#anyways i love helen and michael but the spiral would tear me to bits

[theskywaslookingback]

2020 is almost over and I just wanted to share some of my favorite lines from fics that I’ve worked on this year. No particular order because I’m bad about remembering when I started and finished a piece.

Jon’s flat is cold and musty. It’s obvious from the moment they step inside that it hasn’t been occupied in some time. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, the light from the street peeking around the edges with a hazy yellow hue. Dishes have been left in the dry rack, a mug on the counter containing something that might have once been tea. It’s stifling in its bareness, empty walls and heavy bookshelves. The only point of warmth comes from two hands clasped together in desperation. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

Jon wants to pull him closer, let Martin crawl into the skin of him until they are not two but one and Martin never feels lonely again. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

“It’s just Daisy,” Jon says, “she’s not- she won’t hurt us.” The end lilts upward like a question. Light roves under his clothes, the cloth wrapped snugly around his face. All of his eyes flickering back and forth between hunter and lover. Each time they land on her it feels like a blade. It feels like a kiss. - home and safety, apocalypse now series

“Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been. - 3AM, visible world series

“If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly. “I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.” Laughter crashes out of him like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. - Summer Air, visible world series

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box. “This is cheaper.” “I know. You can tell.” “Hey--” -6PM, Saturday Night, visible world series

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.” “But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s-- you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be--” “Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” Jon knows. “Yes.” “Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?” - Abrupt, visible world series

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand. - Intimacy, visible world series

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious. ‘ I don’t ,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.” Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest. “Do not do that to me ever again.” “I-I didn’t mean to--” “ Don’t. ” - litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

She’d gone out for lunch an hour ago on her own. It felt like a test, the gnawing hunger in her blood versus her will to make it be still, no one there to hold her accountable except for her own desire to be better. It was alright, fine. She’d gotten a sandwich at the cafe and impulsively ordered a salad to take back to the Institute for Sims. God knew he’d never remember to eat if she didn’t remind him. - Days Before; Unwinding, chaper one

She can feel his mouth against her neck, lips wet as he tries to speak. She holds him tighter, feels his fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt. “Shhh,” she rumbles and feels him sigh. “I know. Be still.” She slides a hand into his hair, rubbing fingers against his scalp the way her mother did for her after nightmares as a child. His breath hitches and she knows he’s crying, silently in a way that makes her wonder when he’d learned to quiet his own sadness. “I’ve got it, I’ve got you.” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter one

Tim gestures at the piles of research vaguely, almost spilling coffee over his hand. Jon takes his mug. “Is that not why I’m here?” “Is it?” Tim gins, raising an eyebrow. “Sure there’s no other reason? A little Netflix and chill?” He’s joking, of course, he knows Jon has never expressed any interest in him in that way. Just a harmless flirtation, meant only to bring a little bit of heat to Jon’s face and neck. And that it does, the tips of his ears burning a ruddy red at the implication. “Tim-” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter two

Gerry traces a finger over the constellation of freckles along Martin’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, almost light enough to tickle. He’s named some of the constellations before, called them things like Orpheus or Ariadne, pressing kissing into the bare skin until Martin giggles and presses him gently away. - Lazy Sunday Morning, visible world series

“I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?” “Yeah, it– yes.” “Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.” “If you drop me–” “I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?” Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. - prompts, visible world series

Helen…is. At least it thinks so. Any state of being is complicated, as they were never meant to be a being. Helen was, and then very quickly and unceremoniously and all at once Helen was not. And they were Helen, and Helen was them. So, Helen was, and Helen is. The Archivist is, certainly. He’s pretending not to see, keeping his two front eyes shut in her hallways but all the rest of them creak open with curiosity. He follows her with his eyes closed, his hand outstretched to feel the bend and pulse of the wall. The way it shrinks and expands, undulating like an intestine. She wonders if he knows it is feeding on him. Not much. Not enough. But it is, it does. She does. [...] (The thing they were before was never any of that, because it never had to be. It was twisting lines, curving shadows, spirals and fractals. Being hurt. Becoming hurt. And it had turned that hurt on Michael, who had not always been anger and fear and sharp stark lines. And it would turn that hurt on Helen. But not yet. Not yet.) - prompts

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to. - hands, unfinished

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.  “Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.  “I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway. - hands, unfinished

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold. “Alright?” Martin whispers. “Yes.” “You’re shaking.” “I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.” Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache. - hands, unfinished

Jon hums in agreement, closing his book without bothering to mark the page. He starts to stand and has a sudden thought, freezing half in place, “Do I— do you want me to—?” He gestures vaguely at the hall, where the single bed lies unmade, and then down at the settee. Last night had been...well, wonderful; but it had mostly been a necessity. Now, with the radiator half-working, warming the bones of the cottage, they could theoretically get through the night alone without freezing half to death. He sits back down on the settee rather heavily and it knocks their legs together, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice.  Martin’s brows scrunch together and Jon has to fight the urge to smooth the skin back down with his thumbs. “Do I want what?” Me, Jon thought. He huffed out a sharp breath through his nose. “Do you want— do you want to sleep alone?” - hands, unfinished

“Thank you,” Jon says, his throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, “for having loved me.” Martin’s eyebrows furrow down and his hand comes up to brush Jon’s cheek. His fingers come away wet and Jon knows he’s lost. “Jon?” “It’s okay,” Jon says, even though it’s not. Even though his chest is painfully tight and he no longer knows how to breathe. “It’s okay.” “Jon what- oh. Oh…” Martin’s hands are so lovely and warm and real, one pressed to his face, his chest, his neck. “I did love you,” he says and Jon’s eyes close. There are lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pressed to his forehead. “I did,” Martin murmurs, “I still do.” “How?” Jon breathes out, ragged, his hands reaching for Martin’s wrists with desperate strength.  “How could I not?” - hands, unfinished

[constantlytiredghost]

Magical Library Au but make it a prequel  featuring spiral!sibs :D

The yellow door seemed unassuming and harmless, nonetheless  Gerry’s heart was racing in his chest. He had been staring at it for over ten minutes now and still wasn’t closer to opening it. By now, he had memorised the swirling patterns in the door at least until they decided to change again, twisting into new patterns which didn’t help the lingering feeling of wrongness that surrounded it.

He took a deep breath. He could do this. He had to do this. He couldn’t just come back like a dog with its tails between its legs. Not again. Gerry swallowed dryly before pushing against the door.

The door quietly swung open, with none of the ominous creaks that Gerry had expected. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

“Oh, welcome! I was already wondering, if you’d actually come in or just leave again.” a voice greeted him, making Gerry’s head snap around. He stared at the tall woman who smiled at him with a sharp-toothed grin while he stumbled back until he hit the wall behind him.

“No reason to be scared.” the woman chuckled as Gerry tried to become one with the wall. “I’m not planning on hurting you,” she added. “Actually, I think you’re here, because you want something, don’t you?”

Gerry nodded slowly.

“Great. Mind telling me your name before we figure out, how we can be of help.”

“Gera….Gerry.” he answered.

“Gerry, huh? That’s a lovely name. Why don’t you take a seat while I make some tea?”

Gerry wanted to say that he didn’t like tea and that he wasn’t even sure if he should take food from a witch, but he didn’t dare to disagree, so he just nodded and sat down on the chair the witch had pointed at.

The woman vanished from the room, leaving Gerry alone and unoccupied enough, to actually look around for the first time.

It was a big room, technically, but it was so cluttered and filled with things that it didn’t seem that way. There were shelves full of jars and pots. Books stacked in hazardous stacks that seemed to topple over any moment. There was a cauldron over a cold fireplace and from the ceiling hanged various herbs and stone and glass fragment that shimmered and shifted the light that fell through them, reflecting and breaking it.

Gerry was to busy staring to notice the second person entering the room.

“Oh, a visitor.”

For the second time in barely 10 minutes, Gerry startled and whipped around to gape at the man who had just entered. He was even taller than the woman with wild blond curls that seemed to have a life of there own.

“I’m Michael, and you are?”

“Gerry.” Gerry answered with a bit more confidence this time. “and I’m waiting for uhh…” he realised that he had never gotten the name of the woman.

“-Helen.” Michael finished for him, and Gerry simply nodded. He assumed the woman’s name could be Helen.

Michael sat down on the table in front of Gerry ignoring the other chairs.

“And what brings you here? Did you get lost.” curious eyes fixated him, making Gerry fidget in his chair.

“No…..I need uh some help?”

“Oh? Usually, people don’t come here so young for help… How old are you?” Michael asked, tilting his head.

“I’m not that young,” Gerry muttered, his mother always said that he was basically an adult and that he should act that way. “I’m fourteen.”  Just barely. His birthday had been last week.

“And how can we…”

“Michael, stop bothering him.” Helen interupted, just coming back with a steaming mug that she handed Gerry before flopping on the table next to Michael

“I’m not bothering him. I’m,,, just asking questions.”

“Yes, bothering him.” Helen said with a grin which resulted in Michael huffing and rolling his eyes.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked Gerry then.

“Uhm…” he wasn’t used to getting asked about his opinion and his fingers tightened around his mug “I’m….I’m good I think.” 

“See! Not bothering.” Michael said, gesturing at Gerry. “All good.”

Now it was Helen’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Sure. Anyway, how can we help you.”

Both looked at him now, fixating him with multicoloured eyes. He swallowed.

“I want…. iwanttobefree.” he muttered quickly, words swimming together.

Helen raised her eyebrow.

“Free?” she asked.

“From what?” Michael added.

“My mother.” Gerry answered, voice barely above a whisper.

“You know that every help has its price?” Helen asked, and Gerry nodded. He did, and he was willing to pay it.

“Huh, so not just a whim.” Michael hummed. “What did she do?”

“I-” Gerry stared of but broke off again, his eyes were burning, but he tried to hold his tears back. He didn’t want to cry in front of two strangers.

“You don’t have to tell me you can show me instead.” Helen interfered quickly, holding out her hand. “Just give me your hand, and I’ll know everything I need too.”

Gerry sniffled a bit but placed, his hand in hers. It felt weird as if there were too many bones in it, but it looked perfectly normal, then it felt like something got pulled out of him leaving him dizzy when Helen pulled her hand back. Her face was stony when she spoke again. “Don’t worry Gerry. We’ll definitely help you.”

“What will it cost? I don’t have…” Gerry started timidly. He didn’t have any money but witched usually didn’t want that anyway.

“Oh don’t worry. In this case, it’s a freebie more or less.” Michael said, flashing some sharp teeth.

“More or less?” Gerry asked.

Michael shrugged.

“We’ll take your mom.” he answered with a shrug.

“My mom? Will you kill her?” asked Gerry with wide eyes.

“Not exactly.” Helen said but didn’t elaborate. “And we’ll take everything that connects you to her.” she added.

“Like…like my memories?” Gerry asked, eyes still wide. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to lose his memories.

“Nah,” Michael said. “Memories are boring. We’re talking more about something like this.” he hummed, leaning forward to tug at one of Gerry’s curls.

“My hair?”

“The colour of it.” Helen hummed.

“It’s like hers isn’t it?”, Michael added, letting go of the strand.

“How do you…?” Gerry asked.

“Oh well, Helen saw it when she looked into your head earlier, and I can see what she sees most of the time if we want too. We sorta share a brain.”

“But I got all the brain cells.” Helen snickered.

“You do not.”

“I do.”

“Uhm.” Gerry made before the could continue bickering. “I’m… Uhm I’m fine with that.”

They both looked back at him, wide smiles on their faces.

“Perfect!” they replied in unison.

“I’ll take care of Mary you take care of the hair~” Helen chirped and was gone before Michael could protest. 

“God damn it. Not again.” Michael muttered. “Well, let’s take care of it. Any colour preferences?”

Gerry blinked and shrugged. “I don’t ca…no wait…can you make it look like my dads?” he asked softly.

“Black? Sure, bit boring but if that’s what you want.” Michael said with a shrug. “Could also offer pink, blue stripes or dots or something interesting like that.” Gerry shook his head.

“Black is fine.”

“Sure then.” Michael agreed.

When Gerry had come here, he had expected pain, but switching the colour of his hair was painless and easy with Michael chattering nonsense while Gerry sipped on the tea, that Helen had handed him.

It was only later after he had left the yellow door behind him that he noticed that one of his strands in the back of his hair was iridescent changing colour every time it was hit by light. A small reminder of where he had been, he supposed. He didn’t mind.

And all of this had only happened hours before Gerry would meet the second, well technically third witch in his life and would learn that he hadn’t been the only Keay to make a deal with a witch that day. 

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. @everythingisstardust