Together or Not At All

Late to the Archive with lattes. A TMA sideblog lovingly maintained by @aurumdalseni Call me Aurum, they/them, 40+ Writer, multishipper, rarepair extraordinaire Grab a cup of tea and enjoy your stay.

[allmonstershere]

If I am not too late to the party, seeking other fans and creators for The Magnus Archives. Fic author here working on a monster (haha) JonMarTim AU and exploring all the fanworks that came out while I was sleeping on this pod. I originally wasn’t going to make another fandom sideblog but since this series has taken over my life, here we are.

[allmonstershere]

Back on my JonTim game, thinking about a drabble series from Tim’s POV: how you know you’re falling for your coworker (and other rule breaking activities).

[allmonstershere]

Do you ever just think that Jordan Kennedy doesn't get enough love? Here's a post-hellscape slice-of-life snippet, Avatar style. ~

The Archivist sends a text just as Jordan Kennedy is finishing up a job in Battersea. It’s one word, all caps. 

Archivist: JORDAN.

It pops up on his smart watch, and a wave of smug satisfaction follows. Humming cheerfully to himself, the unwillingly appointed Avatar of the Corruption (he prefers that over Filth or the Crawling Rot) doesn’t send a response right away, instead taking the time to gather his tools and load up his truck. He has another appointment before he can call it quits for the day, so the only hurry he’s in is to make sure he gets there on time. Lucky for him, he’s been quite efficient at this stop and he has some time to collect himself, and digest his customer’s skin-crawling fear like a working lunch and grab a coffee. 

It’s as he’s having a smoke outside the coffee shop, the smell of afternoon brew and smoke an acceptable digestif, that he finally answers. 

JK: Are you available this afternoon?

Left unsent: Will there be lemonade?

Despite the omission, he received a message immediately back. 

Archivist: Martin is already expecting you.

Pleased, Jordan tucks his phone away and climbs back into the cab of his truck. It’s late spring in London, swiftly approaching June, with temperatures pleasantly warm and gardens coming alive with greenery. With that comes the pulse and swell of life, in both gardens and a ceaseless, hungry pit inside of himself. The winter was awful, a creeping dread of dormancy threatening to turn fear back on him as his creatures fell quiet and cold. Jordan had turned every routine examination into an excuse to find a warm corner, a mouldering basement beam, a dusty attic crevice to tuck away pieces of this thing he was now. In a way, he spent that time planting a garden of his own, and is starting to reap the benefits of it. He found other way to supplement his appetite, ones that he favors far less than this, but from the Archivist and his vanguard, Jordan Kennedy has learned that being a monster is multi-faceted, and you only go hungry if you aren’t willing to put in the effort. 

But yes, late spring, and Jordan finds that with the blossoming of many-legged meal tickets, he’s looking forward to a specific treat. Certainly, he could find it elsewhere, but there’s something about having a creature who understands this particular existence also feed it. And besides, the Archivist owes him. 

So, at a time when he knows the monsters three will be tending their own garden, he sends his request on the backs of thousands of industrious ants that had been bustling beneath maple trees and meticulously mulched flower beds. Just an overturned rock or two is all it takes to knock on their door, send them pouring out in droves, delivering Jordan’s ask:

Ꭵ𝐓'丂 𝐓Ɨм𝑒

He completes his tasks for the day, hates himself for the way he thrills when he explains just how bad a termite infestation can be to a young, single mother of two. She had been lovely, the kind of woman Jordan would ask on a date if he’s in a bar or a nice restaurant (he’s quite fond of kids, actually), but he’ll never be able to forget the honey-sweet trickle of her terror down his spine, clutching the younger of the two children to her ribs, the little guy too young to understand, and the older of the two eating up “bug facts” as voraciously as Jordan fed on his mum. He feels awful. He feels fortified to meet with the equally unwilling demigod of the Dread Powers. 

As he stands on the stoop of a quaint English cottage, teeming with bright annuals and lush evergreens, Jordan once more contemplates what he’ll find on the other side of the door. He doesn’t get much time to as the Archivist anticipates his arrival before he can ring the bell (typical of the Eye), looking surly about the eyebrows. 

“You could have phoned,” Jon says by way of greeting. 

Jordan responds with a crooked smile at Jon’s lingering unease. “Where’s the fun in that? May I come in?”

The way Jon steps back and opens the door wider is enough of an acquiescence and Jordan steps inside. He’s close enough to Jon to feel the uncomfortable echo of prickling skin, and he could easily imagine the other man’s hand plunging into fresh soil, being met with legs and antennae and the warmth of the entire swarm. Not enough as one body to hold that heat, but the many? The first time Jordan had been “invited” over, the Archivist’s left hand had still been twitching slightly. Today, he looks balefully resigned. Normal. 

God, the thing that gets him sometimes is that they mostly look normal.

“How’s business?” Jon asks dryly. He probably already knows. 

“Booming,” Jordan says, his smile widening as gets a small taste of Jon’s distaste at the topic. “How’s yours?”

“Plentiful, as ever.”

They walk through the first floor of the house, a cozy enough home that is slightly less pristine than the yard outside, lived in and utterly clear of any spiders. On that, Jordan can agree. In the back is a small patio table with four chairs offering a splendid view of tidy lawn and well-loved vegetable beds. Do they have any idea how many crawling things run this yard with abandon? One look at Jon’s face says yes, as if he becomes more aware of it with Jordan there. Come to think of it, he probably does. 

He spots Martin quickly, the other man’s red-gold hair catching the early evening sun. He smells like the earth, and there’s dirt under his nails, but in spite of that, he’s holding a pitcher full nearly to the brim with lemonade. Jordan’s entire focus shifts to that singular thing as the Avatar of the One Alone pours it out. He forgets his manners in anticipation of the sweetness, and Martin looks smug. He knows this is what Jordan has come for. Not so much for social pleasantries or the business of fear, but for this. A tall glass of lemonade so sweet that Jon declines his own serving outright and Martin sips slowly so that he’s barely finished half a glass by the time Jordan takes his leave. Jordan can’t remember how he used to like it, only that he wants it like this as spring crests over into summer, making him content to sit with his fellow monsters for a spell. Later, he would lay himself down and share it, sink into the dirt and the thousands of skittering, fluttering touches that feed from him as he has fed. It’s the most he’s ever belonged anywhere, and it’s the thing he loathes the most. 

Has he forgiven the Archivist for this gift? Not quite. 

They sit for a spell and drink. Words are exchanged, cautious greetings when the third Avatar steps out into the yard to make sure all is going well. This one, Tim, he doesn’t get on as well with. The Flesh and the Corruption aren’t exactly on good terms. Something about having a body that can be broken down by rot and insects doesn’t sit well, but it can’t dispute that those things have flesh of their own, of a sort. So it’s an uneasy truce. Not to mention that, of the three, this one has a ferality under the surface. Jordan had seen it in the hellscape, and it sleeps like great beast behind Tim’s pleasant smile and bright floral shirt. 

In time, the lemonade is consumed, and Martin has so generously placed a second batch in a monstrous thermos that will live in Jordan’s truck for the next week as he savors it with the swell of summer warmth. And when the table has been cleared and Martin’s given him a tour of the garden, Jordan takes his leave. His tongue is thick with sugar, and his bones citrus-sour. There is a shallow well in the dirt back at his flat. He likes to think he’s retained most of his humanity, the one thing allowing him to tolerate the Archivist and what he’d done to Jordan. But when he lays himself down in that not-grave and starts to feel both the soil being pulled away to reach him and his body sinking into the loving embrace of what’s his now, he knows he’s not human. 

The lemonade is the *least* he’s owed.

[pankendev]

this and a blunt [remembering i don't smoke]force trauma

[allmonstershere]

Monster Fic WIP Snip 007-81

I don’t seem to recall there ever being a time when—

When what? When they were happy? When they got on better than they had before the Unknowing? Were Jon’s memories of the precious and rare good times buried under all the rest? It seemed entirely likely and also probably a safer thing for his current existence than Tim wanted to admit.

[allmonstershere]

Monster Fic WIP Snip 006-150

It seemed that the church statement had only managed to sustain him for so long, and even if Tim had been a five star monster feast (he wanted to think he had been), it was likely to have been a drop in the bucket. What does the Eye want from you? he kept himself from asking.

[allmonstershere]

Monster Fic WIP Snip 005-74

He recognized the careful dance here, the unasked question of whether or not they could trust one another. Tim knew he wouldn’t get without giving, so he took another breath and gave Jon something. 

“I also wanted to tell you that I went to the Institute, “ he added. “I took the tunnels to Artifact Storage and back. Didn’t pass go or collect two-hundred dollars. I ran into Basira, so this is probably not new information, but I still wanted you to hear it from me.”

[unstill-deactivated20260502]

nothing makes me feel more alive than being insane about a little show

[allmonstershere]

Monster Fic WIP Snip 004-77

Tim felt a tick of something go through him as Jon took back over with another question. They’d never really set the terms of the invitation, so maybe he’d unreasonably had it in his mind that it would be more of an exchange. I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours, or something like that. Though there was still far too little showing for his preferences, relegated to talking through the phone and having to accept just how many limitations came with that. Not at all unlike the church, where he’d set the playing field for the game, and they’d both had to endure the consequences.

[grey-wardens-dont-have-dental]

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

…good morning.

…goodnight.

…goodbye.

…where it hurts.

…where it doesn’t hurt.

…on a falling tear.

…to shut them up.

…in secrecy.

…in public.

…desperately.

…in joy.

…in grief.

…discreetly.

…casually.

…passionately.

…lazily.

…to distract.

…as encouragement.

…for luck.

…on a scar.

…on a place of insecurity.

…in a rush of adrenaline.

…in relief.

…in danger.

…as a ‘yes’.

…as an apology.

…as a suggestion.

…as a lie.

…as a promise.

…as comfort.

…after a small rejection.

…to wake up.

…forcefully.

…to pretend.

…to gain something.

…to give up control.

…without a motive.

…because they’re running out of time.

…because time’s run out.

…because the world is ending.

…because the world is saved.

…out of pride.

…out of greed.

…out of lust.

…out of anger.

…out of envy or jealousy.

…out of spite.

…out of habit.

…out of necessity.

…out of love.

[allmonstershere]

I know there is a sound clip of all the times Jon says "Martin" out there. [slides content editors a fiver] Pls do all the times he says "Tim"?

[allmonstershere]

Monster Fic WIP Snip 003-45

When he’d arrived at the Institute, it was a bright, sunny morning, barely a cloud in the sky. What was visible beyond these windows was a blue-grey mist, heavy with its own beauty, but carrying a presence that had nothing to do with any London fog he’d experienced. The moment the door shut, the air became harder to breathe. It smelled like Martin’s aftershave and fresh laundry, sense memories that were viscerally awakened in Tim now, even though he’d been away for so long.

[drawsmaddy]

[ID: A digital illustration of Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. He's holding an axe in one hand and a tape recorder in the other, and he has his sleeves pushed up above his elbows. He is speaking into the tape recorder, saying "It is remarkably easy to buy an axe in Central London." End description.]

My favourite guy who makes many bad decisions

[oheiii]

[nether-demon-warthog]

art by @acrylcii

[phthalopathos]

the jarchivist

does he wear glasses post coma? debatable. did i want to draw him looking even more like an old man professor? most definitely.

[nether-demon-warthog]

art by @mishoru