“Jamie, I Do Not Understand…I Am The Good Doctor, You Know Me – Why Won’t You Let Me Near?”

when Anti and JJ finally meet anti yells he was right and then asks where JJ disappeared to. JJ is very happy to be treated like royalty again.

he's so happy, he almost forgets that Wilford's upset with him. but then Anti asks why he was holed up with Wilford and JJ has to say, 'I owe a debt.' which only upsets Wilford more. they stop talking for a week because both are hurting, it takes JJ's life being threatened again for JJ to pull himself together and tell Wil that he could get out of the debt if he wanted to, that anything could be considered as saving Wil's life.

thank you!! @theprinceofflies

(Oh hey look the ask box is working again) Could I request Anti taunting one of the others with an “if anything happened to you…”? I’m feeling some angst and pain today. I want to see this protection stuff flipped on its head. (Also, hope you’re doing well, writer bean!) - Vic

(Was it broken? Oh dear. And I am doing pretty well today! I woke up at 5 am because of restless sleep but it just gave me a chance to browse and watch YouTube extra!)

(Blood, strangling, and violence warnings!)

Jameson scrambled away from the villain, but the man was much faster. And his leg wasn’t wounded. He grabbed the back of Jameson’s shirt, yanking him back and throwing him on the ground. Jameson’s head slammed on the ground an his breath was knocked out of him. His vision went dark for a second, and even after  it was still blurry and unfocused. There was a harsh ringing in his ears, and a throbbing pain that felt like he was getting repeatedly stabbed in the brain. The man picked him up like he was nothing.

“You…you some kind of twin? You look just like that stupid hero who locked me up. Only reason I think you ain’t him is he wouldn’t shut up,” the man growled. He sounded echoy and far away. Jameson screamed as the man slammed him into a wall. “Bet he cares about you huh? More than all those worthless people he loves saving?” Jameson clawed at the man’s hand that was wrapped around his neck, pinning him to the wall. But he couldn’t focus, Something wet dripped down his neck, wet and warm. The man grinned. “I bet he’d get real upset if you died.”

Jameson had barely registered what had been said before the man’s grip on his neck became tighter, cutting off all of his air. His legs kicked wildly, he pulled at the man’s hand, tried to pry his fingers apart, can’t breath, can’t breath can’t breath can’tbreathcan’tbreathcan’tbreath!

The ringing in his ears got worse, making his head hurt even worse. Panic overtook him. The ring was joined by white noise. He was going to die. The white noise grew more intense. He couldn’t think anymore. The white noise turned into…

Suddenly he was out of the man’s grasp, laying on the floor of the alleyway and gasped for breath. His body burned, and the static raged in his ears. His panic turned into rage. the man had tried to kill him. He got to his feet, feeling like he was being pulled up. A knife appeared in his hand. 

The man had tried to kill him.

So…why not rȩt̕u̕r̵ǹ ̧t̛he̢ f̢a͡v҉o͝r?͠

The thought wasn’t…it didn’t come from Jameson…but it was in his head, and he liked it. He felt himself glitch, and now he was pinning the man to the wall. The man stared at him, terror shining in his eyes. Jameson reveled in it, in the way the man shook while he slowly pressed the knife into his stomach. The sick elation he felt, it wasn’t entirely his, he was sure it started somewhere else.

 But the pain in his head, the blood flowing down his neck and back, the static in his ears, the little whispers he could hear in the static now, they made him not care. He was enjoying himself. It didn’t matter if the joy didn’t come from him.

He tilted his head, grinning, loving the way the man paled while his body jerked and glitched in all different directions. Jameson’s speech slide did just the same. “I ́w҉on͜d̕er͡ i̡f̸ a͞n̕yone w͟i̶l͢l̡ ̢ca͝r̀e ̛wh͢e҉n͘ ͏you di͟e?͟”

He didn’t stab the man in the stomach.

He slit his throat.

Jameson stumbled back, his breath stolen again as the glitches left him, and he collapsed to his hands and knees. He heard the man’s body thud to the ground. He didn’t look at it. He looked at his shirt. It was spattered with blood. Tears rolled down his face. No, no he-he didn’t…he couldn’t have enjoyed…no…

He felt a hand on his back. A cold, spastic hand. “G̢ơo͞d͜ j͜ob͡, ̕pupp̶e͜t. Ḩe͏ wa͞s ̷so sc͝a̕r͡e͟d.͝”

Jameson shivered. “W-why? Why not let him kill me?”

Anti glitched in front of Jameson and lifted the young egos head so that they were face-to-face. “I h̕a͡vè s͢o͏ ̵m̶uch̛ ͡ṕl͏ann̕ęd͝ fo̸r̴ ͝y͝ơư li̡tt̵l̶e ̧p̕u͢p̨p̵ét.If͜ s̵om͝et҉hi͜n͘g ̴hap̷pe̸n̶e̴d to͜ ̸y̴oų.́.́.͜I ҉c͞a̧n̕'t͝ ͘h͝ave͟ ̢my p̛la̡n̵s̨ go̢ ͝to͞ ̨w̴às͟t̸e,͠ ̕c̴a̛n Ì?͞”

Anti’s ran a hand through Jameson’s hair. It ran over the back of his head. Anti ginned at the pain that flashed in Jameson’s eyes. He laughed. “T̕r̀y̵ n̕o͘t̷ ̀ţo ͏b͠le͞ed ou͠t,̕ ͏p̕u̶ppet͢.̴ ̡Y̴o͜u̸ ͟s͠ḩou̡l̡d p͝ra͡y you͝r̨ ͝doct̷or͘ ҉d͜oe͜s̶n̡'͏t fail̛ t̨h̴is̷ ́tìm͜e.͝”

And then Anti was gone.

Jameson fumbled for the cell phone he had in his pocket. He texted Schneep, smearing blood across the screen. He tried not to look at the corpse across from him. His hands were shaking and the message was riddled with errors. But he hit send. He crawled to the other wall and leaned against it. 

He should be dead by now. If not by the man then surely by blood loss. But he wasn’t. Because of the glitch.

Anti had saved him. He’d made him kill a man, he’d made him have fun killing the man, but he’d saved him.

It sickened Jameson to the core.

36 with PM?

“Poor little puppet...You’ve lost your way. In this world, it’s so hard for fools to think for themselves, isn’t it?” Puppetmaster crooned as he wound the pulsing strings around his plaything’s neck. “Why don’t you let Master do all of the thinking for you? My control is so much easier; it’s what you crave. I’ll fill every crevice in that empty head...You’ll be so much happier this way, don’t you think?” With one more tug, it was over. “Yes. You do.”

Okay so I can’t get this scene out of my head of Schneeplestein giving Jameson a check up to finally find out why his voice doesn’t work, Schneep asking all these questions and JJ having to practically play charades because Schneep doesn’t know BSL. For example, Schneep is asking JJ if he thinks he was just created without a voice and JJ starts to sign, but Schneep interrupts him, “JJ, you know I can’t sign,” and JJ heaves a sigh of frustration and starts to mime answers to Schneep’s questions. Schneep asks if JJ wants to write down his responses, but JJ shakes his head, he thinks this is more entertaining. The whole scene is just Schneep and JJ’s check up shenanigans, and a fun bonding time for the two. <3

…

After a while, Schneep started to narrow down the specifics of his questions.

“Does you voice feel hoarse vhen you try to use it?”

JJ eventually got across that he’s never tried to use it.

Schneep marked something on his clipboard. “Can you try for me?”

JJ shook his head.

Puzzled, Schneep asked, “Vhy not?”

JJ took a shaky breath and pointed to his Adam’s apple. Or, at least where it should be.

Schneeplestein narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to JJ’s throat to get a better view, and sure enough, there was almost no bump where the top of his voice box should protrude. Schneep set down his clipboard and pressed against the spot of the mute ego’s missing Adam’s apple, JJ immediately recoiled and placed a protective hand against his neck. He gazed up at the doctor with furrowed brows and a pained expression, guilt shining in his eyes.

Schneep didn’t need Jameson to do anything for him to understand what happened.

“How long have you known about this?”

JJ averted his gaze, but the flush coloring his cheeks told Schneep all he needed to know.

“I see. Vell, vhy didn’t you vant to tell me about this?”

JJ, poised in his typical impeccable posture, tensed his shoulders and glanced at the clipboard. Schneep, seeing this, gave the clipboard and a pen to JJ.

The mute ego takes the pen and writes his answer in a flowing, beautifully styled cursive.

Before I even knew my name, I knew him. He was the only thing I knew. He was my world. His laugh sent ice down my spine, his voice clawed at my ears, his smile raked across my eyes. He carved into me like I was a pumpkin on Halloween. I can still hear my screams echoing in my head, sometimes I doubt those screams were ever mine. It lasted for an eternity, my God, Hendrik, it lasted forever. But eventually I stopped screaming, I stopped making noise, yet the pain never ceased. I didn’t notice at first, maybe he grew bored of my incessant noise, but he shredded my vocal cords into ribbons and cut my voice box out of my throat. How he was able to take my voice, but not my breath is horrific, but once he did this, he was gone. Then I was gone. Placed in another reality. This reality. That is why I didn’t want to tell you about this. My good friend, I didn’t want you to worry about me more than you already do. It’s done, it can’t be reversed. All my wounds have healed, except this one. There is nothing a good doctor such as yourself can do to make this right. You can’t fix me. I’m happy here, with you and the others. Please, just let me be.

Halfway through writing his note, JJ’s eyes started tearing up and his hand began trembling, nonetheless he finished it and returned the clipboard to Schneeplestein.

As soon as the clipboard left JJ’s hand, he stood up and darted out of the doctor’s office. Schneep, sensing he needed to be left alone, let JJ leave without a word.

The doctor picked up JJ’s note, and as he read deeper into it, anguish crept onto his face.

How had Jameson kept this to himself all this time?

Schneeplestein walked over to the door and peered outside where he saw JJ slumped against the far wall, he could hear a faint noise coming from his direction. Schneep, curious as to what the noise could be, stepped out of his office and started towards JJ. As he grew closer to him, he saw that the soft noise was JJ. He was crying. It was probably the loudest sound JJ had even made in a long time. Quiet, quivering gasps of breath, and trembling shoulders. Upon seeing this, Schneep rushed over to JJ’s side and sat down next to him. JJ didn’t seem to notice. The doctor had never been one to comfort others. That job was always taken by Jack, or Marvin, or JJ. Yet Schneep placed a tender arm around JJ, determined to help him feel better. Though the mute ego’s shoulders relaxed, he was quietly sobbing even harder than before. Schneep opened his mouth to speak.

“Vere you ever going to tell us about this?”

JJ quickly shook his head no and buried his face in his hands. The doctor gave a heartbroken sigh.

“I’m here to support you, okay, JJ?”

Jameson lifted his gaze to meet Schneeplestein’s.

“Ve all are.”

Without warning, JJ wrapped his arms around Schneep in a tight hug. Schneep tensed, not used to being touched, much less hugged. Wanting to console JJ as much as he could, he gingerly returned the gesture.

JJ parted first. His sobbing had gone down considerably to a silent sniffle.

He smiled at Schneeplestein and mouthed two words.

Thank you.

Schneep drew a short breath and gave a small smile back, “Let’s get you home.”

hey so im not dead! unlike jj here! 

Egotober day 1: Hat

The hatter offers you a cup of tea, do you accept?

Herding Sheep: Chapter Two

Anti works on breaking in his new “brother”, and Henrik feels himself slowly losing his will. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thwap, thwap, thwap. 

Fleshy fists bang on the door to the room in the basement, echoing up through the floor. Jameson curls in on himself, pressing against Anti’s chest in their shared bed. Something is wrong, but it’s no matter, Anti will fix it. Anti always fixes it.  

Just as he is settling back in there is a loud scream. Anti grumbles and sits up, looking young and soft in a blue hoodie, with green swirling hair and soft eyes. Jameson melts in the early morning light at his appearance. My sweet brother, he thinks, reaching up and touching Anti’s face. Anti looks down at him, smiling. 

“Is that fucking doctor bothering you, sweet boy?” Anti purrs. Jameson pouts exageratedly, rubbing his eyes, trying to seem small and frightened. Meanwhile Henrik bangs and screams in the basement. Anti growls, standing up and grabbing a knife from under his pillow. “Well well then, let’s go shut his bold little lips before he bothers you anymore.” 

Anti leaves the room, whistling Daisy Do as he tromps down the hallway toward the basement. Jameson curls up in his blankets, smiling. Anti always fixes it. 

The door bangs open nearly in Henrik’s face, causing him to stumble backward and fall on his ass. Peeking around the door, Anti slides into the room, standing over Henrik. 

“Screaming all fucking night. Banging up the doors, waking up my pet, waking up my sweet baby boy.” Anti is growling, teeth growing larger in his mouth, dog-like and fanged. Henrik pants and scrambles backward away from the glint of a knife. But he isn’t fast enough. A knife comes down into his foot, severing tendons and sending blood squelching out. Henrik screams. He empties his lungs, eyes bulging at the sight of so much of his own blood. Anti is laughing, only for a moment, tugging the chain around Henrik’s leg. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” The echo and glitching is gone, replaced by a soft, boyish Irish accent. Anti squats on the floor beside Henrik, who is still groaning with the pain. “Look, sorry I stabbed you. I had to you know, you were being so loud, waking up my baby brother and all. Surely you understand, yeah?” 

Henrik squeezes his eyes shut, avoiding the glow of gold coming from his astral, beautiful eyes. Anti huffs out a breath through his nose, picking at Henrik’s eyelid. When it doesn’t open, he grips Henrik’s throat and squeezes. Hard. Henrik gags out a half-inhale, and his eyes shoot open and- Oh, oh the eyes. Henrik slumps, panting, hands limp by his side, bleeding foot creating a puddle on the floor. His chains rattle and he blinks slowly. Why was he screaming? He wanted to escape? But why, why would he ever run from this feeling. So warm, so soft, so gently he sinks into the light. Anti grins, teeth poking over his lips. 

“There’s a good puppet. You just need a little light, aren’t you so scared of the dark, love? Aren’t you scared of the darkness in you?” Henrik whimpers, hanging his head shamefully. “You want to hurt them. Those creations back at home. You want to hurt your family don’t you? Well I can help. I can bring light to you, Arzt, I c-”

Anti is cut off by a frantic fist slamming into his chest, choking the air out of him and knocking him on his ass. Henrik screams and grips his hair. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Half a scream half a whine. Henrik’s breathing is unsteady and deep, trying to ground himself through the pain in his foot and the implanted warmth in his head. Anti laughs, standing up. 

“You’ll see soon. You’ll see, I can make you happy. We can have a nice life, you, me, and the pet.” Anti flips his knife in his hands. “The sooner you comply, the less pain. You don’t want pain, right? Had enough of that when I kidnapped you last time, huh?” Henrik slowly shakes his head, curling up on the floor. Anti nods his head, then turns to leave. 

“Wait- Wait! How… how long will you keep me here. Tell me that at least. How long before you kill me?”

“Kill you. Hahaha. Kill you, kill you.” Anti laughs as though it is the funniest joke he has ever heard. “Oh Henrik, confused little doctor. So lost and confused. I’m not going to kill you.” Anti turns around and grins at him, eyes dripping gold. “You belong to me, you see. And I hate to break my toys.”

Anti is gone before Henrik can even blink. His foot bleeds into the concrete. His head feels stuffed with cotton. He curls up on the floor and cries, and cries, and cries, for the home it is starting to feel he will never return to. Chase’s homecooked meals, Marvin’s glowing fire, Jackie’s protective arms. It feels already like a dream from another life. So far away from the light in the onster’s eyes. 

—

Jameson stirs mac-n-cheese in an old copper pot on the gas stove, trembling slightly. Anti isn’t happy, Anti isn’t happy and he has been a very bad pet. His nose drips blood onto his nice white shirt, staining the embroidered knife in cruel irony. 

The steady shlicking of a knife against wood threatens him from the living room as Anti carves. “Dapper, is the food almost done? Hurry the fuck uuuup.” Anti’s tone is playful and brotherly, as though he wasn’t punching Jameson in the face less than 30 minutes ago. Jameson whistles at him shakily from the kitchen, letting him know to be patient. Jameson dumps a very large helping of the noodles into Anti’s bowl, and schlops the rest into his own. He walks into the living room and sets the bowls on the coffee table. Anti does not look up from his carving. Jameson does not meet his eyes, sitting in the big armchair and stirring his mac-n-cheese around, and around, and around. 

“You looked at him without my permission. You don’t have the right to be mad at me, you should know not to look at prisoners unless I’m wearing you.”

“Yes Anti.”

“You stay away from him until he’s broken in. He’s a dark, dark man, a killer. He killed his fucking accountant, and many, many more.”

“Yes Anti.”

“He’s a lunatic.”

“Yes Anti.”

Not broken in yet. That is his excuse this time, hm? Jameson stirs his food more focusedly, avoiding his brother’s piercing gaze. He nibbles a bite of cheesy noodles. Anti carves, carves, carves, obsessive and repetitive, his gaze turned away from Jameson at last. 

“Anti?”

“What.”

“Does the prisoner get to eat?”

Anti laughs. “Not yet, but he has a pipe to drink from.”

Jameson fiddles with his fork. He peeks at the basement door. There hasn’t been any banging since this morning. He hopes big brother didn’t hurt the prisoner too badly, because he can only imagine Anti’s rage if his new toy dies. He sets his bowl down. Not hungry anymore.

Henrik lays on his cot, foot having clotted, but still aching and unusable. He sniffles into his pillows, far past the shame and pride that usually stops him from crying. He wipes away snot and squeezes his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as he thinks of home. Home, home, home. God why can he barely remember? Chase’s cooking, Marvin’s fire, Jackie’s arms around him. It is staring to feel so far away. 

Anti trudges his boots down the stairs, listening with glee to the fearful scrabbling coming from Henrik’s little room. 

“Hiya puppet,” he says as he unlocks and pushes open the door. 

“I do not belong to you, zum donnerwetter Depp!” He spits curses, trying to seem strong and unbroken. Anti smiles. A knife flips in his hand. Henrik flinches at the glint of the blade. 

“You are just begging to be all cut up again, just like last time. Just like in that basement in Germany. Ah, good times we had, hm? My blade in your skin, my hands alll over you.” His voice echoes in the room, reverberating as Henrik feels the ghosts of nails scraping and blades cutting, instinctively shifting his right arm behind his back to hide scars. 

“Asshole,” he hisses. 

“Oh come on, be friendly! No biting Arzt, bad dog.” Anti is suddenly sitting at the foot of his bed, flip, flip, flipping his blade. “You could be happy here, I think. You and me, we’re family. We shouldn’t be fighting, you’re my big brother.” Childlike, wide blue eyes look up at Henrik. Henrik’s heart skips, something untangling in his mind. His eyes fog over and he feels that same warmth and softness, the light seeping in the wrinkles of his brain. 

“My… my brother? No… No, you are a monster. You are not my-”

“Brother, big brother, come home to me.” Anti’s eyes glow golden and slip into Henrik’s weak will, and Henrik he slips into the light. Yes, yes, my family. This is my brother, why have I been running, why did I not trust him before, yes my brother. Henrik pants and falls back on the pillows, so overwhelmed with love he can hardly move. 

“Come home to me Arzt. I’ll leave you time to make up your mind. Next time I come down here you will make a choice. Right baby? You sweet little doll, you’ll come home and take care of master’s chores.” Anti seems almost daydreaming as he slips out of the door. Henrik curls up on the pillow, eyes rattling, teeth gritted. There is a great, sucking wound in his skull. Why can’t he remember? There was something to remember right? Something he was clinging to, something other than this cot and the monster’s eyes. But it doesn’t matter. Anti will fix it. Anti will come back down the stairs and fix it. Come home, come home, it echoes in the gaping hole in his skull. 

Henrik slips into a deep sleep, dreaming of fresh cooked meals, of fire and laughter, of warm protective arms around him, but none of them have faces. 

Chapter Four Masterlist

Book Four ran from August 15, 2020 to January 16, 2021.

The number of posts included was 1,034. Including asks, this equaled a total word count of 206,420. Combining the other chapters gives MBC a total word count of 615,727 words at the time of finishing Chapter Four.

Chapter Four title was: the Witch’s Promise

This chapter has been broken into multiple sections and consolidated into fic format. To read, see the section links below. Or, find the Chapter One masterlist here, the Chapter Two masterlist here, and the Chapter Three masterlist here.

Intro

Part One: Reversal

Part Two: In the Silence Between

Part Three: the Shadow in the Forest

Part Four: Dark's Memory

Part Five: Haloperidol

Part Six: Grantaire

Part Seven: Aftermath

Part Eight: the Invasion

Part Nine: the Locked Room

Part Ten: the Houses in the Woods

Part Eleven: Soul-Shifter

Part Twelve: Jack's Protagonist

Part Thirteen: Chase

Part Fourteen: Gone

Thank you, as always, for writing this story with me.

how about the host/jj?? i used to like that rarepair a lot haha

Seagull added in another ask: I FORGOT TO ADD A WORD ok how about "hold" or "see"

The voice is an underappreciated asset, Jameson believes. He can practically see the sounds dancing on the air on good days, watching the mouths of his loved ones make music. He knows them. Marvin’s voice is grating and jumpy, with a soft musical tone beneath. Jackie’s is loud and brilliant, full of pride and mirth even in defeat or sadness. Henrik’s is just as loud, but with a lilt of hymns, beauty untapped and a voice marred by a long life. 

He knows all of their voices like the back of his hands. And he speaks in BSL, so that is quite a recollection! Jameson has always been a bit of an agoraphobe since recuse from the Anti. Hardly leaving the safety of his cosy bedroom, hesitant to leave the comfort of blankets to hide under and a TV and books to entertain his mind. 

Henrik knocks on his door. Jameson knows it is his knock, even without looking. Pitter-patter and melodic rather than his other friend’s banging or sharp taps. Jameson whistles twice to let Henrik know he is decent. Henrik comes in with a hesitant smile, sitting on the bed and JJ sets aside his book to free his hands for conversation. 

“How are you?” Henrik signs softly. Jameson taps his chest. “Fine.” Casual and quite Pidgin for Henrik’s sake. 

“Jameson,” he speaks with an air of caution, his usual lilt gone, replaced with shaky confidence. “Marvin and me were talking. We think you need to leave this room more-” Jameson is already raising his hands to protest, but Henrik waggles his finger scoldingly. “Do not give that sass to me! Look, just... There is a party happening tonight, some friends of Jack’s are visiting from America. You should go.” 

Jameson stares pointedly at his hands, unsure of how to respond. Henrik’s words dance around in his head. A party... A party with friends. JJ has never even been to a proper social gathering, let alone a party. He makes a movement with his hands, not a sign, more like a dismissal. Henrik huffs and crosses his arms. 

“It is my doctorly prescription that you go.” 

You haven’t been a doctor in three years, Jameson thinks, but does not sign, bitterly. “Okay, fine,” he does signs, nodding sharply. “I will go to a party, just tonight. If I can come home whenever I want?” 

Henrik nods in agreement, and after a few short words about how pale and sickly Jamie looks, some fussing and tussling, Jameson gets ready. A party. A house party, like real people. Like normal people. Jameson’s chest puffs proudly as he slips on a velvet green vest over his white dress shirt. He is a normal person now. Take that Antisepticeye. 

~~

It was a mistake. It was a mistake to come here. People crowd the living room of Jack’s apartment, and they are loud. Loud beyond even Jackie or Henrik’s voice. They yell and run around and he’s pretty sure one of them had a gun two seconds ago. Mark dumped his creations off like a flustered parent leaving their kid at daycare, then he and Jack retreated to a quieter room to catch up and chat business. Jameson is holding a styrofoam cup, swishing around the cream soda nervously. 

Brash, harsh notes of sound wave around his eyes, and he can barely flick them around enough to keep up. Someone in a blue shirt is chasing around the one with a mustache, someone who glows with darkness is chatting with Marvin, someone in a doctor’s coat is arguing with Henrik so loudly Jameson feels his eardrums will burst. 

In a moment of overstimulation, he drops his cup on the floor, reaching up to cover his ears, shaking his head back and forth. This was a mistake. It was all a mistake. It is too much, it’s all too much! He will never be a normal person, he- 

“-will always be the lonely puppet kid in a box, thinks the man.” Someone finishes his thought. Jameson starts so hard that he jumps off the ground and backs up a few steps, slamming against the corner of the wall. 

There is a stranger beside him now, standing casually and making no motion despite Jameson’s violent reaction. His eyes are covered with a bandage, clean and obscuring. He wears a thick coat despite the warm autumn night outside. He is smiling with unreadable intent.

“Hello, Jameson Jackson,” the man proposes, holding out his hand. There is dried blood on his coat. Jameson does not shake his hand. The Host puts his hand back down. He tilts his head at Jameson softly, humming. 

“When I first saw you across the room, I thought you were that puppet kid. Just a trapped little soul so regressed you barely function.” Jameson goes to protest, but is cut off. “You’re not though. That is not your real story, is it.” 

Jameson signs a simple, “What?” hoping the gesture will be understood. It is. The Host smiles and sips cider from his cup. 

“You are not Dapper Jack, but you are, if you understand me. You are that same character, but from another story. You write it as you walk, as you talk, as you breathe. The words control you and pull you further from Dapper Jack the longer you remain away from that hell hole.” Jameson shuffles his feet, feeling exposed suddenly despite being against a corner. This man can see... everything. He feels stripped down to his bones, chewed up and spit back out. Yet something about it is... comforting. The Host finishes his drink, crumpling the cup. 

“After all, what fun would a character be if he never changes?” Before Jameson can respond, Host turns to him with a wide, wide grin. “You are bones and skin, words and blood.” The Host flicks caked blood off of his coat, then takes Jameson’s hand softly, tracing the lines with almost loving movement. “These are the only words you were gifted with. But in retaliation your mind makes such beautiful music.” The Host brushes Jameson’s curls out of his face, causing the smaller man to blush brilliant pink all the way to his ears and jerk backward in surprise.

“Jameson Jackson is someone very, very interesting, however not too cooperative with your author,” Host chuckles. His voice is warm, musical, like he could never dream of hurting any soul. But Jameson hears behind it, the subtle corruption of cruelty. Yet he doesn’t mind it. There’s such an allure to this stranger, he can’t explain it. His blinfolded eyes peer straight to JJ’s soul and rip him out of himself like pages of a book.

He pulls his hands from Host’s and curls them at his chest for a moment, glad that Host appears to be blind to his blushing. 

“Jameson is blushing.” 

Dammit.

The Host laughs. Melodical insanity. “You’re rather cute, Dapper Jack. What do you say, am I a sufficient distraction from the party, friend?” Host stresses ‘friend’, seeming to know, to see, more in the words than JJ could ever hope to. Host’s voice floats around him like lazy otters despite his breaking JJ down to his bare character traits and feelings. 

“Why do I feel like you are looking through me...” Jameson signs to himself, not expecting an answer from the seemingly blind man. 

“Because you all are open books to me, a series of stories and words correlating to action for the sake of a creator’s entertainment.” Jameson blanches softly, looking at Host with wide eyes. “Yes, I know you are signing.” 

“Are you... a god? Magician? See all?” Jameson asks bluntly. Melodic insanity rings through the air once again.  

“No, no. I simply see the moment, the story as it is being told. I have no control over your life, if that is what you mean.” Jameson blinks, his eyes fluttering. He has no fucking clue what that means, if he’s honest with himself. He lets it go, standing awkwardly in the corner with Host, who is not looking at him, seeming to stare off into the room full of noise and chaos. They sit in their little corner together, silent, listening to the house music, to the arguments and friendly quarrels, to the shadowy being scolding his companions, to Henrik and the other doctor screaming songs drunkenly. 

Host sighs suddenly, breaking the silence. “You are so interesting.” He suddenly turns and puts his hand on JJ’s cheek, grinning at him. He runs a hand down his jaw, humming, causing Jameson to go wide-eyed and blush once again, but he doesn’t pull away from him. Blindfolded, bandages eyes bore holes into him, and Jameson trembles, feeling seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. Just as it is starting to overwhelm him, Host laughs softly, and lets go of him. “Until next time.” Jameson falls back against the wall corner, his eyes fluttering rapidly, his breathing uneven. 

He looks with majesty upon The Host, and for a moment can swear that he is blushing as well. But then he is gone into the chaos of the room, as though Jameson blinked him out of existence. Jameson places a hand on his chest, a bit shocked. Melodic insanity floats around him one more time, and in a daze Jameson finds Marvin, tugging their sleeve and asking with shaking hands to go home. 

“Ghost,” his hands whisper, pink fading from his cheeks. Marvin fusses, checking him for a fever delirium or overexcitement. 

They do go home, slowly and softly walking through Brighton’s streets back to their flat. Jameson’s hands whisper of ghosts and blind eyes peering through him all the walk home, all the night to follow, and all the next morning. The man in the trenchcoat’s laugh seems to sound around him, a hymnal of ghostly words sliding around in his head. 

Henrik tells him to forget it. How can he, though? How can you forget what it means to be seen, down to your very soul? 

No, Jameson will not forget. His ears and eyes will search forevermore for the soft melody of an all-knowing magician who saw him. Until next time, they whisper, promising and gentle. 

Until next time. 

“Dóń'̵t̨ ̸y͏ou̵ D̵A̶RE ̢lay a̸n͏o̸t̢h͞e̡r͟ ҉f̵iņģer̶ on̴ my b̧r͡othe͟rs͠! ̕” (The artist of angst has arrived with another Anti and JJ sketch I thought you’d appreciate! :) )

Submitted by: @turquoisemagpie

My precious boys! I love them! (also the fact that they are barefoot is just so cute for some reason, thank you for this)