but no seriously is it october 7th yet
I had a loan laptop for the night whilst mine is being fixed and didn't want to study soooo, I WROTE THIS:
fandom: sanctuary
characters: helen, nikola, john, will, henry, gregory.
title: pair of suns
rating: m
words: 1,200ish
notes: helen/nikola, helen/john, helen/will, dash o' helen/james. the helen/henry here is intended to be non-romantic, but hey. by all means, squint, if you're into that. this is tiding me over til cartography and I get some sanctuary ship bingo in the house. HELEN/EVERYONE FOREVERANDEVERAMEN
summary: five men eternally in helen magnus's orbit, five aspects of her atmosphere
maybe he and i are like a pair of suns that are captured
eternally linked into chasing each other's spin
-tori amos
i. stirring
For her, Nikola is suspended in time. She doesn't drown in memories when she looks at him even though there's certainly enough of them to pull her under. He can spread his black wings wide and she can tuck up against him, drag her fingernails down his back and feel his heart like metal spark at her touch, ignite, and he's so alive and present and he doesn't ever, ever stop. He's stuck in the future like she's stuck in the past and it suits them both, she supposes, balances them out, but when she's with him she doesn't have time to think about the past and the only thoughts she has about the future are all silver-red empires and sly lips curving fanged new moon smiles.
Nikola could destroy humanity with a sharp kiss like the perfect deadly weapon and someday he will, she's almost certain of it. She'll tell herself to stop him but she knows when the time comes she'll just close her eyes and reach for his outstretched hand.
She doesn't hide or pretend anything around him except her loneliness, and even this she wields as a dagger. He navigates all her weaponry, all her obstacles, expertly. She's a volcano and it's okay to erupt when she's with him because he just devours all her rage, all her ferocity, all that power and he's her conductor; it just makes him stronger, wilder. The energy between them isn't spent, it just shifts, changes and keeps on going (like him it doesn't ever, ever stop). He knows her and she knows him and he loves her dark, he loves everything she pretends to hate.
His tongue demands of her and it feels like the world is burning and the two of them are just waiting, waiting to start over. She comes like a lightning strike with her fingers bright white tangled up in his hair.
ii. pinned
John can tear her open with his eyes like a knife will tear skin, and for him she bleeds a lot of pain and a little love, the desire for him tucked away like a binding corset that hasn't seen the light of day since the fashions changed (since she realized she hated everything it stood for).
It hurts like a beaten body hurts when it wakes in the night and the morphine has all worn off: aching and confused and itching and for some masochistic reason all she wants to do is rip at the raw stitches until they come apart, stinging, under her fingers.
And she does come apart under his fingers, even when she protests, thinking that there's nothing more vile, nothing that would really make her just another one of his whores but this. He'll push her a little, trap her like a caged animal, but he'll wait til she breaks, til she lashes out, to actually touch her.
She's astonished at how quickly the violence turns to passion. Her body bends to him in any way he asks even if her mind is screaming and thrashing (she ends up screaming and thrashing for an entirely different reason). Maybe the violence doesn't actually turn to passion, maybe they just melt together into an alloy of the same unendurable unending maddening intoxication. It's a dance and a struggle that spans so many years, it's so tangled and knotted and tragic and sometimes she thinks Shakespeare really should have written this one.
She hates that she knows he'll always be out there watching her and she's terrified of all the dances they have yet to dance but she also knows that the day John Druitt ceases to roam the earth will be the day her heart finally stops beating.
iii. devotion
When Helen Magnus was a little girl she believed that the world existed only to orbit around her father.
She still thinks, sometimes, that if there were a way to go back and do it all over again she would. There are still so many questions she needs answered and she longs to stop, just for a minute, and lift this responsibility from her back. She's never been as wise as her father. She wants to sit across from him at his old laboratory table and watch him work, feel the naive excitement well up in her belly as he talks to her like someday all of it will be hers.
He's the reason she is. From him is where she gets the patience and the dedication she prizes, and everything else that makes up every atom and every molecule of her being.
Without him there would be no sanctuary at all, and Helen can't fathom anything more important. She'd gladly give him all the years she has left because even though it's her work too, it was always been his first and best.
She will always, always, always be there when he calls.
iv. anew
Will lets her be human and immortal. He doesn't really understand her, but that's okay. He understands that he doesn't understand her, and that makes him the first person in a long, long time able to get under her skin. He worships her and she doesn't deserve it but the way he looks at her makes an old part of her heart feel new, and she so she holds him close.
He's the only one she trusts implicitly because there are no lies between them, no centuries, no betrayal, no distrust, just a perfect pane of glass that she can see right through. She doesn't like to toss around the word "destiny" but he isn't like the others she's tried to teach. After all, it was Helen herself who wanted so badly to pull back the veil for him so that she might again have someone worthy to share her life's passion with.
Sometimes he reminds her so much of James she can't breathe.
She wishes she still had a heart like Will's. Often she'll press her mouth to his pulse, feel it beat strong and clear against her tongue and lips, and he'll cradle her head like he'd follow her across the cosmos if she asked him to.
He's so young but he understands so much and he challenges her in a way she doesn't feel the need to be defiant about.
She can forget about things for a while in his arms.
v. tied
When Henry was small he used to have nightmares. Helen would make him a cup of hot chocolate and he'd curl up around her and fall back asleep to the feel of her hand warm against his back and murmurings of 'you're all right, Henry, you're safe' in his ear.
He grew up fast and so did Ashley. It never mattered that she didn't have a picture of him as a baby to frame beside her daughter's. Henry was always one of Helen's, a part of the pack, a part of the family. Her own.
After Ashley died, she'd fallen apart one night. He had found her in Ashley's room and when he sat beside her she curled in against him just like he used to with her, and he held her, whispered all the same reassuring, loving things she always did when his life felt scary and directionless. She knew he was trying to believe them himself.
The next morning Henry brought her a cup of tea and she looked through the bright sunshine into his face and somehow realized for the first time that he'd grown into a man, that maybe she'd loose him too someday. She vowed right then and there to love more fiercely, because there's never enough time.
He told her not to worry. They'd take care of each other. They would all take care of each other.
fandom: sanctuary
characters: helen, nikola, john, will, henry, gregory.
title: pair of suns
rating: m
words: 1,200ish
notes: helen/nikola, helen/john, helen/will, dash o' helen/james. the helen/henry here is intended to be non-romantic, but hey. by all means, squint, if you're into that. this is tiding me over til cartography and I get some sanctuary ship bingo in the house. HELEN/EVERYONE FOREVERANDEVERAMEN
summary: five men eternally in helen magnus's orbit, five aspects of her atmosphere
maybe he and i are like a pair of suns that are captured
eternally linked into chasing each other's spin
-tori amos
i. stirring
For her, Nikola is suspended in time. She doesn't drown in memories when she looks at him even though there's certainly enough of them to pull her under. He can spread his black wings wide and she can tuck up against him, drag her fingernails down his back and feel his heart like metal spark at her touch, ignite, and he's so alive and present and he doesn't ever, ever stop. He's stuck in the future like she's stuck in the past and it suits them both, she supposes, balances them out, but when she's with him she doesn't have time to think about the past and the only thoughts she has about the future are all silver-red empires and sly lips curving fanged new moon smiles.
Nikola could destroy humanity with a sharp kiss like the perfect deadly weapon and someday he will, she's almost certain of it. She'll tell herself to stop him but she knows when the time comes she'll just close her eyes and reach for his outstretched hand.
She doesn't hide or pretend anything around him except her loneliness, and even this she wields as a dagger. He navigates all her weaponry, all her obstacles, expertly. She's a volcano and it's okay to erupt when she's with him because he just devours all her rage, all her ferocity, all that power and he's her conductor; it just makes him stronger, wilder. The energy between them isn't spent, it just shifts, changes and keeps on going (like him it doesn't ever, ever stop). He knows her and she knows him and he loves her dark, he loves everything she pretends to hate.
His tongue demands of her and it feels like the world is burning and the two of them are just waiting, waiting to start over. She comes like a lightning strike with her fingers bright white tangled up in his hair.
ii. pinned
John can tear her open with his eyes like a knife will tear skin, and for him she bleeds a lot of pain and a little love, the desire for him tucked away like a binding corset that hasn't seen the light of day since the fashions changed (since she realized she hated everything it stood for).
It hurts like a beaten body hurts when it wakes in the night and the morphine has all worn off: aching and confused and itching and for some masochistic reason all she wants to do is rip at the raw stitches until they come apart, stinging, under her fingers.
And she does come apart under his fingers, even when she protests, thinking that there's nothing more vile, nothing that would really make her just another one of his whores but this. He'll push her a little, trap her like a caged animal, but he'll wait til she breaks, til she lashes out, to actually touch her.
She's astonished at how quickly the violence turns to passion. Her body bends to him in any way he asks even if her mind is screaming and thrashing (she ends up screaming and thrashing for an entirely different reason). Maybe the violence doesn't actually turn to passion, maybe they just melt together into an alloy of the same unendurable unending maddening intoxication. It's a dance and a struggle that spans so many years, it's so tangled and knotted and tragic and sometimes she thinks Shakespeare really should have written this one.
She hates that she knows he'll always be out there watching her and she's terrified of all the dances they have yet to dance but she also knows that the day John Druitt ceases to roam the earth will be the day her heart finally stops beating.
iii. devotion
When Helen Magnus was a little girl she believed that the world existed only to orbit around her father.
She still thinks, sometimes, that if there were a way to go back and do it all over again she would. There are still so many questions she needs answered and she longs to stop, just for a minute, and lift this responsibility from her back. She's never been as wise as her father. She wants to sit across from him at his old laboratory table and watch him work, feel the naive excitement well up in her belly as he talks to her like someday all of it will be hers.
He's the reason she is. From him is where she gets the patience and the dedication she prizes, and everything else that makes up every atom and every molecule of her being.
Without him there would be no sanctuary at all, and Helen can't fathom anything more important. She'd gladly give him all the years she has left because even though it's her work too, it was always been his first and best.
She will always, always, always be there when he calls.
iv. anew
Will lets her be human and immortal. He doesn't really understand her, but that's okay. He understands that he doesn't understand her, and that makes him the first person in a long, long time able to get under her skin. He worships her and she doesn't deserve it but the way he looks at her makes an old part of her heart feel new, and she so she holds him close.
He's the only one she trusts implicitly because there are no lies between them, no centuries, no betrayal, no distrust, just a perfect pane of glass that she can see right through. She doesn't like to toss around the word "destiny" but he isn't like the others she's tried to teach. After all, it was Helen herself who wanted so badly to pull back the veil for him so that she might again have someone worthy to share her life's passion with.
Sometimes he reminds her so much of James she can't breathe.
She wishes she still had a heart like Will's. Often she'll press her mouth to his pulse, feel it beat strong and clear against her tongue and lips, and he'll cradle her head like he'd follow her across the cosmos if she asked him to.
He's so young but he understands so much and he challenges her in a way she doesn't feel the need to be defiant about.
She can forget about things for a while in his arms.
v. tied
When Henry was small he used to have nightmares. Helen would make him a cup of hot chocolate and he'd curl up around her and fall back asleep to the feel of her hand warm against his back and murmurings of 'you're all right, Henry, you're safe' in his ear.
He grew up fast and so did Ashley. It never mattered that she didn't have a picture of him as a baby to frame beside her daughter's. Henry was always one of Helen's, a part of the pack, a part of the family. Her own.
After Ashley died, she'd fallen apart one night. He had found her in Ashley's room and when he sat beside her she curled in against him just like he used to with her, and he held her, whispered all the same reassuring, loving things she always did when his life felt scary and directionless. She knew he was trying to believe them himself.
The next morning Henry brought her a cup of tea and she looked through the bright sunshine into his face and somehow realized for the first time that he'd grown into a man, that maybe she'd loose him too someday. She vowed right then and there to love more fiercely, because there's never enough time.
He told her not to worry. They'd take care of each other. They would all take care of each other.