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cryptwrites · 1 year

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Poisons

Hello! I'm gonna share how I go about writing poisons and the things I think are helpful to keep in mind. Now, I have never actually poisoned someone - shocker - but I have done extensive research on the topic, so I would say I know a decent amount about how to effectively poison someone. Disclaimer: This is for writing purposes only, don't poison people. Thanks.

Keep In Mind:

Poisoners need little to no physical strength although they do need a strong sense of self control & nerves of steel. Shooting or stabbing someone takes a mere moment of consideration and is frequently the result of a split second decision, while position requires dedication. Many poisons require a certain amount of time to work and the poisoner usually must administer several doses of poison in order to work. The poisoner also usually must be within close proximity to their victim and often will have to look them in the eye and engage with the person while the person slowly dies.

Exotic poisons can be more trouble than they’re worth. Importing exotic poisons leaves a trail for authorities to follow, and they require more research to correctly use.

Smart poisoners work with what they’ve got. The clever killer looks for drugs that are already in the victim’s medicine cabinet and that could be deadly. Read medical warning labels to get an idea of how to use them.

Poison can be used in ways that aren’t deadly. If the goal isn’t death, you can render someone dizzy or dopey, making a character vulnerable to a bad influence.

Common Poisons

Hemlock: Poison hemlock comes from a large fern-like plant that bears a dangerous resemblance to the carrot plant. It was readily available for treating muscle spasms, ulcers, and swelling, but in large doses will cause paralysis and ultimately respiratory failure.

Mandrake: It was used as a sedative, hallucinogen and aphrodisiac. Superstition mediaeval denizens believes when the vaguely human-shaped root was pulled out that plant gave a piercing shriek that would drive anyone to madness or death - hence the harry potter scene.

Arsenic: Arsenic comes from a metalloid and not a plant, unlike the others but it’s easily the most famous and is still used today. instead of being distilled from a plant, chunks of arsenic and dug up or mined. It was once used as a treatment for STDs , and also for pest control and blacksmiths, which was how many poisoners got access to it. It was popular in the Renaissance since it looked similar to malaria death, due to acute symptoms including stomach cramps, confusion, convulsions, vomiting and death. Slow poisoning looked more like a heart attack.

Nightshade: A single leaf or a few berries could cause hallucinations - a few more was a lethal dose. Mediaeval women used the juice of the berries to colour their cheeks, they would even put a few drops on their eyes to cause the pupils to dilate for a lovestruck look which is why Nightshade is also called ‘Belladonna’ or “Beautiful woman.” The symptoms include dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium and convulsions.

Aconite: This toxic plant, also called Monkshood or Wolfsbane, was used by indigenous tribes around the world as arrow poison. The root is the most potent for distillation. Marked symptoms may appear almost immediately, usually not later than one hour, and with large doses death is near instantaneous. The initial signs are gastrointestinal including nausea, and vomiting. This is followed by a sensation of burning, tingling, and numbness in the mouth and face, and of burning in the abdomen. In severe poisonings pronounced motor weakness occurs and sensations of tingling and numbness spread to the limbs. The plant should be handled with gloves, as the poison can seep into the skin.

If someones poisoning another:

The character should analyse the daily life of the target well before attempting to poison them. Note what sort of medicines they take, at what moments they are most vulnerable, how attentive they are to their surroundings, and so on.

Choose a poison that suits your needs. You need to be as discreet as possible and not arouse suspicion. Too dramatic and people will know something is up. Choose poisons that are easy to slip into meals/don't have to be administered constantly, or you could simply frame it as an overdose by using the target's own medicines.

Think of how you want to administer the poison. Some take effect through touch while some require being swallowed. Based on that, come up with a plan to poison your target.

Make sure everything corresponds with the plot and characters, and nothing becomes a plot hole. Don't have a typically nervous character be perfectly calm when thinking of poisoning. Don't poison someone just for the sake of it. Have everything tie back to the plot, your characters rarely should be poisonings someone just for the "cool" effect. Trust me, it doesn't actually have that effect and just comes off like lazy writing. Have your characters act in accordance with their personalities.

Research time periods and history when choosing poisons. Not all poisons were popular during the same time periods, and not all of them are native to the same geographical areas.

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creativepromptsforwriting · 2 years

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30 Days Writing Challenge

Write about a first kiss

Write a scene without any dialogue

Use the words: kitchen, date, music

Write about your MCs personal style

Write 100 words today

Write about a blackout

Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox

Write about finding a new hobby

Write about a heated debate

Use the title: Promises made, promises kept

Write about two characters dancing together

Explain your MCs motivation

Write 10 sentences about the last item you bought

Write about regret

Write about a girl's night

Write about a "thank you"

Write about a car ride

Use the title of the last song you've listened to

Write a summary for a book you would love to read

Write a new piece of lore for your WIP

Write something angsty

Write for 15 minutes without deleting anything

Write about dreaming

Use the words: crown, dance, smile

Write a scene that describes your MC well

Use the title: Like waves in the ocean

Write an ending without a beginning

Write only the dialogue for a scene

Write about your MCs nicknames

Write about a concert

#people asked me to put it in a separate post so here it is #was originally only intended for insta but happy you all like it here!#writing challenge #creativepromptsforwriting #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writing exercise #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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the-cypress-grove · 8 months

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October One Word Writing Challenge

Beginnings

Cobbled

Time

Pyre

Silver

Pearl

Fever

Honour

Righteousness

Poison

Spirit

Trinket

Prophesise

Evening

Knowledge

Glorious

Ocean

Guide

Candle

Wallpaper

Homeward

Star

Fur

Diary

Carriage

Gift

Sorrow

Veins

Madness

River

Endings

#writing exercise #writing prompt #creative writing #writers block #writing #october #halloween prompts #prompt list #writing challenge #writing prompts #writeblr community #prompt #writeblr #prompts

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mrsjellymunson · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine [Kittie’s edition]

For @carolmunson’s absolutely wonderful The Boy Is Mine community-boosting writing exercise. Thank you Carol for creating this marvellous event 💛 Everyone go look at the guidelines and JOIN IN, no tag is necessary 😃

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

WC: ~1.6k

Rating: M, MDNI

C/W: Fluffy Fluffster McFluffington, friends to lovers, a few swears, descriptions of erotic drawings and literature, allusions to arousal, drug use (smoking the devil’s lettuce), kinda forced proximity?, Eddie is self-deprecating, Hellfire Club being stellar wingmen.

Prompts included: 3 prop prompts, 4 dialogue prompts.

—————————————————————

“What do you mean, we should all cancel?”

Gareth is looking at Dustin aghast, the other members of the Hellfire Club regarding the curly-haired boy with confusion.

“I mean exactly that. We should all cancel. Make it so it’s just the two of them.”

He continues, addressing the whole group.

“Aren’t you all sick of the awkwardness, the pining, the longing looks? I know I am. They’re never going to configure their own romantic night in, so I say we do it for them.”

Ever the insightful one, Erica continues Dustin’s campaign.

“He’s right, Gare, and you know it. These two doofuses are never gonna do it by themselves. So I say, save all of us the pain, and sacrifice one night of socialising for the greater good.”

“The greater good…”, the group grumbles in unison, most nodding sullenly at the loss of a night round at Eddie’s, but all agreed in their collective aim.

—————————————————————

You haven’t known Eddie as a friend for all that long. You only joined Hellfire a few weeks ago, and have smoked with him and the stoners at the bench in the woods a couple of times, but that’s about it. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been admiring him from afar for considerably longer, although you’d never tell him that.

Tonight is gonna be the first time you’ve spent time with him. Just him. At his trailer. Alone. Somehow all the other members of Hellfire ended up dropping out or having other plans, but they all insisted that you should definitely still go. You know you have no reason to be nervous, but there’s something that happens every time he looks at you that just makes you feel, well, fluttery.

You take a deep, steadying breath and knock on the screen door of the trailer, and from inside you hear a muffled, “Come in!”

Eddie’s sitting on the floor on a small throw pillow, his back against the couch, scribbling in a small, green notebook. It’s evident from the spoon sticking out of the container in front of him that he’s been eating vanilla frosting straight out of the tub. The weed must be getting to him already.

He looks up as you enter, and hurriedly closes the book as he goes to stand. He glances at his watch and greets you with a cheerful, if a little flustered, “Hey, sweetheart! Are you early? I didn’t think… Oh, I must’ve got distracted and lost a little time there.”

He beams at you as you move into the modest living room, dimples popping and those adorable chocolate brown eyes flashing in your direction.

Yeah, fluttery... You wonder how on earth you’re gonna keep it together for an entire evening.

Eddie beckons you over to the couch, and as you perch on the edge he invites you to spark up a pre-rolled joint as he somewhat self-consciously grabs the almost-empty frosting container and goes to the kitchen to get drinks.

As he moves, you can’t help but take him in. His hair is clean and fluffy, and he leaves a cloud of a not unpleasant masculine body wash in his wake. His shirt, which fits far too nicely, is a deep, unfaded black, and the print on the front seems really vibrant. It seems to be burn and tear-free, the sleeves are intact and attached, and it’s tucked into his jeans, which also appear to be devoid of rips. Could they all be… new? But, why would he be wearing his best clothes just for a simple social?

Taking a long drag from the joint and needing a distraction from all the unbidden fluttering, you grab the notebook. It’s one you’ve never seen before. It's pretty, and has an embossed cover sporting some kind of fantastical creature. It’s very Eddie.

Looking inside, you see drawings of dice, weapons, ubiquitous Eddie stuff. But then you spot some full-page sketches of sexy elves, a long-haired medieval maiden, boobs, even a couple of well-proportioned penises. You’re a little surprised, but the drawings are so good and the level of detail so exquisite that you almost forget the subject matter.

There’s some writing too, short scenarios about fantastical characters fucking on mountain tops, magical sex toys, a wizard with an impossibly long tongue... You know you shouldn’t be looking, but you can’t tear your eyes away, and you feel a subtle heat developing in your belly.

You skip to what must be his most recent scribblings, wondering what he was so engrossed with as you came in, which is where you find content that looks oddly… familiar. There’s an outline of a story about a magical prince ravishing a fair damsel at a location that sounds eerily similar to the spot in the woods that a group of you discovered only the other week. A sketch of a figure wearing a crown, surrounded by intricate renditions of dragons, who has your eyes and lips, and physical proportions that look an awful lot like yours. A picture of a hand, adorned with something that looks very similar to a bracelet that you wear, with one of Eddie’s rings on a finger...

Eddie returns from the kitchen with sodas poured into old plastic cups branded with worn logos that look like they came from a ball game years ago.

“The maid took the week off so we’ve run out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?"

You didn’t hear his socked feet pad in on the soft carpet, and his voice startles you. You jump, dropping the notebook onto the coffee table with a small thud. It falls open at the picture of the dragon lady.

Eddie freezes, eyes popped wide and jaw dropped open. He gapes a few times like a fish as you quickly scramble backwards onto the sofa, talking quickly and apologising profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie! I shouldn’t have been looking. I- I didn’t see much, honestly.”

He panics and rushes to put the cups down on the small coffee table, spilling a little from one of them. He quickly sits down next to you, and runs one hand nervously through his chestnut bangs while the other reaches shakily towards the notebook, but then pulls back.

He waves that hand in the air as he mumbles, “Umm, you weren’t supposed to see any of that. It’s, uh, ideas for campaigns or whatever. It’s just fantasy, y’know?”

He swallows thickly and his eyebrows pinch, and he’s studying your face to try to judge your reaction. Are you weirded out? Freaked? Upset? Angry?? Has he just ruined everything by forgetting to hide that damn book?

You see the terror in Eddie’s eyes, and you try to reassure him that you’re not offended by what you saw. In fact, quite the opposite. You blurt out,

“The drawings, they're really good. Amazing, actually. And the little stories, too. I sorta did read some, I’m really sorry. But it’s all really captivating. Kinda sensuous, almost visceral...”

You frown ever so slightly at your admission and chew your lip.

He asks, an endearingly hopeful look on his face,

“And… you like that?"

You look into his glinting, mahogany orbs and smile softly.

“Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

You shift in your seat, and Eddie can’t help but notice how you subtly clench your thighs together.

The edges of Eddie’s lips quirk up into the tiniest smile, as he realises that not only haven’t you completely freaked out, you also, apparently, even liked at least some of what you saw.

But just as quickly, his face drops. Looking at his lap and rubbing one thumb over his rings, he says quietly,

“Yeah, but it’s just fantasy, right? In real life, no Dragon Queen would ever want a freak like me.”

Bending forwards to peek under the curtain of hair that’s dropped in front of his face, you look up into his eyes, and state, softly,

“Aw, don't be like that. That's not even true. Some people would give anything to be your Dragon Queen."

He turns his head to look at you with a questioning expression.

“Yeah?”

Quietly, you reply,

“Yeah. You never know who’s gonna think you’re kind, and smart, and pretty…”

There’s a beat of tense silence. Needing something to do, you teasingly push at his knee with your hand. You both let out nervous little chuckles; it helps to dissipate some of the tension in the room.

As Eddie’s leg springs back from your touch, you notice that sometime during all of this your thighs have started touching.

Shit.

Fuck it.

Whether it’s the weed, or the contents of the notebook, or the way your skin feels like it’s on fire where it’s in contact with Eddie, or simply the way Eddie’s responding to your flattery and compliments, you feel emboldened, and decide to admit just a little of your feelings for him.

“You know, I find you pretty, Eddie.”

He looks genuinely surprised.

“You- You do?”

“Yeah. Really pretty. Gorgeous, actually, if I’m being truthful. And funny, and clever, and astonishingly creative, and-”

He cuts you off.

"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

“Oh yeah? And what kind of a problem would that be?”

His cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink as he admits, “The kind of problem that I’m gonna need to cover with a damn cushion, that’s what!”

You cackle, which makes Eddie laugh, a beautiful, booming sound emanating from deep in his chest.

You both start to giggle, all remaining discomfort dissipated. You theatrically bend and retrieve the pillow Eddie was sitting on earlier, handing it to him with a flourish as you dip your chin and peer up at him through your lashes.

“Might it also be the kind of problem that could one day be resolved by taking a certain Dragon Queen to a certain clearing deep in the woods, and doing certain things to her, perhaps with a certain magic tongue?”

Eddie inhales sharply through his nose, eyes twinkling, and suddenly looks dreadfully serious. His gaze locks with yours as he starts to lean into your space, and his gaze starts to flick between your eyes and lips.

He raises one hand to gently skim his fingertips down one side of your jaw and smiles a little as he says, in a low and husky voice that you can barely hear,

“Oh, my Queen, I think that would absolutely be the most perfect solution...”

—————————————————————

Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: If you haven’t seen Hot Fuzz, go do it. A reference near the beginning will make a whole lot more sense 😉 And if anyone spots the Shining reference somewhere in here, you win an invisible prize that you’ll never see, but it’s great, I promise.

Go go go check out the masterlist of other fabulous contributions for this challenge. Support your community!

Comments and reblogs give writers life, please share the love 💕💕💕

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician, and @sunshinepeachx bc we’ve bonded over Eddie fluff 😆

#eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfic #writing exercise #eddie munson #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #nervous!eddie munson #prompt challenge #prop challenge #self deprecating!eddie munson

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penvisions · 1 month

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once more with feeling {frankie drabble}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: flirting with a stranger, language, kissing, suggestive language

A/N: this was a fun little drabble for the fic title prompt game submitted by the lovely @burntheedges

drabble masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It started off as a chance encounter at the convenience store. Picking up a prescription and a bag of sour gummy candies. But of course your wallet hadn’t been inside the chaos of your purse. The cards hadn’t been rattling around amid the pens, gum wrappers, scraps of paper with lists, or the lighter that had somehow ended up in there either.

“Shit.”

The cashier rolls her eyes, popping a large bubble she had just blown out from the wad of gum in her mouth. An arched brow her silent judgement.

“I don’t have my wallet.”

“Okay.” She begins to slid the items away before a figure closed in on your right side.

“I’ll cover it,” A deep voice rumbled and you turned to meet a pair of startlingly wide brown eyes. They were set in the face of a handsome man. Your own roved over him, from the patchy scruff lining his jaw, the plush set of lips set under a thick moustache, the curls tamped down and curling around a cap tight over his head, the aviators slung in the collar of his grey t-shirt. But what really stole your breath away was the toothy grin he was flashing at you as he set down the items in his arms and reached to retrieve his worn wallet from a back pocket. “Gummies are an essential, can’t let ya go without them.”

Another bubble popping startled you, making you realize you hadn’t said anything in response. With a chuckle the man was gently corralling you away from the debit machine, a card between his thick fingers. He swiped it, nodding his head to the cashier as she held out two different plastic bags for the man to take.

“Thank you, that was very kind of you-“

“Fransisco, but Frankie is just fine.” He held out a hand, the bag with your items in it. You took it as you walked along side him out the sliding doors. You offered your name along with a thankful smile. All too aware of the large hoodie you had thrown on over a pair of shorts in your rush out the door. You only lived across the street, but of course you would run into a stunning man on your put off and then rushed errand.

“No problem at all.” He didn’t move toward the parking lot and neither did you, both rooted close enough to catch the scent of each other’s perfume and cologne. You could feel his eyes watch you as you tore into the bag of gummies, twin cherries. You held the open bag out to him as you brough one up to your lips. He smirked as he brought one to his own mouth.

“Cherries, that your thing? Cause you smell like ‘em and I bet you taste like ‘em too, now.” An eyebrow raised, though it was anything but a judgment like it had been on the cashier’s face. It was a flirty challenge and you couldn’t help the pull of your lips to match his energy.

“I dunno, why don’t you find out?” You swallowed, the candy sweet on your tongue and tangy. Your breath hitched, betraying your nerves as he reached a hand out to gently hold the back of your head and pull you toward him. His lips were plush against yours, so soft and faintly flavored from the candy. He didn’t try to push it past a chaste connection, pulling back after a few seconds.

“Mmm, seems like I need to do a little more research.”

“Seems like you do.” The flimsy handles of the bag slid down to the crook of your elbow as you reached up to cup his face. Leaning in, you kisses him with more intention. Allowing for him to lick into your mouth, licking the flavor from you as if he was starving and it was hist first taste of food in a long while.

You hummed, pulling him closer to feel the front of his body pressed up against your own, his hands going around the small of your back. Pleasure pooled in your middle, lighting you up as you stood in front of the convenient store and shared kisses with a beautiful stranger.

Sharing a breath, his fingers twitched around you as your lashes fluttered. His eyes were already watching when you opened them back up.

“Cherries were always my favorite.” He kissed you again and somehow you knew it would lead to a cherry frosted cake and the sharing of vows.

#dev writes #drabble #fic titles #prompt challenge #writing exercise #writing game #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction

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bookshelf-in-progress · 3 months

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A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of “The Farmer’s Clever Daughter”

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.

Faith

I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompous—oh, you’d have no idea unless you’d seen him then. He’s weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didn’t care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creation’s freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?

But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. He’d grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, “What a clever boy!” over every mildly witty observation he made. He’d been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.

And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servants—I’m certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.

Well, at any rate, take a man like that—beautiful and over-educated—and make him king over an entire nation—however small—before he turns twenty-five, and you’ve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.

Unfortunately, Alistair’s pomposity didn’t keep him properly aloof in his palace. He’d picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. It’s all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasn’t strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fields—he always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked on—and we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor man’s head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasn’t sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.

So then you can see how the story of the mortar—what do you mean you’ve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!

Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fresh audience?

It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortar—the thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Don’t ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thing—the world’s full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my father’s farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.

Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as he’d found a treasure on the king’s land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.

I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first question’s going to be…?

That’s right. “Where’s the pestle?”

I tried to tell Father as much, but he—dear, sweet, innocent man—saw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the king’s throne room—it was his public day—all smiles and eagerness.

Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the king—giving up half the king’s rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.

Alistair tore into my father—his tongue was much sharper then—taking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearing—and, inevitably, a hanging.

As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. “If only I had listened to my daughter!”

Alistair, for all his brains, hadn’t expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how I’d urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.

About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my father’s farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hair—in those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unbound—and after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.

Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that day—I’ve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didn’t feel like laughing at him.

Looming on his throne, he asked me, “Is it true that you advised this man to hide the king’s rightful property from him?” (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voice—but isn’t it a good impression?)

I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why I’d done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think it’s quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king who’s too clever to be anything but stupid.

Naturally, Alistair didn’t like that answer a bit, but I’d gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldn’t see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.

You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didn’t faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmer’s daughter that he’d been wrong?

He did more than admit it—he made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the day’s hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasn’t a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.

For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Father’s progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasn’t mere chance. We’d talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. We’d do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.

Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he loved—me!—and tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.

Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himself—as if all his book-learning couldn’t be beat by just a bit of common sense.

If I’d really been smart, I suppose I’d have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.

The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor riding—I tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off it—only one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressed—merely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, don’t look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than I’m showing now.

If I’d hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. I’d never seen him truly smile before that moment—it was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.

It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifully—at least until the next time I outwitted him. But I won’t bore you with that story again—

You don’t know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?

Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that one. Not if it’s your first time. It’s much better the way Alistair tells it.

What time is it?

Perfect! He’s in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.

Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?

Alistair

Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! It’s just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!

Where are you going? I never said I wouldn’t tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!

Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chair’s as good as another—I built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a tray—the story tends to run long.

Well, I’ll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.

I’m sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and she’s not totally inaccurate. I’d had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.

When Faith came to her father’s defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasn’t the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boy—but Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.

The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddle’s an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasn’t totally wrong-headed. I wasn’t just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposal—each element indicating how she’d straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinking—look beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than you’d think…

No, I’m sorry, it is a bit dull, isn’t it? I guess there’s a reason Faith skips over the explanations.

So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t—but I wouldn’t have asked if I’d had the least doubt she’d succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle you’d ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. She’d solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way I’d intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.

Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. You’d think it’d be an adjustment, turning a farmer’s daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and it’s not as though we’re a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.

You’re smarter than I was—you can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didn’t see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.

It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villages—farming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. I’ve an entire shelf full of texts if you’re interested—

The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.

Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmers’ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. I’d become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. I’d thought it was an efficient use of government resources—as long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courts—but I’d never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.

The case was like this: one farmer’s horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighbor’s property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decades—those women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.

Well, it didn’t take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.

Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasn’t totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.

I’d forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.

“What do you think you’re doing, obstructing a public road like this?” I asked him.

The man smiled genially at me and replied, “Fishing, majesty.”

I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.

The man just replied, “It’s no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.”

He said it like he’d been coached, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmer’s wife who’d lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene I’d described.

Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! She’d live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. I’d lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to pieces—

I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdom’s stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. “If you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,” I told her, “you can go back to your father’s house and live with them!”

It was quite the tantrum. I’m proud to say I’ve never done anything so shameful since.

To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to back down so easily from another decision.

After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.

I couldn’t reverse what I’d decided, but I could soften it a bit.

“You may take one keepsake,” I told her. “Take the one thing you love best from our chambers.”

I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, she’d have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt she’d take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldn’t afford to lose.

Or so I thought. No doubt you’re beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.

I kept my distance that evening—let myself stew in resentment so I couldn’t regret what I’d done. I kept to my library—not this one, the little one upstairs in our suite—trying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted them—and I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.

Yes, Faith had arranged for the tea—and she’d drugged me!

I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.

By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmer’s cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress she’d worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sight—her hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so ill—until I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.

“Faith?” I asked. “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“My father’s home,” Faith replied, her eyes downcast—I think it’s the only time in her life she was ever bashful. “You told me I could take the one thing I loved best.”

Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wife’s! It was like the moment she’d come to save her father—she made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. I’d made the same mistake both times—let my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.

Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Don’t pretend I can’t see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! I’ll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!

Faith

You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insist—

I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the loophole in his words—I was so afraid he’d see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.

When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because I’d outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.

Fortunately, Alistair was marvelous—saw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.

After that, what’s there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honors—it was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.

(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darling—I’d done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Father’s house was my chance to apologize.)

Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each others’ throats.

After that, things returned much to the way they’d been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. We’ve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, we’ve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marry—it’s good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one who’s willing to be the fool every once in a while.

Trust me. It works out for the best.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale challenge #four loves fairy tale challenge 2024 #the farmer's clever daughter #theme: eros #story: complete #this one was *so much fun*#i was grinning throughout the brainstorming process #faith and alistair just *loved* telling me their story #and especially in the first scenes i kept stopping just because i was having so much fun with the lines #maybe it's horribly boring to read but as a writing exercise it was fantastic #i love these two so much #i haven't had this much fun since writing last year's epistolary story

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