#v { jonah }; my dearest jonah | as himself

[acemenagerie-a]

💚 from the Ask Meme. For Jonah

Memory Lane || ACCEPTING 💚- A memory that makes them feel guilty

Wandering through the filing cabinets of Jonah’s memory, there is betrayal, under handed dealings, lives ruined - all neatly preserved, not that he himself has much reason to wander these subconscious halls these days.  There are more interesting things to watch outside.  

But, to the point, for all the backstabbing that has led him to where he sits now, guilt is a rather unknown emotion in these halls.  The memory of collecting Barnabas’s bones is tinted with a dim sadness, but it is also laced with a heady satisfaction of learning something, of holding the skull of his friend and Knowing how afraid he was.  He could miss Fanshawe and Von Closen without feeling a pang of regret for stealing that library.  

Yet, still, in some dusty, particularly untouched corner, a memory beckons.

“Jonah, please!”

Your mother is calling and you feel her reach for your arm.  You whip around, pausing in your escape only to avoid being grabbed.  “I said no.”

Your mother glowers down at you, forest green eyes bloodshot and glistening.  “You don’t have to see him if you don’t wish, but he wants to know that you’re at least here in his - !”

“Absolutely not!”

“And why not?  It can’t be that your Institute requires your attention; you were very willing to stay and help in your letter.  What could have possibly happened between your arrival and now to change you so extremely?”

Your nails bite into the meat of your hands and your shoulders tremble with tension.  “You didn’t tell me that he was dying in your letter; you said he was sick.”

Your mother reels.  “I didn’t purposefully lie to you Jonah!  When I wrote you, he was ill but expected to recover, I only found out well after you had set out that that was no longer the case.  I assumed that you would find out once you arrived and that obeying your father’s last wishes for you to just stay until he passed would not be so abhorrent to you!”

Why didn’t you Look?  Why didn’t you See?  You could’ve Known, could’ve avoided coming to this damned house where Death is darkening the doorstep if you’d just thought to do so.  “Well you were incorrect.  I am leaving.”

“It is your father’s dying wish that you just be here!  As I’ve said - !”

“As I’ve said, I refuse.”  How could you stay in this house, aware that death will approach, far too close for comfort?  You could watch others die, but to be aware of your father’s passing is different.  Who else would you see but a reflection of your own predestined end?  You know enough to know how easily your fear feeds that thing you most despise, but you do not know enough to stop it.

Not yet.

“Jonah, if you leave this house, then I forbid you from ever darkening my doorstep again.”

“Very well.”

And as the door clicks closed behind you, you realize that you are still human enough for a pit to open in your stomach.

[ritualwritten]

MAGNUS TAGS

[acemenagerie-a]

❛ i found my own gods. ❜ smirke-era rayner, for jonah, perhaps? from @fearheld!

martyrsuggestions starters || ACCEPTING @fearheld

Jonah quirked an eyebrow.  He’d already been focusing intently on Rayner, unable to let a single word slip by unheard, but seemed to lock on at that statement.  “I certainly believe in the Dread Powers as gods far more than the one of the church myself.”  He felt safe admitting as much to Rayner.  He could never admit that to Smirke unless he wanted to endure worried stares and lectures. 

Any faith that thought of death as anything other than a path to horrific, crushing, utter oblivion was not one he could accept.  Death could never be a comfort, to think so was foolish.  

“But I notice you chose the plural.  Do you owe allegiance to more than one?  Is that possible?”  Jonah traces the rim of his wine glass idly, though his gaze is still sharp.  “After all, Smirke’s theory of balance inherently requires opposition, two extremes that can sit neatly on either side of a scale.  To split worship seems counter-intuitive to that idea.”

[acemenagerie-a]

“time is a construct inherently tying us to death.” rayner (@fearheld) to jonah

Murder Mystery Dinner Starters || ACCEPTING @fearheld

Jonah tried to keep an easy countenance as his heart skipped a beat at the thought of being bound inextricably to death and shook his head with a sharp smile.  He did not mind calculated shows of weakness that were barely genuine vulnerability at all, but talk of death put him on edge and made him particularly loathe to show his hand.

“Where’s your ambition?  Why should death always get the final say?”  He twirled a loose bit of ginger hair lightly streaked with grey around his finger.  “Would it not be a waste to devote so much time to study only to walk passively into that oblivion’s waiting jaws?”

[acemenagerie-a]

Dear future me, for Jonah!

✉ Letters ✉ || ACCEPTING

My dearest me,

Rayner’s continued existence has done enough to assure me that I will not lose any memory upon transferring my consciousness, but I cannot help but be the slightest bit concerned.  After all, I think it is far easier to pour strange brackish water into some sap than it is to meticulously remove their eyes and put yours in.

And, of all the injuries I could suffer, I do not believe my patron will let me continue without sight.

I suppose this is my slightest bit of insurance against the possibility that something will go wrong.  Your name is Jonah Magnus and you are inhabiting a body not your own at the moment.  There is the body of an old man before you and that old man is me - and you.  If you would be so kind, make sure you prop it up on that seat behind you; that should keep the body alive and - hopefully - will satisfy our patron’s conditions enough that I can enjoy the semi-omniscience to which I became accustomed.  

If you listened and it worked, then I suppose this letter will swiftly become redundant if I write any more.

I do hope that body serves you well, though; I tried to find someone who was fit and attractive.  After all, there is no point in cheating death if you are just going to hop into some decrepit old man, is there?  And I know how vain we are.

Anyway, with any luck this letter will be pointless, but I do not enjoy surprises and would rather not have all my work come to nothing.

Forever yours, You

[acemenagerie-a]

♬ for jonah & maxwell, perhaps?

music starter meme || ACCEPTING   song:  OAKLEY - Ugliarchy   @chondritics

Jonah is younger, ginger hair not yet even entertaining being streaked with white.  His Institute is little more than a song he hears in his dreams and one he has yet to be able to hold onto firmly enough upon waking.  His bright green eyes are sharp and inquisitive, yes, but naturally so.  They do not yet strip every sense of privacy away, do not yet shine such that it does not matter from within what face they sit.  He still blinks these days.

So he sits across from Rayner with a certain level of respectful caution, well-aware of how truly outclassed he is in this particular sphere.  He simply needs more than Smirke’s incessant particulars with architecture and balance and geometry.

“Should I open up my mouth a little wider?  So you see my faith in you, my faith in....  Don’t you trust me, friend?”

[acemenagerie-a]

Dream, for pre-Eye Jonah?

Man Me A Sand || ACCEPTING

Wine dark waves crest and crash on jagged, grey stones.  Farther down the coastline, he sits, sand and pebbles biting into his skin.  The surf is cold as it rushes over his feet and laps up his shins.  

It is raining.

Jonah’s vision is obscured as water pours down his face, as limp strands of hair hang down before him, yet he can still see the lighthouse twinkling in the distance in perfect clarity.  He’s always wanted to visit that lighthouse, always wondered how much could be seen from there.

But he never goes in these dreams and he knows this.  He knows he will continue to sit in the midst of a storm, continue to let the water curl over his legs, continue to sit in the scratchy sand.  

And the lighthouse will continue casting its light.

[acemenagerie-a]

Dear ex bestfriend, for Jonah

✉ Letters ✉ || ACCEPTING

My dearest Barnabas,

It is with a heavy heart that I write you now, though you shall never receive this letter and thus never be able to read it.  My writing you now is terribly selfish and serves only as a way I might exorcise my feelings, though I know better than most that such a catharsis is short lived.

Obviously, I have received your letter and, thus, am incredibly aware of your plight.  I also know that I am quite capable of aiding you.  Despite how loathe Mordechai Lukas is to receive correspondence, I very well could persuade him to let you go.  

I will not.

Would you like to know why?  Of course you would, though, again, I am afraid that you never will know.  ( What an interesting turn of phrase; I am not actually afraid for you. )  I have a theory that hope heightens fear, makes the terror so much more poignant in the same way that sweet candies are given a hint of sourness.  I will delight in asking Lukas whether your hope that I might save you made your fear any richer.

And that is precisely why I will not save you: I am too curious to pull you free.  I must watch, Barnabas, and witness what will happen to you.

Do not misconstrue me, my old friend.  I will miss you when you are gone; I greatly value our friendship and regret that it must end as such.  I am providing a small amount of mercy, in my own way, for your suffering would no doubt be heightened to know that you were being watched while you fade away.  To know that you were suffering purely to slake my boundless thirst for knowledge.

Goodbye my dear friend.

Sincerely yours, Jonah

[acemenagerie-a]

(( slowly trickling out tag dumps for more t/ma muses  ))