Happy Birthday, JJ!

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.

little animated snippit of a moment in @jayofmemory​ ‘s branded au! here’s the fic its from: https://jayofmemory.tumblr.com/post/184698509664/adjusting-branded-au

I was bored so I started playing around with Mark and Jack’s eye colors. I think these turned out okay for a first try! ^^”

Wire, PM JJ and Schneep? I've really begun to appreciate your version of a darker JJ recently, it's really cool.

“Now, my good sir, I need you to pay me a huge favor. You’d do anything for your Jamie, wouldn’t you?” he asked rhetorically, his smile brightening at Schneeplestein’s dazed nod. “Splendid! Open your hands.”

Slowly but without hesitation, the doctor obeyed, dimmed eyes flickering as Jameson laid a coil of thin wire across his palms. “What is this, master?”

“A test! I want you to wind that nice and tight around your throat, doc!” Ruffling his hair affectionately, he took a step back so he could better observe. “Let’s see if this works any better than it did for Antisepticeye.”

Well, that’s a legit question. Does he? And is it clear that I need more spoopy content? PLEASE DO NOT USE OR REPORT MY ART WITHOUT PERMISSION. MY ART IS NOT FREE TO USE!

Guys, gals and non-binary pals... 💫 H I M 💫

Had to sketch c!Janus after the video earlier, cause jdhdjdj-

Oof I want angst and kinda want a short fic where JJ becomes so upset about not having a voice and desperately just yelling out just trying to make a noise.

It took all of his will not to scratch desperately at his throat until he drew blood; both his tie and collar felt suffocating. Even the air he breathed felt stifling as he tumbled onto the edge of his bed, digging his hands into the blankets. “Hear me,” he choked out to no one listening, tears streaming hotly as he bowed his head. “Hear me! Please, just give me a voice! Somebody hear me!”

Heyo! For the one worded prompt, how about: relax with JJ? 💚💚

Curled up in bed, with a magic glow to protect him, Chase hums softly as he plays with JJ’s hair, pushing it out of his face and stroking it gently. Jameson’ chest slowly rises and falls, his mustache faintly twitching every now and then.

At least Jameson no longer cries or coughs. His fever has finally gone down and he can have small amounts of soup. 

The song Chase sings is an old Irish lullaby, one he would sing to his children to help them sleep at night. He faintly remembers it being about an old faerie legend, where a selkie’s voice could break hearts of stone.

Jameson’s eyelids flutter open. He turns sideways, acknowledging Chase. Chase smiles and gently pecks his forehead.

“How ya feeling, kiddo?” Chase whispers. JJ shrugs as well as he can and smiles.

“Schneep says your fever broke, so you should be back on your feet in no time,” Chase continues. Jameson wiggles his moustache contentedly, and closes his eyes again.

Chase can feel his own eyelids grow heavy, but there something catches his eye. A screen reads, [Thanks for looking after me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.}

JJ has only just started learning how to use magic to make screens, this must be draining him.

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Chase said. “Just relax, JJ.” The vlogger kisses JJ’s head.

{Good night, Chase.]

“Good night, JJ.”

For @kofi-king, who wished for JJ and Chase cuddling <3333

@graysun, @miishae, @florenceisfalling, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @writerwithdepression, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada, @deadlydevine, @meteorshowersfillthesky, @bupine, @the-yandere-kitsune, @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow

Drowning

Jameson can hardly stand to breathe—no, he can hardly even stand, tumbling under wave after wave of input and information and noise. The constant noise. He cannot fathom how greedy this modern world is for its noise—as if they need to drown out the silence.

In silence, he is drowning.

Vehicles are honking, screeching, backfiring, roaring and rumbling. Streetlights flash. Advertisements in brazen colors and blinking signs on every window of every building. Strains of music tangle together from the doors of competing restaurants. The clashing smells of food, grease, petrol and cigarette smoke carrying further down the block could make one ill.

In the park nearby children are laughing and crying and shrieking and shoving each other, their feet thundering as they run through the hissing sprinklers. Their parents chatter and gossip on the creaking benches. Dogs are barking, yapping, shaking, panting, and growling, rattling the fence around their play area.

Jameson chokes up when he feels his telephone buzz in his pocket. There are so many telephones; they’re everywhere, all around him, ringing, beeping, blipping. Somewhere nearby there is the white flash of a camera. He stops up short, eyes blinded, and suddenly everyone is bumping him, jostling, touching. The stench of perfume and deodorant and sweat and body heat, closing in on him. The wind is picking up, whistling over it all, cold, unceasing, its pitch feverishly rising, rising, rising, rising—

When he first feels arms lock around him, he struggles. It’s the tactile equivalent of scratching in the walls, squeaking styrofoam, sandpaper tearing at his skin and he can’t breathe, he can’t escape, he can’t—

“Shhh…Shh.” Chase’s whisper is louder than the wind, louder than Jameson’s wild heartbeat. His shirt is soft and he smells like cocoa powder. “Hold onto me.”

Jameson buries his face against his shoulder and holds on tight.

Based on a post by @marksandrec 🙌 All these theories are making me like JJ more oh no 😬