my little episode to ruin this. I won't let it." He nods over, gesturing for Lincoln to go stand at the wall once they're done eating.
His hand still shakes a little as he traces the outline around him, but everything was further from Horus' mind now. Focus on the motions, focus on his warmth, his voice-
"Look at that. You're a natural." Lincoln says as he draws the final line, vaguely linking the hands of the silhouettes together.
"Are you gonna start pulling out gold stars next, or what?" He grabs himself a soda from the cooler, and a beer for Lincoln,
"Is that something I'll need to keep in mind?"
"Everyone likes being told they're doing a good job, no? Don't worry about the drinking by the way, I'll drive us back."
"Sure, but if I start lamenting about Naruto, cut me off."
"No, please tell me more about how Naruto and that black haired guy were totally in love."
"Oh, like you're any better about your space movies."
"I just have a lot of feelings about the Clones, okay!"
Conversation flows and time flies as Horus watches Lincoln get to work. It was mesmerizing to see how the piece came together, stroke by stroke; two silhouettes, hand in hand with a ribbon tying their hands together. Horus' figure set in a royal blue, Lincoln framed by an explosive red, the tie that binds them red on one side, blue on the other. The message rang clear; I’m a part of you, you’re a part of me.
"Now all that's left," Lincoln cracks open a black can of paint, dipping in a smaller brush. "is signing it."
He signs his name in beautiful curling letters;
Lincoln &
Before holding out the brush to Horus, who glady, if a bit messily, adds his name underneath;
Horus Asar
#ilw#it lives within#its MY blog and i get to be cringe#lincoln mcquoid#fic for once not art#back to my natural habitat (making up little scenes in my head)#no clue what etiquette is on tumblr for posting fics i never do it#that shit either goes on ao3 or forever lives in my google drive
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Not to be the weirdly intense newcomer with no clue about tumblr etiquette but I saw your post about fluff somewhere, and I just posted fluff, so I wanted to say: personally I'd never be even remotely upset by someone not reading something of mine because it's not their vibe generally or not their current mood or literally any other reason. And I don't think people should ever have to feel guilty about curating their intake to suit their own wants and needs. No justification required justie. I'll crawl back to my pit to die of cringe now 🫣💜
no no please do be a weirdly intense newcomer in my inbox i love visitors 🖤
but really. it is a true "it's not you it's me" situation. i do read justified fics with fluff and enjoy them, but when i write & edit so much sweet romance for work it does interfere with my ability to pursue it during my downtime. fluff has also always depressed rather than comforted me, so i also have to wait to be in a good headspace to handle reading too much of it lol.
what usually happens if a justified fic has a fluff tag i add it to my read later list and then binge-read a few in one go when i need a kick in the heart 😂
also yes me digging you out of our pit and dragging you back up to live in your truth!! i have your 3 things givenson fic "the distant drums, I tune them out (they start when you’re around)" opened on my phone and waiting to read it next time i lay down for sleep.
and whether it's fluff or smut or angst or whatever, i'm looking forward to reading ALL your justified fics. i loved the snippets of your writing you've been sharing, can't wait to be inspired and learn from your skill 🖤🖤🖤
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Sahar girl, have I told you how warm your writing makes me feel?
'Cause babes, I was expecting an amazing story after I saw your posts late last night (my time) squealing abt hyune, but I'd never imagine what you would have written from such simple pictures to be so beautiful TwTTTTT (excuse me for a moment while I continue to squeal and roll about my bed <3)
Like your stories are a dream come true <3 School had just started back up for me today, and I was so absolutely done with it the first step I had taken into the school grounds, but you constantly give me something to look forward to and I literally love you so much for that.
Anygays, no idea where I'm going with this, just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you and your stories <3333
With lots of love, hugs & kisses, V~
(also, just a rlly random question, how do you become mutuals w someone? do you literally just send in an ask and beg them to be your friend?)
AKSJJDJD i can't believe everyone saw me die over hyune 😭😭😭😭😭 i feel exposed AJJSHS
but thank you so so so much omg for taking the time to send this to me ☹️☹️ im so happy my fics are something u can look forward to waahhhh that's such a grand honor to me 🥺🥺🥺 ill never take this for granted thank you so much my love,,,, lots of love and kisses and hugs back <33333
anddd i have 0 clue over tumblr etiquette but i think if u interact with someone u end up following each other..? like sending them asks and what not,, if anyone has an idea please comment akzjjdjd
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I need an advice from experienced Tumblr/ao3 users about tumblr etiquette + some more questions
What I want to do is to post a fan fiction, but the catch is that it is not linear. Instead there are a couple different branches of story reader can choose from that'll lead to different outcomes. So my question is, what is the best way for me to do so?
I thought of posting every branching piece separately as posts and connect them via links to those different posts on Tumblr. This looks like something that'll work. The drawbacks of that method is that it'll create a bunch of posts under the same hashtags and I'm not sure if it's okay think for me to do (is it?). Should I just abandon the hashtags on most of them to reduce their number on the feed under those hashtags?
Now about AO3. I've never ever used it to post anything and have no idea what it allows writers to do. If you know anything about how it is possible to realise branching story on ao3 please tell me, because I have no clue.
Currently I'm just writing everything in .md files so it's not a problem to connect them in a meaningful easy to follow way. I'm thinking of leaving a link to the whole fic as a folder, but this one method is so niche I don't believe anyone would like to actually use it as it requires some extra steps.
Please help
#dbh fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction#writing help#fic#advice#I summon experienced tumblr users#multiple endings#ao3fic#ao3#please help#tumblr etiquette#detroit become human#non linear narrative#multiple choice#multiple choice fiction#reader's choice#multiple timelines#interactive novel
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If it was art you wouldn’t be abusing the tags…
If it was art you wouldn’t be abusing the—
Are you THAT dense because I thought you were smarter than this. Majority of people don’t even fucking UNDERSTAND or CARE how to use the tags and you’re making them feel like garbage blocking them knowing you’re a popular ass blog hurting peoples feelings because you wanna be the tag police.
I don’t even follow ANY tags? Ffs. I don’t care.
Y’all fighting for validation when you need to stop running from the money and go put all this energy into putting out real fiction you can make money from instead of bickering over FANfiction lmfao. Like what.
Nah Im standing up for the people who are too chickenshit to say anything cause ur a super popular blog and ur “army” is gonna jump any opposition.
If you don’t use the main tags anymore because of “abuse” 🥴 then don’t use them? Stop trying to make other ppl feel bad. Yes it’s ART yes it’s CREATIVE and you don’t have a say in if tags make something art or not. It’s TUMBLR goddamn go back to Ao3 if ur so fucking bothered by people DOING WHAT THEY WANT ON THE INTERNET.
Damn DAMN I hate when people do this.
I’ve posted repeatedly about tag abuse, as well as reblogging other blogs who have also posted and spoke out on it.
All the people I’ve blocked today I have never seen in my notifs at all so I’m not sure how I could be “upsetting people”. I’m literally a chick on the internet, you don’t know me and I’m not here to be put on a pedestal or to be told I shouldn’t have an opinion on shit.
I’m fighting for validation for blogs who have 30k fanfiction pieces that have less notes than a “I wanna suck Bakugou’s sweaty fingers.” post. For the readers that want to find a Bakugou fic to enjoy before bed but are instead met with “I might write Deku, Bakugou or Todoroki tonight what do you think?”
There are multiple guides on how to tag shit on Tumblr. Don’t try and tell me that you can make your theme all pretty and aesthetic but you can’t understand basic tagging etiquette.
Also have no clue what you mean by “running from the money”? 😂 I don’t care about making money from fanfic or I’d be popping out commissions. Writing and reading fanfic make me happy and when I can’t even find fics in the tags anymore it just sucks.
I’m not trying to fight, I’m not baiting anyone out. Im simply saying people need to understand how they are ruining Tumblr.
If you wanna come into my dms and talk about it we can, if you’re one of the people I blocked today (or friends with them because clearly you are) you can. I won’t bait you out, won’t make a discourse post but unfortunately people have been posting about this issue for months.
And I’m sorry. “I want Bakugou to do my back out.” Isn’t art. It isn’t creativity. And it doesn’t belong in the x reader tags.
As I mentioned previously a better fit would be #bnha thirst #bnha thirsts #mha thirst #mha thirsts #*character* thirst
Oh! And just to make you aware, this is also a super big issue on ao3 too!! Just incase you try to cross post your “art” there also. 🥰
But I digress, as I mentioned my dms are open! But I assume I’ll be receiving another passive aggressive anon in a few minutes✌🏻
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fic writer meme
Tagged by @swtorpadawan -- thanks for the tag!
Tagging: Open tag! Tag yourself in if you want! ♥︎
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
93 (it would probably be closer to 200 if I didn’t insist on combining my prompt responses into anthologies, but that requires like, coming up with titles and descriptions for each. And I got no time for that)
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
691,415
Oh, my. For some reason I thought it’d be lower.
3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Across the Stars (SWTOR), Wit's End (SGA), By Guidance of the Stars (SWTOR), See No Evil (SGA), Unsent Correspondence (SWTOR)
4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to! AO3 makes it easy, so I try to answer there as much as I can, although sometimes it takes me a few days to form proper words because for some reason I can’t brain when it comes to comments.
FFnet became a flaming garbage fire that was actively hostile to authors, and made it really hard to respond or reply so I kind of gave up over there (and the I’m not even sure if I’m getting notifications anymore if people are even leaving reviews? Is the site still up? I don’t know, I haven’t checked in forever.)
I’m really bad at doing it here on Tumblr, because like? I’m not really sure what the proper etiquette is? Do people feel weird if you @ them and respond to their tags? Is that the done thing? Or is it like “thank you for your kind words internet stranger I hold them close to my busom and cherish them always but never speak those words aloud”? Having a bit of social anxiety I kind of defaulted to the latter, because I didn’t want to be weird if replying wasn’t the done thing here. (But yes I do see and love all of your tags!)
5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
Oh goodness... I’m not going to count my earliest works, because you know, teenage angst and all. Of what has been actively written (and not just in my head waiting to be written), I would say Thicker than Water (SGA), because while in my head the downer ending was eventually resolved -- I never actually resolved it because writer brain didn’t cooperate in writing the follow-up.
There’s a few SWTOR fics I’ve written where the ending is a bit more tragic or angsty, but in my head those aren’t as angsty because there’s other stories around different points in the timeline that show that what’s an angsty ending in a one-shot is eventually resolved later into a happier resolution.
6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?
I would guess maybe Caught (SWTOR)? I generally try to end most stories on an upbeat ending, unless I’m just going for an emotional one-two punch (sorrynotsorry ♥︎). However I think maybe that was one of the ones that seemed to generate the most squee from readers.
7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?
In generally no. I’m trying to think if I’ve got any, and nothing is coming to mind.
8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?
This is... a complicated question. And I’m now going to put this under a cut so as to allow people to scroll on by if they so wish.
I wish I could just easily answer no, because no one really wants that, right? And I considered remaining silent and just answering briefly, but fuck it.
The short answer is: Maybe?
The longer answer: Due to a little trail of clues that I can’t tell if were intentional or not, unfortunately last year I stumbled across a series of vague posts complaining about very specific story elements in a fic I wrote, including a photoshopped meme as a “joke” that basically said people who write those elements shouldn’t be allowed to write SWTOR Blorbo because they don’t deserve him in their fics. Classy.
Because of the way the posts were written, there’s no way to know definitively that the poster was talking about me -- except that shortly before those posts were written, the poster left kudos on that fic and another that seemed to suspiciously line up with another post of them complimenting-complaining about. And then, for some bizarre reason, they went rifling through my blog, dug up a week old post to reply to it and then try and tell me that I was wrong about something I was idly musing on in the tags.
As you can imagine, I was extremely baffled by this WTFery, went to their blog, and got a face full of what appeared to be vague blogging about how I didn’t understand the character of the fic they left kudos on and shouldn’t be allowed to write him? Which made me second guess if it was about me. But also, the specific element that generated the shitty photoshop meme? WAS IN THE FIC THEY LEFT KUDOS ON. YOU CAN UNDERSTAND MY CONFUSION. And also the feeling like I just got punched in the face.
(Also I should mention this is not the first time this person has made rants about specific fic elements that felt like they were specifically targeting one fic that hit a little too close to home)
But honestly, even if that wasn’t about me (as you can see above on why I’m unsure) -- fuck that person. They were clearly being an asshole and badmouthing someone in fandom. I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but maybe you shouldn’t photoshop memes mocking other people. And if you want to complain about a fic, have the guts to leave a bad review. I have plenty of fics I’ve read that I didn’t care for, for one reason or another. And you know what I’ve done?
Nothing. Because at the end of the day, I didn’t want to be an asshole just because I personally disagreed with an element of someone’s writing. An act that, unless you’re kind of a weirdo who wants to chase fandom clout (why tho????), is almost exclusively an act made out of love for the source material, or for the love of writing/creativity/what-have-you.
Do not worry, that person is blocked on their five million accounts they keep rotating through, and will continue to have them blocked until they grow up and learn how to behave in a community.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Um... what kind is there? Other than the smutty kind? But yes, I do occasionally have the nsfw entry now and then.
10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
For some bizarre reason, the one Four Brothers fic I wrote years upon years ago is a popular one for teenagers to steal and swap the characters out. Off the top of my head, it was turned into a Supernatural fic once, and for some reason One Direction another time??? It’s possible there was more but those two are the ones that stick out in my head. And the funny thing is, that particular fic is super tropey, so they probably would have gotten away with it if they’d just filed off the really unique framing device used to open each of the first few chapters.
And unfortunately it seemed like almost the entirety of my SWTOR fic collection was thrown into a blender and then various sentences and paragraphs were fed through Google Translate and then back again(?), then piecemealed into various fics by an offender who apparently wanted to replace my Knight with theirs. (They even stole poor Grey’s coffee order.) This went on for about six months by the time I discovered it, mostly because the plagiarist for some reason started @’ing me in WIP memes, with my actual sentences staring back at me.
11. Have you ever had a fic translated?
I have! Several of my SGA fics were translated into French, and I think Russian over the years. Someone requested to translate one of my SWTOR fics a while back, but I’m not sure if anything ever came of that one.
12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
I have! ♥︎ The only one up on AO3 is a collaboration between me and the always lovely @jadesfire about the SGA team playing a bunch of board games. It was a blast to work on, and I may have gotten a little carried away with the visuals. 😅
13. What’s your all time favourite ship?
I don’t think anyone will be surprised if I say it’s Theron Shan x Jedi Knight, based on the pure volume that I’ve written. They live rent free in my head still, so I guess that says something.
14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?
Oh goodness, I think the only one that has active words on I’ve already shared, which is this piece that got completely Joss’d by Fractured Alliances. There are few stories rattling around in my head that I still hope to write, so I haven’t given up on them yet (like the Theron Childhood AUs that maybe will get more pointed Photoshopped memes).
15. What are your writing strengths?
I feel like this is difficult to answer objectively -- but maybe dialogue? I have a lot of fun writing it, and routinely have to reign myself back in, and my “cut bits” documents are sometimes half witty dialogue exchanges that I cut because they were rapidly derailing a scene.
16. What are your writing weaknesses?
Description. Hands down. It’s the absolute biggest struggle for me, to remember to include it to begin with, and then to make it flow and feel like it’s not something that I just inserted after the fact (spoiler: it usually is.)
17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
I usually try to avoid it as much as possible, because I am fluent in exactly one language, English, and some days I question even that. I usually try and write around or allude to whatever is being spoken, and indicate that it’s written in another language. Things like fictional languages I might pepper in some words or phrases here or there, but then usually also put the translation in too.
Real world languages I am more often than not likely to get it wrong, and would rather not make an ass of myself so avoid it. If I had to include a snatch here or there? I’d probably enlist a native speaker to help correct it after the fact.
18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?
The first fandom I’ll admit to writing and publishing for is Rawhide. Although I think there’s a lost ficlet somewhere that I wrote for the Jedi Apprentice series that bit it when Yahoo Groups shut down. (Don’t worry, it’s no big loss. It really wasn’t that good, long, nor did it make a lot of sense.)
19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet, but want to?
I don’t really have any that come to mind. Generally when I want to write something, I write it 😅
20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?
Oh goodness, this changes by the day/hour. I think my consistent answer has more or less been “Unsent Correspondence”, because I angsted over that one, and turned what would have originally been like, this massive 200-300k fic idea into a neat 10,000 word epistolary character exploration. I think at least half of my affection for that fic is the fact that I saved myself a ton of work and didn’t generate an unfinished massive WIP.
#thank you for the tag!#fic writer meme#open tag#yes swtor blorbo is who you think it is#who ELSE do i write about that much?#and is everyone's blorbo
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and then there were none
Ichigo Kurosaki, college student, gets roped into a dorm game with a long tradition and finds it a little more than he bargained for. Kuchiki Rukia, college student, has never done anything by halves-- and that includes stupid traditional dorm welcoming games. The r.a.s regret the day they placed her knife in his hands.
There was a tumblr post going around that I can no longer find about a welcoming game at an American college dormitory. The basic idea behind it was that everyone in the dorms get a plastic knife with someone else's name on it, and they had to find that person and 'stab' them with the knife (just a simple touch was counted as valid) to 'murder' them. The 'victim' is then out of the game, and they had to hand over their own plastic knife to their 'murderer'. Whoever is on the 'victim's plastic knife was the new victim for the 'murderer'.
My first instinct upon seeing anything vaguely amusing is always 'make it ichiruki'. So here's the fic about it.
(There's two chapters planned, and please don't ask me when the next chapter will be up, it's not high on my priority list. But it WILL come, some day. I don't make it a habit to abandon fic, even though sometimes it seems like I have. Promise.)
___________________________________________________________
So, college dorms were pretty wild.
For small-town Karakura boy Kurosaki Ichigo, living in a co-ed dorm at a university in America has been nothing short of an eye-opening experience. There are people walking around barefeet in only a towel. Some girl set off the smoke alarm because she was cooking cup noodles in the bathroom at 2am. He’s pretty sure he’s heard his dormmates having sex through the walls on more than one occasion, and the food served at the cafeteria is only edible about half the time. All in all, it’s a little bemusing, but not at all unpleasant, and by the third week of his move he thinks he’s settling in ok. His room is mostly in order, and he’s made at least passing acquaintances with the people on his floor. His English is improving at a frankly astonishing speed, and classes don’t start till next week. He’s figured out which stall in the bathroom spits out the most reliable hot water, and he really thinks he’s got a good handle on this whole ‘dorm living’ thing—
that is, until he gets back to his dorm room one night to find a plastic knife shoved under his door.
“The fuck…?” he mutters, trying to figure out if this was an American befriending ritual, or maybe someone was just attempting to threaten him (badly)? Did his room look like a trashcan? Did Chad (he thinks that was his name) from room 209 remember what he said about not having a grasp on American cutlery yet and decide to help him in a subtle way?
He raps on the door next to his, and a muffled voice yells ‘who is it?’
“It’s Kurosaki from 206,” he replies, and the door cracks open to reveal a single brown eye and a strand of auburn hair.
“Oh, hi, Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue Orihime from 207 was…. an odd girl. She liked putting parsley in her coffee and read astrophysics textbooks for fun. But Ichigo doesn’t remember her ever being this defensive— she’d always been enthusiastic about greeting people, so the way that she refuses to open her door more than an inch is uncharacteristic of her. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I just got back from the library and there was this knife shoved under my door—”
At this, Inoue screams and slams her door shut; Ichigo is left more than a little bemused. “Inoue? What the hell— it’s only a plastic knife!”
“I know that, Kurosaki-kun! As if I’m just going to let you win this— but by the way, this is terrible strategy, now I know to avoid you like the plague—”
“Strategy?! Inoue, what the fuck— wait, is this plastic knife meant to mean something? Is this some American etiquette thing? I have no idea what’s going on. Please explain to me what this knife means—”
Inoue opens her door a crack again, and looks at him suspiciously.
“Wait, so you didn’t hear the murder announcement at breakfast today?”
“Murder announcement?! Jesus FUCK, who died—”
“Nobody died, Kurosaki-kun, don’t be overdramatic—”
“AS FAR AS MY ENGLISH SKILLS GO, INOUE, MURDER MEANS SOMEBODY DIED—”
“Wow, you really don’t listen to the breakfast announcements at all, do you?” Inoue sounds supremely unimpressed, but at least she opens the door a bit further; except what the hell is she only wearing a towel—?!
“Inoue why the fuck are you only wearing a towel—”
Inoue waves her hand like that’s a negligible detail. “Just got out of the shower, but also murder strategy. You’re immune if you’re naked, and some of the second years recommended this. I’m in this to win, Kurosaki-kun, there’s a whole year’s supply of cup noodles in this for me—”
“Wait, what? Cup noodles?” That got his attention. Anything that scored him a whole year’s supply of free cup noodles was okay in his book. Questionable towel-wearing included. “Now you really gotta explain what’s going on.”
“I should leave you to rot, one less person to compete against for me.” Inoue purses her lips. “But you were the first one to pour a bucket of water on that fire I started last week, so fine, I’ll let you in on the murder details.”
“Not a sentence I thought I’d ever hear in my life, but cheers, America,” Ichigo mutters.
��So basically, murder’s a game that the whole dorm plays every year,” Inoue starts explaining, and Ichigo’s still trying to get over the weirdness of the word murder being used so casually— “and everyone gets these plastic knives with someone’s name written on them, and the idea is you have to stab that person with the knife and ‘’’kill’’’ them. Then you get their knife, and you just keep killing people and collecting knives until you’re the last person left! Hmm, there were a couple of rules, you can’t kill someone in the dining room or their own rooms, and you’re immune if you’re naked, but I think that was it? Anyway. So yeah! That’s what’s going on here!”
Ichigo squints at his knife in the half-dark of the corridor that, for some reason, has had all its lights screwed out. “Ok, that’s…. Great, I suppose? What happens if I don’t know who the person on my knife is?”
“Then you find out, Kurosaki-kun! This game was ostensibly devised so that we make friends, you know.”
“There are no friends when it comes to a year’s free supply of cup noodles,” Ichigo says, and Inoue claps her hands.
“Precisely! You’re getting the hang of it now. Ergo, for the next week, I don’t know you, ok? Good luck!”
Inoue slams her door shut, and Ichigo shuffles back to his room, feeling slightly more enlightened than before.
But still—
“Who the hell is Rukia Kuchiki?”
__________________________________________________________
By the second week of Murder, Ichigo’s seen enough naked butts to last him a lifetime. It seems that voluntary nakedness is a vastly preferable fate for many than losing a shot at a year’s supply of free cup noodles, and honestly if that doesn’t sum up the average college student mindset Ichigo doesn’t know what does. (He’d probably be a lot more judgemental about it, though, if he hadn’t spent at least a few hours earnestly contemplating the strategy himself.)
Thankfully, he and Chad have an alliance of sorts that makes him wearing a towel round the place redundant. He’d enlisted the giant’s help in identifying his would-be target, and after ascertaining that he wasn’t the name on Chad’s knife either (Chad had one Asano Keigo as his victim, Ichigo only knows him as that guy who swallowed a whole tablespoon of cinnamon powder on a dare), the two of them had agreed to watch the other’s back. Chad was set to pull off his first attack tomorrow, but Ichigo still had no clue who or where Rukia Kuchiki was.
Part of the problem was that the dorm was so friggin’ huge; there were four wings, each with five floors, and each floor had ten rooms. That was 200 potential students he had to parse through to find his victim, and it wasn’t exactly like he could go around asking people if they knew her. Murder had amped hostility on campus up by 300%, and almost nobody stopped for idle chatter anymore.
Whoever had devised this as a way of promoting friendliness and unity on campus was a giant fuckin’ moron.
“Still no word on Kuchiki?” Chad asks, after another day of paranoia and stalking Asano to make sure the plan goes off without a hitch, and Ichigo shakes his head.
“Are they even real at this stage? Are we sure I haven’t been given someone who doesn’t exist?”
“Ghost student?”
“Fuckin’ potentially? Who the fuck knows with America.”
Chad hides a smile behind his rickety old guitar and starts tuning. “I’ll ask around my bandmates tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Naw, s’alright. I don’t want word to get out that I’m looking for them. What kinda giant flashing beacon that says HEY, I’M YOUR POTENTIAL MURDERER, right?”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Because dammit all, Ichigo’s serious about this thing. A whole year’s supply of cup noodles is no joking matter. Speaking of which, he wonders how Inoue is doing with her murders…
_______________________________________________________________
Inoue, as it turns out, is doing swimmingly. While Ichigo has done little more than sit around and twiddle his thumbs, Inoue has already racked up an impressive collection of plastic knives— three, she informs him that night, while cheerfully throwing him a celebratory can of leek soda (Ichigo gingerly sets it down behind her sofa when she's not looking). She was making good headway on her next victim, as well, and if all went according to plan she'd have her fourth knife tomorrow morning—
“But, you know, Kurosaki-kun,” she muses, sipping on her own can of beetroot soda (where did she get these concoctions from!?), “You're awfully cavalier about this whole thing. For all you know, you could be my next victim,but here you are, sitting on my couch. Or do you just not care about cup noodles?”
He snorts. “If you ever got ahold of my knife, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead before we even got to have this conversation.”
“True,” she concedes— credit where credit is due. “So nobody’s popped up to try to kill you yet?”
“Nope,” he replies, popping the p a little. Honestly, that was the only thing making him feel better about his complete inability to murder anyone— the fact that whoever had his knife was having just as much difficulty tracking him down. One week in, and he'd not seen hide nor hair of this Rukia Kuchiki person, and, big dorm or not, her (her? Ichigo assumes it's a girl, though Rukia is very unusual for a Japanese name) elusiveness is getting to be extremely impressive. “But Chad is watching my back for me anyway. I'm covered.”
“Hmm.” Inoue purses her lips. “That's a lot of faith in someone you've only known, for, what, three weeks?”
“Chad is trustworthy,” Ichigo says firmly. He stands and stretches up to the ceiling, stifling a yawn. “And speaking of Chad, I better get to bed. He's ambushing Asano tomorrow, I told him I'd be there for backup.”
Inoue waves. “Good luck to Sado-kun, then. I’m gonna stay up a bit to refine my own dastardly plans.”
He shakes his head and opens the door, peering out into the corridor to make sure the coast was clear. He and Inoue were literally next door neighbours, but you couldn't be too careful these days. “When you win this thing I'm gonna be expecting free noodles from you occasionally. Remember I stopped you from burning down the whole dorms last week.”
“I'll consider it.”
“‘Night, then.”
“Goodnight, Kurosaki-kun. Dream of Rukia Kuchiki tonight!”
“At this stage,” Ichigo mutters, as he slips back into his room, “anything to help me find out who the hell she is.”
_______________________________________________________
Drastic times call for drastic measures. The next morning, after a successful ambush on Asano (Chad is now +1 plastic knife; his new victim is called Yammy Llargo), Ichigo tracks down someone he'd been avoiding ever since his move to America and claps a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey.”
Arisawa Tatsuki whirls around and body-slams him into the ground. “Who the fuck do you think you— Ichigo?”
He winces. “Hi.”
Tatsuki puts her hands on her hips and does not offer him any help getting up. “Oh, so you're talking to me now?”
“I just said hi, didn't I?”
“You know, you're such a fucking asshole, did it ever occur in your pathetic little brain to apologise—”
“I'm sorry,” Ichigo mutters sullenly. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was also going to college in America, I'm sorry you found out only when you bumped into me at the dorm welcoming party, it's just that we had that whole farewell party for you and we had that touching goodbye and, look it's just awkward that I got a second round admissions letter the very next day, it's like saying bye to a friend and then finding out you're walking the same way to the carpark, ok, it’s embarrassing—”
“Oh my god, you drama queen. Were you ever planning on telling me? Ever? Your best friend since childhood?”
“... I might’ve planned to tell you at the beginning of the next semester by pretending I was on exchange,” he admits. Tatsuki throws her hands up in the air.
“You were going to avoid me for a whole semester?!”
“Look, I didn't know I’d end up in the same dorm as you, ok? It's a big campus!”
“Un-be-lievable,” she says, turning on a heel and walking away from him. “You know what, keep ignoring me. Don’t hang out around here. I don’t want your incredible loser vibes accidentally rubbing off—”
“I said sorry, didn’t I? Wait, wait, I had something to ask you!”
“Sorry doesn’t pay my bills, Ichigo!”
Ichigo catches up to her and falls into stride. “You don’t even pay bills! You’re on a full scholarship!”
Tatsuki manages a smug smile. “If you’re so jealous, maybe you should have kept up with karate.”
Ichigo grumbles. “Yeah, right, like I had a chance at a physical education scholarship with you in the same dojo.”
“I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging my superiority—!”
“You beat my ass continuously from when we were six to sixteen, I threw away any pride I had a long damn time ago.” He makes a face at the memory, then shakes his head to refocus. “Anyway, this isn’t why I was here. Listen, have you heard of anyone around here called Rukia Kuchiki—?”
Tatsuki cocks her head to the side at that, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Kuchiki…? Name sounds familiar. Why?”
Ichigo feels his heart speed up in his chest. “What, really? Where did you hear it? Do you know her?”
And now she was grinning again and— oh, no, Ichigo does not like the look of that smile. “Why do you want to know?” she asks, and the question is laden with suggestion. Ichigo flushes.
“None of your damn busi— look, it’s not what you think—”
“Aw, my little mama’s boy Ichigo is all grown up, I remember when you used to go crying to your mom for a scraped knee and now you’re chasing after women—”
“It’s for murder, you absolute pain in the butt! She’s my target!”
Tatsuki bursts out laughing, hearty peals of laughter bouncing off the courtyard walls. “Alright, alright, I get you. I was just teasing, Ichigo, geez. Anyway, the name sounds familiar, but that doesn’t mean I know her. I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.”
Ichigo deflates as quickly as he’d been riled up. “Are you serious right now—?”
“Hey, you can talk, mister ‘I’m-really-bad-at-remembering-names-and-faces! And yeah, I’m serious. I don’t have a stake in murder anymore. I got killed two days in.”
Ok, that surprises him. He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What, really? Who the hell did you in?”
“Some girl named Orihime Inoue,” she grumbles, kicking a nearby rock. “Tae-kwon-do black belt, apparently??? She doesn’t even look the type!”
Ichigo makes a noise of sympathy and understanding. He should have guessed.
“Anyway, now I’m roped into helping her. So I don’t think I’d be able to tell you about Rukia Kuchiki, even if I’d known any more about her. Victims who are murdered have to help their murderer, and all.”
Ichigo frowns. “Wait, those are the rules?”
“That’s what Inoue said.”
“............ I am about 95% sure that those were not part of murder rules.”
There’s a short silence between the two as they process this.
“...... scary girl,” Tatsuki finally says, in a grudgingly admiring tone.
“I’ll say.”
The two of them stop their brisk walk in front of a huge pair of doors emblazoned with the words GYM, and Tatsuki waves him off. “Anyway, I gotta go train now. Any further questions before I go?”
Ichigo thinks a bit. “Yeah, why drama queen? Since I’m a guy, shouldn’t it be drama king?”
“Do I look like a linguist? You always scored better than I did at this stupid language. Take it up with whoever your hero was, Willy Shakealot or something?”
“Shakespeare,” he says sharply. “And Shakespeare wasn’t a linguist. In fact, I’m pretty sure linguists really hate him. He made up a lot of weird words and shit.”
“He did? Huh. Didn’t know you were allowed to do that.”
“You’re not, Shakespeare just gave zero fucks.” Ichigo shrugs and takes a half-step back, raising his hand in a goodbye salute. “Why else do you think he was my hero?”
Tatsuki rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’re still a loser.”
“And you’re a bitch. Let me know if you remember anything about Kuchiki.”
“Only if we get to go halves on the cup noodles.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Then I’ll think about it, too.”
That was probably the best he was going to get out of her. “Later, then.”
“If you can bear the embarrassment of us meeting again despite already having said goodbye, then sure.”
Ichigo shakes his head and lets her have that parting riposte. He hadn’t won a single match, verbal or physical, against Tatsuki since they’d been in diapers; he figures, what with the way his luck was going lately, that he wasn’t about to start now.
__________________________________________________________
Just as Ichigo walks away, a tiny girl brushes past him on her way to the gym. Her black hair falls short and sleek, tickling her jawline and the nape of her neck, and the clean scent of cucumber and mint follows in her wake. She jostles him a little, bumping into his elbow, but Ichigo hardly notices the slight press of her body against his, small and light as she is. She mutters a hasty apology, and disappears into the building before he can formulate a reply.
Ichigo shrugs and goes on his merry way.
_______________________________________________________
The third week of murder brings about a calamitous change in the game as Ichigo knows it, due to several factors:
Orihime Inoue kills not one, not two, but three people in quick succession;
Someone finally stages an attack on him, but runs away without having completed the deed, and
Chad dies.
Not literally, of course, but Ichigo has to admit, the figurative loss still hits him pretty damn hard. Chad takes it as stoically as ever, with a shrug and twitch of his eyebrow, and goes back to working on music for his band.
“Does anything faze you?” Ichigo wonders, after Chad hands his knife over to Inoue (because of course it was Inoue who took him out. Of course).
“Puppies.”
“Fair enough.”
“Kittens, too.”
“... Right.”
“And birds. And rabbits. And small children—”
“So basically, you’re a sucker for anything cute?”
Chad shrugs again, which Ichigo takes as a yes. He crumples up his soda can and lobs it into the bin.
“You were attacked today, too. Aren’t you worried?”
Ichigo considers it. “A bit, yeah. Sucks that you got taken out of the game. But you can still watch my back when you can, right? I’ll go halves on the noodles with you.”
Chad nods. “When I can. I might be busier with my band soon, though.”
“Understandable. I’ll try and keep myself alive in the meantime. At least I know who’s aiming for me, now. Neru? Nel?”
“Neliel Tu Odelschwancke.”
Ichigo stares. “How the hell do you remember that?”
“She’s in my music theory class. And she has green hair. She’s not hard to miss.”
“Well, good. Should make it easier to see her coming.”
Chad smiles. “Your hair isn’t exactly hard to miss, either.”
“Aw, shut up. I take back what I said about the noodles.”
They sit in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of Chad tuning his guitar the only thing between them. Eventually, Chad breaks the ice.
“And Kuchiki?”
Ichigo huffs a dry laugh. “No fuckin’ clue who or where she is. I’ve even been asking around, now that a lot of people have been dropped from the game by dying. But nobody seems to know who she is, even though everyone says her name sounds familiar. It’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”
“When I first heard the name, I thought that too.”
“What, that it sounds like a name that’s going to drive me up the wall?”
“No, that it sounds familiar.”
At this point, Ichigo is more tired than exasperated. “Yeah, s’what everyone says. Whatever. I’ll either find her or I won’t, right? No point getting annoyed over it. Better just focus on staying alive, because I swear to god if I die before finding out who she is I’ll be pissed.”
“You better hope,” Chad says gravely, “that Inoue doesn’t get her hands on your knife, then.”
“You, me, and the entire dorm population, mate.”
________________________________________________________
Ichigo drops by Inoue’s room that evening, just to check he isn’t next on her list. He’s lucky— he’s not. But some poor fucker by the name of Uryuu Ishida is.
“I waited outside his room all day and he didn’t even exit once!” Inoue’s saying, brandishing the knife with his name on it like a conductor directing Beethoven’s Ninth. “What kind of— of social recluse does that?!”
“Damn,” Ichigo replies, ignoring the fact that he did exactly that for days on end during the summer holidays, rereading The Compleat Works of Shakespeare in English and Japanese. “Sounds like a loser.”
“Apparently he’s like— the dorm cryptid,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Nobody’s— nobody’s really seen him in the flesh. They’re not sure he even exists. They think he’s second-year pre-med and that he was valedictorian of his grade last year, but nobody knows for sure.”
“Inoue, how did you manage to find out all this in the span of a day?”
She looks at him like he’s insane. “I, uh, talked to people?”
“I talk to people too! But nobody knows who Rukia Kuchiki is. Nobody. Zilch. Zip. Nada. At this point I’m about 98% sure she doesn’t actually exist.”
Inoue sighs pityingly. “Kurosaki-kun, you’ve been talking to students, haven’t you?”
Ichigo’s confused. “Who else would I talk to?”
Inoue just puts a finger to her lips. “Can’t tell you. Trade secret. But really, Kurosaki-kun. There are much easier ways of going about this game, you know.”
“Fat lot of good that’s going to do me, when you won’t tell me,” he grumbles. He takes another look at the name on her knife— Uryuu Ishida, may he rest in peace— and thanks his lucky stars that it isn’t him on there. “Anyway, I better be off. Good luck with the new guy. Not that you’ll need it.”
“Good luck with Rukia Kuchiki, because you’ll definitely need it.”
Hell, did everyone make a secret pact today to take the mickey out of him? Ichigo’s too tired to argue, so he just leaves Inoue to her planning and calls it a night. Maybe he’ll have better luck tomorrow.
____________________________________________________________
It takes Ichigo a few seconds to remember who she is, he’s been so tired lately.
Green hair, he thinks, absentmindedly, before he remembers his conversation with Chad yesterday and yelps, scooting back a few metres.
“You— Neliel?”
“That’s me!” His would-be murderer is bright and vivacious, and way too perky for this hour of the morning. Aside from the curious green hair, she’s also got a scar between her eyes and a reddish— birthmark? Tattoo? Ichigo doesn’t know— across the bridge of her nose. “Morning, Ichigo!”
Ichigo’s already halfway across the courtyard by the time she stops him. “Wait! Wait! I’m not here to kill you this morning!”
“Yeah right!” he yells back. “I’m not dying before I find out who the hell Rukia Kuchiki is! Try another morning!”
“You idiot, I’m already dead! Check the morning lists if you don’t believe me!”
Ichigo stops and whips out his smartphone. “You stay right there,” he says, glaring, and Neliel complies, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. He scrolls through the dorm noticeboard, and, sure enough, there is her name: one of the last people to be murdered last night.
“See? I don’t lie,” she says, reproachful, and Ichigo shoves his phone back into his pocket and approaches her cautiously.
“What do you want?”
Neliel shrugs. “I just thought I’d warn you about your new potential murderer? Thought that might be good manners, and all. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but, well. Your new murderer’s…… yeah.”
“My new murderer’s… what?”
She looks intensely uncomfortable at this. “He’s. Well. He’s…. He’s not a friend, per se, but I’ve known him since we were little and I feel a bit responsible for him— uh, he’s a bit rough sometimes, but he won’t actually kill you. I think. Look, just keep your eyes peeled, ok? Anyway, enough of this depressing talk in the morning. Who’s Rukia Kuchiki? Why are you so keen on meeting her?”
Wow, that was so transparent a topic change that Ichigo’s almost impressed. “No, no, go back to my murderer, what were you saying about him?”
“— so, Rukia Kuchiki, huh, cool name, sounds kinda familiar, wonder where I’ve heard it before—”
“Neliel. You were talking about my new murderer and actual murder in the same breath. This does not give me a lot of reassurance, you feel?”
“—no, wait, actually, Rukia Kuchiki,” she mutters, her brow furrowing. Then her expression clears, and she looks up at him with a bright smile. “Oh! You don’t possibly mean Dia—”
And just as that happens, the lockdown alarms go off.
_______________________________________________________
The loudspeaker in the middle of the courtyard bursts into life with a crackle of static.
“Attention all residents. This is not a drill. Please make your way to the nearest lockdown location in an orderly fashion. Attention all residents…”
By the second round of the announcement, both of them manage to unfreeze; Neliel curses and starts to turn away, but Ichigo grabs onto her wrist.
“Oh shit— I have to go find Donddochakka and Pesche—”
“Wait— Rukia. What were you about to say about Rukia?”
She shakes his restraining hand off with ease. “I’ll tell you later! I have to go find my friends!”
“No, goddammit! Tell me now! It won’t take you that long!” Ichigo yells, but she’s already disappeared into the throng of people. Ichigo kicks a nearby rock and consults his phone to find his nearest lockdown location— the gym, apparently. He joins the crowd moving slowly in that direction, mind still grappling with Neliel’s last words.
Rukia Kuchiki? Oh! You don’t possibly mean Dia-
Dia? Who the hell was Dia?
But he’d have to deal with that later; he walks into the gym and spots Tatsuki, waving at him from a corner with Inoue. He makes his way towards them.
“—n’t believe that he still won’t come out of his room, who does he think he is— there are safety regulations in place—” Inoue is saying, fingers curled around the knife that still says Uryuu Ishida. Tatsuki attempts to placate her with a long-suffering expression.
“Maybe he’d already left before you came— hi, Ichigo.”
“Hello, Kurosaki-kun! And ridiculous— I was there at 6 a.m. in the morning. What sort of self-respecting college student wakes up before then?”
“6 a.m.?! Orihime, that’s. That’s stalking—”
“Stalking’s not stalking if it’s done in the name of free cup noodles—”
“Stalking is always stalking! God, whatever, we’re continuing this another time. Anyway, Ichigo, did you hear? Some nutjob got onto campus with an actual knife.”
Ichigo flinches. “What? Jesus. I hope Chad’s ok. Where’d you hear that from?”
“From the r.a. over there.” Tatsuki points with a chin, and indeed, several r.a.s are in deep discussion, all of them with a serious look on their face. “They’re gonna make an announcement about it soon. Apparently it’s a scrawny dude, black hair in a ponytail, wearing a dirty white hoodie and jeans. There’s police cars arriving, shit’s crazy.”
“I’ll say.” At least it was a knife and not a gun, Ichigo thinks, toying idly with his own plastic knife. He halfheartedly scans the crowd, looking for any unfamiliar faces— surprisingly, he finds that he knows most of them already, by sight if not by name. He wonders if any of them are Rukia Kuchiki, and finds himself hoping that, wherever she was, she was somewhere safe.
It’d be a bit of a downer if she was actually murdered before he managed to get around to it.
The gym doors open again to let some of the stragglers in, and Ichigo allows his attention to be turned by the motely crew that walk in: a tall, thin man who is built rather like a stick insect, a hulking guy who looks about as wide as he’s tall, and a smaller, scrawny dude who is wearing nothing but a towel as a fundoshi around his waist (goddammit, Ichigo thought that tactic had died out by the first week). And, almost buried by the mass of bodies around her, a head full of green hair.
Ichigo blinks, and then he starts pushing through the crowd to get to her.
“Hey. HEY! NELIEL! WE GOTTA CONTINUE OUR CONVERSATION FROM EARLIER!”
Neliel looks up in his direction, and frantically starts mouthing no at him. Ichigo doesn’t give a shit. He’s going to find out who Rukia Kuchiki is, and he’s going to find out now.
“Don’t give me that crap! You said you’d tell me later! Well, it’s later now, so out with it—”
“No, I swear to god, Ichigo, not now—”
“Ichigo?” The stick insect dude suddenly looks viciously interested, and Neliel claps a hand over her mouth. “As in, Ichigo Kurosaki?”
Neliel shakes her head. Ichigo glares at stick insect dude.
“If I am, who the fuck are you?”
Nel buries her face in her hands, and stick insect dude smiles— and shit, can people even smile that wide? Ichigo feels a chill run down his spine.
“Your death,” stick insect dude says, and he lunges.
Scrawny dude, black hair in a ponytail, wearing a dirty white hoodie and jeans.
Ichigo sees the glint of a knife held in his hands, and suddenly realises he’s going to die—
“No!”
That is, until a short, black-haired blur shoots out from the crowd and jumps in front of the knife meant for him.
It sinks in to the hilt, and Ichigo watches the girl’s eyes widen in shock with a horror that robs him of his own voice.
________________________________________________________
Both girl and assailant crumple to the ground, and Ichigo’s frantic with worry; he reaches the girl first, hoists her up onto his lap, expecting blood. She was so small; what the hell was she thinking, jumping out in front of him?! She coughs, great big hacking things that he wouldn’t expect from someone her size, and Ichigo holds her around her shoulders, worried out of his mind.
“Are you ok? Hold on— where did he stab you? Are you bleeding—”
In response, the girl wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lunges at the felled assailant.
“You missed, you cowardly shitstain, I don’t know what you’re doing on a campus but you’re going to rot in jail for this—”
“Young lady—! Enough! Back away and let the cops deal with this—”
“Nnoitra! I told you to leave that stupid knife behind, you idiot—”
“Ow! OW! Don’t just fucking watch, Nel, get this crazy woman off me, what the fuck—”
“ENOUGH!” The r.a.’s have made their way over by now, and manage to separate the two brawling figures; stick insect dude is being held back by Nel and her two other friends, while the girl is being restrained by an r.a. Ichigo sits on the floor between them, feeling like he just missed something.
“Wait, hang on, what’s— what just happened— didn’t you get stabbed?” he asks the girl, who is looking very un-stabbed. She glares at stick insect dude.
“He missed,” she spits, and stick insect dude howls in indignation.
“I did not miss!” he hisses, and throws a crumpled plastic knife onto the ground. “I had him! I would have had him straight in the gut if it hadn’t been for you jumping in for your boyfriend!!! The fuck, dude! This is sabotage! What have you got against me winning cup noodles?!”
Ichigo stares at the plastic knife bearing his name, crushed like an empty aluminium drink can, and slowly starts piecing the incident together.
“Wait— so you're—”
“And now I've lost the element of surprise. You scrawny little bitch,” Nnoitra snaps, and Ichigo thinks, a little wildly, that he had no business going around calling anyone else scrawny. He eyes the limp black hair and dirty white hoodie of his assailant and attempts to make sense of the chaos around him.
“You’re— you had my knife—?”
Nnoitra rolls his eyes. “What, can’t you see? You impaired or some shit?”
“Oh my god, Nnoitra,” Neliel groans. “Can you keep your big fat mouth shut for half a second—”
“Oh,” comes a small sound from the black-haired girl, and Ichigo turns to see her slowly flushing crimson. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Nnoitra mocks, before Neliel smacks him in the head. “Ow! Nel, you bitch, she is clearly the one in the wrong here, would you knock it off—”
“Well, what the hell was I supposed to think?!” the girl demands, now completely red but with an indignant expression on her face. “You matched the description for the armed intruder perfectly! Not to mention, who plays Murder like they're actually trying to kill someone?!”
“This is why I was trying to warn you,” Nel says to Ichigo in an exasperated aside. “And those are just his last set of clean clothes.”
There's a short silence as everyone digests her words, Ichigo and the girl both eyeing Nnoitra’s hoodie like they seriously doubted Nel’s definition of ‘clean’.
The girl clears her throat and speaks for all of them. “Gross.”
Nnoitra flings himself against Nel’s restraint. “You bitch, I'll fucking cut you up—”
“Enough!” an adult finally makes their way onto the scene, and everyone looks at the harried professor with varying levels of relief. The girl, in particular, lights up at the sight of him.
“Professor Ukitake—!”
“What’s going on here?” he asks in a tired sort of way, and the r.a.s hasten to answer him.
“A minor altercation— you know our dorm tradition, Murder—”
“Ah, that damn game,” he mutters, looking extremely distracted. His gaze sweeps over all of them, assessing the situation. “Nobody’s actually hurt, then?”
“No sir,” the girl answers, prompt. The professor nods at her, before turning to the r.a.s for the full story. By now, the police have made it into the evacuation area as well; the three parties convene for a minute or two, discussing the details in hushed voices, before they all turn to Nnoitra and Nel.
“In any case, Mr. Gilga,” Professor Ukitake says apologetically, “although it may be coincidental, it is true that you fit the description for the armed intruder rather perfectly, I’m afraid. The police would like you to accompany them to the station, just for a little while, until the intruder situation is solved. If that’s ok with you—?”
“Wha— the hell it is! I was just tryna murder Kurosaki over there—”
The professor winces. “Mr. Gilga….. That’s really not helping your cause there.”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s just a game—”
“I told you,” Nel interrupts witheringly. “I told you to leave your damn knife behind, didn’t I? Just go with the officers for now, Nnoitra. It’s just til they catch the real intruder, and quite frankly, I don’t trust you around Ichigo right now.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Nel, just because I murdered you last night—”
Two policemen place a hand each on Nnoitra’s shoulders and escort him out, Nnoitra complaining the whole time but not daring to retaliate. Nel shakes her head and makes an apologetic face in the direction of the smaller girl. “God, I told him… sorry about all this, Di. I might go with him just to make sure he doesn’t get himself arrested… you really alright? Not hurt anywhere?”
“Who do you think I am?” the girl scoffs. “I’m fine. Never did understand why you’re friends with him, though.”
Nel grimaces. “Yeah, sometimes I wonder that, too. Anyway, I’ll see you later at the gym, we can talk about this then.”
“Tell your stick insect friend not to lunge at people with knives in the future, whether they’re plastic or not.”
“Will do. Bye!” with another apologetic half-wave, Neliel and her two other friends take off after Nnoitra. Ichigo, still feeling somewhat bemused by the proceedings, finally turns and manages to get a good look at his…. saviour(?), for lack of a better word.
She’s short. That’s his first impression, the fact that she is so goddamn short and good lord, she might actually, literally be just half his size, if the way the top of her head only comes up to his chest is any indication. Aside from the height (or lack thereof), she seems fairly nondescript: short black bob, black leggings and a t-shirt with a flannel tied around her waist. She notices him staring and holds out a hand.
“Diana. We could have met in less embarrassing circumstances, but I guess as first meetings go ‘jumped in front of a knife for you’ isn’t a bad start. You alright?”
Ichigo takes the proffered hand and is promptly surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Fine. I feel like I should be the one asking you, though. You're the one that got stabbed.”
Diana rolls her eyes. “Please. As if anything wielded by a guy that skinny would ever be able to hurt me.” She grins, all teeth, and whoa, Ichigo may have to reconsider that first assessment of her. He’s suddenly flustered, red dusting the skin over his cheekbones as he tries to come up with a response. She has the bluest eyes he's ever seen.
Thankfully, the professor from earlier spares him. “Miss Kuchiki!” he calls, and Diana turns— he wants to have a few words with her, it seems, and she gestures to him that she'd be over soon. She turns back to Ichigo to say goodbye.
“Well, take care, I guess I'll see you around--"
Something clicks in his brain like lightning, and he catches her by the wrist.
“Wait. Kuchiki—? Like, Kuchiki as in Byakuya Kuchiki Kuchiki? Kuchiki as in the Kuchiki Wing in the Main Library Kuchiki? As in one of the shareholders of our university Kuchiki? That Kuchiki?”
“Shut up, fool, not so loud—!” She snatches her wrist back and looks around worriedly, though by now people’s attentions have moved on from them. She answers him in a resigned tone. “Yes, that Kuchiki. He’s my brother. It's not something I like to advertise.”
Ichigo’s mind is teeming like a nest of ants. “Why— no, never mind that question. Diana’s not a Japanese name, though--"
“It's my English name, obviously,” she snaps. “If you wanted my full name it is Rukia Kuchiki. Why are you so interested in my name anyway? Shouldn't you at least tell me yours first?”
A slow grin spreads over his face; the kind of grin that Tatsuki had once told him made him look like the supervillain in a bad shounen. He takes a step in closer to her, and Diana— Rukia, irritated, stands her ground.
His hand slips into his pocket.
“I'm Ichigo Kurosaki,” he tells her.
In one fluid motion, he pulls out his own knife and taps her with it on the shoulder. Those blue eyes of hers widen first in disbelief, and then in outrage.
“You— no. No, you can't possibly— you couldn't!!”
“Nice to meet you, Rukia Kuchiki,” he smirks, flipping the plastic knife over to display her name.
Rukia closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, like she has a headache coming on.
Then she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath, and socks him in the face.
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