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#this is a fun writing exercise

hornetposting · 9 months

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did you ever run into a large, cloth-masked bug down in the ruins of the kingdom? she was very confident, very assertive. it may seem a bit odd to compare you to such an unusually loud explorer, but something in her reminded me of you. I'd hope that if you were to meet, she wouldn't rub you the wrong way - or if she did, that both of you would part still as healthy as you met.

I remember seeing a traveller like that. Although she appeared strong, I suspected that her skills were lacking. I did not think she would cause any trouble to the kingdom, but any trouble she brings to herself I won’t help with. Whatever resemblance you may see between us, I leave up to you.

As with most other travellers, she should know better than to enter Hallownest unprepared. I cannot say that I would pity her if her fate went sour, but she would earn my respect if she proved herself able to stand against what the kingdom has to offer.

#hollow knight #hornet #cloth #answered #moofahdrome #this is a fun writing exercise #i dont wanna write hornet Too nice but also she is not mean #shes like. indifferent?#like detached

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inkskinned · 8 months

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i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

#warm up #writeblr.#i am not going to personally comment on the pineapple debate #some things are too big for me.#maybe we could have everything on earth choose their own names.#wouldn't that be fun #it is a creative writing exercise. okay. ily #''why only these languages?'' ..... bc i dont know every language #sorry :(#PLEASE leave me comments about what words u think are correct. i love learning them #btw! this isn't saying these are the most BEAUTIFUL words for it... just the words that are the most CORRECT #like i quite like the word ''keynote'' as mentioned. it's got a lot of fun sounds in it.#but it is not CORRECT.#''gloaming''' is interesting and fun and poetic but it is NOT correct . evening is MORE correct #but less beautiful.#does that make sense?

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scealaiscoite · 8 months

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storm prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

⋆ “you should’ve told me you were afraid of storms.”

⋆ “i can’t sleep either through it either. wanna talk?”

⋆ “calm down, i’m not leaving- i’m just going to grab another blanket.”

⋆ “seriously? you’ve lived here for how many years, and you still can’t find your way around without the lights on?”

⋆ “god, you’re freezing! come here, let me warm you up.”

⋆ “please forget every time i’ve ever been irate with you over your candle collection.”

⋆ “i don’t care if it’s red weather warning outside, if you try and warm your icy little feet on me one more time i’m kicking you out.”

⋆ "don't worry, i won't tell anyone that my big bad partner/roomate/xyz is afraid of a little thunder."

⋆ "shit, is the power out?"

⋆ "was that lightning?! that was definitely lightning, right?"

⋆ "come here, i'll keep you safe. swear."

⋆ "god, please don't choose now to be the time you tell me you're afraid of the dark."

⋆ "you can sleep in my bed, if it'd be of any help."

#funnily enough i started this yesterday when it was absolutely lashing and had to stop bc a telephone pole blew into the garden ! fun stuff #prompts #storm prompts #storm writing prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #fluff prompts #dialogue prompts #soft prompts #rp meme #otp prompts #fluff writing prompts #imagine your otp #comfort prompts

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stealingyourbones · 8 months

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DPXDC trope writing challenge!

Choose a number of these common DPXDC tropes and write a blurb or fic without using these tropes! Easy Mode: chose 3 tropes from the list. Medium: Choose 5-7 tropes from the list. Hard: Choose 8-10 tropes from the list Batshit Crazy: 15+ tropes from the list.

Twin/Sibling AU

Lazarus water is Ectoplasm

Jason Is Liminal/Revenant/Halfa AU

Ghost King Danny AU

Adoption AU

Runaway AU

Ships

Danny Mistaken for [X] AU

Eldritch Danny AU

Slow Heartbeat/Inhuman looking Danny

Batfamily

Danny Lives in Gotham

Summoning AU

Evil Fentons AU

Alternate Dimension of [X] Character AU

GIW as Main Plot/Antagonists

Ghost Convention

Evil Superman

Magic Users Involvement

Kryptonite is Ectoplasm

Danny Owns Constantine's Soul

Jazz works at Arkham

Danny is a Clone (Superman/Batman/a Batboy, etc.)

Goes to Gala

Gotham is an Old Ghost

Happy writing y'all!! Sometimes putting yourself in a box makes you even more creative. Hope ya enjoy this writing challenge :D

#GUYS THIS IS A COOL CREATIVE EXERCISE THING IM NOT BASHING PEOPLE WHO USE THESE #I JUST THOUGHT IT COULD BE A FUN WRITING THING TO CREATE NEW FUNKY COOL IDEAS #dpxdc #bones prompts

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sistertotheknowitall · 3 months

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My brain:

Tim, Jason, Dick and Damian arguing, their voices over-lapping each other.

Stephanie joining in: okay so the book opens up to Stepan bringing his wife a pear and she starts confronting him on his affair. I can’t remember her name right now-

Jason: Because it’s relevant information! - her name was Dolly - and if you would -

Jason stops talking and stares at Stephanie as she continues.

Steph: thank you- and meanwhile she has a sister named Katie who has just come of marriage age. So she’s like 18 right? and Stepan has a friend who wants to marry her and he’s like in his 30s, which ew, but also-

Me writing for exercise:

Stephanie Brown couldn’t say she was surprised to find the four arguing, she had fallowed the raised voice into the kitchen. She was also not surprised to quickly realized that the raised voices were arguing over nothing.

No, seriously nothing!

It was complete nonsense as Dick seemed to be defending his right as a “decent cook,” and Tim was complaining about the others hiding his coffee beans. Jason and Damian seemed to be having an actual argument but it was over the best way to effectively stab someone.

Well, Steph shrugged, might as well join in. “Okay so the book opens up to Stepan bringing his wife a pear, but she starts confronting him on his affair and he admits to multiple, I can’t remember the wife’s name right now-“

Jason, mid rant to the youngest Robin (who was also mid-sentence) answers,”Her name was Dolly for short - speaking of short, it’s no wonder you can’t angle the knife right!” The left side of his face appears to spasm before he stands up a little straighter, and quietly turns to face the still rambling blond.

Steph, on a roll, continues, “Dolly! Right! Well she has a sister! Katie has just come of marriage age, so she’s like 18 right? Well Stepan has a friend who wants to marry her and he’s like in his 30s, which ew, but also-“

Damian, having realized that Jason was no longer entertaining him, turned to see what had shifted Todd’s attention. He watched as the older girl continued, getting more animated.

“-there’s the name sake of the book Anna Karenina and her lover Vronsky. Who has the same first name - Alexei- as her husband. Like that’s just wild.”

Dick, who paused for breath during his speech of “why I should be allowed in the kitchen again” forgot what he had been about to say. Instead he asked, “wait did she call them both Alexei?”

Steph looked over, “No, she only called them both by their last names but that might have been a cultural thing or something? I don’t know! Anyways, the point-“

“No,” Jason interrupted, “she did call them both by their first name but the narrator went by last names so the reader could differentiate.” Stephanie waved her hands, “shhh, not the point, as I was saying!”

Tim, who had stopped talking right after the other teenager had joined the fray, chimed in, “you know you’re missing so many central themes. Did you mean to come in here and give us a water downed briefing of Anna Karenina?”

It was silent as Steph answered, “no, but you all were going on about meaningless things so why couldn’t I?”

“Anyway, Anna is still married, has a son, and now she’s pregnant.”

Dick gasped.

#batman #batfamily #jason todd #batboys #batman fandom #dick grayson #batman wayne family adventures #tim drake #bruce wayne #sillyposting #fic prompt #i don’t really know #stephanie brown #Steph read it for class #Jason read it for fun #batkids #anna karenina #classic literature #writing for exercise

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why

(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)

similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.

(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)

plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?

(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)

How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?

You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.

If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?

TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.

(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)

(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)

(more under the cut)

Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?

Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?

Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.

(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)

also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!

(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)

you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.

Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)

there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #tldr danyal al ghul has a ton of missed potential of what his behavior would be like if he left the league mid-to-late formative years #this post is specifically directed towards those danyal al ghul posts where he ends up with the fentons when he's like. 8 #like great. who taught him to unlearn all of the LoA's programming #how is he exactly like he was in canon despite being with the LoA during his early childhood #source: i've taken multiple child development classes #this isnt to bash those aus at all its just me thinking its hilarious that danny would even remotely be like his canon personality #especially if he's in the league long enough for damian to remember him #like i love danyal al ghul aus i just think there's not enough being taken into account about how the league would permanently impact him #especially if he leaves later on in life #people are not ponds they are puddles of mud. if you drop a rock into it it's gonna change its shape #its also good creative exercises on how to flesh characters out better and better understand how things in a story may impact a character #good thought exercises with the additional bonus of making danny a violent gremlin like damian is #i dont wanna say this is bashing but i guess it is kinda a criticism on the writing in those aus because you’re telling me this had NO #affect on danny on his personality beyond just ‘oh league bad. league scary’?? cmonnn have some fun #like you mean to tell me that being a child assassin had no lasting impact on him or his personality?? like at all???#he doesnt have an ounce of self-importance/arrogance/anger like damian did?? like none of that *stuck?* he’s just the normal and sane #sibling right off the bat??? five years with the fentons turned him into a complete blankslate?? he has no lasting impact from the league??

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fizzy-dizz · 4 months

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A scenario where Bunty was caught by Melisha and Fry instead of Ginger -- for @canuck-sweets33

#chicken run #aardman #artz #comic #lisha with fangs supremacy #v fun comic writing exercise again!!#melisha tweedy #dr fry

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arson-09 · 2 months

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tonights acotar thoughts are with the Illyrian women and how rhysand has utterly failed them despite his supposed efforts

Hes ‘allowed’ them to become warriors if they wish. But thats not even the bare minimum. from my memory he acknowledges that he doesnt enforce the wing clipping laws (smooth move) so that’s basically useless and as to be expected of a man, he misses the point of feminism and equality laws. WHERE are the laws and protections for women in marriages?? if the illyrian are so ‘brutal’ and ‘backwards’ the assumption can be made that divorce isn’t a thing unless the man requests it. No women requested divorces and probably no such thing as no fault divorces. As well as forced marriages (which also brings up the consent age) Adding on, what about abortions and other pre natal and natal laws and protections? again, assuming women arent allowed to have abortions or simply any bodily autonomy, where are those decrees rhysand? Im not even getting into the potential of LGBTQ+ illyrians and their rights (Logically there are LGBTQ+ illyrians but ofc sjm wouldn’t mention them)

He makes such a fuss about it being a womans choice (a hypocrite as we see in acosf) yet unless a woman is able too or wants to fight he doesnt seem to care. Which is also a major flaw of sjms writing, women only gain their independence if they can kick ass and fuck as they want. Which is of course valid but thats a very shallow way to view feminism and equality. The whole point is that a woman can choose, wether its to be a warrior or a stay at home mother, but theres nothing done for those women who want that lifestyle.

This has influenced me in my fic writing a lot to where a this topic has become a major focal point in my fic somewhat by accident. I think that logically there would be a rebellion from mostly illyrian women against rhysand, hes promised them so much yet has delivered so little.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #anti rhysand #anti night court #anti inner circle #im not anti feyre but im disappointed in her character #sjm #sjm critical #an acotar thought exercise if you will #In my fic i have it planned that a prominent female illyrian revolts against rhysand lol #She along with her mates (yes mates) leads a large group of illyrian men women and lgbtq+ out to the spring court with tams help #Shes such a fun character to develop along with her mates and if i can work with my adhd i will hopefully be able to write about them in my #fic i ran out of characters fuck you tumblr let me yap #its late so forgive me for any grammer errors or mistagging #rhysand #this is also a genuine criticism guys i know how yall rhysie fans like to tussel

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nightofnyx8 · 7 months

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I've been seeing a lot of "draw something in the art style of your mutuals," and I wanted to try something similar to say thank you to the many writers who put their heart and soul into this fandom.

Granted they're not perfect and they're a poor imitation of their true talentas as truly magnificent writers, but I thought I'd give it go :)

Presenting a thread of twiyor, written in the style of some of my favorite authors in the fandom (more to be added later) ❤️

@puolain Master of ethereal imagery, poetry woven into every line

@nire-the-mithridatist Master of sentence structure, expert characterization, and witty dialouge (oh, and smut)

@firewoodfigs My dear friend, master of Taylor Swift lyrics, intimate consent, heartbreaking backstories, tender conversations, and waking me up at 4 in the morning with a new smutty wip ❤️

@neejmorp Master of just, really good smut :) Tickling my need for a slightly dominant Loid who's never truly in control of the situation

#bit of a writing exercise but a fun one for sure!#sorry its formatted terribly #twiyor #spy x family #writing

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bookshelf-in-progress · 4 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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wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart · 2 months

Text

The Sith

"I think you lost your underwear somewhere, Darling."

He could not formulate a response, his voice betraying him, as only incoherent sounds escaped his throat, embarrassing sounds more akin to shrieks and whimpers. His senses was totally overstimulated by the feeling of a hot wicked tongue mercilessly licking across his overheated sensitive flesh.

The Sith’s golden eyes sparked at him in mocking amusement.

"Sith got your tongue?"

Masterpost

#star wars #obikin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #sith obi wan #jedi anakin #fanfiction #writing exercise #flash fic #fanfic #star wars fan fic #flash fiction #The Sith #for fun #writing #implied smut

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sminny-wew · 1 year

Text

Idk why but I really like the idea of Eddie specifically being a former human who somehow got turned into a puppet. I’m not holding my breath for it to ever be canon, but something about his design just strikes me as more human-looking than the rest of the cast (Poppy, Barnaby, and Howdy are all animals, Sally’s a star, Julie’s a monster, Frank has a tube head, Wally doesn’t have a nose or eyebrows) so I wrote up a quick drabble about it inspired by these doodles by @sweetest-honeybee

[NOTE: I used he/they pronouns for Frank here]

“Eddie...?”

Eddie stopped and looked back at Frank. “Yeah?”

“I...” Frank began to speak, but trailed off. “No, nothing.”

Eddie smiled and began to turn away.

“Wait!”

Eddie turned back around. He looked at Frank, whose arm was outstretched to him. Frank’s arm pulled back slightly, and his face scrunched into a mix of sadness and nervousness.

“I...I can’t leave your side!” said Frank. “Not now, not after everything!”

Eddie’s brows raised in genuine confusion. “Huh? But I thought you said it was better for you to stay behind with the others, while I go back where I came from by myself?” Eddie asked.

Frank brought their hands to his chest and looked down, fingers nervously intertwined with each other.

“Eddie...” Frank began, “The truth is...I do want to follow you! I can’t bear the thought of being that far from you!! But I also know you have to go back, b-because that’s where you belong!!! B-b-but without you I--I-I don’t--I--!!!!”

Suddenly, Frank’s head began to spin in a dizzy blur of emotions. Eddie had seen this before: whenever Frank got too angry or too nervous, their head would begin to spin like crazy. Luckily, Eddie also knew how to stop it.

With careful timing, Eddie gently brought Frank’s head to a stop by cupping it in his large, warm hands. Frank’s head went completely still, his mind focused only on the touch of Eddie’s hands. They felt like warm, cozy mittens.

“Easy there, love,” said Eddie. “I’m here, I got you. Now I want you to tell me, as calmly as you can, why you think you can’t go with me. You think you can do that?”

With his jumbled mind beginning to settle down, Frank nodded slowly. “Y-yes, I think so.”

Eddie began to remove his hands, but Frank’s own quickly clamped down onto them, pressing them back into place on their head. They looked into Eddie’s eyes pleadingly.

“P-please, don’t let go yet,” said Frank. “I’m afraid I might lose my head again.”

At that, Eddie smiled warmly and said, “I won’t.”

Frank’s fingers relaxed and curled over Eddie’s, grounding him to the reality of the moment. He and Eddie never stopped looking at each other.

“Eddie,” Frank finally explained, “Wherever you’re from, you’re not a puppet there. You only turned into one when you came to Home. Logically speaking, if you were to leave Home, you should turn back into...well, whatever your original self was. But, if I go with you--if I even can go with you--there’s no telling what could happen to me. Would I change like you? Would I stay a puppet? Would I even still be alive? Would we remember each other?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t even considered any of that. It was already overwhelming enough for him to finally remember where he came from: a place so far removed from Home and the rest of the neighbors that the people there didn’t even look like his neighbors. There, Eddie was taller, softer, and hairier. He had extra fingers and needed to breathe all the time, or else he’d die. His people died. They aged, always in a constant state of changing, never in a fixed form like his neighbors. Like Frank said, Eddie wasn’t a puppet; he was something else. He was like the strange, unknown, five-fingered creatures that lurked below. He was like You.

“I...I’m scared, Eddie,” Frank continued. “Scared of...of change, and...of holding you back...”

Eddie raised his brows.

“Holding me back?” he asked. “From what?”

Frank’s eyes looked down gloomily. “From the life you deserve.”

Eddie’s heart--that was right, he had a real, beating, blood-pumping heart amid all that felt--sank and ached in his chest. Everything about Eddie’s being, physical and emotional, hurt right now. But the sight before him? Frank’s sad and fearful face? That hurt Eddie worse than anything else.

“Now listen here,” said Eddie, and he began to gently rub his thumbs against the side of Frank’s head, where their temples would be if he were...whatever Eddie was. “You ain’t holding me back from nothing, you hear?”

Eddie carefully slipped his left hand away from Frank’s head, but kept it within Frank’s line of sight. His right hand continued to cradle Frank’s head.

“You see this here ring?” Eddie asked, gesturing with his head to the ring that sat comfortably on his middlemost finger. “This ain’t no pity ring. I made a promise to love you, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health. That’s why I married you: because I love you, love. And puppet or not, I want to be your husband for the rest of my life, even if I never see you again. Because when I wear this ring, it says, ‘sorry, folks, but I belong to Frank Frankly.’”

Frank trembled slightly, and Eddie returned his left hand to its spot on their head.

“Do you mean that?” asked Frank.

Eddie nodded. “I do.”

Frank’s tense unibrow softened, and his frown shifted into a small smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said those words to me, my dear.”

Eddie suddenly broke into a big, goofy laugh. His big, strong, warm mitten hands left Frank’s head and lifted them off of their feet. Eddie began to twirl Frank around in the air, and the sudden gesture, combined with Eddie’s heartfelt words, caused Frank’s smile to grow as well, leaving them both laughing happily.

The two continued to laugh gaily, even after Eddie set Frank down. Both kept their arms embraced within each other’s, the intimate moment lasting even as their laughter died down. They both stood like that for what felt like a good, long while. Eddie kept his eyes on Frank’s smile, while Frank kept his eyes closed and took in the sound of Eddie’s breathing.

Eventually, Eddie shifted his hands away from Frank’s arms to hold his hands. Frank opened their eyes, giving Eddie their full attention.

“Now I’ll tell you what, love,” Eddie said, “I don’t know if...whatever brought me to Home will let me leave, or if it’ll let us all leave together, but I ain’t leaving without you, neither, Frank. Not if I can help it. And like I said before: puppet or not...”

Eddie pulled a single hand away to tip his postman hat.

“...I’d be plumb honored to live out the rest of my days with my partner by my side.”

Frank’s eyes swelled with emotion. “Oh, Dearest!”

Frank pulled Eddie back into an embrace, Eddie following suit, and the two continued to stand there, felt arm in loving felt arm, foreheads resting comfortably against each other. They almost looked like they were dancing.

Maybe the pain would never stop hurting. But as long as Frank Frankly and Eddie Dear had each other, they both knew everything would be okay. They would make sure of it.

Because no script could rewrite a love like that.

#welcome home #eddie dear #frank frankly #frankly dear #artsy fartsy #just stretching the old writing muscles. this was a fun little personal exercise c:

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delphi-dreamin · 2 years

Text

Send Nudes 2

Once again, inspired by @midnight-vixn . But this time, with some Lucifer spice sprinkled in by @ariamichel !

Pairing: Lucifer x GN!MC (pronouns: you/your)

The first notification you receive doesn't ring any alarm bells. You're used to getting texts from Lucifer while in class, generally to check up on you or remind you of council meetings or dinner duty. And it's late enough in the day that he would normally be finished with his last class and preparing for the student council meeting. If there was one.

You glance at the date again on your D.D.D. There isn't a student council meeting today. And it isn't your turn to make dinner. So why is he texting you all of a sudden?

You move your D.D.D. into your lap and open the message from Lucifer, nearly choking at the image that fills your screen. He's in his chair in his RAD office, jacket open, collar unbuttoned to his clavicle, hair disheveled, and face flushed a delicate petal pink.

You swallow hard and cross your legs, suddenly unable to concentrate on anything being said at the front of the classroom. Had he known? When he'd sat next to you in your last class, had he known the effect it had on you? Could he tell how aroused you had been, just sitting beside him and breathing in his intoxicating scent? You thought you’d hidden it well at the time. You were attentive to the lesson and participated in the discussion. So how had he known?

The second notification makes your heart skip a beat. You know before even looking down that it’s another photo from Lucifer, but even so, you pray that it’s just a text from any of his brothers.

You open the message and have to swallow a moan. It’s a lower angle shot than the previous photo, and as far as you can tell Lucifer is still sitting in the same position. But this time, you can see he’s holding his swollen cock in one ungloved hand and he’s staring directly into the camera with heavy-lidded ruby eyes.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows that you’re in class and that you want him and that it’ll drive you absolutely mad to know that he’s in his private office stroking his gorgeous cock just for you.

The next notification is a simple text.

L: Care to join me?

MC: You know I’m in class, you sadistic ass.

L: Pity. I was going to excuse you on council business.

MC: I’ll be there in five.

L: Don’t be late.

You’re out of the classroom without a second glance, ignoring the teacher’s sputtering calls for you to return. Lucifer can take care of it later.

Taglist: @leavesandflowers @sassykattery @sparkbeast20 (I hope your like meant you wanted to be tagged!)

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me smut #obey me lucifer smut #obey me lucifer x reader #gosh I'm enjoying writing these #just the little ficlets #they're fun writing exercises

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jojo-schmo · 11 months

Note

Beauty and the Beast, but it's Metadede?

Ohohoho-!! This one really got me thinking!! :D If I had unlimited emotional bandwidth and time this could be a fun concept to explore a BUNCH! I'm a sucker for fairy tales! I'm not capable of fully developing this idea right now, but I did brainstorm a little bit!

There's some aspects of that story that I just can't think of good parallels for (Like Gaston, Belle's dad, Belle's character motivations and such). So this is more Beauty and the Beast inspired than being a perfect retelling.

Anyways, ENOUGH TALK. LET'S GO.

So when I read this ask, I immediately got slammed with a very passionate and explosive Brain Blast: Dedede as Beast!! BUT he's got an appearance inspired by King D-Mind (And Dark Mind by extension) and a beastly demeanor like his Primal form in Forgotten Land. So this is not Shadow Dedede!! Important distinction!

Like Dedede's personality in early Kirby games, he would be selfish and arrogant enough to be cursed by an Enchantress to find true love and compassion. (So the rose and its petals are still connected to this curse's time limit.) But at his core there is a being capable of love, compassion, and self-sacrifice! It just takes a bit of character development to get there!

Meta stumps me a bit more. He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy singing about how "there must be more than this provincial life..." And who would Gaston even be?? Beats me.

So instead of being a damsel from a small town with big dreams, maybe he's some kind of traveling knight or mercenary who has always worked alone. He's got a stoic demeanor that can even come off as cold since he doesn't make many meaningful connections with others. But those walls he's put up over his life are indeed capable of coming down with a little care!

You'll also have to forgive me for how little I changed Meta's design... I did this during my lunch break and all I could think of was adding some gold flourishes to his outfit- but there is definitely more potential there than I came up with!!

Why would he get stuck being Dedede's prisoner? Perhaps he bartered someone else's imprisonment for his own. Or he found himself in debt by chance to the King, or accidentally disturbed/destroyed/or damaged something important to him and has to pay with a prison sentence.

Whatever the reason, he's truly stuck living there. And they super do not get along at first. Dedede's fiery temper and Meta's colder exterior would be at odds a lot of the time.

Jumping ahead a bit, here's that scene from the original where Beast defends Belle from a bunch of wild wolves (but here they're Primal Awoofies!)

And from there, the character development continues.... Meta warms up a little and shows more emotion and vulnerability than he ever has before. Dedede cools down in turn and learns that he is worthy of affection and genuine connection... And so on and so on~

As for the supporting character roles filled by "Beast's servants," I figure most of Kirby's allies could be in this role! I just only explored Bandee and Kirby to start with.

I had trouble coming up with household object forms for them (granted I didn't invest that much time into it). So I thought about another time-sensitive form they could take that is high-stakes enough that they'd want to turn back to normal and break the curse. So I came up with the ghostly angel form that happens when you get knocked out in Kirby Fighters. :)

So there you have it! A few days worth of daydreaming for a metadede Beauty and the Beast-type story! Hehe. If anyone happens to find themselves inspired and wants to develop this further as an exercise in AU writing or just plain having fun with it, DO IT! This is my donation to the internet, lol.

...Just please share it with me. I love reading people's stories. <3

#metadede #Kirby au #ask #art #meta knight #king dedede #bandana dee #kirby #idk what to call this story haha but if someone thinks of a good name lemme know #thank you for the fun writing exercise <3 #I do like Dedede's “Beast” form a lot haha maybe I'll revisit it every now and then

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