Got Any Good Hypno/ Mind Control Content??? Owo

reblog if you are too

winged JJ in the air: graceful, elegant, fast. winged JJ the moment he touches down on the ground: wobbles and then trips over nothing.

He is both a gentleman and a disaster XD

Here is the full thing.

CAN WE HIT ONE BILLLIIIOON LIKES!

this part killed me

"You don't want me to look at you-well why don't you look at me?" With Anti and JJ?

He wouldn’t break, Jameson promised himself fiercely. He wouldn’t bow to the twisted whims of that monster. He was nothing more than a sadistic madcap. JJ had a family – brothers and a father to protect. Even if he couldn’t fight on the offensive, even if resistance was all he could offer, he would give it everything he had. He had to be strong for them.

“Don’t even look at me, monster! Let me go this instant!” he hollered, scratching at Anti’s fisted hands in a futile attempt to tear them off of him. He didn’t even draw blood; all that surfaced were particles of static, breaking off and then magnetizing back to his skin. 

“Ooh͝, ̛I͘ l͜i̶k͝e͝ ͢t͠h͟a̡t̨fr͢ésh de̕fi͜a͞nce, J̵a̷ck͜s҉o͜n!” the demon hissed, steering him into the nearby wall with a thud that briefly ended Jameson’s struggle as it knocked the wind out of him. “If ̴y͏o̴u don̡'̛t҉ ͏w͢an̷t̕ m͘e ͜to loo͘k̷ a̢t́ y͜o̴u̢,̢ w̸h́ý don͏’t yo̵u l̴òok át me͘?” Jameson’s breath hitched as he gasped for it and Antisepticeye chuckled mockingly. “Will th́e p̢ưpp͘e̶t̨ da͜r̷e to m͡eet̛ ͜h҉is m̢as̢ţer’s e͟y͢es,jusţ ͏to prov҉e that̵ h̶e ̶ca҉n?Do ̨y̧o͜u ̴reall̵y͜ ͡t͞hink҉ ̀y͘ou'̡re̢ s̷t҉rong ȩn̛o̴ugh?”

“I – !” I am, Jameson intended to say. With my family behind me, I am. As soon as he lifted his head, however, his speech slide faltered. Antisepticeye’s eyes were nothing but black, soulless pits, penetrating him with the same intensity as the static buzzing around them. They were blacker than black, deeper than that. As if by instinct, Jameson stared more deeply into them. The longer he did, the more he couldn’t help but think – he’d never seen such dark eyes with so much light in them. In a cruel way, they were almost beautiful. He couldn’t look away, not if he wanted to prove himself. He couldn’t look away…He didn’t want to.

A Quiet Observer. 

(Puppet JJ seems to give ‘ze good doctor’ company during his research. Researching the possibilities of transplanting a wooden soul into a human body can get very tiresome during late nights, so a helping boost from your patient can go a long way.) :)

Crawl To Salvation

Content Warning: Burns, Captivity, Fire, mentions of death, ableism Possession (feel free to request more) 

Jameson knew nothing else but to crawl. 

The woods floor was damp with condensation; the tiny droplets from the trees leaves cascaded over his charred body, steaming as they came down. The man’s body was broken; his legs were seared, leaving patches of pink flesh throbbing in the air. Yet, his mind has never felt so well, free to finally think for and as himself.

His only desire was to find someone, anyone, other than the beast he left in the flames a few feet behind him. He had no recollection of how long he’d actually been dragging his body along the wet floor, inching along as leaves stuck to him and twigs stabbed his belly. 

The woods around him began to meld into each other, until the trees resembled a large, obsidian monster whose branches looked like spider legs, as his vision dipped in and out of unconsciousness. Jameson’s mind was no longer focused on surviving; he felt his body caving in to the forgiving darkness. If he were to die, he’d die knowing that his mind was his for the first time, and that this was his action to take.  

Suddenly, Jameson heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He listened as they broke sticks under their feet and walked at an even pace, obviously taking their time. Jameson could feel the wickedness with every careless step, and it was closing in. The urge to crawl again beat his heart into doing the same and he continued his dissent with all the strength he could muster. 

The man behind inevitably caught up to him and watched the sight. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the burning man grasp at leaves and dirt to pull his body into the direction of freedom; like a snail trying to escape from under the sole of a boot. The man finally chuckled and bent down, grasping the back of Jameson’s neck. Jameson seized in pain, trying to lift his hand to swat the man’s hand away. His weakened state was no match for the iron grip.

”Y’know…I am very impressed at how you did that” The mans German accent cut through the woods with a deep rumble. Jameson knew that he was the doctor Anti kept in the basement. “Never would’ve guessed you knew anything other than to be good to me.” His words were clumsy and non-emotive. “But, I now realize that you don’t know how to do that either” Tears started to spring from Jameson’s eyes as he thrashed weakly, leaving no struggle for Henrik, as he flipped Jameson over on his back. Jamesons back arched as he writhed in pain. “It was my fault, I know. I assumed you weren’t so able…and cognizant.” 

Jameson continued to writhe, twisting to escape from underneath the doctor despite his injuries pulsing in agony. The doctor cupped the mans face, silently demanding him to face him. “But that’s okay, We’ll just start over, and make sure that every knot is tied just as tight as the last” The doctor trailed his finger along the mans charred wrists in monotonous motion; It started to feel as if strings slinked through his blood; Disgust creased his chapped lips. 

Henrik got closer, speaking at a violent whisper. “I’ll rip…every last feeling of rebellion from your pathetic brain that you won’t even know how to sign your name, because all you can ever think about is mine” Henrik smiled wide and crazed; the moonlight twinkled off his teeth. Jameson was frozen with scared eyes beneath who he thought was the doctor Anti kept in the basement, yet from the way blood trailed down from his eyes and nose, from the way Henrik’s pupils engulfed the blue of his irises, Jameson realized Anti was still alive and wasn’t his only body. Henrik’s fingers twirled a piece of Jameson’s hair as he spoke,  “But we will take our time. I can’t lose a human like you. Who feels so good to put on. Even right now…I’m itching to feel you again.”

Anti got up from the ground. Standing over Jameson, he grabbed his leg, to which Jameson gasped sharply, and started to pull him back towards the barns direction, Jameson harsh twisting doing nothing with the little strength he had. He prayed and prayed for something, anything! He wish to rip the nails boarding up his voice to scream, “Free me! Help me! I’m here! Help!” until his throat was torn to shreds from pleading. 

In the corner of his eye, a light unlike the moon light glimmered through the trees. It was some ways in the distance. Jameson whose heart leaped for the rest of his being, begged him to take action. Shrill whistles escaped Jameson’s lips on after another, his call for help. Anti let go of Jameson’s leg with a painful thump. He had not registered the pain as whistles continued to leap from his mouth, as a scream for help. 

Then, a sharp force to the mouth knocked Jameson apart. All the sudden strength, courage, his whistles, were knocked towards the wind with a swift kick to the face, giving nothing but an agonizing crack. Anti giggled profusely at Jameson’s decaying state, knowing he’d struck where his last bit of energy was. “They don’t care, Jameson. Nobody does. Nobody can and will care as much as I do.” Anti spoke darkly to an unconscious Jameson. Anti narrowed his eyed, looking up towards light source. As quickly as it appeared, it promptly vanished within the night, probably thinking it was nothing to check out. Anti sighed in relief; he would have had to kill someone and ironically, was not in the mood tonight.

He reached down and grabbed Jamesons leg. He adjusted the way the mans body was twisted were he laid, unfolding him to have him lay on his back. Anti whistled an unnamed tune, as he dragged his doll back home. 

Notes: I’m back??? I don’t know, between real life and tumblr, I have yet to find a healthy balance. But, I realized that just writing “mediocre” short stories about my favorite boys is really the only thing that keeps me sane (ironically). And just realizing that posting on tumblr isn’t and doesn’t have to feel like a “full time job with perfection”, so I’m just letting myself have fun and I hope you find something you like within that too.

Jameson Jackson and Colonel William J. Barnum fought in the war together and Nobody Can Change My Mind

esteemed Colonel William J. Barnum takes a liking to a scrappy young British fighter just as likely to get you in a shot as at the end of his bayonet… all too used to being ignored by his commanding officers, Jameson’s loyalty to the Colonel grows due to his attempts to communicate with him and his refusal to let “dead-tongue Jackson” isolate himself… William never seems to treat Jameson any differently than anybody else, just chatters easily, gruffly, cheerfully to him, clapping him hard on the shoulder and advising him to “run along, now, Jackson!” in that deep graveling voice… finally, they find themselves together on the front, soaked in the mud, guns clenched… “Seems we’re just about the last men standing! Made it to the end, didn’t we, my boy!” calls the Colonel over the sounds of gunshot, and Jameson thinks to himself “that we did, old chap” and gives him a grin that says it too, only for the gaze between them to be broken by the crack of a bullet and a flash of blood from William’s head… anguished, JJ drags him back towards help, taking a wound on his leg, but never stopping… it seems impossible that they return, that he is even conscious to pull William back to safety, but he does it, he does it, and everyone is staring at him as he staggers into camp and collapses…. William wakes up and turns his head and Jameson is the first thing he sees, asleep beside him… everyone is talking about how far they made it and how they managed to return and both survive… both are awarded and applauded, but they just want to sit in silence for each other for a while, and rest….

Too soon Jameson is called away to another battle. William writes to him, once, twice, thrice, teasing him more and more every time for not responding, but a letter never comes. Months later, once the war is done, William connects with Jameson’s commanding officer, demanding to know where he’s gone. But all there is left of Jameson is an empty battlefield and the words “MIA” written beside his name on a record somewhere…

Mob AU: Jameson Jackson

Next up: My favorite boy JJ! Again based on @pistachiolan‘s brilliant mob au. You can find the character art here! I absolutely adore his prim and proper look hiding the usual septic attitude. 

(Masterpost)

Jameson hums wordlessly to himself as he dries wineglasses with quick, sure hands. The bar is alive around him - people everywhere, talking, laughing, drinking. It is as if prohibition never happened - here, people are free to let loose their inhibitions.

Here, Jameson catches every word of what is being said.

“My brother said he saw some men moving about down by the river, throwing stuff into the water. Yeah, like boxes. No, of course he didn’t go to check!”

River. Few days ago. None of their shipment’s go that way.

“I love this place. Much better than the one over by Ridgeworth park!”

Rival bar, huh? not for long.

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard from them for weeks. What if something’s happened?”

Missing person. Possible kidnappning. Every drop of information, gathered, catalogued, packed away in his memory for later.

“Ey, barkeep, a glass of the raspberry beer, please.” Jameson turned and smiled, pouring the girl a beer. She smiled, thanked him, and handed over her payment without fuzz. Jameson took it to the till, put the money in its slot and hid the tiny slip of paper in the hidden compartment under the bench. 

“Thank you for your patronage,” He signed at the girl, and she signed back a thank you as well before heading to sit down at one of the rowdier tables, that welcomed her with cheers and laughter.

Nice girl, that one. Quick, polite, with eyes like a fox. Always good for what she got. He’d have to make sure to give her a raise.

Jameson turned back to his wineglass, bringing it up to the light to catch any stray droplets of water. 

He never missed a spot, after all.

Jameson Jackson is Chase’s left hand, in charge of the spy network and information gathering that the Family needs. If something is happening in the city, he knows it - and if he knows, Chase knows. He is stationed at The Septic eye, acting as the owner and bartender of one of the oldest resturants in the city in daylight, and the biggest speakeasy in town at night. The fact that it belongs to the Family is a closely guarded secret.

Jameson is an educated man, learnt in history and literature. His memory is as sharp as his mind, able to recall conversations and information with pinpoint accuracy. He was born mute - a deformation to his throat in the womb means he was never able to make any sound more complicated than simple humming. He communicates through writing and sign language.

Jameson came to the city alone and unafraid, working what jobs he could find. One day, an overheard conversation changed his life. Chase had just stepped in as the new leader of the Family - plots against him were many and varied. The one Jameson happened to overhear was a serious one, discussed between two of Chase’s father’s oldest friends. Jameson saw the opportunity and picked a side in that moment - choosing to stand with Chase and inform him of the plot with evidence in hand.

After that, Chase put him in charge of information gathering and the rest, as they say, is history.

The mute… he looks harmless, but those eyes are always watching. His hands flutter with strange signs. Keep your guard up around him, kid - you never know who will hear you.

How cute

tiny hug

(via)