Be still
https://ift.tt/Q7B26T0
by nhasablog
Henry makes a discovery while kissing Alex’s hips.
Words: 828, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Additional Tags: non-graphic foreplay, kinda idk, Tickling
via AO3 works tagged 'Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor' https://ift.tt/3q25RHh
August 08, 2023 at 12:31PM
hey this might be kinda random or you don’t know but do you know what happened to nhasablog? they had so many fics that i just can’t access now i suppose their account got hacked?
yeah, i believe tumblr marked their blog as explicit?? all of N’s fics are on ao3, though (thank god)!
and also N has an active writing advice blog @nhasablog-advice :)
i know i’ve been really quiet about @nhasanotherblog leaving but that’s only because it almost doesn’t feel real?? i talk to her outside of this blog almost daily so for me it isn’t the same as losing a favorite writer, because i still have my friend, but looking back on the nights i spent browsing her blog before i made my own account, wishing that one day i could be like her...i’m really gonna miss having her around on my dashboard, in my inbox, etc.
but hey, don’t worry guys, there are other people around, her work will be on ao3, and she’s doing what is best for her, so i’m happy!!
A/N: I’ve never written Star Trek before or really watched it and I think I saw like one movie?? But I love reading nhasablog and other’s fics about them so here I am.
...
Jim awoke to the gentle touch of something brushing over his stomach. He parted his lips and eyelids groggily. “What’re you doing?”
“Jim. And, ..ok.” Jim acknowledged, feeling his question still went unanswered.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s customary to give someone what they want on Christmas morning.” Spock continued, noting Kirk’s confusion.
Jim followed the pull of Spock’s hand on his chest and leaned back onto the bed, resting face up on the pillow.
Spock moved slowly over him, his hand tracing over Jim’s skin. Jim hummed contently.
“And I do believe I know something that you want.” Spock almost smiled. “Something you always want.”
Kirk’s eyes slowly blinked open. “What?”
Spock did smile then, just a quick turn of his lips as he caught Jim’s eye. His hands suddenly tickled deliberately against Jim’s rib cage. Jim began squirming underneath him, his body reacting to the touch with jumps and shivers but too tired still to properly put up a fight to get away. “Hahahahaha-nahaha-“ Jim’s face grew pink.
“I know you love this, so it’s my first gift to you today.” Spock teased in a stoic voice, wiggling his fingers softly but with purpose across Jim’s stomach.
“Ahahahaha shuhuhut up-“ Jim whined.
“Merry Christmas, Jim.” Spock leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, adoring the red blush adorning Jim’s cheeks as he was called out for just how much he was enjoying this.
Infinity War spoliers kinda but I personally don't trust a single death unless they're still dead at the end of part 2, and thinking that has spared me the sorrow for now /nhasablog
That’s fair! I mean… I don’t trust a lot of the deaths that happened (there’s hope!) but I’m. Just. Over it? Idk why but for me the whole thing is reminiscent of A:AoU where I watched it and basically just forgot everything and pretended it didn’t happen because I wasn’t super into it.
A/N - Hey guys, I’m here with a long and important fic. @nhasablog prompted this to me a while ago so I finally wrote it and I hope she loves it. I also wanted to make two points in this fic. One is the harsh reality of genocide and war. As a Jewish woman with family who were tattooed, I want to say thank you for all who are still fighting for my rights today in this crazy world. I thank you for standing with me while the world is once again changing. I also wanted to make the very important point about tickling. TICKLING IS NOT A CURE FOR MENTAL ILLNESS, it’s a distraction and a moment of bliss. Please consider this statement and all I wrote in this fic when prompting fics or just scrolling through this little community.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this Cherik fic @nhasablog prompted and if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me! Thank you everyone!
Trigger Warnings: Genocide, concentration camps, depression, death
Word Count: 1,337
The past will never cease to haunt him, the bombs will never stop falling, the screams will never silence. The metal gates nearly touching the sky, the stench of burning bodies wafting the still air. The tattoos, the numbers which branded them like the cattle they were, the numbers etched into their skin forever, the numbers staring up at him whenever he rolled up his sleeve. The ashen fire, what was burning that day? The clothes? The hair? The bodies? All he wanted was to forget, to unsee the horrors, to unlive his life, to be unborn and to never know the harsh realities of the concentration camps.
“Erik?” Snapped from his thoughts, snapped from the war, snapped from eternal prison marked on his skin; Erik was back in the present where he belonged, back to the world where eyes lit up instead of tearing up. “I thought I told you to try the breathing exercises.”
“I thought I told you not to read my mind,” Erik replied, half way between and snap and a whimper, torn between loathing Charles’ mind reading and adoring the salvation his friend gave. “Thank you.”
“Why do you keep going back there?” Charles rolled up beside him, a gentle hand on the shoulder, a small quiver of the muscles. Erik wasn’t used to touch, at least, not that kind of touch. He was used to the touch you would never speak of again, the touch which bruises left behind on the skin and on the mind, the touch that left scars and abrasions which would never heal, the touch which caused mind numbing pain and tears rushing down emaciated cheeks. Charles was teaching him another sort of touch, the one which represented love. This was the type of touch which sent warmth throughout the body, the embrace of a friend, the safety within one’s arms, the gentle caress of a cheek, the entwinement of fingers. This was the touch that healed, the touch which softened eyes and battled the darkness away, the touch that resonated throughout the body, the touch to cause a peace in the mind and in the world. This is all Erik ever wanted, ever needed in the world.
“I can’t help it,” Erik admitted, no use in hiding everything today. He would normally fight it, the anger, the sorrow, the fear. Not today, no, he wanted to feel safe, secure, still. He wanted to feel loved and he didn’t want to fight for it, he wanted it to stream through, a dam finally giving way to the millions of pounds of pressure. Erik wanted relief, rejoice. “I see it when I close my eyes, the fire, the people, my mother. When I breathe, I smell the ash, the smoke. All I taste is the mold and the char. All I hear is the screams, the sobs. All I feel is the blood and the cold steel. I can’t get rid of it.”
“I could help you clear your mind,” Hand moving downward, fingers gently pressed into a forearm, into the haunting numbers. Another flinch, unwanted, though unpreventable. Erik was trying to get used to the touches, the small notes of affection, the hints of love Charles shared with all, though it was near impossible to fix a broken man. “Only if you want me to.”
“Not that way,” Erik didn’t like Charles in his mind. He trusted him, his best friend, but Charles was not the only person to ever get into his head, to manipulate his mind. He knew Charles wanted to help him, to save him, to provide him sanctuary, but Erik couldn’t allow it. No, the damage had been dealt and it was there to stay. “Maybe something else. Chess perhaps?”
“If that is what you wish,” Charles flashed a small smile, hand falling to Erik’s thigh, a reassuring squeeze, a different kind of flinch. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I…” Erik didn’t quite understand what had happened, the electric shock resonating through his body, the urge to squirm, to laugh. Charles caught on much faster, knowing this yelp was not of pain. “I don’t know what happened.”
“It seems to me that you are ticklish,” Charles beamed, quickly forgetting the game of chess to be played, having found another way to clear the mind. “You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the students do it before. Something about touching another person to provoke laughter.”
“Good,” Charles leaned in as close as he could, reassuring, not menacing. “Would you like me to tickle you? It will help clear the mind, momentarily that is.”
“I guess,” Erik stuttered, not knowing exactly what he was getting into. getting into. He knew tickling was a form of affection, a form of bonding. A way to make others laugh and to forget all that was going on in the world. He knew it wouldn’t heal him, no, nothing could take away the damage done to him. Tickling was only a temporary solution to a big problem, not just for him, but for everyone. It was able to scare away the darkness of the world for a short time, but never a cure for the endless disease. It would never be the way out, nothing can cure the depression and the hatred in the world, the insecurities and the shadows, but it was a good distraction for many.
“Try to hold still, I can’t exactly pin you down,” Charles said, a hint of teasing, warm eyes as Erik sat as still as he could, arms draped across the arms of his chair. Charles scooted as close as he could, reading Erik’s face, reassuring himself before going in, his fingers ready to do their dirty work.
“What is this?” Erik asked, his lips contorted into a large smile, a stream of low giggles erupting. Charles’ fingers danced along his friends' ribs, scratching across his belly, swirling into his navel, feeling the hysteric rise and fall of his chest, his laughter growing the farther up he ventured. “Shit!”
“Good spot?” Charles laughed, all ten fingers skittering under Erik’s arms, nails scratching along the skin as he managed to slip under the hem of the shirt, his fingers tracing along the bare skin of his midriff before reaching the hollows. Erik nearly screamed when Charles decided to switch it up a bit, squeezing both hands into one armpit, all ten fingers scratching the small area, the skin growing more sensitive by the second. Erik tried his hardest not the jump out of his seat, knowing Charles couldn’t pursue nor did he want it to end.
“Fuhuhuhuck,” Erik squealed, feet drumming the floor. Charles was completely enamored by the situation, soaking in the sound of his friend laughing, finally laughing. He couldn’t help but slip into his mind, feeling the same expressions of mirth and hysteria as Erik was, knowing exactly what his fingers were doing to Erik’s sensitive skin. Charles couldn’t help but laugh too, the ticklish shocks resonating through him as well.
“Having fun?” Charles asked, almost as out of breath as Erik, only stopping to give himself a break as well. “Want to go for a round two?”
“Yeah,” Erik nodded, a mild blush, knowing he was enjoying this more than he should be. He knew this wouldn’t fix him, tickling wouldn’t correct his past and cure the dark disease plaguing his mind, but it was a simple distraction. This was a distraction from the world, a moment of pure joy and bliss, a moment to forget and to have fun, to bond with his best friend. Erik knew this would become a regular thing, it had to be. He never wanted this to end, for the bliss to wash away. He wanted not only him to be happy forever, but for Charles as well. While he knew this was impossible, he could at least allow the moment to last a bit longer. “Let’s do a round two, but this time, I get to fight back.”
ME AGAIN ok so I think I both lost and gained years of my life from reading that, and that's exactly what good writing DOES. It makes you experience it all and feel it and LIVE IT and that fic definitely took me to a lot of places and I loved every moment of it even though I was freaking out, so thank you so much for the beautiful amazingness on an evening where I'm stress eating cheese in my kitchen bc it's that time of the year /nhasablog
I love you and I might just be crying at your kind words rn you’re so good to me THANK YOU I’m so so happy you enjoyed it
AN: This is a (late) anniversary fic for @nhasablog & is based off a prompt/convo with @heartsywritesthethings. I hope y'all like it! Ever since the strike ended, Jack barely let Crutchie out of his sight. Who could blame him? He still blamed himself for letting Crutchie get captured despite him telling him countless times it wasn't his fault. No matter what he said, Jack till felt that there was more he could've done to prevent it. He had to wait an entire hour after reading Crutchie's letter before going to see him in order to let his sobs calm down. Seeing him laying in the refuge, broken and bruised, was devastating. He had called him his brother, and brothers were supposed to prevent things like that from happening. When he saw Crutchie after the strike, he wrapped him up in his arms, never wanting to let go. He had been so worried about him, so worried he wasn't going to make it. He vowed right then and there that he wasn't going to let anything else happen to him. He's hardly left his side since, being even more attached to the boy than usual. The other newsies took notice, but no one dared to say anything. Crutchie knew it wasn't healthy for him to be so obsessed. He knew Jack forced himself to stay awake even when he couldn't keep his eyes open for one second to ensure that he himself got some much needed rest. But when he tried to tell Jack that he should sleep too, he'd just wave his hand and shake his head, saying, "Nah, I'm good." He gave Crutchie most of his food he got, insisting he needed it more. While he was grateful for everything he was doing, he was also worried for his friend. He could take care of himself. He was fine. All he needed now was for Jack to see this, and stop neglecting his needs for Crutchie's. The frequent night terrors he was having of the refuge didn't help his case however, and only served to make Jack worry even more. He was always there to wake him from them: worried eyes meeting frantic ones in dim lighting and a hushed voice telling him it was over while strong arms wrapped themselves around him in a comforting hug. But for once he'd like to wake from one alone, seeing Jack fast asleep and undisturbed. He hated when he made others worry, and that's all Jack had been lately: an anxious worried mess. "Jack, you awake?" He asked into the dark knowing he'd receive an immediate answer. "Yeah buddy, what's wrong?" Jack instantly replied, concern evident in his voice. Typical. "Nothin', I just want ya to know know that I's fine. You don't have t' break your back to watch out for me," he said. "'M not breakin' my back, it's no trouble lookin' out for you," Jack scoffed. Crutchie turned to face him, saying, "You've been ignorin' yourself in order to look after me. You don't have ta do dat. I'm fine." "It's really no problem for me," Jack insisted. "When's da last time you got a good night's rest or ate a full meal?" Crutchie retorted. Jack didn't answer, choosing instead to look at the ground. "Dat's what I thought. I've told ya, I'm fine. So you can stop mother henning me," he said with a teasing smile, nudging his shoulder. "'M not mother henning you. It's more like babysittin'," he joked right back. "Hey!" Crutchie cried out, causing Jack to laugh. "Deny it all you want, but you was definitely mother henning. You may can trick da others with dat tough guy act, but ya can't fool me," Crutchie said proudly. "'S not a act! I's tough," Jack defended. "I ain't sayin' you ain't! I's just sayin' you got more soft spots dan you like ta admit." Jack rolled his eyes, "Pft, yeah, whatever." Crutchie reached out to prod at his side, "You know I's right!" Jack covered his mouth to stop his laughter, using the other hand to bat at his. "An' ya haven't been smilin' or laughin' as much, but I can fix dat!" Crutchie wasted no time and pounced, quickly straddling his waist and pinning him. "Not bad for a crip, eh Jack?" he asked, digging his hands underneath his arms, laughter bursting from his mouth. "Cruhuhuhutchie gehehet off!" Jack pleaded, but did nothing to defend himself. He just laid there laughing, his arms flailing uselessly. "Nah, I'm too comfortable ta move. An' you look pretty happy yourself Jack!" he teased, poking around his middle. "Shuhuhut the hehehehehell up!" Crutchie gasped, pulling his hand back and placing it over his chest. "Such language Jack! What if one of da younger newsies hear ya talkin' like dat?" he asked, over exaggeration laced into every word he spoke. "Dey get a widened vocabulary," he sassed, rolling his eyes. Crutchie almost laughed at that, but covered it with a scandalized look. "What kinda role model would you be if ya did that?" Jack averted his eyes, suddenly becoming morose. "I ain't no role model. Just a kid livin' on da streets." Crutchie blinked, taken aback by the change in demeanor. "What? No, Jack you's a great role model!" He forced a sad smile, letting out a chuckle. "I'm serious Jack! Now do ya believe me?" Jack sighed in defeat, "I guess I have to admit you's right, or else I'd never hear da end of it." Crutchie offered a warm hearted smile. "You's still not gonna hear da end of it," he said. Jack only groaned. "Hey quit ya mopin' why not laugh instead!" "Wait, Crutchie nohohoho! Dahahamnit!" Jack might have been mothering Crutchie a bit too much, but who could blame him for looking after his brother?
