#alice's writing adventures

[yournowheregirl]

Let it be known that Eddie Munson hates big box stores. They represent everything he’s against: a big piece of capitalist bullshit that underpays its workers and pump out unnecessary products like it’s nothing. 

And yet, he finds himself in a Target on a random Sunday evening.

He’s not quite sure how he got roped into doing Chrissy’s shopping for her, something about ‘owing her a favor’ and ‘making up for all the times she had take out the garbage when it was his turn to do so’ or whatever that means. But here he is anyway, pushing a bright red shopping cart in search of every item on her list so she can go on her date with that girl from the concert in peace. The things you do for friends.

Eddie finds the first few items quite easily - they’re on sale and easy to spot with the big display in the middle of the aisle - but once he gets to the fourth item on her list: Fresh Cotton scented candle, he starts to panic just a little.

Why are there so many fucking candles?

He rubs a hand over his face in attempt to make himself focus on the rows and rows of glass jars in front of him, taking a deep breath before he starts looking for the Fresh Cotton scented candle Chrissy wants. Only to find out, there aren’t any.

There is Pure Linen and Natural Cotton and even one that’s called Laundry Day - whatever the fuck that’s supposed to smell like - but there is not one candle that says Fresh Cotton. 

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He knows Chrissy like the back of his hand, he’s smelled that candle practically every day, he can totally figure out which candle she wants. 

Eddie grabs the first candle that’s vaguely named after a fabric and smells it, but that one isn’t the one he’s looking for. He tries another (closer, but not quite the same) and another (doesn’t even smell like cotton in the slightest), until he’s smelled practically every cotton-linen-laundry candle in the store and his nose has become immune to any smell whatsoever.

Christ, he really is a terrible best friend if he can’t even get her shopping list right.

Something red flashes by in the corner of his eye and Eddie immediately perks up and chases after it. He stops himself from screaming in victory when he sees that he was right and that there is in fact a Target employee in a red polo walking in the main aisle.

“Excuse me!” Eddie calls out. “Excuse me! Can you help me?”

The guy in the red polo turns around and whoa- Eddie didn’t know that they were hiring actual models to work at Target. He’s pretty sure he’s never met a big box store employee that looks this good - with floppy golden brown hair and a chest that fills out that red Target polo really nicely.

“Uh yes?”

“Great!” Eddie gestures the Target guy to follow him back to the candle aisle and grabs the two candles that he thinks are the closest to what Chrissy wants. “Which one of these is Fresh Cotton?”

Target guy frowns and takes the candles from Eddie’s hands, his hazel eyes narrowing as he reads the labels. “Neither? This one is Clean Cotton and the other one is Crisp Cotton.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But Target used to sell Fresh Cotton, I think, at least that’s what my friend’s shopping list says.” Eddie rambles. “So I guess my question is which one used to be Fresh Cotton and got renamed or whatever.”

“Huh.” Target guy shrugs and takes the lid off both the candles, carefully sniffing each of them before finally handing Clean Cotton back to Eddie. “This one smells the most cotton-y to me, so I’d go with this one, dude.”

Eddie feels his eyes light up with relief as he clutches the candle to his chest. “Christ, that’s a relief. Thank you...” He trails off, searching Target guy’s polo for a name tag, only to come up empty.

“Steve.” 

“Thank you, Steve.” Eddie beams. He puts the candle into his shopping cart and rummages through the pocket of his leather jacket until he finds Chrissy’s shopping list. Scented candle? Check. “Look, I gotta go. I have at least twenty other things on this list and- hey!”

In one quick motion, Steve has grabbed the shopping list from Eddie’s hands, scanning the items on the list and the items in the cart with precision. 

“Dude. Your friend asked for shampoo and conditioner. You bought them that two-in-one crap.” Steve scoffs.

“Is that... bad? Seems to me like it gets the job done faster.” Eddie shrugs.

“Is that bad, he asks. If your friend cares just a little bit about their hair, they’d be devastated.” Steve chuckles. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Before Eddie can even protest, Steve has taken his shopping cart from under his nose and gestures for Eddie to follow him. Huh, personal shoppers must be a new thing at Target. He just hopes that Steve doesn’t charge him a surprise hundred dollar fee at the end of the shopping trip.

Turns out, a personal shopper like Steve comes in handy for a Target virgin like Eddie. Steve (obviously) knows the store like the back of his hand and seems to know a lot about the products they sell as well - from the difference between normal and purple shampoo for blonde hair to the package of colored notebooks that Chrissy needs for the next semester. His knowledge is impressive and Eddie can’t help but stare and listen to every word that rolls of Target Guy Steve’s tongue.

(And if he lets a flirty remark or two slip just to see a twinkle in Steve’s eyes in between the shop talk, that’s nobody’s business but his own)

He is a bit confused when Steve starts loading things into the cart that aren’t on Chrissy’s lists, though. Things like highlighters and staples and various arts and crafts supplies. 

“What are those?” Eddie asks.

“Hmm?” Steve hums, following Eddie’s gaze to where it’s looking at the small pots of paint in his hands “Oh. Those are for me.”

“You can do that?”

“Uh yeah? That’s the point of a store?”

“Right.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I mean, duh. Just didn’t know you were allowed to shop on company time.” 

“Right...” Steve blinks at him in response.

They go through the rest of the list fairly quickly, much to Eddie’s disappointment. When he first set foot inside the store, he wanted to leave as fast as he could, but now that he’s got Steve around, he doesn’t really want this shopping trip to end. 

At least not without Steve’s number saved in his phone. 

There are only a few people in line at the register when they arrive and Steve immediately starts putting his things on the checkout belt. As he waits, Eddie lets his eyes linger at Steve’s toned back, at the way the red fabric stretches over the muscles there, at the way those jeans look practically painted on.

Yeah, he really has to get that number before he gets out of here.

“You probably get employee discount, right? Must be nice.” Eddie grins as he starts putting his stuff on the checkout belt.

Steve cocks his head to the side. “No?”

Christ, not giving your employees a discount in your own store is a new low, even for a big company like Target. “Oh sorry, man. That sucks.”

“I mean, I have my teacher’s discount.” Steve shrugs.

Hold up. What?

“Your what?”

“My teacher’s discount?” Steve repeats. “I’m an elementary school teacher and I get a small discount on stuff I need for my class? Like these art supplies?”

“You- you don’t work here?” Eddie squeaks, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Oh God, did he just drag a random stranger through a store and make him listen to all of his stupid problems with Chrissy’s shopping lists? This is embarrassing, even for him. “Fuck, I thought- I mean with the polo and- Christ, I’m so sorry.”

But luckily for Eddie, Steve doesn’t seem mad in the slightest. In fact, he just laughs, all bright and clear. “It’s alright, really.”

“But wait, if you don’t work here, why did you help me?” Eddie asks, ignoring the hopeful feeling that starts to bloom in his stomach. 

Steve ducks his head for a second, suppressing a grin, before looking back up at Eddie through his eyelashes and fuck, he has no right to look this hot in a freaking polo shirt. 

“Because I thought you were cute.”

A bright Target red blush settles over Eddie’s cheeks and there’s nowhere to hide, not even behind his hair because his dumb self from two hours earlier decided to put it up in a high bun. 

“Plus, you looked like you were this close to having a panic attack in the middle of the candle aisle.” Steve shrugs. “I’ve been there, and trust me, it’s not a good look.”

The honesty in his voice makes Eddie cackle so loud that even the cashier turns her head to see what all the commotion is about. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Eddie says when his laughter dies down.

“Maybe.” Steve says, his eyes already twinkling with amusement. “But did it work?”

Eddie really can’t say no to that.

(He leaves Target that night with two shopping bags filled with Chrissy’s things and a date with Steve the next weekend.)

[sarahreesbrennan]

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The West Passage

medieval fantasy set in a giant crumbling palace of traditions with forgotten origin, ruled by giant eldritch Ladies

when winter weather comes in the middle of summer, and a beast below the palace begins to rise, two teens from Grey who have suddenly gained a lot of responsibilities set out on separate journeys to the other towers to find a way to stop it, and meet all sorts of strange people and creatures along the way

world where pronouns/names are based on people’s roles

tons of cool medieval-style chapter illustrations by the author

[writerofweird]

Some people think the significance of the number 42 in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a reference to Alice in Wonderland, where Alice grows in the Queen's courtroom and the King of Hearts points out that under Rule 42, Alice must leave the courtroom. Alice instantly points out the foolishness of the rule and the King, meaning that challenging those in power and arbitrary laws is not only important, but the very meaning of life. In this essay I will

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Impossibilities

Heartless, Cath and Alice, post-book by however long until Alice is in Wonderland. She's acting as a maid for some reason... Idk either. It's Cath reminiscing about Jest.

"It is impossible." Alice whispered, the delicate flower crumpled in her palm and she reeled back as the heavy stench of blood hit her... Right into the Queen's skirt.

"Your-" Alice tried for a curtsy. "Your Majesty, I'm afraid-"

The Queen waved her hand impatiently. "I am in no mood to hear your pitiful try of an excuse just..." She trailed off, deflating. The Queen gazed at the flowers with an expression Alice may have mistaken for mourning if she hadn't known the woman in question. "Just... Bring the tea, dear." She said at last.

Alice nodded and hurried off, far too quick to be proper but the thought scarcely crossed the young girl's mind. "And-" The Queen's voice hasn't regained it's regal quality just yet. "I once knew a man who spoke of impossibility as a challenge to be conquered." She laughed, a brittle sound. Such was unknown to Alice. Something in the Queen's voice changed when she spoke again. There was, if Alice wasn't mistaken, hope laced in with the stubborn bitterness years on the throne had left her with. "Impossibility was his speciality."

Alice froze in the doorway. "He sounds spectacular."

The Queen briefly touched her fingers to her lips, smiling fondly. Alice caught the moment in the vanity's reflection, but suspected it was not for her eyes to witness.

"He was." The Queen whispered. "Dear Hearts, he was."

[spikrock]

this week i had only the time/energy to do one :'( and i hadnt drawn the tweedles in a minute, so i figured id do this number since i really like it. they had a lot of fun with this and you can tell

i think thanks-a-lot day as a holiday sounds really neat, like genuinely. we need to make this a thing. i wouldnt mind a day where you just thank people for things. im always very awkward about coming off as too mushy or weirding someone out for giving them a compliment or something so having a holiday where thats the whole point sounds convenient and nice fr i know its supposed to be a wonderland thanksgiving but thats not really what people do on thanksgiving. i mean youre thankful but i think its mostly just people being thankful for what they have. at least ive never seen people thanking people on thanksgiving. hmm

but anyway...how did the queen get zero thank yous?? in the first song rabbit says he owes her 1200 for that year. did he just forget the year before?? i also think the line about rabbit liking monster truck rallies is very funny. its not the first time in the show hes shown interest in cars before, there was the golf cart episode. why does he know so much about golf carts

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 11

The tension in the cave hung thick between Criston and Gwayne, their heated argument echoing off the stone walls. Just as Criston opened his mouth to speak again, a distant sound pierced the air—shouting, the unmistakable clash of metal, and the heavy thud of boots against the ground.

“Listen!” Gwayne whispered, his eyes widening. The urgency in his voice cut through the lingering anger. “They’re coming!”

Criston’s heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins as he turned toward the cave entrance.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to prepare.”

Gwayne nodded, the weight of their earlier conflict momentarily forgotten.

“What do we do?”

Criston scanned the cave, searching for anything they could use.

“We need to find weapons. If they find us here, we’ll be cornered.”

As they moved deeper into the cave, Criston’s mind raced with strategies. He could hear the Velaryon soldiers outside, their voices growing closer, filled with anger and desperation. The realization that they were outnumbered weighed heavily on him.

“Over here!” Gwayne called, pulling Criston’s attention to a small alcove. Inside, they discovered a stash of weapons—swords, shields, and even a few crossbows. Criston’s heart lifted as he grabbed a sword and handed another to Gwayne.

“Take this,” Criston said, his eyes meeting Gwayne’s. “We’ll need to fight our way out.”

Gwayne nodded, though his face was still pale, the pain from his injury evident.

“I can manage,” he replied, determination flickering in his blue eyes.

The sounds of the Velaryon soldiers grew louder, their shouts echoing through the cave. Criston felt the weight of their impending confrontation, the need to protect Gwayne and himself pushing him into action.

“Remember, we stick together,” Criston instructed, gripping his sword tightly. “We fight back to back. No matter what happens, we don’t let them separate us.”

Gwayne took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“I’m ready,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

As the first Velaryon soldier burst into the cave, Criston and Gwayne sprang into action. Criston swung his sword with precision, the blade cutting through the air as he parried the soldier's attack. Gwayne followed closely, his movements fueled by a mix of adrenaline and fear.

The cave erupted into chaos as more soldiers poured in, their faces twisted with rage. Criston fought fiercely, his instincts honed by countless battles, but he couldn’t shake the nagging worry about Gwayne’s injury.

“Stay close!” Criston shouted, blocking another attack. Gwayne struggled to keep up, the pain in his side becoming more pronounced with each movement.

The two men fought valiantly, but the odds were against them. Criston felt the weight of their earlier argument pressing down on him, the knowledge that they were fighting not just for their lives, but for the bond they had forged through fire and blood.

“Criston!” Gwayne called out, his voice strained as he deflected a blow aimed at him. “We need to find a way out!”

Criston nodded, determination flooding his veins.

“Back to the entrance! We’ll fight our way through!”

Together, they pushed toward the cave’s mouth, their swords clashing against the onslaught of Velaryon soldiers. The battle was fierce, but Criston’s focus remained on Gwayne, the bond between them igniting a fire within him.

With a fierce determination, Criston and Gwayne pressed forward, fighting their way toward the cave entrance. The clash of steel rang in their ears, the adrenaline surging through them as they faced the onslaught of Velaryon soldiers. Criston’s heart raced, his focus solely on protecting Gwayne, who fought valiantly despite the pain etched on his face.

“Almost there!” Criston shouted, deflecting a blow aimed at his side. He could see the faint light of the outside world beckoning them, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

Gwayne grunted as he parried a soldier’s strike, his movements becoming increasingly labored.

“I’m right behind you!” he called, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

With one final push, Criston surged through the cave’s mouth, emerging into the moonlit night. The cool air hit him like a wave, but there was no time to breathe. The moment they stepped outside, they were met with a fresh wave of Velaryon warriors, their faces twisted with fury.

“Ambush!” Criston shouted, instinctively placing himself between Gwayne and the advancing soldiers. He raised his sword, ready to defend against the oncoming storm.

“Criston!” Gwayne gasped, trying to catch his breath. “We need to retreat!”

But there was no retreating now. The Velaryon soldiers surged forward, and Criston found himself engulfed in the fray once more. He fought fiercely, every swing of his sword fueled by the need to protect Gwayne and escape the wrath of the Velaryons.

“Watch your left!” Criston yelled, as a soldier lunged at Gwayne. Criston turned just in time to deflect the blow, his heart pounding as he caught Gwayne’s eye. They were a team, and they had to rely on each other.

The battle raged on, and Criston felt the weight of their situation pressing down on him. They were outnumbered, and the Velaryons were relentless. He could see the fear in Gwayne’s eyes, the pain etched into his features as he fought through his injury.

“Gwayne, fall back!” Criston shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. “Get to the trees! I’ll hold them off!”

“No!” Gwayne protested, his voice fierce despite his weakness. “We fight together, Criston! Always!”

With a surge of adrenaline, Criston pushed forward, cutting down another soldier. But just as they began to make headway, a larger group of Velaryon soldiers emerged from the shadows, surrounding them.

“Surround them!” a commanding voice echoed through the chaos.

Criston’s heart sank as he realized they were trapped.

“Criston!” Gwayne shouted, panic rising in his voice. “We can’t fight them all!”

Criston glanced around, assessing their options. The trees loomed nearby, but the Velaryons were closing in fast.

“We have to make a break for it!” he yelled, determination igniting within him.

With a fierce battle cry, Criston charged forward, pushing through the nearest group of soldiers. Gwayne followed closely as they fought side by side. They weaved through the chaos, dodging blows and striking back with fierce resolve.

As they neared the treeline, Criston felt a sharp pain in his side—a soldier had managed to land a blow. He grunted but pressed on, fueled by the urgency to protect Gwayne.

“Keep moving!” Criston urged, gritting his teeth against the pain. They burst into the cover of the trees, the shadows swallowing them as they maneuvered through the underbrush.

But the Velaryon soldiers were relentless, pursuing them into the woods. Criston glanced back, his heart pounding as he saw the first of their pursuers breaking through the treeline.

“We can’t stop now!” Gwayne gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “We have to find a way to shake them off our trail!”

Criston nodded, determination flooding his veins.

“This way!” He led Gwayne deeper into the forest, the sounds of battle fading behind them, but the threat still loomed close.

As they ran, Criston couldn’t shake the feeling that their fight was far from over. The Dance of the Dragons was a brutal game, and they were caught in its deadly embrace.

Criston and Gwayne pushed deeper into the forest, the sounds of their pursuers fading into the distance. The trees closed in around them, the dense underbrush providing a temporary veil of safety. Just as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them, they stumbled upon a hidden grove, a serene clearing bathed in moonlight.

“Here!” Criston gasped, motioning for Gwayne to follow him inside. The grove was lush and secluded, thick trees forming a natural barrier against prying eyes. They collapsed onto the soft grass, their bodies heavy with fatigue.

“Are you hurt?” Gwayne asked, his voice strained as he caught his breath. The anger that had simmered between them lingered, but the urgency of their situation forced them to focus.

Criston shook his head, though the pain in his side throbbed insistently.

“Just a scratch,” he lied, not wanting to add to Gwayne’s worry. But the truth was that the blow he’d taken was deeper than he cared to admit.

Gwayne’s eyes narrowed, the fire of his frustration reigniting.

“You’re bleeding, Criston. Let me see.”

Before Criston could protest, Gwayne moved closer, his hands gentle yet firm as he examined the wound. The anger in his eyes was mixed with concern, and Criston felt a pang of guilt wash over him. He had put them both in danger, and now Gwayne was forced to tend to him.

“Why did you have to kill him?” Gwayne asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of the question hung heavy in the air. “You could have found another way.”

Criston clenched his jaw, the memory of Corlys’s defiant face flashing in his mind.

“I did what I thought was necessary. We were out of options, Gwayne.”

“Out of options?” Gwayne’s voice rose, the tension between them palpable. “You think murder is a solution? You’ve made an enemy of an entire house! We could have negotiated, but now we’re hunted!”

Criston felt the sting of Gwayne’s words, the truth cutting deeper than any blade.

“I was trying to protect you! I thought—”

“Thought what?” Gwayne interrupted, his blue eyes blazing with anger. “That killing a lord would somehow save us? You’ve only made things worse, Criston!”

Gwayne’s hands worked deftly as he cleaned the wound, the sharp sting of antiseptic pulling Criston back to the moment. “You’re reckless,” Gwayne continued, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “You act without thinking, and it puts both of us at risk.”

Criston sighed, the weight of Gwayne’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I thought I was doing what was best for us.”

Gwayne’s expression softened slightly as he finished bandaging the wound.

“We need to be smarter, Criston. This war isn’t just about fighting; it’s about strategy. We can’t let our emotions dictate our actions.”

Criston looked into Gwayne’s eyes, the anger slowly giving way to understanding.

Gwayne nodded, though the tension remained. “We need to focus on getting out of here. The Velaryons won’t give up easily.”

Criston pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he tested his injury.

“We’ll find a way.”

As they stood in the hidden grove, the air thick with tension, Gwayne turned to Criston, his expression resolute.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion. “Once we get out of this ambush, I’m going back to my sister. I won’t fight alongside you again.”

Criston felt a rush of cold dread wash over him, as if the very ground beneath his feet had crumbled away.

“Gwayne, wait—”

“No,” Gwayne interrupted, his blue eyes fierce. “You don’t understand. I can’t follow you into this madness. You’re reckless, and I won’t be part of it anymore.”

Heart pounding, Criston struggled to find the words. He could feel the weight of Gwayne’s decision pressing down on him, suffocating.

“You can’t just abandon me,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re in this together.”

“We were in this together,” Gwayne corrected, his voice firm. “But you’ve crossed a line I can’t follow. I can’t fight for a cause that’s built on bloodshed and violence. I won’t become like you.”

Criston’s heart sank at the accusation, the sting of Gwayne’s words cutting deeper than any blade.

“I did what I thought was necessary to protect us! To protect you!” His voice trembled with the weight of his emotions, but he knew he couldn’t reveal the full extent of his feelings.

Gwayne shook his head, frustration and disappointment etched across his features.

“You think killing Corlys was protecting me? You’ve only put a target on our backs. I can’t trust you anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension crackling like a live wire between them. Criston felt the urge to argue, to plead with Gwayne to reconsider, but the fear of exposing his true feelings held him back. Instead, he stood there, his heart aching as he watched Gwayne’s resolve harden.

“I have to go back to Alicent,” Gwayne continued, his voice softer but unwavering. “She needs me. I can’t be your partner in this war any longer.”

Criston felt a lump form in his throat, the reality of Gwayne’s words sinking in.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We’ve fought side by side through everything. You can’t just walk away.”

“I have to,” Gwayne replied, the finality in his voice sending a chill through Criston. “I can’t be a part of this anymore. I can’t be a part of you.”

The ache in Criston’s chest intensified, a mix of heartbreak and frustration. He wanted to argue, to convince Gwayne that they were stronger together, but the fear of losing him weighed heavily on his heart.

“If that’s what you truly want…” he started, his voice faltering.

“It is,” Gwayne affirmed, his gaze unwavering.

Criston swallowed hard, the pain of their impending separation settling in.

“Then I won’t stop you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t promise I’ll let you go easily.”

Gwayne’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of regret crossing his features.

“I don’t want to lose you, Criston. But I can’t stay.”

As they stood in the grove, the threat of the Velaryon soldiers looming outside, Criston felt the weight of their choices pressing down on him. The bond they had forged was unraveling, and with it, the fragile hope he had held onto for so long.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here,” Gwayne said, breaking the silence. “We can figure the rest out later.”

Criston nodded, though his heart felt heavy with the knowledge that their paths were diverging.

[samskaterguy]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALISTAIR WONDERLAND!! 🩵🧭♟️

(May 12th!)

[mocktortis]

So recently I've been seeing this bit of information around that "Lewis Carroll was a mathematician and he was inspired to write Alice in Wonderland because he was really frustrated by the contemporary math of his time." Specifically people kept bringing up imaginary numbers.

And that struck me as weird, because I have read a lot of writings on Alice, and I had never come across this before. I have the mega-version of the Annotated Alice, and multiple copies of Alice with introductions from pretty well-known Carrollian scholars. They all mentioned that Carroll's real identity was the mediocre mathematician Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, but never really tied that with Alice. Even The Annotated Alice, which was edited by the math guy Martin Gardner, only has math related footnotes when math (usually arithmetic) is specifically brought up by the text (such as when Alice is struggling to remember her times-tables). I should probably warn you now, there will be math in this post.

So... where does this claim come from?

I asked people for sources, and I got one response that was actually useful. They admitted they didn't have an academic source, but told me to try googling "Alice in wonderland math". It was the best lead I had (one person told me verbatim "Google is free". Classy), so I put it into Google and came up with a decent amount of results. The first article I found linked to another article from 2009 by a doctoral candidate at Oxford called Melanie Bayley. Unfortunately, the article is only available if you make an account with New Scientist, which I was not keen to do. I moved on, continued reading through poorly written articles and 10 year-old blogs, looking through their sources to see where they were getting their information... and every single article and blog post linked back to Bayley's article from 2009, or an op-ed she wrote for NY Times (also blocked behind a give-your-name-to-the-fae type deal). Fortunately, one of my family members actually has an NY Times account already, so I just asked if I could use their account to access this article.

Eureka. After reading through so many misinformed and poorly explained sources (one of which just copy-pasted Bayley's article into their blog), reading Bayley's actual article was like a miracle. It was so well-written, well-researched, and actually solidly convincing. I was nearly crying at just how beautiful the thing everyone else was ripping off really was. This encouraged me to make an account to read her New Scientist article.

Bayley references back to a paper published in 1984 by Helena Pycior, At the Intersection of Mathematics and Humor. Pycior is a Professor at University of Wisconsin Milwaukee, an MA in math, and a historian. Her paper is rigorously researched and does a fabulous job of explaining mathematical advancements (especially symbolical algebra) in the late-18th to mid-19th centuries, Lewis Carroll's own education in mathematics, and his more serious writings on math as Charles Dodgson. Pycior also highlights a line in the chapter Alice's Evidence, when Alice remarks, "I don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it, which is eerily similar to a line in Augustus De Morgan's Trigonometry and Double Algebra ("With one exception, no word nor sign of arithmetic or algebra has one atom of meaning throughout this chapter,"), a math textbook Carroll definitely read. Pycior's paper is very technical, however, and might not be for everyone. But it is a great foundation for Bayley to base her claims.

While I would highly recommend reading Bayley's articles, I understand not everyone will be interested, so I will summarize:

Bayley's analysis mainly focuses on sections added by Lewis Carroll after 1864. Carroll's original manuscript, written for Alice Liddell and her sisters, is missing several scenes from the final published version, and there are some scenes in the manuscript that were extended in the final version. The scenes Bayley dissects are Advice from a Caterpillar, Alice's first meeting with the Duchess, Alice's conversation with the Cheshire Cat, and A Mad Tea Party.

Bayley first covers the chapter Advice From a Caterpillar. She connects it to De Morgan's Trigonometry and Double Algebra. Helena Pycior points out that Carroll was "clearly inspir[ed]" by De Morgan, and references De Morgan in a few of his academic works published under his real name. Bayley draws attention to De Morgan's use of the Arabic phrase: "al jebr e al mokabala" —the original Arabic name for algebra. Bayley explains that it means "restoration and reduction". I actually don't think I can put it much better than she did, so I will use an excerpt from her article:

"Restoration was what brought Alice to the mushroom: she was looking for something to eat or drink to “grow to my right size again”, and reduction was what actually happened when she ate some: she shrank so rapidly that her chin hit her foot."

A little later, Bayley adds:

"De Morgan... proposed... that symbolic algebra should be considered as a system of grammar. “Reduce” algebra from a universal arithmetic to a series of logical but purely symbolic operations, he said, and you will eventually be able to “restore” a more profound meaning to the system – though at this point he was unable to say exactly how."

Part of the Caterpillar's "advice" to Alice is "Keep your temper", after Alice complains that she keeps changing in size. Alice assumes he means not to get angry but, as Bayley explains "To intellectuals at the time, though, the word “temper” also retained its original sense of “the proportion in which qualities are mingled”" ie. tempered steel, tempered glass, tempered chocolate etc. Bayley proposes that the Caterpillar is using this meaning of the word temper— meaning his remark would be advising her to keep her proportions the same, even if she can't stay the same size. That remark becomes relevant after Alice tries changing her size with the two sides of the mushroom: when she tries just the small side, her torso shrinks and brings her face so close to her feet she can scarcely open her mouth; when she tries just the large size, her neck stretches to ridiculous lengths. Only when she tries a bit of both in a balance— tempering them— is she able to change size while keeping her proportions.

Alice next encounters the Duchess in her kitchen, and the Duchess' notably ugly baby. As the Duchess leaves for croquet she throws (literally throws) her baby at Alice, who catches the baby and takes it outside, reasoning to herself that the violent Duchess and her Cook would likely kill the baby if Alice were to leave it there. As Alice looks down at the baby, she realizes it is turning into a pig, and she releases the baby-turned-pig into the wood.

Bayley's interpretation of this scene is as a satire of projective geometry— and specifically the "principle of continuity", laid out by French mathematician Jean-Victor Poncelet. Poncelet's description of the principle (via Bayley) is “Let a figure be conceived to undergo a certain continuous variation, and let some general property concerning it be granted as true, so long as the variation is confined within certain limits; then the same property will belong to all the successive states of the figure.” In Bayley's NY Times article, she explains it more clearly as, "[the principle of continuity] involves the idea that one shape can bend and stretch into another provided it retains the same basic properties— a circle is the same as an ellipse or parabola."

Bayley suggests that Carroll's rebuttal to this is based off Poncelet's use of the word "figure". If the figure of a triangle can change its shape while remaining a triangle, then the figure of a person (or baby, in this case) can also change its shape. As Bayley puts it "What works for a triangle should also work for a baby."

Skipping ahead to the Mad Tea Party, Bayley proposes that the characters of the March Hare, the Mad Hatter, and the Dormouse, are paralleling the concept of quaternions, proposed by William Rowan Hamilton in 1843. Hamilton's Lectures on Quaternions was the first way of representing rotations in three dimensions with algebra, and it was well-known enough at the time that it is reasonable to assume Carroll had read it, or at least seen arguments relating to it.

Here is Bayley's explanation of Hamilton's quaternions:

"Just as complex numbers work with two terms, quaternions belong to a number system based on four terms. Hamilton spent years working with three terms – one for each dimension of space – but could only make them rotate in a plane. When he added the fourth, he got the three-dimensional rotation he was looking for, but he had trouble conceptualising what this extra term meant. Like most Victorians, he assumed this term had to mean something, so in the preface to his Lectures on Quaternions of 1853 he added a footnote: “It seemed (and still seems) to me natural to connect this extra-spatial unit with the conception of time.”"

Breaking that down a little more (serious math alert): a complex number is a number with two terms, a real portion (represented by a), and an imaginary portion (represented by bi), and is written as a+bi. One of Hamilton's quaternions would be represented like this: a+bi+cj+dk. (I don't really know how they work either.)

In A Mad Tea Party, the Mad Hatter says, "It's always six o'clock now", trapping the party at perpetual teatime. The Hatter's explanation for this is that he quarreled with the personification of Time, and in retaliation, Time is keeping the clocks at six for the foreseeable future. Without Time, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and The Dormouse keep rotating around the table, as if in a two-dimensional plane. It is possible that this is Carroll's way of poking fun at the absurd idea that time would factor into an expression meant to determine the movement of objects in space.

And it is this final section of Bayley's article which gets misinterpreted into the claim, "Lewis Carroll was inspired to write Alice in Wonderland because he was frustrated by imaginary numbers."

I want to end with this: we have no proof Carroll intended any sort of mathematical allegory in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He seemingly did his best to keep his life as a mathematician and his life as a popular children's author separate from one another. Most of his surviving writing's on his inspirations for Alice make no mention of Math. That said, Melanie Bayley's article provides a truly fascinating interpretation of some of the most beloved episodes in Alice, and I wouldn't begrudge anyone who wants to believe it.

If you're interested in reading more, this is a free PDF of Melanie Bayley's NY Times op-ed. The first page is an email someone sent to friends that contained the article, but the full article is underneath.

Also, this article by Art Publika has a great overview of both of Melanie Bayley's articles, plus some extra background on Carroll, and so many pictures.

[paradise-in-k4]

Kirisame Print Shop Journal - The Ten Elixir Tavern, Scene A

Continuing from here

Marisa - The guy with the hood by that grill, you say? He looks like their main cook, but maybe he’s multi-tasking just like how Mystia does it, ze. Wonder what he uses such a huge axe for anyway…

As you look again towards the hooded figure in front of the grill, you notice the double-sided axe he was using to chop firewood for the furnace before going back to work. He looks like he’s having a good time cooking food for the place.

Alice - You know it’s rude to make assumptions like that.

Aya - Pipe down, he’s noticed us! Act natural, but not naturally stupid.

Nitori - Why not?

Ran - Listen to the tengu. One wrong move could land us all on the local paper, and that could possibly jeopardize our whole investigation.

Head Cook - A large party comin’ in, eh? Get yourselves settled in at a table and I’ll be right over to take your orders!

Following the head chef’s instructions, you and the rest of your group find a large table to get seated. About 15 minutes passed since then, giving everyone time to figure out what to order. True to his word, he eventually came around to your table.

Head Cook - Sorry ‘bout the wait. *Ahem* Welcome to the Ten Elixir Tavern. My name’s Jackson and I’ll be your server and chef tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks?

Reimu - Green tea with a slice of lemon.

Marisa - I’ll take a round of that Legendary Elixir Special.

Alice - I’ll have some black tea with lemon and sugar cubes.

Youmu - I will have the same thing.

Rei - I’d like the lime soda.

Nitori - Can I get some water with cucumbers?

Aya - I’ll take the Multi Inferno Tower, extra sake.

Daiyousei - Just ice water for me. Can I also have a lemon slice with it please?

Renko - I’ll order the Lumberjack’s Smoothie.

Maribel - Make that two!

Ran - Lemonade, not too much ice.

The server and chef stares towards you.

[yournowheregirl]

for this months @steddiemicrofic

prompt: suck | wc: 480 | rating T | cw: lake creature eddie, suggestive language, tentacles

“Is that a hickey?”

Robin’s voice is loud, way louder than it should be and Steve thanks the heavens that Family Video is deserted today. He tries to ignore her screeching, but then Robin sides up to him and pokes at his neck.

“Didn’t you hear me? I asked you—.” Robin says as her eyes zero in on Steve’s neck. “Correction, are those hickeys? As in multiple?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, right.” Robin scoffs. She grabs Steve’s face and angles it away from her, exposing more of his skin. Steve yelps in protest, and from the corner of his eye, Steve can see Robin’s face falling. “Shit… Steve. These aren’t just normal hickeys. What the fuck have you been up to?”

“It’s nothing, Robin.” Steve grumbles, yanking his face from her grip. “Probably some allergic reaction from that new moisturizer I bought last week.”

“You need to see a doctor.” Robin huffs. “This kind of reaction isn’t normal, Steve!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Robin decides to drop it after that, but Steve can still feel her eyes on him throughout the rest of their shift.

After closing off, Steve gets into his car and starts driving, far past Hawkins’ suburbs until he reaches the edge of the forest. He parks his car there and resumes his way on foot, familiar with the forest even in the dark. After only a few minutes, the forest clears and Steve is greeted by a lake, the night dead silent.

But Steve knows this lake is anything but quiet.

After taking off his clothes and shoes, Steve walks up to the pier. He sits down on the edge, inhales deeply to whistle a familiar tune, and waits.

Something splashes in the water then and Steve bites back a grin as the something swims closer and closer.

“Love?”

“Hi Eddie.” Steve says as Eddie’s head pops above the surface, his webbed ears peaking through his wet hair.

“Steve! Surprise!” Eddie smiles brightly then, flashing his sharp teeth.

“Yes, I know I said I wasn’t coming tonight. But I needed to talk to you about something.” Steve sighs. “We gotta be more careful.”

“Careful. Danger? Where?” Eddie all but growls, his eyes growing impossibly darker as he scans the surroundings.

“No, no, it’s alright. No danger. We’re safe.” Steve says. He reaches out and cups Eddie’s cheek gently. Eddie feels cold, he always does, but never uncomfortable. “You just gotta be more careful with your tentacles, love.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side.

“Last night? When you uh— around my neck?” Steve’s face flushes with the memories of last night, of having Eddie all around him, in him…

Eddie nods with a knowing grin on his face.

“Yeah, your suckers left marks.” Steve chuckles.

“Suck less?” Eddie offers.

“That would be a start.”

Eddie swims closer and Steve feels two tentacles circling his calves.

“Try again?”

[sammiscorner]

I think i want to write a Alice and Wonderland themed story, this is a childhood show to me and one of my absolute favs and i love seeing all the adaptations of it and things

[writerofweird]

People say Tumblr is weird, but imagine what it would be like in Wonderland!

0 notes

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

Just saw the weirdest thing.

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

A white rabbit.

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

With a waistcoat.

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

And a pocket watch.

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

Fuck it.

4 notes

🎩thehatter Follow

Tea time.

6 notes

🎩thehatter Follow

Tea time.

6 notes

🎩thehatter Follow

Tea time.

6 notes

🐢mockingturtle Follow

Guys, my husband and I just figured out something about the school we went to. You see, our teacher was a turtle, but everyone called him tortoise.

Because he was a teacher.

He taught us.

0 notes

♠️2ofspades Follow

Planting roses

♠️2ofspades Follow

Fuck painted white ones

♠️2ofspades Follow

Don't worry think I've got the solution

👸queenofhearts Follow

OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!

♠️2ofspades Follow

Shit.

🤴kingofhearts Follow

Don't worry, you're pardoned.

5 notes

👱‍♀️goaskalice Follow

Just had a curious dream.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Alice in Wonderland au where the ever rational Remus Lupin falls down the rabbit hole and meets a strange human-like creature with long black hair and sparkling silver eyes at a tea party where no one can quite manage to catch a hold of the host

Edit: Posted a snippet of this here

[b-radley66]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Borderlines Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Saavik, Ensemble Cast - BAN Additional Tags: Weekly Challenge: Who Hotwired the Starship?, The Lost Era (2293 - 2364), Ficlet Series: Part 52 of Borderlines: Missing Scenes and Preludes Summary:

A yeoman reveals layers.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Blue and Broken-Hearted: Chapter 1 (Chirisu)

Since Ao3 is down until further notice, I’m going to be reposting my Alice in Borderland fics on here! This one is another Chirisu story, inspired by an episode of Hart to Hart called “Blue and Broken-Harted”, aka my favorite episode of the whole series. As of right now, the episode isn’t available anywhere, but when it comes up on YouTube, I will totally link it here for you guys to watch! For now, enjoy Chapter One!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It began for the two lovebirds with a phone call. 

Well, not immediately. Let’s back up a bit to a couple hours before that. 

“And in other news, police are still on the lookout for Yaba Oki, a reputed loan shark for organized crime. Yaba-san was last seen one week ago leaving an apartment building, captured on the security camera of the convenience store across the street. Police ask anyone who may have seen Yaba-san since then to call the nearest police station—”

Usagi sighed and set down the plate she was cleaning to go turn down the volume of the television. “Hope I don’t run into him today,” she muttered to herself. As she set down the remote, she caught the smell of something burning, and hurried back into the kitchen to see the eggs on the stove starting to burn. “Arisu!” she yelled. “The eggs are burning!”

“What?!” 

Arisu came running in from the hallway, where he’d quickly gone to use the bathroom while cooking breakfast. “Oh no!” He quickly turned off the stove and brought the frying pan over to another burner. “Aw man,” he lamented, poking at the burned eggs with the spatula. 

“That’s what you get for not paying attention,” Usagi scolded as she went back over to the sink. 

Arisu sighed and glanced over at the trash can, where he knew two other attempts at eggs were. “Do you think I can salvage these?” he asked Usagi. 

“Maybe,” Usagi said thoughtfully as she went to put the dried plate away. “You could make toast and add some fruit. Eggs on toast is always good.”

“I guess so…” He eyed the offending eggs like it was their fault they’d gotten themselves burned. “I wanted them to be perfect,” he pouted. 

“Arisu, you know Chishiya will love them even if they’re a little burned,” Usagi stated. “He’ll be so happy you made breakfast for him that he won’t even care.” She grinned only half-teasingly at him. “He may even give you a full smile this time.”

That made Arisu brighten. “You think?”

“Of course! You’ve been married five years now and it’s your anniversary. He’ll be absolutely lovesick with you all day.”

Arisu giggled happily and looked down at the eggs with a more forgiving look. “Yeah, you know, I think I can salvage these.”

“That’s the spirit.” Usagi went to put on her jacket and grabbed her purse. “I have to go. Kuina said I could stay over tonight, so I won’t be home until tomorrow.”

Arisu bounced in place at the idea of him and Chishiya having the whole house to themselves, with no roommate there to make things awkward while they enjoyed their anniversary. “Okay. Tell Kuina I said hi.”

“I will. And,” she went to hug Arisu with a big smile, “tell Chishiya, happy anniversary, you two.”

Arisu returned the hug. “Thanks, Usagi. Now you should get going, you’ll be late.”

Once Usagi had left, Arisu went to work making the toast and getting strawberries and blueberries from the fridge to put with the eggs and toast. He put it all on two plates, one for him and one for Chishiya, set them carefully on a tray, grabbed some silverware, and left the kitchen with the tray of breakfast. He went up the stairs and balanced the tray on one hand so he could quietly open the door to his bedroom, then crept inside. 

Chishiya was still asleep in bed, where he’d conked out after the double shift he’d pulled at the hospital the previous day. He’d insisted it would be worth it, because then he would have the whole day off to spend with Arisu for their anniversary. But Arisu still couldn’t help worrying about him a little bit; even if Chishiya told him he didn’t have to, he still fretted about his husband’s long shifts taking a toll on him. 

But he didn’t have to worry about that right now. Right now, he was going to wake up his husband so they could enjoy their anniversary together. 

With a smile, Arisu set the tray carefully down on his nightstand and slipped back into bed. He wrapped his arms around Chishiya and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Shuntaro,” he whispered, kissing him again. “Shuuuun…” Chishiya grumbled softly and he chuckled, peppering his face with soft kisses. “Wake up. I have a surprise for you.”

After a second, Chishiya cracked his eyes open, and he looked blearily up at him. Arisu smiled lovingly. “Good morning,”

“Morning,” Chishiya grumbled. He rubbed his eyes with a yawn, then turned back to Arisu with a soft smile. “Happy anniversary.”

Arisu kissed his nose. “Happy anniversary.” He gave Chishiya another kiss, making the man hum before returning it. They kissed long and sweetly before he broke away again. “I made breakfast.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Arisu straightened up to go get the tray, but  a pair of strong arms locked around his waist to pull him back down. He laughed. “Come on, let me up.”

Chishiya smirked lazily at him. “Nah. I'm pretty comfortable like this.”

“‘Shiya,” Arisu laughed. “Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

Chishiya just kept smirking at him. “I’d rather have you.”

He brought a hand up to bring Arisu’s head down for another kiss. Arisu chuckled into his mouth and returned it, moaning softly when Chishiya’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Maybe they could have breakfast later… 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A block away from the house, in the truck they’d rented for this, Matsushita Enji made a noise of disgust at the noises of pleasure coming through his headphones. He turned off the speakers and ripped the headphones off his head. “Do we really have to listen to all of this?” he asked the man sitting next to him. “I’m not in the mood to listen to them having sex all day.” 

“Then don’t listen to them having sex,” Nitobe Hinata replied easily as he lit a cigarette. “What we need to do doesn’t involve listening to that.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Enji grumbled. 

“You know what to do when they’re done?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll make the phone call.”

“Good. Step One of my plan has officially begun,” Nitobe said, looking off into the distance with a grin around his cigarette. 

Enji frowned. “You still haven’t told me why we’re doing all of this,” he said to him. “It seems like overkill just so you can get the money you owe Yaba-san. It’s already been a week since you convinced him to give you more time. We only have a month, and we’ve spent a week just listening and trying to call Chishiya Shuntaro.” Which hadn’t succeeded, due to his long shifts at the hospital. In spite of himself, Enji was starting to grow slightly concerned about the treatment of people in the medical profession. 

“We’ll get the money,” Nitobe replied nonchalantly. He took his cigarette out and tried to blow out a ring of smoke, that ended up coming out haphazard and misshapen. “Damn. Can never make smoke rings.”

“How are we getting the money?” Enji pressed. 

Nitobe gestured to the listening equipment with his cigarette. “Those two lovebirds are going to get us the money.”

Enji glanced at his listening equipment in confusion. “You said that last week. Why don’t we just ask them for the money, then?”

“No, because the thing is…” Nitobe leaned in close with a conspiratorial grin. “They’re going to be how we get the money. They just don’t realize it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arisu sighed contentedly as Chishiya pulled out of him and fell into bed beside him. Their hands tangled together under the blanket as he dazedly leaned over to give him a kiss, but only managing to mouth at his cheek. Chishiya chuckled and turned his head, kissing him properly. “Alright?” he asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Arisu managed with a smile. He flopped his head back, panting for breath as he gazed up at the ceiling. “That was great,” he breathed. “You’re great.”

Chishiya chuckled and squeezed his hand. “You’re pretty great, too.”

Arisu turned his head again to smile lovingly at him. “I’m so lucky.” He lifted Chishiya’s hand to kiss the back. “I love you.”

A soft smile crept over Chishiya’s face. “I love you too.” He sighed and slowly forced himself to sit up. “I’m gonna go clean up. I’ll clean you up too.”

“Or we could shower,” Arisu said with a coy grin. 

Chishiya chuckled and mirrored the coy look. “But you went through all the trouble of making breakfast for us. It’ll get cold.”

“Pah!” Arisu scoffed with a laugh. “Fine then. We’ll do it later, then.”

“After we eat.” Chishiya secretly planned on eating the fruit off of Arisu anyway. 

He slowly got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. He wet a washcloth, and just as he was about to use it, Arisu called, “Shuntaro! Your phone’s ringing.”

“Could you get it?” Chishiya called back. 

“Sure.” There was a pause as Arisu answered the call. “Hello? Who’s calling? Um… no, Shuntaro can’t come to the phone right now. This is Shuntaro’s husband. I can take a message—hello?” 

Chishiya poked his head out of the bathroom in time to see Arisu set his phone back on the nightstand with a look of confusion. “Who was it?”

“Some guy named Oki Ippei,” Arisu replied. “He asked if he could talk to you, then just hung up.”

Chishiya furrowed his brow. “Strange.”

Arisu nodded. “Yeah. Do you know anyone named Oki Ippei?”

“Hmm… I don’t know.”

“Huh. Must’ve been a prank caller.”

“Maybe.” Chishiya went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He brushed thoughtfully, wondering why the name sounded familiar. Did he know an Oki Ippei? From high school, or university?

Then he thought of something as he left the bathroom to slide back into bed. “I did know an Oki Ippei in university,” he commented as he wrapped an arm around Arisu’s waist. 

Arisu leaned over to grab the breakfast tray. “Oh?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I remember now. We were in the same pre-med track. He was in the friend group my mother insisted I join to be sociable.”

“I thought you weren’t sociable at all in university,” Arisu laughed. 

Chishiya chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to his neck before taking the plate held out to him. “As un-sociable as Bilbo Baggins. But Ippei was always friendly to me. He asked me out once. I said no.”

Arisu eyed him. “Gently, I hope,”

“As gently as I could,” Chishiya reassured. “I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he understood. We stayed friends for a while, then he transferred to another university. To be closer to his parents, I think. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Hm. Maybe he wanted to reconnect with you. He said he’s been trying to call you.”

“I’ll think about it later.” Chishiya leaned in to give Arisu a long, slow kiss, and broke off with a grin. “I’m celebrating my anniversary today with my beautiful husband.”

Arisu grinned widely. “Oh wow, really? I’m celebrating my anniversary with my beautiful husband today too.”

“What a coincidence.” Chishiya kissed him again. “Your beautiful husband was just thinking about how he wanted to eat this fruit off your body.”

Arisu’s eyes widened slightly and his cheeks flushed pink. “C-Can he eat his eggs first? I tried really hard on them…”

Chishiya kissed his warm cheek with a chuckle. “Of course. They look great.” 

And if Chishiya happened to eat a little quicker than he usually did so he could get to eating the fruit off Arisu… well, that’s really none of anyone’s business.