#aurum writes

"Wake up," he commanded.

7. silent fury

"I expect you to have all my scores beat when I comeback."

Keith didn't scream.

There was no point; no one would hear him. His insides did all the screaming for him, unable to contain his anguish, his rage, his loss, the ache of bruises on his knuckles.

Pilot error.

He didn't remember putting his fist into Iverson's jaw. Maybe he shouted then, lies lies lies. He left pieces of himself back at the Garrison -- unfinished homework in his dorm, uniforms he'd never wear again in the closet, his only shot at a real future in pieces on the floor.

Keith sank into the rickety old couch in the place he and his dad called home, another place of loss. Everywhere Keith turned was a graveyard and he was the ghost haunting things he would never have. He sucked on his bloody knuckles and watched the sunset drip down the walls.

It wasn't until night fell and he couldn't see anything but Shiro's face in the shadows that he finally broke the silence.

Declan tried to plan it - in the same manner he planned just about everything else in his life. Safe, not too revealing, scratch the itch but don’t let anyone know the itch existed in the first place. He was so consumed with want that the itch was more like a bone deep ache that became inflamed every time Jordan’s fingers happened to brush over his skin. This was the exact reason why he had to be careful; it had to be right. Not because, he lied to himself, Jordan was different, but because it was his fault he felt wild in her proximity, dreamed of being wild when they were apart. This was his responsibility to control, and he envisioned the precise number of kisses, exactly how their clothes would come off, where he’d lay her down and how much more important it was for him to hide himself as he made her come.

And that was exactly why she undid him the first time her tongue was in his mouth. That was how she unmade every laced up step in his careful, Ashley-tested process. Jordan burned away every memory of mouths that weren’t hers, hands that didn’t roam as boldly as hers did. With her teeth in his skin, she sussed out soft sounds Declan never intended to make. It was she who stripped him down first, made his knees want to give out. It would take time for him to trust her or himself to really let go, but it had taken far less time to get past some of his previously-ironclad walls. That want ate him alive when she swallowed him down. He came, biting his lip to keep quiet, twice before she laughed and let him get her off. She must have known how she affected him; her words of praise and desire were warm against his ear, both soothing and stirring a beast in him he’d not intended to wake.

Declan was a mess when it was over. Laying against the pillows and rumpled sheets of his townhouse bed, his mouth was slack to catch his breath. The monochrome room was hazy with the colors at the edge of his vision. She lay on his chest, tracing her fingers across the tops of his thighs, her hair tickling his jaw and chin, smelling of flowers and cigarette smoke. Oh God, he thought, half panic and half delight.

Fictober 2025 - Fanfiction Prompt Day 3: "I don't need a reason." Fandom: The Magnus Archives, Season 3 Characters/Pairings: Jon Sims/Tim Stoker Warnings: None

Summary: Tim has a very small amount of time to get used to the fact that he and Jon have called a truce before the Unknowing. A late evening smoke break on the roof of the Institute reminds him just how much he actually cared...no, cares.

It's more likely than you think! Happy peace out to 2024, y'all! Enjoy :)

It sounded like she might have chuckled, but Gerard wasn’t sure he would have believed it. There was some mirth in the tone, a sliver perhaps. Insignificant in its size, but all too ready to slip in and bite you if you weren’t watching yourself. “Speaking your secret passage nonsense again, Gerard,” Gertrude asked, thought it really wasn’t a question. “We need to take this down to Artifact Storage, and this is the way we get there. 

Librarians and researchers alike paused what they were doing to watch the unlikely pair pass. They had no idea that the thing in the Head Archivist’s hands had, in theory, already done unspeakable things to at least five people. But to them, the more spooky thing to observe was Gertrude herself, not the chrome-framed boxy thing in her hands. Or maybe they were staring at Gerard; he was used to it. The most unlikely companion to the buttoned-up, no nonsense old woman was the guy half her age whose eyeliner could cut you, and whose stark black hair framed pale, angular features. They were a show without even trying. 

“If you keep talking about your mysterious tunnels or secret passages under the institute like they’re not there, I’m going to start believing they are. Methinks, protest too much, all that,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, still keeping a safe distance from the object and its handler. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a tool of the Desolation, even if it was amazing that she’d even managed to get it in the first place. 

“Come along,” Gertrude insisted, “you won’t want to miss this.”

“Miss what? A musty old storage room riddled with asbestos and cursed objects? Must be exciting.”

This time, when Gertrude looked back at him from the base of the stairs, there was a twinkle in her eye. “More than you know. Containment at the Magnus Institute is something of a treat, if that’s of interest to you. I’ve seen it more than enough, but needs must. Let’s go.”

Fictober 2025 - Fanfiction Prompt Day 2: "This is new." Fandom: The Magnus Archives, Season 3 Characters/Pairings: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker Warnings: None

Summary: Martin is invited over to Tim's flat for dinner and is treated to an unexpected souvenir.