Barnabas and the young gentleman he was handing his coat to, looked up in alarm as they both heard a yelp of shock. Barnabas felt a tight grip of fear in his heart that something terrible had happened to his dear friend, which was swiftly dismayed by the irritated swearing that came from the other man’s study. Jonah’s servant moved to check on his master, but Barnabas patted the other on his shoulder.
“Do not worry yourself, I will check on him.” the other man nodded and moved to put his coat away while he made his way to Jonah’s study.
Jonathan Fanshawe has never given much thought to his future. There hasn’t been any reason to dwell on it too much; anything can happen any time, there is no point to plan anything; no one can predict what will come. Besides he usually has had much more important things to focus on! There have been so many things he wanted to figure out and discover. There has been his hubris telling him he will be able to. Of course he hasn’t had time to concern himself with his future.
That being said though he never imagined he would end up as a local doctor in small village in the middle of Switzerland. But well… anything did happen indeed.
It has been years since he cut any contact with Jonah Magnus. It has also been years since he left England and if he said he is not missing London he would be lying. But it isn’t that bad. His life now is much more… peaceful. Also more frugal. But that is fine. He can be actually helping people instead of chasing his own ambition. He can do some good for a change.
Rating: G (mostly by which I mean nothing overtly fucked up happens.) Fandom:The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonah Magnus, Barnabas Bennett (offscreen), Mordechai Lukas (offscreen) Ao3 Link: archiveofourown.org/works/32688826
“A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
A month after a hastily-penned letter from the missing-of-late
Barnabas Bennett appeared on his desk at the Institute’s Edinburgh
headquarters, Jonah Magnus prepares to respond.
The wine glass in Jonah’s hand wobbled as he tried to sip at it without pouring it down himself. This would be easier if he didn’t have his head resting in Barnabas’ lap, a fact that Jonathan had reminded him of several times this evening. The rim of the glass rested on his lip and he began to tilt it ever so slowly when a hand shot out and tipped the glass over his face.
Jonah spluttered and coughed as he breathed in the wine. He rolled off Barnabas’ lap and onto the floor of the lounge he and his friends were resting in. Barnabas was complaining about the wine soaking into his trousers, Jonathan was sounding far too pleased with himself for Jonah’s liking while the rest of the room was alternating between pretending to be worried and stifling their chuckles into their own drinks. The little Italian prick was laughing his heart out, still leaning over the side of the couch.
Jonah looked to his glass, empty on the floor and then up to Barnabas’ that still stood on the side table next to the couch.
He was an adult. He was not going to engage in some sort of childish food fight. It would be juvenile and petty and so much fun.
There was a small stack of unopened letters on Jonah’s desk. A number of them contained stories of hauntings or mysterious happenings; most of them were assuredly false, though Jonah believed some might be true. But, sitting at the top of the stack—and had been sitting there for a month—was a letter from Barnabas Bennett.
At first, letters from him would come every day; Jonah would find them sitting on his desk where they had not been before. Then one a week. And now, none came. It’s been nearly a month since this last one arrived, and Jonah knew that no more would be coming after.
Jonah Magnus is very interested in joining a community formed around Robert Smirke. He isn’t accepting any new members but that’s just a minor inconvenience Jonah can work with.
“Barnabas are you certain it is alright for me just come like that? Without a proper invitation? Have you discussed with at least someone that it won’t be an issue?”
“You worry yourself way too much, Jonah. It is fine, trust me. How many times do I need to say it?”
Jonah sighs as his dear friend pushes his concerns aside yet again. But how could he not be a bit worried? He has been in a London for just a few months and even though he feels like he learnt in that time more about manners and society than in his whole life before he is still somewhat uncertain by his own place within said society. Unlike Barnabas, he doesn’t have years of practice to act so nonchalantly, demanding things as if he was somehow entitled to them.
Things like becoming member of one more or less secret gentlemen gathering. As unofficial the community around promising young architect Robert Smirke tries to be there is many rumors everywhere trying to determine what is the purpose of it and what are they discussing there?
Jonathan Fanshawe is awakened by the sound of insistent knocking. Few years back he might have been concerned by such urgent peruse of his attention in the middle of the night. Is someone dying? Has anyone been deadly injured? Or struck by a sudden illness?
Nowadays emotions that sudden late visitors strike in him could no longer be described as worry. It is mostly just an annoyance.
He yawns and sits up. His hand reaches to his night table for a candle and matches to light it up with. Then he considers if he should change from his night clothes since he doubts he will be able to fall back asleep after this interruption. Another set of urgent knocking makes him finally grab the candlestick and head towards his entrance door.
“What took you so long, Jonathan? I could be dying!”
Jonah had owned these bones for so long, the bones of his dearest friend. He had stroked his fingers along the edge of the pelvis so many times it was almost muscle memory, had pressed his lips to the top of the skull and whispered his dreams and aspirations into the worn bone like he had once whispered them into Barnabas’s ear when he had been alive.
And while Barnabas’s bones were the ones he cared for the most, and his only full skeleton, they were not the only ones he had picked up in all his years.
After dinner, they had gathered in the drawing-room to talk. Mostly they surrounded Niccolò and asked him questions about his experiences and life. About his skills on the violin and his performances, about his time spent in the Baciocchi court , and about his general self. The stories told about him were many and greatly exaggerated: most of them were false; he didn’t say which ones were true.
Several things about the great Paganini had drawn Jonah to seek him out. They had gotten on quite well, and the more Jonah learned about him, the more he knew his other acquaintances would like him just as much.
So now they were in Jonah’s house in London, all conversing and getting to know the violinist who has been the talk of Europe, and especially England now that he was here.
Mordechai Lukas was enigma. Jonah never saw him out in society, but he made certain to attend every one of Smirke’s gatherings, even with them growing in frequency now that one Maxwell Rayner has joined their little club, who has brought with him a wealth of knowledge and a firsthand account of these entities.
Jonah was vaguely aware that the Lukases had an estate in Kent, but he was not certain where Mordechai resided when he was in London.
The man spoke rarely, and never of himself, and his silence greatly intrigued him. He often looked af Jonah like he wanted to talk to him, but he never made a move to. Jonah wanted to know more about this man.
Personally, Jonah thought that anyone willing to be in a room alone with Mordechai Lukas for any extended period of time was a brave soul indeed. His favourite way to do it was to make sure the man was thoroughly distracted. The thing was, Jonah was a man of many talents, but distracting Mordechai without the use of his hands, blindfolded and gagged, was a little beyond him. The others never really saw it, the coldness that lurked in the large man, just saw him as grumpy and solitary, never really a threat.
Jonah knew differently, could feel the icy coldness of the other man’s fingers as they gripped onto his waist. He knew Mordechai could fling him into the domain of his patron at a moment’s notice. He wouldn’t be able to do a thing.
Rating: G Fandom:The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonah Magnus, Robert Smirke (Mordechai Lukas and George Gilbert Scott are noted as present, but do not play a large role) Ao3 Link: archiveofourown.org/works/32753245
“To define is to limit.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
From the beginning, the company of Jonah Magnus is a mixed blessing and
curse for Robert Smirke and his attempts at balancing the Powers.
Rating: T (mostly by which I mean nothing overtly fucked up happens in gory detail.) Fandom:The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonah Magnus, Jonathan Fanshawe, Barnabas Bennett (offscreen) Ao3 Link: archiveofourown.org/works/32734393
“Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Jonathan
Fanshawe frequently asks himself how he came to be where he currently
stands, and the answer - all too often - is Jonah Magnus.
Written as part of @jonahmagnusweek for the prompt ‘Manipulation’
Jonah Magnus has traveled to visit his friend in Bavaria. Unfortunately he ans Albrecht have a bit different idea about how they should spent their time togerther.
To say that Jonah Magnus is not very fond of traveling would be an understatement. Even occasional rides between his Institute in Edinburgh and London are highly annoying and serve only as a confirmation that moving the Institute to more convenient place is a necessity.
However it can still be called a relaxation in comparison of making a trip abroad. Unfortunately Britain happens to be an island and so only way to travel outside of it is on the sea. Jonah hates the sea – not only the constant swinging of the ship on tides keeps making him sick. The knowledge that the hull of the ship is the only thing standing between him and the deep mass of salt water is also not helping him to feel comfortable. How could some people choose boat as their preferred means of transport and not only as last option is a mystery to him.
Although to be honest Jonah never understood the appeal of traveling in general. He won’t be persuaded no matter how much Barnabas is always urging him to join him on his vacation to explore the world. Ah, was urging him actually… it is still easy to forget sometimes…
End of Something Old, Start of Something New || Day 4: Bones
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There was no body in the coffin when they buried it. Given it was sitting in the Panopticon, this wasn’t much of a surprise to Jonah, who was watching the event from the far back pretending to be an assistant saddened by the death of his employer.
Really, this ought to have been a funeral for young William rather than him, but given whose body was standing here Jonah supposed everyone else could be forgiven. After all, it’s not that anyone knew he was still alive. He suspected no one knew, at least; a few of his once-closer acquaintances gave him odd looks.
He was perhaps a bit put out by how few people attended. True, he had lived to an exceptional age and most of those he knew had already died, but he had thought he’d known a few who were still alive.
He was floating at the top of an immense tower that looked upon miles and miles of an almost familiar city. The stone under his feet was old, cracking but not worn, as if despite its age it was rarely walked upon. Above him was an almighty eye that looked down upon him and through him it showed the world in agony and despair. Fear no longer hidden in shadowy corners of humanity, but seeping into every brick and person and word that was said.
The world is in chaos. The chaos is being watched. Everything is being watched. The world is under surveillance and no one can escape it. The more one hate the feeling of being seen the more eyes are on them. No one can escape. Everyone is being perceived. The eyes are everywhere. Watching. Juduging. Knowing. There is no point trying to hide. It is impossible. All the little secrets one holds are now for everyone to behold. Everyone is being constantly examined and they can do nothing about it.
The world is gone. It is in the ruins and those ruins are being Known and Seen and Perceived as well. Because everything is. And the one in charge the Witness, the Beholder, the Watcher… It is him.He is in charge of this world and it is beautiful because he knows he created it. It would not be here if it wasn’t for him. He rightfully deserved his reign.
The dream would be terrifying to the most. It seems beautiful to Jonah Magnus. The knowledge is flowing though him and it feels ecstatic. It is too much. It is not enough. There is Crown on his head and he is the King of this ruined world.
“Jonah, it’s really too late. I’m sure whatever it is you are working on can wait until morning; come to bed.”
“It can’t, and regardless, I’m not tired enough yet to sleep.” He was pouring over some books, faint candlelight illuminating the text just barely enough that Jonah had to strain his eyes to see what was written. Truly, he could do with the sleep; he had the beginnings of a headache at the moment, and given he’d forgotten to eat today, he was running out of energy.
Robert gave him a disapproving glare. He was standing in the doorway of the room that was officially his, but they had been sharing for the past few months. Jonah was facing away from him, hunched over the papers and books that were scattered across his desk, pretending he didn’t know well the expression on his—what were they at this point? More than friends, certainly—on his lover’s face.
If someone wandered here on accident they would be more likely to assume they crushed someone’s funeral than a wedding. That said it would be hard to just accidentally wander to the mansion surrounded by moors in the middle of nowhere.
And yet it is exactly something that happened to one particular gentleman in a green tailcoat - or at least that is what Jonah Magnus plans to claim if anyone asks him what he is doing here since his wedding invitation must have gotten lost by the postal service. Or simply it has never been written and send. Something tells him it is the latter option. (That something is Eye. As per usual offering him mostly useless information, never the thing he truly wishes to know.)
It has been a few years since he has visited Moorland house. He has been here only twice and both times he had to basically invite himself. The house itself looked exactly the same as he remembered. Maybe even a bit more dark and gloomy but it is probably because it is quite foggy this morning…
Rating: G (I mean…arguably, yeah) Fandom:The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonah Magnus, Barnabas Bennett (Mordechai Lukas, briefly) Ao3 Link:archiveofourown.org/works/32766208
“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
“He retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. Bones that you can still find in my office, if you know where to look.” -Elias Bouchard, The Magnus Archives, “Nothing Beside Remains”
In the end, Jonah Magnus does find use what’s left of Barnabas Bennett.
Written as part of @jonahmagnusweek for the prompt ‘Bones’ (though it works equally well for ‘Possession’ in a fashion)
Rating: T (feels like it should be more but I guess technically not) Fandom:The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonah Magnus Ao3 Link:archiveofourown.org/works/32770078
“The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks. Then, suddenly, time stopped for him. Yes: that blind, slow-breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible thoughts, time being dead, raced nimbly on in front, and dragged a hideous future from its grave, and showed it to him. He stared at it. Its very horror made him stone.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
In the end, The Watcher’s Crown, while not the apotheosis that Jonah was hoping for, turns out to be…something else.
Hello! I wanted to write something for Jonah Magnus Week 2021 and managed to squeeze something out on the very last day. Oops?
Nocturne takes place in the To Ensure You Own Happiness-verse – another fic of mine that might or might not put this piece into context. I’m honestly just kind of playing around in the space at this point.
Jonah Magnus was sitting in the dim light of the candles behind the desk in his office. It has been few a years since the Magnus Institute got connected to the electricity grid of London; however even as electricity has been becoming a norm in growing number of buildings the reliability has barely improved.
There has been something almost calming about the gentle shine on top of the candlestick. It reminds him off his beginnings when he would spent long nights studying, trying to understand all the rules of the world around him and find a way to break them. Sometimes he hasn’t even noticed when exactly the candle burned out and was replaced by the daylight.
He smiles and as a force of a habit reaches to fondly stroke the skull sitting on his table. Barnabas always used to scold him for the lack of rest… On its way his hand shuffles some papers lying in the way… Ah, yes, an unfinished letter from another deceased acquaintance he used to call a friend long time ago.
Crowned by an overture bold and beyond || Day 7: Legacy
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Mortality had been weighing heavily on him for the past two decades. It nestled deep into his joints and mind, reminding him every time he stood up or sat down, every time he walked up the stairs to his Institute, that his time was coming to an end. And it terrified him. Had terrified him for years. And now it seemed to creep nearer every day, coming one step closer, ready to rear its head around every corner.
Mortality was the shackles that bound him in eternal fear and made him just as much a victim as every other half-witted fool whose story he’d collected for his archives. And he knew this; loathed it, that even with the gifts of his patron, he was no better than anyone else.
Jonah sipped at his wine as he looked over his friends as they chatted. The wine had been pressed into his hands by Barnabas at the start of the evening, a gift on this great day. They were all stuffed into the rather cramped library of his newly created Institute, a building that was in fact just his renovated home.
