#tickle story time

[axie-axo]

Be. Quiet.

~a tickle story time with @whoissilvr ~

As I was waiting to walk out the door with silver, he gets a family call. I sit down on the couch, mindlessly scrolling while I wait for him to finish, as he slips his earbuds in and sits next to me. As he’s casually talking, he sneaks one hand over and squeezes my thigh, a squeak coming out of my mouth. He looks at me, holds a finger to his mouth,

“Shhhh”

I roll my eyes and continue scrolling on my phone. Keeping his hand on my thigh, he suddenly starts squeezing rapidly as I try to hold myself together, immediately covering my mouth. He looks me in the eyes with a cocked eyebrow and once again.

“Shhhh.”

When I flipped him off, he grabbed my side and went IN. I struggled helplessly to cover my side and my mouth at the same time, but inevitably laughter slipped from my mouth.

He picks up his phone, mutes, pins me by the wrists and says

“If you don’t be quiet, it’s going to be so much worse for you later. So either be quiet, or there will be consequences.”

If my face wasn’t bright red, it was now. He smiled and unmuted his phone, and for just a moment paused before placing his fingers on my tummy and absolutely destroying me. All I could do is cover my mouth and attempt not to make a noise.

As predicted, I was unsuccessful.

And I paid for it later 🫠

[mythica0]

Guys a thing just happened to me and I’m still thinking about it becuase OH mah gAh!

So, me and my brother were mad chilling in my room, and he started referencing a YT’er he watches and saying he was in “full cat mode” and pretending to be a cat that wanted my attention.

And he was like, pawing at and kneading my legs and it fucken tickled so bad.

I don’t think he knew that he was tickling me, it definitely wasn’t on purpose, but he was and i- ansjansba

So I got confirmation on a few things- yes my legs are ticklish as fuck, and yes it was amazing and at the same time horrible.

Tags because I need my moots to see this.

@someone1348 @tickleebug @radation @veryblushyswitch @vxlepop @tastybluesprite

[blushy-tigerrr]

story time with tiger!

so, as you know from my post earlier, i was blessed to be able to spend the past six days with @applesyaboi :3 it has truly been the time of my life getting to hang out with this lovely human for so long, and as i’m writing this post while waiting in the airport to fly back home, i already miss him so much.

the whole story is under the cut if you’re interested in reading, but before we get into that, we did make content :3 but i will be waiting to share them as a celebration for reaching 400 followers as i am only 10 away from that amazing milestone!

anyway, here’s the story <3

let’s start at the beginning: may 30th. apples and i had been chatting and becoming very close friends for about a month when we really started talking about the idea of us meeting up and spending some time together. we had talked about it in a hypothetical sense a bunch, but this was when the actual planning happened. we both determined that august would be the best month, and we then decided on august 8th-13th! it worked out really nicely with my job and him moving into his own apartment a little bit before then. shortly after that, i bought my ticket on june 8th.

and then the waiting began.

let me tell you, that was the roughest part, second only to having to leave today. i went through some really tough stuff during that waiting period, and apples was constantly there as a support system for me through anything and everything. that made me all the more excited to get to see him and thank him in person for how much he had done for me.

after a very long 60 days of waiting, the day finally came. i got to the airport ridiculously early in the morning and boarded my plane with little issue. luckily for me, apples was awake when i was on the plane waiting to take off, so we got to chat for a little the morning of! and it was mostly just “AHHH OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING!!!” messages hehe

once my plane landed, i got my bag and waited at the exit for him to pick me up. once i saw his car pull up, my heart dropped in the best way. when i saw his face through the car window, my heart started pounding and i almost was scared to move, but this silly goose made a little beckoning motion to me and i broke out of that easily. when we hugged for the first time, i felt all of my stress melt out of my body completely. he gives some of the best hugs ever <3 and that was just the first of many

we were both a little nervous still on our drive to his place, but the nerves dissipated pretty quickly. we got to his apartment, i got to meet his cat, and then we laid down to snuggle for a bit. we were snuggled with the intent on taking a nap, but i’m sure no one is surprised to know that’s not what happened right away. he had his hand on my side and asked if i minded if he tickled me a little bit, and i told him i didn’t mind of course. he was so sweet and gentle and showered me with compliments the entire time. he’s very good at making me feel beautiful and loved and also very good at tickling oh my god he’s so teasy and constantly got me so flustered

then, because i’m a switchy little shit, i asked him the same question. he said it was okay, and guys. for as teasy of a ler as apples is, he is also soooo ticklish!! he’s super squirmy and flinchy, and his giggles are some of the cutest that i’ve ever heard <3 he told me a while ago he had never been tickled before, so i did my best to be very gentle and careful with not pushing it too far by checking in and making sure he was still having fun and was okay. he did the very same thing for me, and i greatly appreciated it.

we also tried out a few tools while i was there! none of them worked on him (scam) except for the pursonic, but that only worked in one spot for him. for me, though? that thing is the devil. it tickles so badly in just about every spot you can think of. i think apples is just broken lol <3 we also tried feathers and makeup brushes which were suuuuper effective on spots like my ears and neck and behind the knee (mean), but all of that was incredibly fun!

of course, that’s not all we did in those six days although it was majority. we also went out for food a few times, went to a sports game, and went on multiple walks around the area. however, i think the only thing we may have done more than tickle each other was snuggle together. and that? was so nice. like i said before, he made me feel so comfortable so quickly, and because of that, we were able to be so snuggly the entire time which i know we were both very grateful for.

as i’m sitting at my gate writing this all out, it’s really sinking in how much fun this all was for me and how lovely it was to have a break from regular life for a while. it was definitely very needed for both of us. apples, thank you so so much for having me these past six days. you’ve truly made me happier and more relaxed than i’ve been in an incredibly long time. it’s been so lovely to get to laugh with you and snuggle with you and just be around you for this time. thank you for being so sweet and loving and kind and understanding, and thank you for being one of the best friends that i have ever had in my entire life. i love you so so much /p <3

[see-arcane]

Faustus: "I've simply never been given a Sign that there are everlasting consequences for this decision"

Mephistopheles:

Mephistopheles, banging pots and pans together the second he appears: "I am a demon fresh out of Hell, and while all existence outside of Heaven is metaphorical Hell, I cannot express clearly or loudly enough that I am from the real literal not shitting you Actual Inferno and that if you make this soul-selling deal for magic party tricks you will regret it immensely!"

Faustus: "Mannn you're chatty for a figment of my imagination. Anyway, let's get that blood document signed, I want to do sorceries for fun and profit via the powers of Hell. Which is not real :)"

Mephistopheles, aside to Satan: "Hey I know it's ahead of schedule but can I conjure just. A fuckton of aspirin? Yes right now."

[ghastigiggles]

Omg omg omg "Here comes the tickle monster" with ler!Jing Yuan and lee!Yanqing! If that's okay ofc💕

Mischievious Prompts [Still Open]

“My lord, please, you should still be resting…”

“A little rest is good for the soul,” Jing Yuan smiled back, gazing out the window; “But too much, and one risks becoming lethargic.”

Yanqing sighed softly, his brow furrowing with worry as he gazed at the general’s back. While it was true that Jing Yuan was bouncing back well, a part of him – the part that was still attached to his mentor – still stressed over the depth of his wounds. Jing Yuan could be like a cat at the best of times, concealing facets of his health to avoid worrying those he cared for – and giving his enemies an advantage, all the same.

“... I understand,” The young warrior managed after a moment, knowing better than to push his luck too far; “In that case, if there’s anything I can do to help, please, let me be of service.”

“Hm.”

Jing Yuan turned to look down upon Yanqing, a soft smile upon his lips as he took in the boy’s worried state – and with a soft chuckle, he nodded, turning to face him fully as Yanqing perked to attention.

“There is one thing…”

Something about the general’s tone struck a memory for Yanqing, who promptly tensed – suddenly overwhelmingly glad that there were no other members of staff present in Jing Yuan’s office. As the older warrior stepped forward, he stepped back, swallowing as he realized where this was going.

“My lord…! You can’t be serious – your condition is –”

“Not severe enough to stop the tickle monster!”

In a split moment, Jing Yuan grinned and started closer, earning a yelp of alarm from Yanqing as he darted away in turn, quickly moving to stay out of reach – though he couldn’t stop the anticipatory, equally entertained smile from seizing his features, nor the squeal that escaped him when the general finally seized his target. 

“Here it comes!”

“Eeyah! Nohohoo, my - my lohord…!”

Ultimately, a little laughter was a soothing balm for both of their souls – and for those who passed by the office’s doors, pausing to smile at the muffled sounds of play within. All would be well within the Divination Commission.

[insufferabletickling]

hey friends. i’m a bit strapped for cash at the moment so thought i’d bring forward the idea of tickle story commissions again!

here are some examples of my writing/vibe.

x. x. x. But imagine it in 2-5k detailed stories of your specific tickle hell - customised by you. I happen to be quite good at explaining ticklish torture and non-con helplessness. I can bring your darkest fantasies to life <3

Dm me if you're interested.

[alackofghosts]

i decided to pull myself together to finish the enw alliance raid quests and in the light of uh. dropping it for well over a year. this knocked the wind out of me

yeah. yeah you could say that

[kanene-yaaay]

Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian only started to get into tickle fights because one day, while he was teaching about music cultivation to Wangji’s class, since he had to go to shufu resolve a serious matter, Wei Wuxian confused him for Lan Zhan and, in an unfair attack from behind, locked his arms in a hug and tickled his ribs until a very (not familiar??) laughter was ringing in the air.

Of course, even after saying that he didn’t take the confusion to his heart and accept his brother in law’s apologies, his revenge was swift and merciless. Not one to be easily outdone, Wei Wuxian decided to compete to see who was the biggest tickle monster in Gusu Lan

Rip mah bro Lan Wangji. And the juniors. They will all be missed

[fisheito]

it was THIS face that made me so dangerously endeared

[axie-axo]

My session with @whoissilvr 🩶

OKAY im bad with words so bear with me. Anyways after a surprisingly easy drive, i met silver and his personality and demeanor is just so funny and relaxed it made me less tense almost immediately. We went to this Italian place (we felt so bad bc it was closing) and the food was BUSS. The chocolate cheesecake was my favorite but my second favorite thing was making fun of silver for eating butter then bread bc he didn’t feel like spreading the butter on the roll 😭😭

We got back to his place, played some smash bros with a bet that whoever lost went first, and then he proceeded to kick my ass…. Several times 🤣. I kept making excuses to reset the best 2 out of 3 and STILL lost. My cocky ass never ceases to stop.

ANYWAYS I got pinned… even though I bet him I was stronger than him (I was not) and absolutely wrecked 😵‍💫 I’m gonna be posting a lot of quotes from the session over the next couple days because this man is SO damn flustering 😳

The next day, we got this Mexican place he recommended and he’s gonna roll his eyes reading this but this was the best damn quesadilla I ever had in my LIFE. I started CRYING. It was AMAZING.

We went to the mall and as we were there his extra special order of grooming gloves came in which ofc he made me look at the notification that they were delivered 🙈

We got back and I FINALLY after a long struggle trying to pin him, got to wreck him a little. Yall. Silver is so goddamn cute. His laugh and twitches are just so adorable and the jokes he makes when he’s flustered made me laugh so hard 😭

After, he promptly flipped me over and after I… ahem begged to be in the restraints he took his sweet time destroying me 😵‍💫 I safe worded twice but I have to say I’m such a brave girlie for taking the grooming gloves on my feet for a whole THIRTY SECONDS. im so prpud of myself 😌

anyways after some nice aftercare we ordered some food and stayed up late talking, it was so relaxing

ofc the next day i HAD to go to bucees again. that beloved beaver never ceases to amaze me 🤣 i bought some food and then headed home with the biggest smile on my face.

thank you so much silver! 🩶🩶🩶

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[guppygiggles]

/////////////

[in-tua-deep]

i have a star wars fic idea floating around my brain that is just a time travel fic centering around bodhi rook where part of the explanation for a suddenly-force-sensitive-bodhi is "the monster tore parts of me out and maybe that made more space for the force to fill in the gaps"

[giggleesblog]

story time with spencer

as many of you know, i’ve had the pleasure of spending the last few days with the lovely @daisylovestickles. she made a detailed post with a timeline over on her blog that you can read here. mine will be a general recap with some sappy things here and there. daisy is much more organized than i will ever be lol.

i think my favorite thing about these last four and a half days is how much i’ve learned, both about myself and daisy. we not only spent a lot more time together this time around, but we also shared a living space since we stayed at an airbnb rather than a hotel. i remember daisy joking on call that she hopes i wouldn’t get sick of living with her. i gave her a deadpan look and said that would never happen. and i was right, because it felt so incredibly domestic and just so sweet to share a space with her all tucked away in our own little bubble for a bit.

as you saw in daisy’s post, yes our airbnb had a leak which did cut into some of our time together, but even with that mishap it was still easily one of the best weekends of my life. getting to know her and learn little things while sharing some familiar places with her is something that will keep me happy for months.

and boy oh boy was the tickling much more intense this time around. daisy brings out this side of me that is so hard to keep my hands to myself (both with tickling and just any physical affection). i told her the first night she flew in i was struggling very hard not to tickle her while we were cuddled in bed. spoiler alert: i did not keep my hands to myself. whoops. it’s not my fault her giggles and laugh are so addictive and she looks so pretty when she’s tickled, okay! and it’s not like she minds at all 🤭 but yeah bringing her to such a state later on in the trip where she’s telling me she wants to safe word but also doesn’t because it feels so good???? y’all. i nearly died. i still have butterflies thinking about it. GOD this girl has no idea what she does to me 😵‍💫🫠

that being said… i feel like since we had more time together i was definitely more ticklish this time around too. we learned that my thighs are a lot worse than we initially thought. also my feet??? were so fucking sensitive?? especially the night we got into the bondage and just feeling her nails glide around the tops of my feet nearly had me safewording 😵‍💫. also. grooming gloves and oil should be fucking illegal. jesus christ. daisy definitely got me back for all the thigh tickles i gave her because she absolutely wrecked my inner thighs with light tickles and squeezes and fhwkdhlshdkd fuck 🙈 i was thrashing and jolting all over the place and i maaaaybe discovered i’m more of a masochist than i thought 🫠

obviously the tickling was very fun and joyous for us both. but sometimes i think people in this community focus too much on that. they don’t want to bother forming real life connections with people outside of the kink. and that’s really sad. because i’ve met people here that i can’t imagine my life without. so i think some people really need to sit back and evaluate how they treat others in this community.

anyways this is getting long as fuck so i’m gonna try to wrap this up lmao. daisy, thank you for the incredible last few days. i am so fucking lucky to have you in my life and i can’t wait to see you again. i love you to the moon and back, princess 🧡

[tls123]

Oh my god HOW DID YOU LIKE SVSSS!!!!!

i liked it more than i thought i would but overall less than i might have given the potential of the story, i think in general i really enjoyed the characters (mxtx never goes wrong with characters, she creates them in a way that makes me feel unhinged) and the world building but the pay off to the set up—which i really liked!—felt a bit........ i mean, just alright.

the dynamics too are pure mxtx, personally the bin/gqiu dynamic specifically really was the least interesting part of the whole story. to me!! but individually i loved both characters. my interest was just elsewhere because """elsewhere""" felt way more fascinating idk how to explain it

was very, very happy about the extra with airplane and the yue qingyuan / shen jiu one because that's exactly what i wanted more of in the story itself as well as just more shen yuan/qingqiu interacting with cang qiong mountain

maybe it's my orv brain but like i told jana a while back i think i would have enjoyed svsss way more if it was more about shen yuan (loner; hater; etc) suddenly finding himself among all of these people (disciples looking up to him; sect siblings relying on him one way or another; common folk admiring him; etc etc) and starting to.... live? again?

Shen Qingqiu hadn't noticed that, unconsciously, he no longer considered the disciples around him (...) to be mob characters the novel had described in a scant number of words.

^from volume one, he starts seeing them almost immediately because he's not actually that separate and he genuinely cares. all the time. about everything. even before that we get:

This was only a book, and all the people were constructs, imaginary characters. Logically, Shen Qingqiu was very clear on this fact...but when a character was actually being taunted and bullied right before his eyes, it was just flat-out unrealistic to expect him to be completely unmoved.

like why are you lying, shen yuan (<- svsss tagline if there ever was one)

just the idea of this really lonely detached guy finding a community, i know it's not the story mxtx was trying to tell but again, with the set up i really wanted to see it go in that direction.

there's one line from vol two where liu qingge goes "you fear becoming a burden to cang qiong mountain (...) but cang qiong mountain fears not your burden"

and basically what i'm saying is that i wish the story had been about THAT

(and also ning yingying's lines in that same chapter about shizun always taking on everything himself and why is it always you like that whole moment with the cang qiong mountain almost begging him to see that they care. idek what i'm saying but you know)

(also foaming at the mouth that we only got tiny tiny glimpses of shen yuan's life from before, those handful of times he mentioned his siblings i wanted to take a bite out of my kindle. tell me more!! dear fucking lord tell me more!! keep talking! elaborate!! he really felt very "kim dokja and his fourth wall" at times, sorry once more about the orv brain)

tldr: i guess i wanted a story about shen yuan/qingqiu but mxtx created svsss to be a story about bin/gqiu. and i just have to be okay with that.

[no1ryomafan]

Me: Persona is like one of my more normal interests

Also me: *proceeds to do a replay of P3P on NG+ as the femc even though this is gonna take well over 50+ hours like last time even if I skip some dialogue*