Just to be clear that fandom does anyone think that jonah just grew replacement eyes in the skulls of his new puppets science we already knew he can do that or
Just to be clear that fandom does anyone think that jonah just grew replacement eyes in the skulls of his new puppets science we already knew he can do that or
Sometimes I just randomly remember that there's about two centuries age difference between Peter and Elias...
1. Dev Patel as Jonathan Sims, The Archivist
2. Harvey Guillen as Martin Blackwood
3. Tahirah Sharif as Sasha James
4. Henry Golding as Timothy Stoker
5. Yasmine al Massri as Basira Hussain
6. Mackenzie Davis as Alice "Daisy" Tonner
7. Jay Som as Melanie King
8. Susan Wokoma as Georgie Barker
9. Michael Fassbender as Elias Bouchard
10. Russell Crowe as Peter Lukas
11. Brenda Blethyn as Gertrude Robinson
12. John Kani as Adelard Dekker
13. Donald Sutherland as Jurgen Leitner
14. David Fane as Mikaele Salesa
15. Ian McKellen as Simon Fairchild
16. Ross Lynch as Michael Shelley
17. Marianne Jean-Baptiste as Helen Richardson
18. Tessa Thompson as Not-Sasha
19. Ivanna Sankho as Nikola Orsinov
20. Tati Gabrielle as Annabelle Cane
21. Sheng Han "Sky" Yang as Tom Haan
22. Karen Gillan as Agnes Montague
23. Levy Tran as Jude Perry
24. Daniel Radcliffe as Mike Crew
25. Oleg Taktarov as Breekon
26. Yaroslav Boyko as Hope
27. Diane Guerrero as Manuela Dominguez
28. Finlay MacMillen as Gerry Keay
29. Ruth Wilson as Mary Keay
30. Jamie Bell as Eric Delano
31. Stephen Lang as Trevor Herbert
32. Kathryn Newton as Julia Montauk
33. Tom Hardy as Jared Hopworth
34. Alfred Enoch as Oliver Banks
35. Kate Seigel as Jane Prentiss
36. Anjli Mohindra as Not-Sarah Baldwin
That's it for this post! Let's hope if an animated or live action TMA show doesn't get ruined by Netflix or stuff.
Jonah's furthering scowl twisted into something of an annoyed grimace as he turned around to see the familiar silhouette of a tall, sleek man gazing down at him. His shadow an unpleasent reminder of Jonah's... stature. He had grey hair and a rather tired look upon his face. He was hunched over, as if he was suffering an injury of sorts. The man with ginger hair scoffed.
He had known Lukas for a very long time and he couldn't recall a single moment where Lukas had stood up straight.
"Horrible posture as ever, I see."
Lukas gave an amused exhale and took off his sailor's cap with a small smile. Jonah's taunts, while frivolous as ever, still managed to make Lukas recoil at the daunting task that was society. He kept quiet, mulling over his thoughts and trying to think of what to say. Problem was, he usually didnt have much to say. Especially not much in the way of taunts. Something that Jonah found rather irritating.
He also found that, however quiet Lukas may be on the outside, his mind was just as obscure on the inside. Now that's not to say it was quiet, heavens no. If anything, Jonah preferred staying /out/ of Peter's mind. To put it lightly, living in his companion's mind was something of a headache.
if you kill jonah magnus and destroy the archives at the same time the world takes a screenshot
Elias: I sure do like lies.
Elias: I meant eyes. You know in eye designs and stuff. Haha autocorect
Jon: This is verbal conversation...
Sometimes I think that the tma staff should bully Elias for a raise (because if they are going to be trapped serving an eldritch horror at least they deserve to buy whatever the fuck they want) or completely ignore the dress code just show up in the most ridiculous clothes to spite Elias but then my brain is like
"ok but what if he just lets them. What if he just doesn't fucking care because he knows that they are doing what he wants them to and are just going to keep doing it. What if he gives them a condescending smile and finds it amusing because it's just a pitiful attempt to feel better that won't do anything in the end"
And then I am filled with indescribable rage and possessed by the spirit of Melanie king and the fury in my veins can't be contained and- well. I think I am going to do a relisten of a certain part of the last mag. Bye
The way Elias basically becomes a godlike vessle for an evil eldritch power but still needs a secretary gets me every time
*puts eyes on all the walls of my house so jonah magnus is forced to watch all my little fruity activities*
Crowned by an overture bold and beyond || Day 7: Legacy
(AO3 link in replies)
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.
Twelve years ago, Maxwell Rayner passed away. An old man, it came as no surprise. But in the months that followed, Jonah became acquainted with a young man who bore a striking resemblance to his old friend, not in looks but in everything else.
Jonah had known about Rayner’s method of staying alive, one that required a significantly greater amount of work than the methods afforded to the servants of other entities, such as the Vast. And after a great deal of badgering and no small amount of persuasion, Jonah had gotten Rayner to spill his secrets and tell him how he did it. It was not a method that Jonah could replicate exactly, but it was one he could work with.
And for twelve years, Jonah carried around this information, tossing it back and forth in his head, trying to work the vague ramblings into a precise method. He was desperate, not foolish; a half-worked plan, especially one of such importance, couldn’t be rushed. Twelve years was a long time, especially at his age, but it wasn’t enough.
It had to be, though.
William Pemberton was something of a protege to Jonah; an assistant, a student. He had initially hired him on as a researcher, joining the other four that he already had employed at his Institute. There was something about him though that caught Jonah’s eye. He was an attractive young man, certainly, and Jonah knows that in his younger years, he would’ve had his way with him
There was something else, however, that drew Jonah to him. He was by no means remarkable: studious, but forgetful; charismatic, but forgettable; handsome enough to stand out, but plain enough to blend in. His name had money to it but no connections attached. On the whole, he was a nobody. And he was perfect.
He had been hesitant, initially, to take someone’s body. He had no qualms about letting someone die, but he’d never been so directly involved in it. But as the years pressed on, he really had no other options. His only choices were to kill or die.
So, in the end, it had been an easy choice, but not without its complications. Countless hours of research went into figuring out how he might be able to remove his eyes without damaging them; the question of how he would put them into young William’s head also puzzled him.
He could place his faith in the Eye and the hope that it would afford him the same protections as the Dark did Rayner. It was Rayner that he could not place his faith in. Constantly did he question him, trying to see if his answers varied ever from time to time. They never did; it did little to assuage his fears.
Stood in his panopticon, he Knew exactly how the change should work. And so, after years of preparation, he was ready.
Dear young William had followed him like a lamb to slaughter. The wrong entity, perhaps, but the phrase served its purpose. Jonah led him down into the tunnels under his Institute and up into the Panopticon, and he led him to his death.
He’d knocked him out prior to ripping the eyes out of his head. A part of him thought it might be easier to go through with this whole procedure if he pretended William was already dead. He hated pretending, however. Soon, the body was ready and all that was left was removing his own eyes and putting them into the sockets of the body that was soon to be his.
Jonah couldn’t say he remembered the whole event terribly well. Between the rather difficult process of removing his own eyes and the fact that the body he’d put them into was unconscious, the conditions weren’t really ideal for a fond memory. It was what came after that mattered though.
When he came back to it, when he’d gotten the chance to stand over the lifeless husk of his old body, he reveled. He rejoiced. He was free. He’d done it: he’d beaten the End. He jumped, he ran, he kneeled down before his corpse, and gently caressed his cheek.
There were no such things as ends or beginnings to him, not really. Each new body he took, he considered a new chapter in his endless book of life.
William had lasted only twenty-five years before Jonah found another body that better suited his tastes. So he discarded one body for another and thus became Victor. He was only a few years younger than William was when he had “inherited a great deal of land and went to take charge of it.” Victor had been his secretary and naturally took over the position as head of Institute.
He experienced the turn of the century in that second (third? Did he count his original self as just a body he’d inhabited) body. The second he had experienced in his lifetime. He had longed to tell his friends what it was like. But there were none to tell (he wasn’t on speaking terms, at the moment, with the other two still around).
Soon, he took a different body. Not long after that, another. With each body he took, the more he started to feel less like himself and more like a shell. Over the course of bodies he took, and over the course of time, his life as Jonah faded to a not-quite-distant-but-not-very-vivid memory. When he talked of his past, it no longer felt like himself he was referring to. Had he really run away from home at seventeen? Had he truly left his lover to die in the Lonely? All those letters he had in his archives, were those truly written to him?
It was always an odd experience having to recite his life story to others, albeit a much-abridged version. He would have to run a mental checklist of the things that the public actually knew about him. Historians debated his sexuality, letters of his were lost (kept in his personal collection unbeknownst to everyone else), and small things like his favourite flowers; he couldn’t make anything more than a vague reference to any of it without someone thinking he might be lying or making things up.
Perhaps that was why he had started to feel like a stranger to himself, not that he would say that aloud; he couldn’t allow himself to fall to the Stranger.
On the days that he no longer felt like himself, he would go to the Panopticon. It always required a trip through his archives first, so he would grab a few of his letters, and take them with him. There he would pull a chair beside his old body and read those letters aloud, trying to recall what it was like when he had read them the first time.
And when he was done, he would stand and his knees would ache, and he would wonder when that had started again. Hadn’t it just been yesterday that he’d taken this body? Hadn’t he just become young again? He remembered all the way back when he had done his first body transfer. He had felt so young then. What had happened?
What had happened to him? He would wonder. When had his life gone from traveling and doing research and attending parties? When had the highlight of his day become opening a cleanly organised spreadsheet on his computer?
Was this all he was now? Had the great Jonah Magnus fallen this far? Was this his legacy? A man who had gained immortality to spend it working at a desk?
He loved what he did, yes, but it was in moments like those that he wondered if he truly did or had he convinced himself somewhere down the line that he did. Introspection usually led him to places where Jonah didn’t like to dwell. His life was perfect as it was, and he wouldn’t have anyone, even himself, question that. And he would leave his Panopticon and go back to his desk, and forget he’d even left.
Hello! I wanted to write something for Jonah Magnus Week 2021 and managed to get this 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.
Read on ao3.
Written for @jonahmagnusweek
Day 7 - Legacy
Why would a man care about immortality of his name when he himself is no longer alive to see his fame?
Read on AO3
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.
It has been a week since the funeral of Robert Smirke. That’s where he received the paper scrambled with his last lines. Jonah has been given the letter by Smirke’s daughter. She said he died of stroke right in the middle of writing it. She expressed hope that her father managed to put in the words all the things he wished and that she is glad she was at least able to deliver it for him. Jonah simply nodded, thanked her and expressed his condolences.
None of the things she told him was news for him. He hasn’t bothered to read the letter yet since he knows word from word what is written there. Nevertheless he is glad she had given it to him. It would be shame not to have it in his collection. Also it was at least some consolidation prize for sitting through such a dreadfully boring event.
He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe some of the old peers whom has cut the contact with him long time ago to make an appearance? No, he has been sadly keeping an eye on all of them hoping for a sudden surprise. Jonathan is still hiding somewhere in Switzerland. Mordechai could as well be dead and he would never know for he could no longer see through the thick fog of the Forsaken surrounding the Moorland house. Sampson Kempthorne still hasn’t even heard the news as he lives in the New Zeland. And George Gilbert Scott is apparently too busy overseeing building of the Albert Memorial in Hyde Park to attend. Or so he claims. Robert’s and his views were always way too conflicting so showing up on his funeral might be interpreted as mocking.
Honestly they have not missed anything. Everyone was talking about what was Robert like. About all of his work. About the great legacy he is leaving behind. Jonah was doing his best not to scoff too loudly because the whole ceremony was truly laughable. Robert was a coward who got scared of his own studies and narrow minded idiot who thought he could bring balance through architecture. One cannot find a middle ground on battlefield. Stupid fool. It is really a shame he didn’t last few days longer. Jonah would love to show him how wrong he was…
Alas that is a part of life. You live, you die and then you are gone. And some people leave behind buildings. Some people leave behind just bones. And some people disappear like they weren’t there at all.
What is really the point? Why should he care about world he is no longer part of? What good are words of praise when he cannot hear them? What are tears good to a corpse? It has been years since he first asked himself these questions.
Jonah lowers his hand from the skull and folds the letter. He needs to add it to the others later. He moves the candle closer so he can better see the plans of the Milbank prison in front of him.
He wondered no longer. No. He is certain now that there is no point to it all. For example he loves his institute dearly but as soon as he dies he could not care if it burns to the ground. Because he would be dead. Why should he care what will be left behind him when he dies? Why should he care if the world keeps spinning? Why should he care if someone will think about him fondly or if there will only be a line of people wanting to spit on his grave?
He accepted existence of death and its power to wipe even the most brilliant mind blank.
However he still hasn’t accepted that such a fate might await him.
He doesn’t intend that to happen. Those years and years of research then learning then understanding then planning but it will all finally pay off. He is close to reaching his goal. Finishing his ritual. If Robert’s old man whining was good for anything then it at least told his plans really can succeed.
He will finish a ritual and bring the gaze of the Eye upon the world. He will turn the world to the liking of the Ceaseless Watcher. And he will be able to Behold it all and live forever as the King of the Ruined World.
Jonah is not interested in legacy which could be left behind.
He will create something wonderful and then live through it all.
Legacy? I'm not leaving anything behind. Actually I am not leaving at all...
Discovery of Self || Day 6: Celebration
(AO3 link in replies)
When he had cut his hair, and changed his wardrobe, and changed his name, he hadn’t intended for it to feel so right. It had been intended as a disguise, so to speak. But, standing in front of the mirror, hands fumbling with the cravat, he looked at his reflection and saw someone he who had felt so familiar with, like a long-lost friend or a hazy dream that suddenly became clear again. Someone who seemed to fit in with the world around them.
He had snuck out of his family’s estate late at night, carrying with him some mismatched clothes he’d stolen from his father and younger brother, some money, a knife, a long strip of fabric, and a plan. Carefully, he made his way into the small woods where he’d used to play as a child before his mother forbade it. He tried his best to cut his hair short with the knife. It was a jagged, choppy mess but it suited his needs well enough. Then he’d taken the cloth and wrapped it around his chest before he took his assortment of clothes and styled it into a semi-decent outfit. The breeches were far too small and the shirt far too large. Nothing looked right, but it had to make him look like a man.
He was seventeen and determined to go to school. Throughout his life, his parents had made him learn such menial things as hand stitching and playing the piano when he’d really rather be out exploring or sitting in their small library and reading. Architecture had been, for the past two years, his most fervent passion. The Royal Academy in London was where he needed to go, he told himself, to learn more about it.
Jonah was the eldest child but far from the favourite, he knew. He was too rambunctious, too inquisitive; he never paid attention to things he needed to know and paid far too much attention to things he shouldn’t. His mother cared most for Mary, her “miracle child.” And his father cared only for his “only son,” Alex. Margaret was still a babe, but Jonah knew she would be just fine.
And he knew that he was destined for things far greater than whatever his parents had in mind for him. So with his poorly fitting outfit and his even worse cut hair, he made his way to Edinburgh. On the way there, he spent a great deal of time trying to come up with a different name to go by, an alias. Nothing particularly caught his fancy, so he changed gears into changing his last name as well; his family name was Magbee. It was… fine. But it could be great, he thought with a playful smile. Magnus meant great. Magnus sounded like it was a very fine name.
By the time he’d arrived, he settled on the name “Jonah.” He had no personal connections to the name, so it seemed a safe one to go with. Jonah Magnus. That was his new name. He whispered it to himself several times, trying to make it sound natural on his tongue.
In Edinburgh, he went to get proper fitting clothes. Nothing spectacularly high quality—he had neither the funds nor the time to get something tailored to him. Premade garments would have to suffice. He received a number of odd looks for this, and each time he curled in on himself a bit more.
Soon enough, he boarded the train from Edinburgh to London. It was a long trip that Jonah spent creating a backstory for himself: the youngest son of a great family not far outside Edinburgh. A long line of artists and architects, and he was following in their footsteps. He’d debated keeping the part about being from Scotland, but he couldn’t drop the accent completely, and he thought that if he kept his roots there, perhaps no one would look too far into his story.
It took a year to get accepted into the Royal Academy; it took a year and a great deal of gathering information. But he had done it. He’d done it! Over that year and over the course of the next, the sound of his name being called out or rolling off his own tongue sounded right. It fit. He recognised it as him.
He had met a man the same age he was named Robert Smirke. Robert did come from a line of artists and architects; he was following in their footsteps; he was from a well-to-do family; he was everything Jonah wanted to be. Jonah had thought he would hate him. They were both stubborn, argumentative, and proud. When one would say something, the other would find a way to retort, and vice versa. But over time, they’d grown close.
After a few months, Robert had invited him to attend a party his family was hosting. Jonah had, by this time, been able to get properly fitting clothes, but none were quite nice enough for this. So he went to find something that would be.
And now, Jonah stood in front of a mirror trying to make sure his cravat looked good as if a single crease out of place would reveal his secrets. This was the first party he would be attending under the name of “Jonah Magnus.” This was the first party he would be attending as a man. The thought of everyone there seeing him—seeing through him—was horrifying.
But for the first time in his life, he realised with a jolt, he was finally who he was always intended to be. If he just held his head up high enough and kept his facts straight, then he had a feeling he would make it through the night. And, hopefully, one day, he wouldn’t just have to make it through each day. One day, he would have it all.
For now, though, he had himself, his future, and a celebration to attend.
Made a Magnus Archive Tiktok. This quote was too perfect to pass up
Written for @jonahmagnusweek
Day 6 - Celebration
The easiest way to assure Jonah Magnus will show up somewhere is to not invite him.
Read on AO3
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…
However there is one new thing. Next to the house is standing a newly built chapel where the ceremony is about to be held. Of course, even for his own wedding Mordechai apparently cannot get out of his current state of isolation and leave his estate. He hasn’t visited any gentleman gathering in London for quite a while and even most of his business he handles by correspondence these days.
Since no one is still paying him any attention he decides to approach the new building and carefully lurk inside. Few of Mordechai’s relatives are already sitting in the benches few of them are even engaged in quiet conversation. Right next to the altar is nervously standing Mordechai’s future wife. They very likely haven’t given her any instruction where to wait or whether she can sit or when will her to-be-husband arrive.
Even though her dress is completely new, it looked like someone was wearing them for years. It was mostly because of their color – that shade of blue which, unless under direct light, looked much more like gray. The whole design is also quite simplistic which must be intentional choice and not issue of money. The Bride herself looks rather plain. She started the day with a bright smile which turned to a nervous one then a polite one and now she is not smiling at all. (He would not really need a power of the Beholding to guess that.)
Jonah slips back out. Mordechai must be still in the Moorland house then. He surely won’t mind if he just lets himself inside will he? He enters the large empty halls of the house and he shivers. The weather outside isn’t exactly warm yet it seems to be even colder inside the building. He makes only few steps in when a servant blocks his way.
“I am sorry, sir, guests are not supposed to be here yet.” He tells him with monotone soulless voice. (Of course, now the Eye stays silent. It could not warn him someone is approaching, could it?)
“Apologies I must have gotten lost. I will let myself out.” Jonah puts on a charming smile. He hoped to stay unnoticed a bit longer but that has probably been a quite unrealistic ambition on his part he musts admit considering there is maybe ten people in total including the parson from nearest church which is here to perform the ceremony.
“It’s… wait, may I see your invitation, sir?” the servant gives him suspecting look. What has given him off? The smile, or the fact that he is, unlike rest of the guests, dressed in more than one color?
“Ah yes about that…”
“It is quite long way from Edinburgh to just get lost in the moors of Kent, Mr. Magnus.”
As if he materialized out of nowhere Mordechai Lukas appears and for once he seems to be almost in a good mood. He doesn’t have to say anything for the servant to disappear as quickly as possible head shamefully down. He will still probably be in trouble later – Mordechai hates seeing servants and being in any way reminded about their existence.
Jonah lets the smile from his face disappear and put on a more serious one. “I wish you good morning as well, Mr. Lukas. Have you not expected to see me here today?” As he is facing him of course he cannot help himself but look at his clothes of choice. If Jonah hasn’t known he would not suspect him to be a groom as his attire is almost identical to his every day wear. Though the dark gray is truly a shocking change from his usual a bit lighter shade of gray or blue.
“On the contrary. I knew you wouldn’t show up if I did invite you therefore I chose not to.” The thing about Mordechai is that he never smiles. However sometimes corners of his mouth rise into a mean grin. Usually when he beats someone in cards, makes fool out of someone or catches Jonah of guard.
“Why do you even want me present?”
“Why do you think so?” Mordechai makes a step forward and leans towards him almost as if he wanted to kiss him. “Just to enjoy the loneliness reeking of you, of course. Tell me Jonah don’t you feel a bit rejected right now? Abandoned? Lonely?”
Jonah scoffs. “Those are all quite bold accusations which all come from a false assumption that I care about you or your marital status.”
“You are here Mr. Magnus. That is enough of a proof for me”
“Have you built this chapel just to have more privacy for the wedding?”
Mordechai shrugs. “It will be good for funerals too.”
“Your future wife is already waiting for you inside. How do you like her? ”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met her nor seen her yet.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Jonah has done his research naturally. She was almost three times younger. An orphan with a good family name but no relatives to take care of her and very little money. The offer from such a well-off gentleman must have seen like a lucky miracle to her. Naïve girl. Jonah feels almost sorry for her for he is certain she would have bigger chance to find happiness living as a beggar on the street than being married to Mordechai. “She is actually quite pretty. For a woman I mean,” Jonah decides to inform him, “Though I don’t think she is your type”
“I don’t care about her looks. All that is important is that she will be able to bear a child.”
“You intend to have children?” Jonah asks surprised. Yes one usually gets married to start a family but in Mordechai’s case… He would hate to sound like the world is spinning around him but he would not be surprised if he learnt Mordechai has done this just to spite him. In any case he thought he plans to isolate the girl in loveless marriage without any kind of affection or even marital action from her husband. “I hate to criticize your plans, dear friend, but starting a family doesn’t sound very lonely.”
Mordechai is still smiling as if Jonah was missing some hidden joke. “I reconsidered my approach but worry not it is all to serve the Forsaken“
“As you say… In that I cannot wait to get better acquainted with your spouse and even with your future offsprings.”
“I will make sure to keep them far away from you. I do not wish for you to attempt meeting them in any way.” There is threat in tone of his voice. As if it could really intimidate Jonah. But no need to dwell on this topic too much right now.
“As long as I am getting funding for my institute I have no reason to intervene with your affairs any closer.”
“I have a good reason for my mistrust. As for example I remember there has been no issue with the founding lately and yet you are here right now.”
“You are contradicting yourself haven’t you said you expected me to arrive? In any way I think I’ve seen all that I needed to.”
“Since you traveled all the way here do you really wish not to stay for the wedding itself? There will be a cake afterwards.”
Eye decides to provide him with further details. (Why? Why does the Beholding consider this information of all necessary?) The cake has been soaked in brandy and covered with almond icing. It sounds delicious. If Jonah didn’t know any better it might really persuade him to stay. But he didn’t come all the way just so Mordechai could mock him with his marriage. He came here only to gain more information. Because he wanted to See and Know more about future plan of his acquaintance. That is all.
“As delightful as your ceremony will certainly be; I already have different plans. So please do not let me hold you and keep your bride waiting.”
“In that case goodbye, Mr. Magnus,” Mordechai gives him a one more cold smile and there is sense of finality in his farewell. Does he think this is how their ways will part? That is rather silly of him. And so Jonah returns the smile.
“May your marriage be filled with joy and happiness. See you soon, Mr. Lukas.”
Illustration for @nonbinaryeye 's fanfic! Go and read it it's delicious.
i don’t actually remember drawing this comic, once i opened procreate i blacked out as the spirit of Shitposing possessed my mortal body once again
i could’ve gone my ENTIRE life proudly having never heard that fucking twink thneedville capitalism song but y’all just HAD to associate it with elias bouchard didn’t you