#Jameson Jackson Fanfic

[pencilpat]

I ABANDONED MY ROOTS so here is so many MBC sketches that it's ridiculous because I missed these nerds, and there's some new additions to the family that I had to draw. <3

Quintrell & JJ are my favourite weird girl x weird boy couple everrrrr

@beerecordings here's your babies

(Read this story here: @my-brothers-corrupted!)

[jsehungergamesau]

Jameson Jackson, winner of the 26th Hunger Games

[Please check the pinned post on our blog for trigger warnings. This can be read as a stand-alone fic set in the same universe. Sorry in advance :) -Mod Oakley]

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"Jameson Jackson!" Read the colorful woman from the Capitol.

The young man couldn't hold the gasp in the back of his throat at the sound of his name being called. All heads turned towards him and he looked around with bewildered eyes, but he took a deep breath and stepped out of the holding area for the 17 year olds. A pair of peacekeepers guided him to the stage but Jameson kept his head high and he.. smiled. Not only that but he hummed a familiar jaunty work tune as he neared the stage. He knew he couldn't let them all see his true emotions. No, Jameson was the one who always lifted the spirits through the hard work days, he couldn't let them see how terrified he truly was.

He might have been smiling, yet try as he might, his eyes betrayed him when he scanned the crowd. They were damp with unshed tears that caught the light of the warm summer's day sun. He looked from the crowd up to the treetops, one more time before being led away to the city hall clock tower.

Saying goodbye to his aunt Marry was filled with hugs and tears. Promises to take care of herself and to do what she needs to to survive. The older woman gave her nephew an iron locket with a small picture of his parents inside. A token to remember home while in the games. Jameson held it close to his heart and hugged her for as long as their time allowed, singing a quiet soothing song to Marry before being separated. 

A few friends from the paper processing mill came and Jameson couldn't help but laugh, "Be sure to have a song written for me, would ya, lads?" He joked, playfully hitting one of their arms. Only a few of them smiled. "Buck up now, I've taught you all enough! You can lead the tune without me. Even if Jerry does sing like a broken water pipe." That got them laughing.

This is how he wanted to be remembered. Positive and joyful even in the face of the worst possible thing to ever happen to a young person in this country. He smiled goodbye until the doors closed.

Finally his best friend came to see him, and he let his mask slip. Maria was a slight girl with tanned skin and long frizzy blonde hair she kept up in a bun, and she hugged him tight enough to bruise. Maria was born without a voice in her lungs, so the two taught each other to sign from an old book when they were little. She loved when Jameson would sing and when they would dance together at the harvest close festivals.

Jameson had nicknamed her Maple from her love of the sweet syrup from the trees. They've only had the chance to taste it a few times because peacekeepers would punish them if they got caught dipping their fingers into the collection buckets. But it was Maria's absolute favorite. So the nickname stuck.

Neither of them ever saw each other romantically. They had shared a kiss once but almost immediately decided it didn't feel right. Yet they still remained thick as thieves. In his private thoughts, Jameson wouldn't have minded if they shared a home together. Perhaps not as husband and wife, but it would be theirs and they would be happy. Especially compared to the alternative that was his imminent fate now. 

They stand with their foreheads pressed together in the quiet and Jameson quietly humming from his chest. There wasn't much to say, really. They said their goodbyes this morning when they split into their standing areas. So the two of them try to savor the other's company for all that it's worth.

She kissed his cheek, “Goodbye, Jamie.” She signed, and any idea or dream of a happy future with Maria was extinguished as soon as the heavy doors closed behind her.

°○°○°○°

Everything became a blur after that.

The train ride, speaking with his mentor and fellow tribute from 7, pulling up to the Capitol, the ridiculous outfits, the chariot ride. The whole time he smiled and waved and laughed- he felt unmoored. Floating in his own mind as he watched himself perform the jolly tribute from District 7 act for the entire country to see. 

Jameson came back to himself while in the training center. A pair of identical faces had joined him at the camouflage station without him noticing, and upon realizing he wasn't actually going crosseyed he jumped.

Oh right, the twins from District 8. The brother, Tim, had volunteered as tribute to be with his sister, Tamery, who was reaped from the bowl. Neither of them could stand being separated, so they walked into the games together. Jameson wondered if either would walk out, and if one did, which?

"See, if you add a bit more of the raspberry juice you get a darker mixture." Tamery explained as she took the bowl Jameson was idly swirling around, smashing a few of the red berries into it and mixing it around with a stick. Dipping her fingers in, she painted a swatch on her arm to demonstrate, "See? It's almost black now. If you added some charcoal it would be easier but not everyone can make a fire."

Tamery then began mixing several things together as Tim leaned back on his hands, watching Jameson with a faint grin. When she was done, Tamery had made a color that when swatched on her own skin, basically disappeared. It matched her skintone perfectly. 

"That's incredible! How did you learn to do that?" Jameson was impressed, looking from her arm back to their pale faces and ashy blonde hair. They must not have gotten a lot of sun working in the factories. Jameson could relate since his own complexion outed him for working in the paper press mills back home.

"We worked with the dyes back in 8." Tamery explained with a small shrug.

"We have to figure out how to make everything the exact shades of colors the customers want." Tim picked up from his sister, "Sure there's standard recipes for each color, but most of the time we have better results by eyeballing how much of each dye to use." He grinned, using some moss to paint a deep purple texture onto his arm that made it look bruised. 

"Fascinating!" Jameson exclaimed, truly intrigued by the pair, "In the paper mill, we usually just make white, so we just bleach the tree pulp. But occasionally we use these powders to make colored stationary. It took weeks for the gaudy orange to wash off my skin."

The twins barked similar laughs to each other. 

"Oh tell me about it! When we were dying a batch of red silk, it looked like we had bloody hands for ages!" Tim snorted. Nobody comments about how it might become a reality soon.

"Though seeing the Capitol folk walking around with dyed skin makes me think that they were inspired by us." Tamery rolls her eyes with a smirk. "It took the preps almost two hours to finally scrub us clean. I think they had to take some skin with 'em as a souvenir to make it work. To add insult to injury, one of them was dyed robin's egg blue."

Tim scoffs with a roll of his eyes as well and they all go back to painting, listening to the instructor on how to use stones and bark and other unconventional materials to hide themselves from plain sight. Jameson was okay at it, but when the new trio moved to the traps and snares station, Jameson picked up the skill quickly. 

After learning the basics, the gears in Jameson's mind turned and he fashioned a tripwire that would drop a massive weight onto a test dummy. The weight crushed it's plastic skull and for a quick moment Jameson felt pleased with himself. Then he remembered he had an audience and scanned the room, several tributes had watched him and he could feel his cheeks burn. He was used to people watching him perform, but this was different. This was showing the others his skillset, even if it was new to him as well. Tim and Tamery clapped for him but they all quickly moved on to another station.

Jameson and the twins got on like a house on fire. They were all witty and laughed like the career pack at stupid jokes. And without saying anything, they all decided to team up in the arena. It made for better odds to be in an alliance than staking it out on your own.

It was a good thing too, because Jameson watched Tim wrestle his instructor to the ground and Tamery disarmed her knife wielding instructor in seconds. Jameson had tried to pick up a bow and a spear but they didn't feel right. He found some small throwing axes and hit the targets from a good distance away, but his mind kept going back to the hunting snares.

So while most of the other tributes took their lunch break, Jameson stayed behind a little longer to learn some more complicated traps. Whipping branches, pitfalls, small stone catapults, rope snares that left people dangling 20 feet up. He stuffed his brain with as much knowledge as he could until he was pulled away by the twins, one grabbing each of his arms and dragging him.

“C'mon, pull your own weight, James!” Tamery laughed.

Two days later while showing off their skills to the Game Makers, Jameson didnt hold back. Taking several minutes to construct an elaborate trap from rope and weights and netting. 

When he used a spear to trip the wire, a cluster of ropes with small weights on the ends got flung a few inches off the ground and tangled around the ankles of a practice dummy. And before it could fall over, two weights dangling from ropes were released- and met in the middle to crush the dummy between them.

The people observing him gave a few impressed nods before dismissing him.

He scored a 10.

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Jameson resisted wiping his hands on his sleek navy blue suit as he walked up the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman, shaking the weather man- turned host's hand firmly with a brilliant smile and having a seat.

"Jameson Jackson! What a very musical name you have!" Lucky proclaimed as an icebreaker, his copper powdered hair shiny and perfectly in place. Jameson quietly admired his mustache as he chuckled at the host's words. "Very bouncy and fun to say!" Lucky then repeats Jameson's name to a jazzy tune a few times that makes the audience giggle and clap.

"Yes well I am actually quite musical myself, according to my mates back home in 7. They can hardly get me to shut up sometimes." Jameson grins cheekily, causing the audience to laugh, "Though, those guys just call me JJ for short."

"JJ! Incredible! So you do sing? Did you put on any performances growing up?" Lucky asks, leaning forward as the crushed velvet of his blue suit shifts under the lights.

"Hah, maybe one or two when I was younger at school. But mostly I sing to pass the days in the paper mills. Keeps the spirits up, yaknow? If everyone is happy while working, then you know the paper you write your love letters on is made with love." Jameson has to resist rolling his eyes. That was corny even for him.

But the people love it, it makes the audience collectively aww and put their hands to their chests at the sentiment.

"Well you can't hold out on us, then! Would you like to sing a little something-something for the people?" Lucky looks to the audience conspiratorially, "What do you think, folks?"

The citizens of the Capitol roared with cheers and encouragement. And Jameson pretended to hide his face in one hand and wave them all off with the other, but this just seems to goad them on until Jameson sighs dramatically and stands, “Alright alright, you've swayed me!”

Lucky shushes the crowd and Jameson took a deep breath, singing from his stomach a tune from back home, his voice rich enough to fill the large room by himself. He thinks of Maria as the people hang on to every note that pours from his mouth.

Stay with me til dusk my dear,

Sway with me til morning comes.

Together we'll sing 'long with the breeze,

And here we'll sleep for eternity. 

Stay with me, my dear, my love.

Stay with me,

Stay.

As he holds the final note the audience erupts into applause and Jameson humbly takes a bow with his hands clasped tightly together. 

"We're almost out of time but Jameson, that was enchanting! Absolutely enchanting! Thank you so much, was that a song from your District?" Lucky Flickerman asks, his stark white teeth gleaming unnaturally under the studio lights. 

"Yes it is. It's sung as a lullaby for many of the children." Jameson lies. Yes it is a lullaby, but its a song about two lovers seeking sanctuary in the forest. He didn't want them all to latch onto the wrong idea about him though.

"Incredible, absolutely incredible. Well, here's hoping that all of Panem won't lose your special gift so soon, James."

"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that." Jameson smiles winningly.

Lucky gestures for him to take another bow as the timer dings for the next tribute to come on, "Jameson Jackson, ladies and gentleman!" The crowd cheers and applauses again, sending Jameson backstage where his face falls and he heaves a dramatic breath.

"That was a lot." Jameson chuckles faintly, hands on his knees as if he just ran a mile. He felt a pat on his back from Tamery as she passed him to go on stage.

"Thanks for the bode of confidence, James." She remarks, fluffy rainbow skirt bouncing around her hips as she walks on stage when her name is called. 

Tim then helps Jameson stand again, his own suit colored in a bold gradient to match the sunset, “You blew us all away, JJ.” He pats Jameson on the opposite shoulder before lightly pushing to send him back to his team.

°○°○°○°

Jameson lied awake for a long time in his room the night before the games. He should have been sleeping, but his mind was like an angry trackerjacker hive. Staring up at the ceiling, gently rolling the grape sized locket in his fingers, he couldn't help but think of home. Occasionally bringing it up, he clicks the locket open to see the yellowed pictures inside. 

He stared in the dark at the small hand drawn portraits of a husband and wife he never remembered meeting, but shared so many similarities to himself. His father's soft eyes, his mother's nose and faintly rounded cheeks. The same thick curly black hair. Jameson couldn't help but smile at his father's styled mustache. It curled in a funny way towards his nose that Jameson always assumed he must have greased it to keep its shape somehow. He remembers his Aunt Marry using the word “dapper” in a teasing tone to describe the unique look of her late brother.

To Jameson, Aunt Marry was his true mother in every way. But she insisted that she always wanted to be an aunt, so the title stuck like sap. She raised James by herself and never once complained- never complained around him, anyway. She taught him all the songs he knew and so much more about how to survive. How to live and how to smile despite the hardships. He wishes there was a picture of her in the locket, but there was barely room to fit his parents into the cramped space.

The surface of the locket had a relief of a maple seed- a "helicopter" as the older folks of District 7 had described them when they began to shower down in autumn. Twirling all the way down like dancers until they touched the ground safely. Jameson wasn't sure what the nickname for the seed was referring to, but he remembers picking up small handfuls of them and tossing them in the air so they spun back down into Maria's hair. Revenge was swift as Maria got back at him by shoving a handful of the seeds- and some dirt for good measure- down the back of his shirt. Jameson couldn't blame her, it was a nightmare trying to untangle the deceptively spiky seeds from her frizzy hair. The frizz always collected debris so easily when it was let down.

He absently ran his thumb over the polished gray metal as tears rolled down his cheeks. He missed District 7. He missed home so badly. 

Exhaustion finally took over him at some point. The sound of his younger self's laugh and the crunching of leaves under Maria's shoes echoing in his dreams, before they slowly morphed into nightmares.

°○°○°○°

Jameson could hear the blood rushing in his ears as the metal platform slowly raised him up.

He made a plan with the District 8 twins on the last day of training that they would try to meet and stay as a group. Jameson told his fellow tribute from 7 that if she could find them she could join if she wanted to, but she just shrugged and told him maybe.

The cornucopia glared like a raging hot fire against the harsh sunlight, reflecting golden light into everyone's eyes. Jameson tried to get his bearings of the surrounding area but all he could see was white. 

He understood quickly why his jacket was so thick and why his pants were lined with some kind of warm water proof material. He pulled his knitted hat more firmly over his ears as a harsh wind bit through his little exposed skin.

Snow. 

The arena was a snow covered forest of pine trees nestled between three mountains. The sun was dazzling against the brilliant sparkling white of the snow and Jameson had seconds for his eyes to fully adjust- and take in what was directly in front of him.

“Let the 26th annual Hunger Games… BEGIN!” Announced the air before the bongs of the final countdown began.

Jameson knew he wouldn't stand a chance in the middle of the bloodbath, but he did see a small backpack not too far from him. And when the alarm rang out he bolted for it. About half the tributes slipped immediately and fell and Jameson nearly joined them. Catching himself on a knee before springing forward again.

He slid right past the backpack the first time because the entire ground around them was pristine glass-like ice, but he quickly scrambled back up- just in time to dodge a spear being thrown at him. He turned his torso just enough to avoid being stuck like a kebab as the spear stuck into the ice, sending a web of small cracks across the ground. Jameson didn't hesitate, he grabbed both the pale blue backpack and the spear sticking out of the ground. To say the least he was not great with a spear in training, but it was better than no weapon at all as he skated across the ice field- finally gaining traction in the snow at the edge of the field and sprinting for the treeline.

He didn't dare look back as he crashed through the naked brush. The echo of canons followed him the deeper into the sparse forest as he went. He knew he wouldn't be able to easily hide his footsteps, but neither could anybody else without great effort. So Jameson decided to get as much distance as he physically could and ignore the trail he blazed behind himself.

It took about an hour of traveling through ankle high powder before Jameson found a rock outcropping to hide under and take stock of his mystery supplies. He'd never been this exhausted in his entire life. Sure, he sometimes went and chopped up branches when they were too big for the wood chipper, but he worked in the paper mill. He wasn't a proper lumberjack. While he could climb trees and did so often, he was a shop kid who worked in the paper presses. He didn't have the same level of skill for scaling trees like a squirrel, or the stamina from long work days in the forests. Shaking the doubts in himself aside, he carefully started pulling everything out of the bag and laid it all in a neat row.

There wasn't much.

Thick dark tinted goggles, flint and steel, a shiny piece of plastic material that Jameson realized is a thermal blanket, a small pack of jerky, and an empty tin thermos that was already cold to the touch. And of course the spear, which looking at it now, Jameson saw it had something- someone's- blood on it already. 

Okay. Horrifying. But he could work with this. Hell the silvery blanket was already way more than he could have prayed for in an environment like this.

He throughly cleaned the blood off the spear with snow- throwing some fresher powder over the stark red stain when he finished- and slipped the goggles on, already so thankful that he wasn't being blinded by the sparkling snow anymore. He was starting to get dark spots in his vision from looking at the blinding white for too long.

Jameson debated for a while after packing everything away if he should keep waiting for the twins here in the rocks or move on– when he heard the noise of snow crunching under foot. 

Two sets of feet. But was it them?

Jameson tucked himself deep into the rocks, spear at the ready, he strained his ears to get an idea of who was here.

"Are you sure he went this way? I can barely see anything out here!" One person, a boy probably, whispered harshly. Jameson could hear his teeth chattering already from his hiding spot.

"Yes, I'm sure.” The second voice, probably a girl's, snapped. “Besides, we've followed the tracks this long. It's either JJ or somebody else. Let's just hope it's not that little boy from 10. He seemed like a sweetheart." 

“Okay, but if they try to kill us I'm killing you again myself.”

The girl let out a snort for a laugh.

Jameson perked up at the familiar bickering and carefully peeked his head out from his hiding place. Immediately brightening when he saw the matching pair of friendly hazel eyes look in his direction when he called out.

As soon as they get into the outcropping Jameson says, "Are either of you hurt? Did you manage to grab anything before getting out of there?"

"Tim managed to get a few ice picks and some kind of spiked shoe cover things. I grabbed a bag of apples and some rope but that's it. Tim got into a bit of a scrape over the ice picks, but I shoved the girl off and we got away with only a few small cuts." Tamery said, vaguely waving to a thin slash going across her eyebrow and cheek but missing her eye entirely. Tim was sporting a few slashes in his jacket and a slightly bruised eye but that was about it. Jameson checked them over but there wasn't any deep gashes, so they should be fine. He gently pressed some clean snow to Tim's cheek and told Tamery to use clean snow and wash the blood off her eyebrow. They were all incredibly lucky.

Jameson wondered how long the luck would last.

It turned out, not even a day and a half.

The first night was horrible. Jameson and Tim wrapped themselves around Tamery as they all shared the thin thermal blanket. They had dug out a small burrow in the snow with their hands and ice picks, hiding themselves inside for the night. At least they weren't out in the wind or exposing themselves with a fire. Tim poked his head out like a rabbit when the projections of the dead tributes shone across the sky to the tune of the anthem. 

When it finished, Tim snuggled back in, relaying the 5 tributes who were killed today in the bloodbath. He frowns and looks at Jameson, "I'm sorry, JJ, the girl from your District… she didn't make it..." 

Jameson pales as Tamery hugs him tightly, he clings back and hides his face against her jacket, hoping the cameras couldn't see his tears while they were in the burrow.

No fire means no extra warmth, so the three huddle close and fitfully tried to sleep through the night.

As soon as the sun broke over the mountain the three went hunting. They had basic knowledge of snares from their training but not much in the way of hunting with weapons. Jameson took the rope from Tamery, unraveling it into thirds to make thinner cord and setting up some simple traps to hopefully catch some hares. Tim spotted the tracks for them so they crossed their fingers that it would work.

In the meantime they all debated the pros and cons of starting a fire. 

It was daylight so it wouldn't be terribly noticeable like it would be at night, but the smoke could signal somebody to their location. However if they strayed from other tributes for too long the game makers would probably send something at them. Something far worse than getting jumped by a career pack.

They decided to risk it and built a small fire inside their burrow to conceal the smoke somewhat. Jameson shoved as much snow as he could into the cup of his thermos and set it on the coals to melt and hopefully boil. He repeated this several times while Tim kept watch. Tamery used the end of JJ's spear to slice into an apple and passed out slices to each of them.

It was quiet for the most part. They all decided to stick together and have nobody wander off. So when the trio went to go check on the snares for any rabbits, they were slightly more prepared to face off against the boy from District 4. 

The fight was brutal, and Tamery thought her wrist was broken, but Tim got the final blow and used JJ's spear to finish off the other boy. The canon fired and Jameson immediately searched the boy's belongings for any food. Tamery debated shucking off his jacket, but Tim turned it down, queasy about the blood soaking through it. Instead he took the laces from the boy's boots and his gloves which were a little tight on Tim's hands but worked.

They watched the hovercraft carry away the body over the small mountain range and Jameson felt a little sick holding the new knife and small sack of bread. But what else could they have done? The boy was just as ready to kill them as they were. He swallowed back his tears and checked on the snares.

They decided to try and move uphill after making a splint out of branches and one of the boot laces for Tamery's wrist. Tim holds tightly to her other hand as Jameson leads them through the trees. It was when the sun was about to kiss the opposite mountain goodnight when a scream echoed up from deeper in the forest. Another canon sounded. Could have been anyone. They decided to make camp for the night.

About a quarter of the way up the mountain the next morning, they came across a pool of some kind. It was frozen over with a layer of powdered snow so they didn't have a good sight of what was under the ice. Tim tapped the glassy surface with his spear and it chimed like one of the crystal glasses at the dinner table back in the tribute's center. The hairs on the back of Jameson's neck stood up as he whipped his neck around. Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

"Hey, Tim? Maybe lets leave the weird glass pond alone." He says slowly, trying to pinpoint what changed. The ringing of the ice still sang around them in a sweet tune. Carrying much longer than it should have.

"But nothings happening?" Tim replied uneasily but lifted the spear to tap the surface again.

"Well don't do it again!" Tamery hissed, grabbing the spear to stop it. The twins began to bicker then there it was. 

A low rumbling coming from higher up on the mountain they were climbing. All three heads slowly turned up and in the distance they saw a massive rolling wall of snow. It was somewhat unclear if tapping the lake caused it or another tribute higher up did, but they did not stick around to debate. Sprinting as fast as they could back down the mountain as the avalanche chased them with accelerating speed and hunger.

The avalanche was louder than anything Jameson had ever heard in his life, and he had visited the giant dam in District 7. But this, it was roaring loud and deep unlike anything Jameson had ever known. 

He and the twins were going as fast as they could, but Tamery slipped on a hidden patch of ice so Jameson had to double back and help her up before they all kept sprinting into the trees.

"CLIMB!" Jameson commands as they make it a few trees in, he boosted up Tamery and Tim first before scampering up behind them. Unlike District 7 kids who have an innate ability to scale, it seems that District 8 kids don't have the same climbing ability. But they are going as quick as they could as Jameson looked back to the too-close avalanche. "Hold on! Hold on!" He called, wrapping his arms tight around the trunk of the tree and the twins do the same. He thinks Tamery is screaming in fear but its drowned out by the crashing sounds of the snow rushing into the forest. Jameson is just praying the tree holds steady and the snow doesn't pile high enough to bury them from the ground up.

The tree they cling to as a lifeboat shudders and threatens to give way a few times. Jameson pressed his forehead to the trunk and thought he faintly could feel his fingers bleeding from gripping so tight to the bark as stray snow and ice chunks pelt his back.

Jameson was about to call up to the twins and see how they were holding up- but something hit the back of his head. His eyes rolled in his head and blacked out almost immediately. The last thing he was conscious of was feeling his grip slip from the bark. 

Then nothing.

°○°○°○°

In his dreams he's looking up at the gold dappled light through the trees. The first warm winds of spring blowing through the branches and his hair. He looks to his right and finds Maria- his Maple- using her deft fingers to weave a crown from the fresh green grass they were laying in. He reached towards her but there was some kind of unseen barrier between them. He sits up and touched it again, the invisible surface rippling under his fingers and Maria did not seem to notice him at all. But she did turn her head in the opposite direction, and Jameson followed her gaze.

The trees beyond them were breaking and curling forward, as if they were snapping joints into place to create some kind of rooted mass of a beast. Giant spikes for teeth and claws, the approximation of where eyes would be; burning like hot coals. But Maria didn't move, simply staring at the monster that was coming to kill her.

Panic settled into his bones, he started pounding on the invisible separation, screaming her name to no avail. He couldn't even hear himself. Just the gentle rustling of the leaves over head and the gnarled snapping of trunks and branches barreling towards them.

Maria slowly stood up and turned to face Jameson, and he jumped back in horror. Her eyes were now deep black gouges where sockets should be, her jaw hinged and hung low on her head, broken. She was made entirely out of wood. She was a wooden puppet and suddenly Jameson could see the strings that held her up disappearing into the dark sky above- when did it become dark? He looked back to her in horror, but her empty eyes stared empty into his. A block of wood acting as her hand waved to him. Jameson goes to put his hand over hers but found his hand had also been transformed into timber. Looking down so has the rest of himself, it was all roughly carved into a mockery of a person's body. He wanted to scream but he felt his jaw unable to move. He uselessly paws at his face and found that he doesn't even have a mouth.

James suddenly snapped his head up as the howling tree monster barreled into them both, breaking whatever barrier was there and snapping strings, trampling them both bodies into sawdust and splinters. He could feel the arm-like logs crush every part of him, collapsing what was once his ribcage and knocking Maria's head from her body entirely.

He tried to scream again, but the only sound came from inside his own head, as if he was trapped inside a wooden casket with no hope of escaping.

°○°○°○°

He's not sure how long he was out for, but when Jameson's eyes fluttered open it's a herculean effort to not let them close again and go back to sleep. His head throbbed in pain, but more so than that, he was cold, and his body immediately began shivering. Which in turn did not help his pounding headache and he groaned low in his chest. 

Tim was the first one to enter his vision and the boy from eight's smile was like a ray of sunlight, "Good morning, James. Thought we really lost you out there. Have a good nap?" He laughed shakily, tucking some of Jameson's hair back under his hat and pulled it more snugly over his ears. 

When he managed to push through the pain in his head and ask how long he had been out, Tamery pipes in that it had been about a day. The twins took turns explaining what had happened up in that tree. 

Jameson got knocked out by something- a chunk of flying ice- and Tim leaped down to catch him. Tamery held onto Tim as he held onto Jameson's dangling body over the rushing snow. It was a miracle the branch didn't snap while it held all three of them at once. They used some of the rope to tie everyone to the trunk and they both held onto Jameson, hoping he wasn't dead.

Eventually the avalanche did stop, and weirdly it seemed like the extra snow just distributed itself across the arena evenly. Must have been some weird game maker stuff. They didn't spend too long thinking about it. The twins worked together to lower Jameson's body down and they assessed the damage. The back of Jameson's head was bleeding sluggishly, but after cleaning as much blood as they could they found it wasn't that deep of a cut- but it still left him out cold. 

They loaded Jameson onto Tim's back and they started walking away from the mountain, seeking shelter so they could take care of each other. Tamery's wrist is properly broken now after trying to catch Tim and was sporting a new splint. The twins managed to find a tight cluster of pine trees and Tim dug out another burrow. Tamery held onto Jameson so he wouldn't lose more body heat and Tim started a low fire just outside their burrow. They needed to keep Jameseon warm as best they could.

5 tributes were killed in the avalanche.

Evidently, the fire did attract another tribute, but Tim had finished them off quickly and drug the body away from camp for pick up. 

Jameson felt a bit numb. Already Tim had killed 2 other tributes. He looked over to him and could now see the slight hollow look in his eyes despite his easy grin. 

"Why didn't you let me go?" Jameson asked, "You could have just dropped my body and let the avalanche take me. Why did you risk your necks for me?" 

Tim scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, "Because we're a team. And I'm not the kind of man to let my friends go without a fight. You can't ditch us that easily, James.”

Friends. Jameson could feel both his stomach twist and his heart warm at the word. It was wonderful that the three of them had bonded, but then reality crashed back onto him like a dead tree. 

Only one walks out. Only one person walks away from the arena alive.

He swallowed that down and pulled Tim into a hug the best he could while laying down. Faintly Jameson was aware they're on camera, so he reached his hand out to Tamery and pulled her into the hug as well.

That night, after they coaxed him into eating and drinking something, Jameson was squished between the twins. They had extinguished and buried the fire under snow, but Jameson still stayed awake for a while, listening to the world outside their little bubble. 

There were no faces in the sky that night.

°○°○°○°

The next morning, they decided to stay hunkered down and give Jameson some time to recover. 

Tamery checked to see if the coast was clear before collecting some sticks to build another small fire once the sun didn't cast the mountain's chilled shadow over their little sanctuary.

All things considered, they were doing okay. They had food and some water left, a small source of warmth and company.

"I didn't see any names last night. What about the night I was knocked out?" Jameson asked Tamery while Tim was out setting some more snares. They lost their original traps to the avalanche and the jerky and bread were gone. 

Tamery hummed in thought as she set two apples next to the fire to roast them, "Girl from 12, and boy from 11 I think. I didn't really pay attention to all of them but I heard a few more canons during the avalanche so that's…" She paused to count in her head, "13 total? I think?" 

Jameson nods slowly. 13 dead, and he would have been one of them if Tim's hand slipped. He's extremely grateful as he bites into his piece of the last frozen bread roll.

They spent about 2 days in this location. The trees provided cover and they had a good amount of food to ration thanks to the traps. The trio spoke quietly of their lives back home, the family and friends they miss dearly. They even swapped stories to pass the time and keep Jameson from focusing too much on his pain. 

At some point, another canon fired in the distance, and some time later a silver parachute hangs itself neatly on a tree branch. Tim scampered quickly to get it and brought it back into the burrow. 

They're not sure exactly who it was for, but inside was a steaming pot of hot chocolate. Little white puffs still floated around as steam lazily rose up. They each savored one large sip of the creamy drink before they decided to save the rest for later. For a special occasion.

The next morning Jameson decided he's well enough to move again. The twins shared a doubtful look with each other but they packed up camp anyway. The trio decided to head for the opposite mountain. Tamery pointed out that there wasn't snow at the top of one so maybe the rocks were warmer somehow? They didn't think too hard about it, the hot chocolate helped a little but the cold had been slowly getting to them. They needed to move.

Unfortunately they weren't the only ones who had this same idea about the rocks without snow.

When they got to the rock shelf up on the mountain they quickly realized it was occupied. 

A fight broke out and everything happened so fast Jameson barely processed any of it at the moment.

Two larger tributes were cooking at a fire when the trio approached. They had a sword and an axe and they rushed the three of them. Tamery tried using her good hand to swing an ice pick but it was barely any good. Jameson tackled the girl with the axe and wrestled her for it, ripping it from her hands as Tim stabbed at the boy with the spear. Jameson rolled away from the girl and kicked some of the hot coals into the other boy's face- causing him to thrash wildly with the sword. It had cut Tim's arm deep enough for him to drop the spear and the other girl to nab it. Tamery came around behind her however and plunged an icepick into the girl's back. The other boy screamed and turned on Jameson, but Tim stepped in front of him as the sword plunged deep into Tim's side. 

Jameson was in shock and couldn't move- watched Tim fall to his knees clutching his side. Tamery snarled and leaped at the bigger boy. Jameson didn't see what she did because he was focused on Tim, but soon enough two canons fired and Tamery limped back over. Covered in blood. Jameson was just quick to leap and catch Tim as he finally topped over.

Tamery's face broke as she fell to her knees with them and ripped her brother away from Jameson's hands to hold him close herself. She wailed into the quickly cooling night air and Jameson crawled over to be by them. Taking Tim's hand he whispered to him over and over again, "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry. Why would you do that-? You- I'm so sorry…" 

Tamery tried her best to choke off her tears as she pressed her hand over the rapidly spreading red stain on her brother's light blue jacket. 

Tim coughed faintly, his breathing was shallow but he looked up to the two above him. His lips cracked as he smiled again, "Mind.. mind singing me away, James? Better-" He coughs again, specks of blood spraying out. "Better to hear that than my dumb sister crying." He chuckled wetly.

Tamery smacked him, but it was barely a tap. She pressed her forehead to his and tried to swallow her tears and noises down.

Jameson quickly wiped his eyes and nodded quickly. He took a shaky breath and started to sing a gentle tune, never letting go of Tim's already cold hand. A song about the warmth of home and being surrounded by those who love you most. Jameson cursed himself for letting his voice shake, but Tim didn’t seem to mind. His hazel eyes drifted from his beloved twin back to Jameson and finally settled onto the sky. Strange lights of greens and blues and purples danced over their heads. Tim thought they are the most beautiful colors he had ever seen. 

His hand went slack in Jameson's and the canon fired. 

It took a long time to pull Tamery away from her brother's body after Jameson slipped the other tribute's and Tim's unneeded supplies into his own backpack. 

"Tam, we have to go-"

"No! I'm not leaving him!" 

"Tamery, it's not safe here- more people will be coming soon. We have to move!" He pleaded.

"Fuck you, James! Its your fault this happened! If you had just-"

"What could I have done?! We were both fighting and he stepped in front of me! So much was happening I-"

"YOU COULD HAVE NOT LET MY BROTHER DIE!" She screamed, her voice echoing across the arena. "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" It felt like the whole mountain shook under the weight of her grief. 

Jameson swallowed hard and set his mouth into a tight line. He knew deep down she was right. But there wasn't anything he could do. In that moment he swore he was going to get them off that fucking mountain. The easy way, or the hard way. 

Turned out, to nobody's surprise, it was the hard way. Jameson had to pry Tamery away from her twin's body and practically drag her down the mountainside kicking and screaming. Which was impressive in its own right because she gained a massive gash in her leg to match her broken wrist during the fight. 

It took about an hour for Jameson to find a cave and pull Tamery inside. She was exhausted at that point, refusing to look at JJ as he did his best to clean and wrap her injuries with the new medical kit he took. He handed her a cup of water from the thermus and some rabbit meat and sat against the opposite wall to her. She spent a long time just staring at the objects in her hands uncomprehendingly before she finally took a bite. When she did, Jameson suppressed a sigh of relief as he moved to make a small fire on the stone floor. They're deep enough in the cave he wasn't too worried about their light being spotted immediately. 

Though upon lighting the small blaze he realized they're not a cave. What he thought was the back of the cave seemed to stretch further into total darkness. It was a tunnel. A tunnel that stretches past the pitiful light of the fire and down deep into the heart of the mountain. Jameson swallowed hard then suddenly hoped Tamery didn't notice. What could be in there?

Tamery didn't notice as she pulled her knees close to her chest and buried her face in her arms, effectively blocking out the world. Jameson's heart broke for her. He could not even begin to fathom what must have been going through her head. Losing a sibling was one thing, but your twin? The person you had literally spent your entire life with? That was something else entirely.

"Guess I'll take the first watch." He mumbled to himself half heartedly, warming his hands over the small fire and scanning back and forth. From the pitch black night at the mouth of the cave, back into the pitch black nothingness in the throat of the tunnel. The fire seemed to temporarily protect them from being swallowed with its small bubble of golden light.

He didn't dare to even hum to comfort himself, afraid that a tune would carry farther than he'd think and alert someone- or something, whatever- to their location. 

Jameson watched the coals burn low and wondered to himself if he could have done anything to save Tim. Maybe it should have been Jameson that died on the mountainside with the twins watching over him instead. But no. He stepped in the way, and Jameson couldn't stop stubborn Tim even if he had a chance to try.

Jameson's head was dipping dangerously low when he decided he couldn't stay awake any longer. He got up and gently shook Tamery awake, but she wasn't asleep at all. Her gray eyes rimmed red and her cheeks were damp. Heavy purple bags rested under her eyes as tears quickly cooled her face. Jameson took Tim's- his glove off to wipe them away before they froze to her skin. 

They stared at each other, grief and regret bouncing between them like a hall of never ending mirrors, until Tamery grabbed his jacket front and pulled, hugging Jameson tight. He did not hesitate to return it just as fiercely. 

Backs against the cave wall, Jameson dozed on Tamery's shoulder with the thermal blanket wrapped around them both. They didn't utter a word to each other as the fire flickered out.

°○°○°○°

It was hard to tell what time Jameson was shaken awake. It was still dark outside the cave's mouth and Tamery looked panicked as she slapped her good hand over his mouth. Jameson was about to protest when there was the sound of something inside the tunnel.

Breathing. Low and slow. Sleeping.

Their eyes silently met and communicated. As fast as they dared, the two picked up their camp and carefully made their way to the mouth of the tunnel. Pausing every few steps to let the faint crunching sounds of their boots on rock settle back into harsh silence.

A shift and rumble of an unseen beast's body made them pause after a few more steps. Daring to look back, they saw a set of glowing yellow eyes illuminated in the darkness.

There was a beat of stillness.

Jameson and Tamery bolted, practically threw themselves out of the mouth of the tunnel and down the mountainside like two bullets shooting from a gun. All the while an enormous furred beast chased them with slobbering snarls and booming steps. When it roared, Jameson and Tamery couldn't stop their own screams of terror as they fled, half running and half rolling down the lower part of the snow covered mountain. 

Adrenaline gave them the wings to fly through the ice-covered powder in the dim early morning light and Jameson's mind reeled.

Where could they even go? 

There were very few places to hide, and there was no way Tamery could climb a tree fast enough with her leg. His head throbbed with the remnants of his lingering concussion. 

Suddenly, an idea hit Jameson like a block of ice. 

"Get to the cornucopia!" He yelled, turning on his heel as he threw the axe at the hulking white monster that was all dingy white fur and yellowed teeth. Some kind of muttation that Jameson vaguely figured was inspired by a bear of some kind. If the bear was built like a brick house and had two extra rows of shark teeth where its gums should be.

The axe struck the creature in the shoulder but it easily dislodged from its flesh, the weapon flying away in an arch before being lost to the powder immediately. But it bought Jameson enough time to catch up to Tamery who was limping as fast as she could. He managed to help drag her along and he forced himself to ignore her cries of pain. He yelled encouragingly at her to keep moving. Just keep running. They were almost there!

As soon as they broke through the trees that surrounded the golden cornucopia, the careers who made camp inside it immediately burst out with weapons drawn. When the beast shatters two trees in its rampage, however, the tribute's faces turn from a pack of dogs on a hunt, to a bunch of terrified children.

There was a flurry of confusion as Jameson and Tamery ran across the ice- the cleats on their boots gripping into the ice and allowed them to not slip on their asses. In fact, it allowed Jameson to shove Tamery out of the way as they split off, sending her skidding across the ice with a shout and allowing the giant beast- with no traction on the ice- to slide right into the career pack.

The sounds of screams and crunching bones filled the crisp morning air and Jameson froze for a moment to witness the carnage. 

The stark contrast of bright red blood on the pristine white snow was dizzying. He could feel the meager dinner from last night churn in his stomach, but he had no time to throw up,  as one of the careers from District Two tackled him to the ground. She was furious, yelling at Jameson and trying to plunge a massive hunting knife into his head. He dodged left and right before getting his spiked boots under her and kicking her off to go sliding- away from the beast. 

A couple arrows stuck out from its matted fur but it barely seemed to notice as he was tearing into the stomach of the girl from 1. Jameson quickly scrambled to his feet and looked for Tamery in the confusion, spotting her darting into the mouth of the cornucopia. He quickly joined her and they both hid behind a black crate, splattered in the blood from the other tributes. 

Tamery clutched her freshly bleeding leg. Teeth clenched so she wouldn't cry out when Jameson put pressure on her reopened wound with a cloth. They both listened for an agonizingly long time as the beast tore the small career pack to shreds. The wet sounds of meat being torn from bone and whimpers of agony ringing out into the air as snow began to fall. Snowflakes immediately melting into the warm pools of blood.

Jameson located a small handheld crossbow among the piles of supplies located inside their hiding place. He loaded it as quietly as he could. He knew it wouldn't do much against that creature, but if a tribute came in there all it would take is one shot to the head…

The sound of the three booming canon shots seemed to scare the beast back to its cave, grunting and huffing with every step to keep its balance on the ice.

Jameson and Tamery stayed where they were, not wanting to expose themselves to survivors or draw the attention of the monster back. 

They waited and listened as the hovercrafts retrieved the dead before they let out matching sighs of relief. Jameson handed the crossbow to Tamery before moving to check on her leg. The torn cloth bandage was soaked through so Jameson turned his back to look for a medical kit, “They have to have some proper bandages stashed somewhere in h-”

He froze in place when he heard the click of the safety being flicked off of the crossbow. Horrified, Jameson didn't need to turn around to know that Tamery had the bolt trained on Jameson's back. He slowly lifted his hands in surrender and turned around to face the stand-alone twin. 

Jameson searched her face and could barely get the whisper out around the knot in his throat, "Why?" 

Tamery just shook her head, face hard set with tears cutting through the smudges of grime and blood on her face. "Get. Out." She spat through her teeth. Jameson felt himself shaking.

Confused and still pumped with adrenaline. He shook his head and went to speak again but she cut him off, "Get out, Jameson Jackson! I don't want anything more to do with you!" Her voice was rough, it starkly contrasted the anguished scream from last night with a coldness that cut through Jameson's bones. "You have put me and my brother into so much danger. It was your idea to climb that mountain and it was your idea to lead that THING into the careers! How long until you get me killed with your stupid plans! Just like Tim!" Her eyes narrowed, “Was that your game plan from the start? Make us trust you then get us all murdered?”

“No! Tamery I would never-”

“Bullshit! One one of us walks out of here Jameson Jackson and it shouldn't be you.”

"Then why don't you pull the trigger?" Jameson asked, his chest twisted into a harsh knot. This is probably the first time in his life he has truly felt betrayal.

Tamery hesitated. Jameson could see her hand shaking the small crossbow, "Because," she took a deep breath, her hazel eyes once holding glimmers of a rainbow, now were dark like a raging thunderstorm, "Because Tim would be so disappointed in me."

For the second time in 24 hours, Jameson's heart shattered.

“Tamery-”

“Go.” She growled, baring her teeth with a cornered animal.

Jameson swallowed hard and slowly stood up, never turning his back on the crossbow trained on him as he grabbed a sack of random supplies. He wanted to say goodbye, but something from the treeline startled him. He took off running as soon as left the mouth of the cornucopia.

He swore he could feel his heart bleeding in his ribcage. 

This was the nature of the games. It was better this way. Better than having your friend kill you at the end of the line. He held in a sob.

Jameson ran deep into the forest before scaling a tree, wrapping his arms around the trunk and allowing himself to break. Just a little. Hastily wiping the tears from his cheeks before they could freeze to his skin. Taking deep shaky breaths he tried to center himself again. But the images of Tim dying and Tamery's fury flashed in his mind and the tears started up all over again.

He had to get it together. Tamery had half of the supplies when they escaped the cave so Jameson maybe had a day or two left of food if he rationed. She took the flint and steel as well as his silver thermal blanket. Upon searching the sack of supplies he hastily grabbed, all he could find was more rope, a knife, and some sort of.. wheels? He picked one out of the bag and realized it was a pulley. There were only a few of them but the rope threaded into them perfectly.

Gears turned in Jameson's mind and he started formulating a plan. Afterall, there were only so many of them left.

Going back to their old camp in the cluster of trees, Jameson began using his ice pick to dig a new burrow. But he wouldn't be sleeping in there. No, under a layer of snow, Jameson carefully laid out a rope snare that led back to the highest tree in the cluster. Carefully weighted with a heavy branch, all Jameson had to do was wait for someone to go inside and investigate and the trap would go off.

He built a fire, not caring that it gave away his position in the quickly setting light. That was the point. He toasted the last apple, boiled more snow into water, and sipped the hot chocolate. The sweet creaminess of it felt bitter in Jameson's stomach now, but it was warm and filling. He threw some green pine branches onto the fire, immediately making it more smoky, before he traced his own steps in the snow towards the big tree. Jameson had made sure to thoroughly stomp around the area so his tracks would be harder to follow to his hiding place. He shook some of the lower branches free of their snow, just for added measure.

Then he hunkered down in a high up branch and waited.

This was by far his worst night in the games. 

Without Tim and Tamery's body heat or the protection of the thermal blanket, Jameson could feel his body heat being leached out of him with every gust of frigid wind. He tried to see it as a blessing when the snowflakes started coming down in larger globs. The fact that it was snowing at all meant it was technically warmer than a cloudless night sky. And feeling the snow pile against his back, he convinced himself it would add more cover from the wind. Jameson pulled the hood of his jacket tight over his face and tried to stay upright. 

His head was pounding from his concussion and the exertion of the day. Between that and the bitter cold he wanted so badly to just sleep. He didn't feel the cold as much when he slept, but he knew it would be a bad idea.

Catching himself dozing, Jameson began to wrap some extra rope around himself and the trunk of the tree when he heard it.

Snap!

Jameson tried not to jump, instead freezing in place and listening carefully to the movements below.

In the distance he heard a canon fire.

Who was that? Tamery? Jameson thought to himself before getting thrown back into his own situation. 

He looked down and saw a tribute, cautiously walking into his fake camp like a nervous rabbit, ready to bolt at any moment. It was hard to tell who it was- they were bundled so much in a long blue scarf that Jameson couldn't see much of their face. But it didn't matter. 

Setting his resolve, Jameson put a hand on the log weight attached to his trap and watched as the tribute approached the fire. He watched the tribute take their thin gloves off to warm their hands- Jameson could see from his place in the tree that their fingers were blue. Almost touching the licking flames with seemingly no fear of being burned.

They did this for a minute, giving up as they turned to the burrow, carefully crawling inside hoping to seek shelter from the wind. 

There was pressure on the rope.

With a heaving push, Jameson shoved the heavy log out of its wedge and the rope snapped tight, ensnaring whoever was inside by their ankles as it dragged them out. The burrow collapsed on top of them before their body got ripped across the firepit. They let out a scream as the hot coals caught on their clothes and started to burn almost immediately. But the rope and pulley system Jameson rigged wasn't finished in its trajectory. Jameson must have miscalculated-  because it practically flung the tribute into the air before gravity clutched them in its fist and slammed them back down onto the frozen earth. It looked as though something invisible grabbed the tribute's chest and tried to drag their heart directly into the ground.

There was a sickening thud and crunch, but no canon fire. Jameson scuttled down his tree with his knife in his teeth. He didn't want whoever that was to suffer- so without even registering their frostbitten face, he plunged the knife down. Through their scarf, and into their throat. 

The canon sang. 

This was the first person Jameson had directly killed. Sure, he led the beast to the career pack, but before that it was Tim and then Tamery who had actual blood on their hands. This was the first time it properly stained his now-gray gloves.

Red oozed from the tribute's neck, seeping deep into the pristine white snow. Globs of snowflakes were already working hard to try and cover the red as Jameson cut the tribute's ankles free and backed away into the shadow of the falling sun's light.

As soon as the craft crested back over the mountain out of sight, the Panem anthem began to play, displaying the faces of those who had fallen that day.

Three out of four members of the career pack, someone Jameson barely recognized from the training center, and the little boy from 10. The one Tamery wished would join their party if they ever found him. Was he the one Jameson just killed? 

He immediately discarded the thought, knowing it to be true deep down but if he let it, the thought would break him. 

No, that person was too big to be the boy. He remembered the twelve year old being so much smaller. It couldn't have been him. But he was so much lighter than Jameson expected for any of the older tributes…

He slammed the lid shut on that train of thought before it could go any further. He screwed it tight and hid it away deep in his mind. He couldn't afford to lose his grip now.

Only one walks out.

It shouldn't have been Jameson.

It should have been that little boy.

What did they all think of him now back home in District 7?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jameson carefully took apart his trap and stashed everything in his backpack. Sparing a glance to the blood stain in the snow before turning harshly and walking out of the ring of trees. 

He couldn't stay here and let the guilt swallow him whole. 

°○°○°○°

Trudging through the snow was difficult when it had gotten to knee-height and he could barely see in front of his own face. Jameson forced himself to keep moving, steering clear of the hollow areas under the trees where no snow collected. 

He remembered his aunt warning him and Maria never to play in them when they were children. Yes, it looked like a perfect place to build a fort, but Marry grabbed one of the branches and gave the whole tree a harsh shake. It sent pounds of snow crashing down through the branches and filled the gap almost instantly. 

"You would be buried under there and suffocate in the snow. Nobody would be able to find your tiny bodies until spring when it all melts away." 

Maria had burst into tears at the scary thought, but they both got the message loud and clear. 

Still, the patches of dry-ish earth under the canopy of a pine tree looked extremely inviting. A shelter ready and waiting to keep someone trapped forever. Maybe one of the faces in the sky had tried that already.

How many of them were left now? Jameson thought to himself, shivering with each step he took. He counted in his head as he wrapped his arms around himself. 

He had to stop when he realized. 

Killing that other tribute meant that Jameson was now in the top three. Everything was happening so fast in the games he barely registered that they had made it that far.

It was him. Tamery. And the career girl from District 2.

Jameson immediately scaled up a tree to hide, a new shot of adrenaline heating him from his core. Surely the game makers wanted a grand show for the finale. So what on earth could it be?

It took about an hour of him clinging to the tree, the cold slowly tempting him to doze off when he got his answer.

The mountain with no snow on its top, it wasn't a mountain at all.

It was a volcano. 

The top of it burst into a shower of orange fire and rock. All Jameson could do was watch in horror as the lava rapidly spewed out like a giant canopy, sending burning rock and magma across the entire arena.

But after the first spew, Jameson watched helplessly as the main river of lava flowed directly towards the cornucopia. Replacing the ice field with boiling magma. The steam from rapidly melting snow connecting with the unrelenting lava blocked out any visibility in a barrier of white. Jameson couldn't see what was happening down there but all he could think about was Tamery.

All of the lava seemed to flood directly into the ice field, but burning hunks of rock still flew across the entire arena, catching some patches of the forest on fire in an instant. Jameson knew he had to move, but where could he go? 

Even if he did try to run away, the game makers would try to either flush him back towards the others or lead them to him. He was paralyzed with indecision until he heard the canon fire. Jameson snapped his head up to the sky to see the image of Tamery, his friend from District Eight, blaze across.

“Tamery…” Jameson whispered, willing himself not to let it come out as a cry.

Something inside of him shifted. It was like he was drawn back into his own mind as his body moved without his input.

Jameson climbed down the tree, ignoring how the top had caught alight. 

He couldn't fully comprehend what he was doing or what was happening around himself. His hands moved independently from his mind.

Tying knots, looping rope around branches, a small ball of fire whizzing past his cheek-

He chased the ball of fire to where it landed. It had melted a deep hole through the snow and partway into the ground. He followed it with his ice pick and started to dig.

By god did he dig.

His icepick moved fast but rhythmically down, down, down into the earth as the world around him began to glow brighter.

At some point he found himself grunting with effort to climb out of the hole he had made. 

How had he dug that so fast? It didn't matter. 

Jameson watched his stiff hands as they set up a very similar snare to the one he made earlier that morning. The one that killed the small boy from District 10. Only someone so small could have flown so high.

Jameson found himself wishing that this trap would actually work on someone bigger than a scrawny twelve year old.

It didn't matter. His mind blurred as he finished his project, not fully sure what this thing would do but he covered the pit with a layer of pine branches and snow. 

Jameson climbed a tree that wasn't on fire and waited.

Naturally, the game makers didn't want this going on forever, so it wasn't long until Jameson heard crashing footsteps and unhinged laughter from the woods. The girl from District 2 staggered into view from below, and Jameson felt nothing.

Dancing flames licked at the trees behind her as she called into the night air in a sing-song voice, “Jaaaamesooonnn,” She sang and Jameson became an ice statue. 

“Jamie-son, Jamie-son, Jamie-son JACK-son!” The girl sang in the same jaunty tune that Lucky Flickerman had playfully done at the interview. He could see her now through the branches, half of her body was covered in cuts and burns, her snow clothes flaked away from her in chunks of ash. “Come on out, little songbird.” She mocked in a cooing tone, another cackle seemed to rip from her throat unbidden, “COME ON OUT!” She yelled, arms throwing her loaded bow around with an arrow nocked into place.

Between the cave beast attack and the volcano, she must have completely lost her mind. Her voice dipped low as she scanned the trees around her, singing quietly in a haunting tone,  “Come out, come out wherever you are…” She giggled as if this was a child's game of hide and seek. 

Jameson felt himself slipping, so he carefully tried to shift his weight to get a better hold onto the tree-

The branch snapped under his hand in betrayal. As quickly as it broke the girl from 2 let an arrow fly, striking him directly in the knee. 

A cry rips from Jameson as he feels his entire kneecap shatter on impact. One hand shook as it hovered over the arrow sticking out of his body and he debated if he should pull it or not.

Jameson's gaze locks onto the girl just as she shot another arrow at him like he was an unsuspecting squirrel clinging to the bark. His hand flew up instinctively to try and catch the bolt as it lodged right into his throat.

He tried to gasp as Jameson fell from the tree like a bird shot from the air. His leg with the arrow through it slammed against a branch on his way down before he fell onto his side in a pile of snow. He was choking on his own blood as he tried to grip the arrow in his neck, too in shock to pull it out or do anything at all except struggle to breathe through the blood.

As he desperately struggled to breathe, the girl from two couldn't stop laughing. Her cackle ringing like scrapes on a chalkboard through the air. He looked at her with one eye that wasn't full of snow and just watched her, unable to do anything else. 

Her arms were clutched over her stomach, her laugh howled like one of those hyena muttations Jameson had seen the year prior. She dropped her bow and stumbled around in circles, smiling wide at the sky, “Ladies and gentlemen!” She called, the cloud of her breath easily seen as she stepped backwards towards Jameson, “Your winner… of the HUNGER G-” 

Her words were cut short as she stepped back, directly into the hole that Jameson had dug. 

Her weight broke through the thin layer of branches that concealed the pit and her body dropped down like a bag of stones. She screamed before the rope caught around her throat- cutting off her windpipe and quickly snapping her neck thanks to the extra height of the short drop. 

Jameson lied there, dumbfounded and drowning in his own blood when he heard the canon fire.

It was like a dream when a disembodied voice spoke like a fading radio in Jameson's ear, “Ladies and gentlemen, our winner for the 26th Hunger Games!” 

Jameson allowed himself to close his eyes as the fire blazed around him. He finally felt warm even as the snow tried to blanket him in white.

°○°○°○°

They told him it was two days later when he woke up.

For what felt like a short eternity, floating in the darkness of his own head, Jameson Jackson was certain that he was dead. 

He was certain that if he kept searching this void he was in, eventually he would find his parents and maybe the twins somewhere. But no.

When his eyes fluttered open, he knew immediately he was alive because everything hurt.

His head was pounding, he couldn't move his leg, and his throat felt like he swallowed some of that lava directly. When he cried out in pain his voice sounded gargled, completely unrecognizable. It had even hurt to whisper. 

Very quickly the doctors ordered him not to speak as they injected morphling into his system. The drug dulled the pain almost instantly, and all other emotions that tried surface as well, allowing him to float on a pink cotton cloud of blissful nothingness.

He was very lucky, so they told him. It was hard to believe anything when his mind felt like cloud soup. 

They said they were quick to extract him from the arena. That they were able to save his leg for the most part though he would probably walk with a limp. And they said they managed to drain the blood that had collected in his lungs. But there was something else. 

A doctor with a soothing voice, one that was kind and had a soft face full of sympathy, gently told Jameson that they weren't so lucky with his vocal cords. 

It was a miracle in itself; the chin of his locket had caught the arrow just enough so it wouldn't fully enter his throat. It was that small amount of extra resistance that saved his life. But he was still pierced in just the right way. The woman held his hand and told him he would probably never speak clearly again. 

These words didn't sink in until they weaned him off the morphling two weeks later. Then it came to him all at once like a crushing wave.

Jameson Jackson would never speak again. 

Jameson Jackson… would never sing again.

He followed the doctor's orders and did not even so much as hum. They gave him a wheelchair that his mentor used to push him onto the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman again. The show host obviously carried the conversation after a joke about him being quieter than an avox as they went over the two hour highlight reel of the games. 

The world around Jameson was completely gray. Eyes not able to focus on anything as everyone's words sounded like his head was completely underwater.

He felt hollowed out, like an empty puppet getting moved across a stage without any of the strings in his own hands.

At some point, Jameson registered that he was finally home, back in District 7, but it wasn't his original house. No, they carted him directly to one of the houses in the Victor's Village where his Aunt Marry had already begun moving some of their belongings into it.

For a long time Jameson just stayed curled up on the couch. Staring off into space or gazing into the fire with a heavy pile of blankets over him. He vaguely understood when people came to see him, but none of the pairs of legs or blurred faces registered in his brain. The gentle fingers that ran through his hair were unfamiliar as they lulled him into fitful nights of sleep.

He didn't really know when he came back to himself. But one day, Jameson found himself sitting in front of the fireplace as it was burning low with glowing embers and.. wood shavings?

Jameson looked down, confused, at his hands and was surprised to find a whittling knife in one and a piece of wood in the other. The wood didn't have a defined shape, not really. He slowly turned it in his hands trying to decipher what it was he was making with curiosity. It looked vaguely like an oval. All the corners and edges were rounded, but nothing else remarkable aside from the texture. 

Looking down at himself again, he found his lap full of wood shavings, some shifted as he lifted his arms in mild bewilderment. There was way more than what should have accounted for the wood piece currently in his hand.

He blinked, unsure how he got here, but tentatively resumed adding to the pile. The glide of the small sharp knife steadying his mind.

Some of the wood shavings flew off into the fire as he worked and Jameson realized that's probably why he was sat here. To get as many pieces as he could into the fire and then mostly likely sweep the rest in afterwards.

But he didn't remember where he got these things. He didn't remember moving from the couch. How long had be been sat here?

Upon registering that he did, in fact, have a body, his leg screamed. 

Jameson tried to scream too, but it came out sounding horrible. Choked off and gnarled and like it's still full of pine smoke. Jameson dropped his tool and gripped his leg tight, trying desperately to stop the shooting pain that traveled from his knee to his ankle and all the way back up to his hip and spine. Every movement felt like knives in his bones as hot tears rolled down his face as he let out strangled sobs. 

This seemed to alert someone nearby because Aunt Marry quickly came around the doorway, completely in shock. But it passed as she rushed to him with someone Jameson couldn't see behind her in tow.

When they got Jameson back to the couch and brushed off most of the wood shavings, they carefully helped to prop his leg up on a stool. He kept his eyes screwed shut as the waves of pain rolled through him. A hand found his own and he squeezed. 

A minute later when the pain finally subsided, Jameson opened his eyes to see tanned hands holding out a small plate of food and a cup of water. He takes the cup and plate in shaky hands as he finally looked to his Aunt beside him, and up at the girl before him. 

Maria. His Maple. She was here and smiling down at Jameson with barely contained joy.

“Map-” He tried to say, but his throat felt like it caught fire again, sending him into a coughing fit. He felt soothing hands on his back and heard Marry gently encourage him to drink the water. 

He did and it's the most refreshing cup of water he has ever had in his life- downing the rest of the cup quickly. 

Maria pulls one of the plush chairs over and sits in front of Jameson as his aunt sits close at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders protectively. 

Maria begins to sign, “I… We thought you were gone for good, Jamie.” 

It takes a second for Jameson's brain to click back into place to remember how to sign, but tentatively he does so back, “I think I was. For a little while.” 

Maria's honey brown eyes sparkled with tears, “But you're back. You're home.” 

For the first time, it actually hit him.

Jameson Jackson had won the Hunger Games. 

He had won and now he was home again. Home with his aunt and his best friend and his District. He felt a lump form in his throat trying not to cry. He just opened his arms out to Maria.

She didn't hesitate as she threw herself from the chair into his arms, both of them clinging to each other like either of them would disappear if they let go. Aunt Marry wrapped her arms around both of them and they sat quietly like that for a very long time, bodies shaking from time to time with tears of relief.

°○°○°○°

The flashbacks had become part of Jameson's new normal. Alongside with his leg occasionally giving out from under him and needing a cane to walk, and almost exclusively using sign language to communicate, the flashbacks and nightmares have become part of his routine. 

He does pick up the lumberjack's woodpecker code for easier translation around town- tapping out small phrases against his cane fashioned from an off cut oak branch- but he doesn't get much of a chance to use it when something reminds him of the games. A sound of breaking bone from the butcher, a particular cackling laugh, the first cold wind of winter- his mind slipped back into the arena. 

Most often it just makes Jameson freeze, mind drifting off and becoming unresponsive. But on more than one occasion now, Jameson has snapped back into himself when a large pair of peacekeeper arms hoisted him into the air. He quickly took stock and realized he attacked another person in the middle of the square. The people around him looked a mixture of angry and terrified.

Another part of his new normal, for obvious reasons, was the people of District 7 began to avoid Jameson. Either from politeness, a fear of awkward conversation, wariness due to his actions outside the games, or even to avoid their own sadness of never hearing him sing again. It didn't matter.

They kept their distance. And in turn so did Jameson. 

He would only leave his house to purchase food or more off cuts of timber, then go back to his house as quickly as his leg would allow. No friendly waves. No lingering. No small talk. Keeping everyone at arm's length so he wouldn't reach for them when his mind replaced their faces with the boy's who killed Tim.

°○°○°○°

The Victor's Village was left mostly untouched for a long time in 7, having only been built a handful of years ago along with Snow's changes of the entire proceedings of how the games were conducted. 

The houses were a bit gaudy in Jameson's opinion. Though, he did enjoy the extra privacy being separated from the rest of the District gave. But he knew Aunt Marry wasn't as thrilled about it.

Before going on his Victory Tour, Aunt Marry told Jameson that she had decided to move back into their old home over their small general goods store. Jameson tried not to take it personally, he knew Marry's knees weren't like they used to be and the shop was on the opposite side of town. He told her it was alright and pulled his childhood wagon that carried her things.

The camera crew came a week before he was set to board the train, and Jameson gave them a tour of his new home. Showing off a small collection of the creations he has whittled since being home again. 

It was a new thing the Capital was trying along with many other ideas. The victor of the Quarter Quell, a girl named Marvin from District 4, was so fascinating to the citizens of the Capital that they wanted to see more of her after her victory. So they sent a crew to her home and interviewed her. She showed off the hobby she picked up to spend her free time and the people adored it. Marvin's pastime was tying overly intricate, decorative nets- weaving beads and crystals and colorful pieces of coral into some. So because of this popular concept,  Jameson was advised to do something similar to show to the people of Panem on television what the heck he's been up to. Minus the nightmares, the flashbacks, the crippling anxiety, and the chronic pain he now dealt with.

So he stuck with wood carving.

He whittled a myriad of things by that point. Mostly animals he would see running around their forests. Figurines of squirrels, birds, little bears. He also tried creating more complicated things. Spinning tops, perfectly smooth spheres, pipes. And… dolls. 

The camera crew actually flinched when Jameson first pulled them out.

Little dolls with linked-together limbs, they could be moved about by strings from above. Jameson had made a little under a dozen wooden marionettes that were carefully carved and painted to resemble tributes from his games. 

The girl from District Two who shot him. The little boy from District Ten he killed with the trap. The three careers that were killed by the snow beast mutt. The two larger tributes up on the mountain that killed Tim. Tamery and Tim. And finally, one of himself. That one wasn't as carefully made as the others, Jameson's stylist pointed out, “I think the leg on this one is broken. And there's some kind of scratch here on the neck.” Jameson pretended not to hear the comment.

“I plan to carve all the other tributes,” Aunt Marry translated Jameson's sign for the cameras when they started rolling. “I may not have interacted with many of them personally, but it's my way of trying to honor their memory.” That collected a round of heart-warmed coos from the crew, despite their obvious discomfort of how creepy the whole hobby seemed to them. 

“The faces freak me out, JJ!” One of the members of his prep team had cried when he first saw them, “They almost look dead!”

“They are.” He signed and Marry translated uneasily.

They stopped making comments about the puppets after that and tried to wrap up filming quickly. Good. He wanted them all out of his house.

Yes, Jameson did want to honor the fallen in some way of his own. But in reality, this strange hobby was one of the only ways for him to stop seeing the dead in his nightmares. 

He would lock himself away in the attic of the house and spend days, sometimes even weeks on a single marionette. Carving and painting away in hopes that the subject's ghost would stop haunting him in his dreams. But they would always come back eventually. 

The completion of each project gave ease for a few days, not showing up in Jamesons dreams at all. But a new face would take their place. The previous ghost would come back occasionally, but they were no longer screaming.

Each stroke of the knife dug the tribute out from a prison of wood, revealing their features so they were no longer trapped in an awful, dark place. The only time his hands didn't tremble was when he painted them. 

°○°○°○°

Returning from the Victory Tour around the entire country, Jameson was exhausted. 

Smiling for the cameras and standing in the center of the stage signing to the families of the fallen tributes. He didn't try to say anything other than what was written on the cards. Jameson found out quickly when trying to say more to the parents of Tim and Tamery in District 8, that his Capital escort did not actually know sign language, so she was completely lost as a “translator” if he went off script. He tried not to be too upset, it wasn't her fault, but he felt completely silenced by the restraints. There were so many apologies and pleads for forgiveness that the lone standing parents would never get to hear. Jameson just prayed that they could see all the anguish in his eyes and hoped it would be enough. I would never be enough.

The only positive thing out of the entire trip was that he got to meet a handful of the Victors from previous games. 

Marvin from District 4, and Henrik from District 3 connected with Jameson quickly and he really liked them. He made pleasant conversation with them once he had acquired a small notepad and pen. 

Marvin was clever and playful in that almost sharp cat-like way. She laughed easily and was liberal with any shreds of gossip she heard from her time in the Capital. Jameson was surprised somebody so vicious and cold in the arena could act like this afterwards. But then again, he knew all too well how strong certain masks could be.

She put Jameson at ease immediately when she glared daggers at the host behind the camera. The young hotshot made a joke about Jameson needing to speak up, and if they weren't being broadcast live, Jameson was sure Marvin would have ripped the host's throat out for good measure. She gave him a hug and told him to write and not be a stranger. Jameson hugged back tightly and promised he would try.

Jameson was genuinely surprised that Henrik was the last Victor in the original arena based in the Capital. A broken down gladiator-inspired theater that once upon a time hosted events like the circus. But was transformed into the death ring it was inspired by originally to host the Hunger Games. Henrik lived in terrible conditions before the games even began and it was remarkable that he didn't die from exposure or infection before entering the arena. 

President Snow changed the proceedings of everything for the 25th Hunger Games. Henrik, for better or for worse, had just missed the change in management.

He was still lanky and thin, but not quite the sickly skeleton he was when he stepped in the ring. Henrik was very intelligent and curious, asking Jameson almost endless questions about sign language and how he learned it.

Jameson decided he liked Henrik when he started taking notes on his palm for an idea, “I lost hearing in my right ear during my games.” Henrik explained, “Learning sign language could prove to be very helpful. Though not many know it in Three… I think I might have an idea.” 

Jameson really did try to follow along with Henrik's techno-babble, but the drinks had started getting to him by that point so he just listened to the soothing tones of his voice without much comprehension.

Jameson wished he could have spoken more privately to both of them, about their experiences in the games and how they try to cope with it all. But the cameras never left his back on the tour, so neither did Jameson's pleasant mask.

He entered the attic almost as soon as he returned home, planning to lose himself into a new project before the ghosts could even try to find him. Stepping inside his now familiar space, his small haven, he stopped in his tracks.

By his work desk, surrounded by piles of wood shavings he never bothered to sweep up, stood Maria. Her frizzy golden hair acted as a halo against the gray snowy backdrop of the window. In her hands she held one of the wooden dolls Jameson had started making before leaving for the tour. 

She turned, revealing to Jameson what he already knew, and his cheeks burned with shame. It was the beginnings of a carving of Maria.

Maria ever so gently set the wooden version of herself back onto the work table, supporting the head as if it were an infant, and turned to fully face Jameson, “Do you see me as dead too, Jamie?” She signed, face trying not to twist in hurt but failing.

“It's not like that, Maple,” Jameson signed back quickly. The only sound in the room was the winter breeze trying to push its claws into the cracks of the house. He repressed a shiver and pushed forward, “I don't make these just for the dead. I make them because I don't want to-” 

“What? Not to lose me?” She snapped, knowing Jameson too well, “Jamie- you're the one who is pushing away from you! Your friends at the paper mill have only seen your face a handful of times since you've come home!” 

“They don't look at me the same anymore! They treat me differently.” He tried to reason.

“Because you can't be their personal radio anymore?” She rolled her eyes with a bitter laugh.

“Because I've killed people, Maple!”

Jameson and Maria had fought only a small handful of times before. Words choked Jameson's throat when he was upset, so they both signed in rapid fire at each other. He remembers once Maria's father had broken them up by saying “Stop yelling!” And it made them all burst into giggles. But in the attic space, they were alone.

Jameson frowned deeply, “I killed innocent people! Children! It doesn't matter that it was the games, I still have their blood on my hands and it can never be washed clean. And since I can't tell anybody what actually happened in my own words, they see me as a murderer. I can't tell them! They think I'm a monster so now they treat me like I'm- Like I am a-”

“A freak?” Maria finished for him, a scowl deep in her features.

Jameson flinched, immediately realizing what he said and his anger flowing out of him in an instant, “Maple-” 

“You think they see you as a freak because you can't speak anymore?” She scoffed, “Jamie, they see you differently because you are different now. When you came home from the games you were catatonic for days! Barely able to move or show you were still alive in your brain! When you did start moving around, all you did was carve. Not even making anything, you just shaved blocks of wood into kindling. And when you did finally wake up you started avoiding everybody like they were going to stab you in the back!” 

“Can you blame me for that?!” 

“No! I understand that! But I do blame you for pushing us all away when all we want to do is help you, Jamie! You have barely spoken to me at all since you've come back!”

“Not like I can speak anymore!”

Maria laughed, bitter and a hint of self-deprecating, “I wonder what that's like!”

Jameson growled in his chest, he didn't care that it burned, “I don't want to hurt you! I've attacked people!”

“You can't control-”

“I don't want to hurt others-”

“I don't want you to hurt yourself!” Maria hiccuped, roughly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and glaring at Jameson, eyes damp but not allowing tears to fall. 

They stand in the silence. A cold draft danced by Jameson and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself with a harsh shiver. He hated the cold now. When the first snow of the year came he rarely left the warmth of the fireplace for anything. The first draft he felt sent him into a panic attack. 

Maria sniffed loudly, signing slower, “You don't take care of yourself when you lock yourself away up here.” She looked around the room, it was still somewhat empty, but a shelf held a collection of small statues, and the marionettes of the fallen tributes hung from the rafters. “You ignore me when I knock and throw pebbles at your window, and you don't eat the food Aunt Marry brings you. You… You disappear, Jamie. And it scares us so badly. We think that you won't come back again every time.” 

Jameson was stunned. He didn't realize he got so engrossed in his work. He looked to his side and seemingly for the first time, noticed a small stack of plates next to the door, untouched. He looked back to Maria and didn't know what to say. His hands fluttered, stumbling over his words and unsure how to respond. 

“Let me stay.” Maria said suddenly.

Jameson was completely bewildered, “What? Why?”

“So you don't have to be alone anymore. So someone can be there to take care of you.”

“No I don't-”

“Why?” She asked quickly, “Why do you so badly want to push me away, Jamie?”

“I don't want to hurt you!”

“You could never hurt me, you're so kind and gentle-”

“I hurt Aunt Marry!” He burst out and that made Maria stop. Jameson took a slow breath, not meeting her eyes for a moment in complete shame. Once he gained the courage again, he looked her in the eye, “Once when I was…” He laughed bitterly, “Gone. She tried to bring me back by touching my shoulder. I must have been back in the arena because I lashed out at her. I wasn't in control of myself, I didn't know what was really happening.” Jameson took a deep breath, “But I hurt her… and if you stay, I could hurt you too. I could kill you, Maple.”

Maria closed her eyes, hiccuping again before wiping her cheeks of the tears that managed to escape. 

He tried to step forward, tried to go comfort her, but his leg screamed, sending daggers from his knee outward. He didn't have his cane so he reluctantly froze in place, putting his body weight onto his other leg with a hiss.

When she opened her again, she looked at Jameson with a hardness of finality that sent an icicle through his heart. He immediately regretted his words and wanted nothing more than to take them all back.

“Maple, wait-” He reached for her.

“I can't do this.” She started to walk towards him, moving to the door behind him. “I'm not standing by and watching as you push me away. I-” Maria shakes her head and throws her hands down in frustration, trying to shove past Jameson but he catches her in his arms.

Maria struggled for a moment before they both lock eyes. Maria's honey brown steady and wet, and Jameson's pale blue desperately searching for… what? A sign that she was joking? No, it was obvious that she was very serious about not wanting to stand by and watch him destroy himself. Perhaps he was looking for a second chance? Again, nothing. Jameson's shoulders slowly slumped in defeat as he forced his eyes not to water.

Maria scanned his face and sighed, standing slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek so lightly he almost didn't feel the whisper of her lips, “Goodbye, Jamie.” And she stepped back slowly, Jameson released his grip, and she left.

Just like that she was gone. Jameson stood still, frozen in time until he heard the front door open and close downstairs. He tried to tell himself that this was for the best for the best, that Maria would be safer and happier away from him. 

His resolve crumbled as another draft of cold wind swept through the room, cutting through to his bones. He finally let his leg give out and he crashed to the floor on his hands and knees. When the pain stabbed him again he rolled onto his side on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He tried in vain to curl so tightly into a ball that he would completely disappear. Fold in on himself enough times he would become a speck of dust and fly far, far away from here. But he didn't turn into a speck of insignificant dust. He laid curled on the floor, ignored the splinters from the stray wood shavings, and screamed.

It took over three weeks for him to finish the doll of Maria.

°○°○°○°

As the years go on, Jameson is expected to be the mentor for the tributes of the reaped District 7 children. Every year he sternly told himself to not get attached or grow actual bonds with any of these children. It would be harder to let them go if he let them find places in his heart. He never followed his own instructions. Because for the next 5 years, he watched over, cared for, and witnessed the death of 10 children from his district. Every time the canon fired for one of his own, it shattered his heart like the arrow shattered his knee. Even though he knew that he did everything he could by treating these children with kindness and encouragement and empathy, it felt as crushing as Tim's death each and every time.

He had marionettes of them all, alongside several others now.

Capital people that taunted and gawked at Jameson like he was an animal at the zoo, filler for his nightmares, they looked more like actual colorful puppets with their ribbons and feathers. You would think that they weren't real people at first glance, with all of their bright colors and painted faces. But they were. And they were discarded into a corner of the room when he was finished. It felt satisfying in a way, throwing them aside like they did to him when his novelty ran out.

Among the colorful cabinet of Capitals, there was also one marionette that was made to look like the young President Snow. A small silk flower acted as the signature rose on his lapel, and Jameson had added the detail of painting the president's hands red. He thought about Tim telling him about the red dye and how it stained his skin to look like blood. Jameson added some gloss to the red on Snow's hands to sell the effect better.

This one, this likeness to the president of Panem, had its strings knotted beyond hope of untangling and wrapped tightly around the puppet's throat. It was thrown harshly into a dark corner of Jameson's workshop, broken and almost buried in the wood shavings that carpeted the attic space up to Jameson's ankles now in certain piles.

This year, like all the others, Jameson put on his clean shirt and favorite blue vest. Carefully doing up the buttons with clever hands and adjusting his simple black bowtie snugly around his throat to hide the scar. He trimmed his mustache and brushed away the remaining wood shavings off his black slacks. Grabbed his cane, and made his cryptid-sighting appearance on the stage. 

His knee always ached worse on Reaping day, but he tried to stand and smile at the blurry faces of his District. He forced himself not to search for Maria in the crowd, again, as he took his seat and waited as the tribute's names were drawn. He forced his hand to not grip and wrinkle his pants against his bad leg.

Ivy Cinders, and Chase Brody. This year's District 7 tributes for the 32nd Hunger Games. And Jameson's new wards.

Seeing the young woman in the crowd, who was obviously pregnant, crying her eyes out for the boy on the stage made Jameson's heart twist in a strange way. And he knew right then and there that he would be breaking his own rule to not get attached for the sixth year in a row.

[berystraw]

I'll be releasing a percy jackson and James hawthorne fic while also a new chapter for Love Leaves Scars this weekend!!

[franklyshipping]

Sticky Situation ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

WOOP NEXT ANON PROMPT! Here we have a fabulous Septic trio getting up to some fun, so LET'S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @jameson-lee-jackson

The doctor was focused, very nearly unblinking. It was perfection he was striving for in this experiment, and so concentration was essential for success. His tongue was poking out through his teeth as he hovered the dropper over the little mound of lime green slime, a residue courtesy of Gooper (just… don’t ask which bit of Gooper it came out of… long story short he has his own toilet now). With his free hand, Dr Schneeplestein dimmed the lights in his office, causing the liquid in his dropper to reveal its properties – it was a glow in the dark solution. He allowed three drops to fall upon the mound of slime, before he kneaded it gently with a gloved hand. He waited five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Then… it happened. The glow.

‘How magnificent! I think we have the correct concentration of the luminescent solution Gooper!’

The doctor said, turning to Gooper who was perched on his shoulder. The glob wiggled with a quiet, happy gurgle in response… but Gooper’s joy was not at the great volume it usually was. All day he’d been watching Schneeple toil and work on hundreds of versions of this slime experiment, with the goal of making the best glow in the dark ectoplasmic substance in time for Halloween, as a surprise feature for all the egos to play with. And, as often happened with the dear doctor, he was so caught up in his work that he hadn’t rested. Not once. As he focused on his next batch, Gooper subtly slid down the doctor’s back and onto the ground, before wibbling his way out of the room. He knew if Schneeple was going to get any rest, he was going to need the right help. So, with an agility that often evades our gooey friend, he rushed through the manor looking for potential compatriots.

Despite how densely populated the manor was at this point, Gooper spent a good half an hour rolling and blopping through the place before he found anyone, but lucky for him they were the perfect duo for what he needed. Anti and Jamie had just finished decorating the main living room with tons of ghost-shaped lights, and the former spotted Gooper with a grin.

‘Well if it ain’t my favourite slimy guy, what’s up?’

Jamie gasped happily when he saw Gooper, giving him a little wave. Gooper cooed, then hopped up and down in an agitated way, before morphing part of his form into tiny hands – this was one of the rare occasions where he needed to communicate actual human sentences. A few minutes of wobbly sign language and accompanying gurgles later, Anti and Jamie were wide eyed as they looked at each other. Anti tossed the remaining LEDs he was holding onto the couch, and got a determined look in his eye.

‘Right, our décor mission is officially on hold. As of now we’re on Operation Get-Schneep-The-Fuck-To-Sleep, agreed?’

Jamie nodded enthusiastically, and after Gooper was scooped onto Anti’s shoulder, the trio headed to the lab, and when they arrived they didn’t bother knocking. As they entered Schneeple’s eyes widened, and he immediately used his body to try and hide his surprise project from them.

‘Woah- hey no no you cannot be in here! I am doing work things!’

However his attempt to hide is too late, and Anti sighs at him with a grin as Jamie sends Schneeple a fond look. Anti folds his arms at the doc, raising an eyebrow.

‘As awesome as your project thingy probably is, we heard a rumour that you’ve not been resting.’

Schneeple gaped for a second, and then noticed Gooper resting on the glitch’s shoulder. He grumbled and muttered.

‘You gooey little snitch…’

Gooper made a raspberry sound at him, and Jamie sent Schneeple the kind of look parents reserved for when their kids were being difficult.

‘Come on Henrik, you promised us you’d rest more!’

He signed, his expression turning pout-like – the expression made Henrik want to melt, as it tended to do with all the egos. All of a sudden, Henrik was pouting back like a little kid who didn’t want his bedtime.

‘I know I know but this ectoplasm is going to be so cool! It’s going to glow and make the manor look spooky!’

‘That won’t matter if you end up sleeping through the spooky season because of exhaustion!’

Anti retorted, before he and Jamie shared a look. They knew that the only way they were going to get Schneeple to see reason… was by force. So they each darted forward, grabbed an arm each, and started just trying to pull Schneeple out of the lab. It was entirely childish, but it was their only option!

‘AH! Hey, you let me go hey–this lab coat is new!’

‘And you look great in it, now come on!’

Anti said, causing a little blush to appear on the doctor’s cheeks as he struggled… but what none of them noticed was the stray bit of slime stuck on the linoleum floor. Slime which, unfortunately, Schneeple ended up slipping on. In an instant the three of them tumbled to the ground in the most clichéd, comedic fashion, and to make it ever better an entire jug of prototype slime got caught by Schneeple’s elbow, and tumbled with them. Anti and Jamie landed less hard whilst Schneeple landed on his back with a loud squelch, the slime cushioning his fall. Jamie’s eyes immediately went wide as his hands moved frantically.

‘Oh my golly are you okay, are you hurt?!’

‘Holy shit that’s a fuckton of slime! I think that coat’ll need dry cleaning.’

Anti snorted, spurring Jamie to elbow him with a pout – but the gentleman was quickly relieved when Schneeple laughed up at them.

‘I’m okay I’m okay it cushioned my fall… but now I am screwed.’

‘Why?’

Jamie asked, but his question was answered as he watched Schneeple try, and fail, to get up. A side effect of this particular slime batch was this it worked as a marvellous adhesive, keeping Schneeple stuck to the ground by his coat and his bare hands, so there was no way he could even escape by wriggling out of his coat. Schneeple sighed.

‘Ah, it’s one of my earlier batches with a sticky side effect… and it will take twenty minutes for it to become malleable enough to remove.’

‘Oh damn, you don’t need to pee do you?’

Anti said, making Schneeple snort and roll his eyes fondly.

‘No Anti I do not need to pee.’

‘Good because we are not close enough for me to be cleaning up your pi–ow!’

Jamie whacked Anti’s arm reproachfully, making the glitch snicker even more. Schneeple let out another quiet sigh as Jamie tilted his head down at him, giving him a sympathetic look. Meanwhile… Anti’s expression turned suddenly, and unnervingly, mischievous.

‘Y’know JJ… I think this is a great opportunity for us.’

Jamie blinked at Anti curiously, and Schneeple got nervous flutters in his stomach when Anti grinned wickedly.

‘I think this is the perfect chance for us to punish our friend here for not resting like he promised.’

Anto cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers playfully in the air, allowing Jamie and Schneeple to cotton on instantly. Schneeple went bright pink as Jamie gasped with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he clapped his hands.

‘Oh what a top idea! I like it!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Hush, promise-breakers don’t get a vote.’

Anti retorted to Schneeple’s little outburst, before he and Jamie knelt over him with delighted looks on their faces… and Schneeple knew he was screwed. Anti hummed and tapped his chin for a moment, before he pushed up the doctor’s sweater vest and shirt to reveal his tummy. Before Schneeple could say another word Jamie’s deft fingers were dancing at his tummy, tickling him with such speed that he shrieked and burst into cackles of varying pitch.

‘AHH! Nononohoho nahahat the tihihickling nohoho plehehease!’

Schneeple tried to wriggle, but it was no use. He was stuck… and he realised it was going to be a long twenty minutes.

‘Aww, must be even worse not being able to move.’

Anti teased, making Schneeple cackle and snort with embarrassment as he wriggled helplessly amidst the resilient slime keeping him on the ground. Jamie giggled and let his fingers tap and wiggle as if he were playing the piano, toying with Schneeple’s soft tummy pouch under his navel. He didn’t stop to sign, but he gave Schneeple a bright grin with his tongue poking out.

‘Guhuhuys plehehehease Ihihi ahaham sohohohorry!’

‘Too late for that, you better get ready to squeal.’

Anti’s grin broadened, showing off his sharp, pearly white teeth as he allowed his eyes to glow a spookier hue of green – he knew when he showed off his scarier side it really made Schneeple more flustered. The doctor trembled as Anti loomed over him, letting out a shy giggle as Anti wriggled his fingers near his armpits.

‘Nonono wahahahait wahaha–EEEEE!’

Anti shoved his blunt nails into Schneeple’s hollows, sliding them against his bare skin under his shirt so he could scratch away at the sensitive area. Having twenty fingers dancing against his ticklish skin, scratching and tweaking relentlessly, had the poor doctor almost incoherent as his voice switched back and forth between countless octaves. At the same time Jamie was letting out soft little giggles, enjoying the way Schneeple’s tummy trembled from the tickles. He leant down and nuzzled it as he used his hands to sign.

‘You have the best tummy for tickles!’

Schneeple went even redder, looking away from Jamie as the comment about his tummy gave him lots of extra flutters.

‘Ihihihi dohoho nahahat!’

Anti bit back a snicker, and grinned at Jamie playfully.

‘I think he’s right, honestly his armpits are just way better!’

Schneeple let out a yelp when Anti pinched his hollows, and Jamie giggled at Anti and narrowed his eyes.

‘No way, his tummy is the best!’

He leant down and pointedly blew a loud raspberry against it, making Schneeple shriek and arch his back.

‘AHA-dohohon’t dohoho thahat!’

Schneeple’s words went entirely ignored as Anti laughed at Jamie, cracking his knuckles playfully.

‘Oh yeah? How about now?’

Anti pressed his thumbs into Schneeple’s armpits and vibrated them nice and deep into the muscles, making Schneeple howl with wide eyes as he tried to tug at his arms – alas, his hands were still stuck in the resilient slime, keeping him helpless to the (now very competitive) tickling Anti and Jamie were giving him.

‘OHOHO MY GAHAHAHA!’

For the next fifteen or so minutes Schneeple’s babbles and shrieks went entirely unheard and Jamie and Anti competed to see who could get the biggest reaction, with Jamie at the doctor’s belly as Anti stuck with his armpits. One minute Anti would scribble with his nails, and Jamie would nibble to make Schneeple’s squeals get louder. Anti would then blow raspberries into Schneeple’s hollows to made him cackle, to which Jamie would flutter his fingers at the edges of Schneeple’s navel to make him snort and kick his legs. It was a wondrous myriad of tickles, and Schneeple felt like he was going mad!

‘OHOHO MY GAHAHAD YOHOHOU AHAHASSHOHOLES STAHAHAP STAHAHAAAP!’

Anti and Jamie couldn’t help but burst into giggles, and Anti let out a thoughtful hum as he stopped his tickling at Schneeple’s armpits.

‘Hmm, you know these two tickle spots look pretty evenly matched… there’s gotta be a special spot around here somewhere, don’t you think?’

Jamie nodded, and Schneeple was left panting as he too had mercy on him. Jamie’s eyes then flicked to where Schneeple’s legs had been kicking… and his face lit up with a cheeky grin.

‘His legs look like they want to join in on the fun!’

‘Ooh you’re so right!’

‘NO DON’T YOU DARE!’

Schneeple exclaimed, his eyes going wide as Anti and Jamie shared a giddy, knowing look. Before Schneeple knew it they’d descended onto his legs, each of them targeting a kneecap each – even though he was wearing jeans, they did nothing to dull the sensations of fingertips pinching and wiggling relentlessly.

‘Oooh you like it here doc?’

Anti teased, using his fingertips to mime the egg-cracking sensation against Schneeple’s right kneecap, causing his leg to jolt as he tossed his head back and forth.

‘YOHOHOU DEHEVIL STAHAHAPPIHIT! NAHAHAT FAHAHAIR!’

Anti snickered, and grinned as he glanced at Jamie. He’s decided to initially skitter over the kneecap before him, but now had slid his fingers to the back of Schneeple’s knee. The flutters kept adorable squeaks and squeals bursting out amidst Schneeple’s main bouts of laughter, and Jamie took a moment to meet Schneeple’s gaze and give him a playful wink. Anti laughed, his eyes twinkling.

‘Oh we gotta do this more often!’

What followed for Schneeple was three minutes that felt like three years, the tickling seeming to slow down time as he laughed and laughed, enduring coos and grins from Anti and Jamie as they went to town on his hypersensitive knees. The jolts and tingles shot all the way up and down his legs as he got the tickling of his life – needless to say, he was definitely wishing he’d invested in more lids for his slime prototypes. Eventually however, Schneeple’s struggles increased and he managed to roll himself out of the, no longer adhesive, slime. Jamie and Anti ceased their tickles as Schneeple lay on his stomach, panting and giggling residually.

‘Thahahat was… sohoho unfahair…’

‘You should’ve got that rest like you promised.’

Anti retorted as Schneeple slid out of his slime-covered coat, sighing as he looked at the glitch with a wry smile.

‘Yeah yeah I know…’

Schneeple fiddled with his fingers as he bowed his head. He did try to rest, really he did, but sometimes he just got so caught up and excited with his projects that all sense of self-preservation took a back-seat in his head. Jamie shifted forward then, and pecked a kiss to the doctor’s cheek as he signed.

‘We only try and make you promise because we love you, you know that right?’

Schneeple smiled, a little of his blush returning at the affection as he nodded.

‘Yeah… I love you too.’

Jamie beamed and wrapped his arms around him, not even caring that he got slime residue on his tailored sleeves. As Schneeple hugged him back, the pair heard a sound halfway between a groan and a retch as Anti grinned at them.

‘You’re so sappy it makes me sick.’

‘Yeah yeah, love you too.’

Schneeple retorted with a snicker as he and Jamie parted… but curiously, Jamie’s smile had fallen. Before Anti or Schneeple could ask what was wrong, he frantically signed.

‘Where’s Gooper?!’

Anti and Schneeple’s eyes widened as the three of them suddenly searched around, particularly on the pile of slime… and then spotted a lump amongst it. Anti hurriedly scooped at the lump, and Gooper was in his hands. The trio felt like their hearts were in their mouths… but then Gooper exhibited a tired squirm, and let out the most colossal burp known to goop-kind. Schneeple looked down at the spilled slime, and realised about half of it had been eaten!

‘Gooper, that is not for eating!’

He admonished with a fond sigh, to which Gooper merely let out a giggly gurgle as he snuggled more into Anti’s hands. Anti petted Gooper softly as Jamie giggled, before signing with a grin.

‘I think we all need a rest now.’

Schneeple rolled his eyes and nodded, and in the space of ten minutes a mound of blankets and pillows was compiled. Schneeple was instantly snoring between Jamie and Anti, whilst Gooper napped at his chest. After rest was had the slime project was resumed, but this time Schneeple had the most enthusiastic assistants possible. Before long they had created the most epic Halloween-vibe ectoplasm the manor had ever seen… and out of a sticky situation had come sweet rest, with even sweeter rewards.

AHHH THANK YOU ALL SOMUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DOOO! LUV YOUS!!

[southerndragontamer]

Happy Birthday Anti

There’s few days that will give someone or something power, Halloween or Samhain depending on the circles you know is the most well known for giving power as the veil between the human world and the spiritual plane is at its thinnest. The Equinoxes, Eclipses, Turning of the Year possibly.

But none of these are as powerful as the day of one’s birth.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you~

Chase felt like he was going to throw up, he was filled with anxiety to the point he’d almost had an asthma attack just getting breakfast from the local diner and he didn’t know why. It kept him pacing around his apartment and a hand on a weapon he hadn’t used in years. It felt like he’d forgotten something extremely important but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was. At least he couldn’t remember until there was a flash of green static across his phone. Until his heart felt like it burst and he scrambled to dial the others. Only for the flood of static through his veins from the contact to turn everything dark as a familiar giggle rang out in his apartment.

Henrik couldn’t stop fidgeting, couldn’t stay still. He paced in his office, down the halls of his clinic, clicked his pen or ran his thumb over his scalpel. His mind whirled as he didn’t remember why he had to obsessively check that Jack was alright, why he felt like he was going to fall into a panic attack if he didn’t move today. Or that’s what he attempted to do, as he tried to make another round his foot caught on what he assumed was the IV line for Jack. He looked down to dismantle it and found strings, there was a skipping from his heart in terrified realization. His attention snapped up as the heart monitor raced. And then went green as he felt familiar pressure coil around his throat and everything started to dim.

Jameson was a mess and he didn’t understand why. He hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d woken up this morning, he’d almost spilled hot water over himself making tea. He had his watch clutched in a death grip, the ticking clock should’ve been reassuring but it felt like each tick was a hammer blow against his sanity. He froze completely as there was the rising static in the air, as he felt the ticking go out of sync, inner workings started to break. There was a flood of utter fear as his aura snapped out and tried to freeze time to protect himself but he still screamed in his mind as control was yanked away from him.

Jackie panted for air as he paused on a rooftop near Henrik’s clinic. He felt like he needed to keep everyone in sight, like he needed to check on the city for something. His lungs burned and power flared in his veins with the pounding heartbeat fueled by adrenaline. The need to protect drove him as he started another circuit close to where the other Egos were. He felt like there was going to be an attack but he couldn’t know where it would come from. There was a flood of fight instinct as a neon sign went green. It suddenly hit him and the fight mixed with the urge to defend as he worried for the others. As he threw a punch, it was caught and his nerves lit up in pain before he had time to scream.

Marvin’s magic couldn’t control itself today, it flared and hummed to be used but for what he didn’t know as he sketched out runes on the ground in the forest. He needed to do something today, anything, or he’d thought he’d lose his mind, so he was going to do what was supposed to be a simple summoning for elemental forces to thank them. It was October after all, Samhain was going to be this month and it would be easier to do this now rather than then when they’d all be more powerful.

The magician’s ears twitched as he thought he heard something on the wind, it sounded almost like voices but he couldn’t make them out yet. He guessed it was spirits, excited for the same reason as he finished the circle and started to chant and push his magic into it.

Only everything went horribly w r o n g.

The circle flooded with bright green, the wind picked up, dry lightning cracked down around him as static hissed in his ears. Instantly Marvin cursed in Gaelic an he tried to stop the ritual, to break the circle by disrupting the runes, there was an explosion of power that threw him back.

Then a clawed hand wrapped around his throat like an iron clamp and lifted him up as glowing green eyes locked onto his. As a familiar twisted grin showed all the glitch’s fangs as it stretched over his face.

Marvin struggled wildly, clawed at the glitch’s arm and tried to kick from where he hung in the air. His eyes wide and panicked, how was he this strong?!? He shouldn’t be this strong it was only the beginning of October they still had time-

He felt an absolutely freezing chill of realization run down his spine as it hit him like a freight train. The beginning of October, the first in other words-

He heard the whispering again, but clearly now. It sounded like millions of voices singing in different tones and ranges.

Happy Birthday, Dear Anti~

Anti purred as he pulled the magician close, as he relished in the utter terror on his expression at how they’d all forgotten. He didn’t know that the glitch had made them forget just so he could see it, and he’d do it again for the next year after he was finished. Oh he was going to have so much f u n today~

“Happy Birt’day ta me~”

[lirusstories]

Basking in the Sun - Septic/Egotober Day 20

TW: None

Egotober: Music

Septictober: Touch-Starved

Word count: 260, short and sweet

Soft music plays through the room as Jameson sits on the couch with his eyes closed, allowing his mind to dance with the music in shades of blue and gold.

He opens his eyes again when he feels her join him on the couch.

“I made you some tea.” She hums and he looks down and smiles at the filled cup on the coffee table in front of the two of them.

“Thank you.” He hums in her mind, looking up at her lovingly and she smiles back softly.

“Of course love.” She responds just as softly as her smile.

She wraps an arm around him and the touch burns so sweetly. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything like that.

She leans lightly against him, giving him enough room on the couch to move away if it’s too overwhelming.

Instead, he leans into her, basking in her warmth like a fox in the sun.

“Mad?” She asks, though she clearly already knows.

“Mhm.”

“It’s a lovely song.”

“You say that about most Caravan Palace songs.” He reminds her warmly.

“That's because most of them are good.” She chuckles.

Jameson loves that sound, he hasn’t hear it in far too long and he melts into her burning touch when she reaches down and absentmindedly starts playing with his hair.

“I’m glad you’re back My Heart…” She murmurs so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her.

”I’m glad to be back My Soul.” He murmurs into her mind and he feels her physically relax.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

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[luxuriadanti]

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

JJ doesn't do so great with mirrors

JJ didn’t like looking in mirrors or reflective surfaces. He wasn’t the type of person who disliked his appearance, in fact, for a while he had no issues primping before a show on his own. Now if he has a performance he gets someone else to help him apply powder to his face so he doesn’t turn into a beacon under the harsh lights.

Read on AO3

[pxppet]

This Disability Pride Month you as the fandom should come to respect Jameson as a canonically mute and BSL speaking character and make an effort to learn, grow, and educate yourself on nonspeaking disabilities, and to include them in your writing and art!

- Signed, a nonspeaking fan

[pxxppet]

Making Happy (Part 1)

Teeth AU Chapter 3

The morning Marvin comes home; peace and strife all in just 8 hours.

-----------------------------------------

Jackie is gloved and sad once more. It's 5 a.m. when Chase finds him in the kitchen.

"B? Not sleeping again?" Chase approaches where he sits on the floor. "Jackie?"

Jackie isn't looking up at him, just curled up. Chase rubs his neck, mouth thin. He's uncomfortable seeing his brother look so small.

He sits across from him. Stares at him. His hands are twitching, but he tries to be strong for Jackie just as Jackie is for him. Red hoodie, grey hoodie. The same scar on their eyebrow.

"Remember when I was the youngest?" Chase smiles, Jackie looks over to him for a second or two. "You and Marv were so freaked out, man, you'd just lost Anti, Jack was so paranoid that he moved you all across England, and my dumbass certainly wasn't helping. Ha. Are you feeling that kind of fear again, bro?"

Jackie huffs out a laugh. "Worse this time."

"Worse than an attempt?!"

"Wha- Fuck you man you know I don't mean that!" Jackie reaches over and grabs him, pulling Chase under his arm and mussing his hair. Chase tries to stay quiet and shoves his big brother off, laughing.

"Does he really scare you that bad?"  Chase quiets even more and frowns.

"I..." Jackie pauses, curls up again, breathes. "He's just- Jameson looks like him. And I even smell him sometimes around him. It's freaky." He laughs dazedly. "I keep finding new bloodstains on his sheets too. He could be self harmful like you were-"

Chase winces, blushing. He tugs at his hoodie sleeve to further cover the burn scars along his forearm. "Jameson doesn't seem like that type. He's really polite, I don't think he'd bleed on things if it was in his control." Chase speaks lightheartedly, despite his horrible words. The casuality on horror that only fathers and suicide survivors can show.

Jackie tugs his hood over his eyes as the sun begins rising through the kitchen window, staining the brown tile floor orange and gold. "You made it though, Chaser. I suppose he will too. Somehow- he has to."

Chase claps him on the shoulder softly. "Yeah, big man. He'll make it."

"Sorry for all the fighting when it all started," Jackie mumbles. "I just was scared."

"Jackie..." Chase sighs, running a hand down his tired face. "You've apologized three times already."

"I mean it though," Jackie insists.

"I know you do. You always mean it." Chase smiles at him soft, the sun lighting his gentle freckles. Jackie smiles back shyly, then dives at him and wraps him into a big brother hug. Chase laughs and cuddles in. "Let's go to June's Cafe and get pastries."

---

Henrik knocks on Jameson's door around 11 AM. Jameson lifts his head from his pillows, his hair stuck to them by blood. His vision is so blurry. Even more than usual, to the point he can't make out even his own hands. He coughs. Henrik takes that as a sign to come in, only to freeze at the sight of him.

"Maus!" He exclaims in shock, rushing towards him. "What happened, what happened?!"

Jameson doesn't respond, his eyes flickering sightlessly. Henrik stares at his emptiness for only moments before it clicks.

"Did you... Magic? Jameson, you shouldn't. Oh, Jameson, your nose must have practically hemorrhaged."

JJ feels himself cry. He can still smell Anti's arms, and judging by the goosebumps he feels on Henrik, he knows he can too. Yet his brother says nothing. Oh- His brother? Jameson blinks distantly. That's the first time he's had a thought like that. He can only make out the blur of peach white skin and thick, dark glasses of his friend. Henrik has been nothing but kind, nothing but thoughtful. But a bitter acid rests on Jameson's tongue as golden flowers wave in his mind's eye.

But then Henrik is tutting and pulling him close, and Jamie wraps shaking hands on the small of his back, eyes glassy.

"Jameson, come have a bath. I will cook some eggs for you with toast. Tea if you want. You look like you need big break."

JJ let's himself be helped out of bed, half limping half being dragged. He uses Chase's shower chair, and bathes fairly easily. A soft looking bar of cloud soap scents roses and thyme at him. He hasn't smelled it on any of the others, so he figures it belongs to the missing brother. Sibling? He has absolutely no clue.

He uses a tiny bit of it on his chest, breaking it off neatly to use just a bit. It covers the smell of his monster in flowers, just like his grave. The static is playing still in his ear, so faint it scares him. He's losing so many pieces of Anti. It makes him shake, a few silent tears mixing into the water.

He changes into one of Chase's sweaters, and some of Henrik's pants. The broadest shoulders and the thinnest waist are what fit him best. Slightly different from the others. He runs a hand through his drying hair, wondering if he has anything particularly unique. He can faintly see that Jackie is very tall, Henrik's body feels so slim, and Chase is a bit fatter and healthier due to comfort eating. Perhaps Jack gave him something of his own- Or perhaps he's a carbon copy. He trims his mustache with the first scissors he can feel out. He uses water to curl it on instinct, like he always has.

Henrik flips a mushroom and spiced omelet onto the plate with the buttery toast, a cup of English Breakfast laid out with the milk and sugar so Jameson can make it himself. Jameson raps on the wall to the kitchen, and Henrik turns to him with a smile he knows his friend can't see. Formalities, though.

Jameson let's himself be guided to his tea cup, and grasps at the milk. Oddly he doesn't add a hint of sugar at all. Henrik is honestly shocked, Jameson has the face of a man who takes his tea sweet.

They sit at the kitchen bar on the brown stools. Afternoon sun shines on the remaining grains of black sand, and yet Henrik is silent. Mercifully and understandingly silent.

---

Marvin is wearing Jace's orange hoodie, the one with a rose on the breast that smells like his clove oil cologne and Marvin's own smell. They sigh, staring up at the ceiling with a pinched tight face.

"Hey beetle?" they murmur. Jace gives a small, sleepy mumble, his blue hair poking in every direction. Marvin smiles softly, but it turns sad. "I think I need to go home. Today."

Jace sits up, suddenly fully awake. "Baby are you sure?! I thought you needed the break, y'know?"

"Mmm..." Marvin screws their eyes shut. "I need to face it eventually. I... I need to." Their voice is hollow, tired. Jace worriedly roams his eyes over their gaunt body.

"I trust you, but you're taking my hoodie for comfort."

Marvin chuckles and snuggles against him sleepily. They have to be brave somehow after all.

---

Jackie is in the woods. Again. Again and again. He killed him on a Friday. Now he gardens at his grave on that same day. The flowers are healthy, and only his family knows the guilty reason why they're doing so well.

His hands feel grounded and steady for the first time in weeks, buried in dirt and pulling weeds. His sweaty hair is in his face stubbornly despite a headband attempting desperately to hold it back.

Once everything is well, Jackie just... sits. The wind tousles the flowers in shinning waves. Jackie stares at the stick headstone, worn and afraid. He is so afraid. He wonders if Anti would be scared right now, if he had been that cheeky smiled teal haired kid. But Anti, green hued and so afraid he looks broken, floats over his vision of peace. Jackie reaches out and runs his hand over the carvings.

Footsteps crackle up the trail, and Jackie tenses. But when he turns, it's just Marvin. Just his beautiful, amazing sibling; back home to him. He smiles, standing. He raises and orange glowing hand and Marvin raises a blue, as they take each other in their magics softly, tugging on each other like they did as young folk.

Marvin laughs, nervous yet happy. "Jacksie!"

"Marvy!" Jackie laughs and runs over to them. He bounces in place from excitement, placing his hands on Marvin's shoulders. "You actually came home?"

"Of course, love." Marvin tries to smile casually, but Jackie can feel their tense muscles. "Why would I ever stay away?"

They walk back to the house, leaving the swaying golden grave behind.

----

"You let it used my soap?" Marvin feels hot, fists clenched. Jameson sits tensely at the table, not looking at them, face red. "Like it can just come in here and fucking smell like us all?! Like our scents are toys?"

"Marvin," Henrik warns. "Be. Nice."

Marvin flushes hotter, shaking. They thought they could do this. They really thought they could. But the fucking kid used his soap, his soap infused with his own magical scenting. Just took it for himself. They stare hard at Henrik, before releasing a loud "ugh!" and going to their room. The door doesn't slam, which is somehow worse.

"I- I'm sorry Jameson, I'm sorry." Jackie says, hurrying after them. "I'll talk to them, I'm sorry." JJ clings to fruit punch wafts to try drowning the guilty smell off of him.

Henrik looks back and forth, then pinches his temples. This is going to be rough.

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 1

Chase can't help the goofy smile that takes up his entire face. 

"What are you smiling at?" Stacy asked with a fond laugh. The early rays of morning sunlight shone through her brown hair, lighting it up into a rich auburn color that matched the oak trees in fall.

"You," Chase replied simply with a soft look in his pale blue eyes, scooting closer to his girlfriend as they lay together in her bed. 

The young woman laughed and pretended to push him away, "You're being incredibly cheesy for how early in the morning it is, Mr. Brody." She let out a squeak when her boyfriend practically engulfed her in a bear hug, trapping her in his arms as he nuzzled into the junction between her neck and shoulder.

"I can't help that you're so incredibly beautiful this early in the morning, Miss. Wells!" Chase teased her before blowing a light raspberry into her skin, making Stacy squeal again. 

She pushed his face away as Chase laughed to himself. He could practically hear her roll her eyes when she said, "Cut it out! You're gonna upset her." 

"I'm still suspicious of how you're so sure that it's gonna be a girl." Chase mused, taking Stacy's hand from his face and tenderly kissing the back of it on top of a freckle.

Stacy scoffed lightly, "I thought you said you wanted a girl."

"I do!" He defends himself, placing a hand over his heart, "And I'd be happy either way! I just.. wonder how you're so certain." 

Her deep brown eyes sparkle, and Chase smiles while listening intently, "My mother has this trick that she learned from Granny when she had me." Stacy gently rolls onto her back and places Chase's hand on her stomach. Chase immediately starts to gently stroke his thumb over her shirt as he listens. "You take a wedding ring- eer or a ring you wear a lot- and tie it to a strand of your hair. You hold it steady over your tummy, and if it swings back and forth, it's a boy, but if it swings in a circle, it's a girl."

"A wedding ring, huh?" Chase grins, catching his girlfriend's hint immediately, but watches as she shrugs with a sad smile on her face as she places her hand over Chase's.

"We used my Granny's ring the first time, and it swung in a circle." Stacy smiles warmly down at their hands, and Chase weaves their fingers together. Stacy's hands were callused but remained soft, whereas Chase's hands had already grown somewhat leathery due to his work of handling an axe and climbing trees nearly every day. But it didn't matter to the two young lovers, they fit together perfectly.

Chase Brody had known and loved Stacy Wells since they were little kids. She was a year older than him, but they naturally gravitated toward each other, spending their free time wandering the streets of District 7 and enjoying each other's company. The peacekeepers kept a pretty tight leash on the people they watched over, but very rarely, the pair managed to slip by them and hide in the outskirts of the forests. On more than one occasion they were caught and Chase took the brunt of the punishment. But when they did manage a clean slip, they followed ancient deer trails to the river and would climb their favorite tree to spend the afternoon in peace. 

But more recently, the two of them have been much more cautious since reality has smacked them in the face.

Stacy was pregnant. 

It was terrifying for her when Stacy first told Chase. She said she was so worried about how he would react and if he would leave her on the spot. But it was immediately clear that Chase was over the moon. He was so excited that he picked Stacy up and spun her around her family's small kitchen before peppering her face with a million kisses. Stacy was so relieved she wanted to cry as Chase turned his brain to making plans for their future together.

Chase would go on and on about how he would build them a house near the outskirts of town where they could see the river- with Stacy gently reminding him that housing was assigned at marriage. He went on to say how he would work and trade to support them both- she already makes her fair share by mending the climbing ropes and helping her mothers in the apothecary, but wasn't upset about the prospect of a combined income. And Chase would very seriously tell her how he would do anything for her and their future child. He swore to protect and take care of them. It warmed Stacy's heart like a soft flame. 

But in the quiet moments, there was an obvious undercurrent of anxiety. Not only were there going to be incredible challenges with raising this child- their child- at such a young age, but in the back of Chase's mind there was another looming fear.

Stacy was already 19, she has aged out of The Reaping. But Chase was 18. This was his last year of having his name in the pool for the Hunger Games. And since he realized his child would be coming one way or another, with or without him, he needed to get extra tesserae for both him and his family, including Stacy. 

He has entered his name 21 times. 7 for his age, and 14 more for the grain and oil rations. He had to do it for his family to get by, but in the back of Chase's mind, he knows the odds were slightly more in his favor. He has the terrible thought that, unfortunately, he has friends with much larger families than him. So they must have more name slips in that glass bubble than he does… Chase always feels a wash of shame whenever the idea crosses his mind. Anybody but me.

Today was Reaping Day, and Chase was content to pretend like it was a rare day off. Just another Sunday with no work and no school. Soaking in the warmth and love of his girlfriend as much as he could. Avoiding the growing anxiety in his chest about the Reaping. It's just one more year. He thought to himself, I've slipped by 7 years already, maybe it will be okay. What's one more year?

Though he dared not say this out loud, instead opting for, "Well, if you didn't use a wedding ring, then how do you know if it was accurate?" 

Stacy scoffed, voice warm but tinged with sadness, "It's not like I have one of my own, Chase…" 

Chase leaned up and tenderly kissed her forehead, "Starlight…" He gently squeezed her hand and reached into his back pants pocket with the other. 

Stacy gasped at the sight of the palm-sized wooden box. It was small but clearly made by Chase himself, his craftsmanship is unmistakable. It was carved with delicate swirls and blueberries, stained a deep brown-caramel color, and embellished with blue ink on the berries. The polish alone must have cost him a fortune, let alone the paint, but when he opened the box Stacy covered her mouth with a hand. 

Inside was a ring. It was somewhat simple, being made of a polished gray metal of some kind, but in the center was set a small yet beautiful chip of golden amber, bracketed by thinner metal swirls to keep it secure. 

Chase smiled sheepishly, "Working with metal isn't my strong suit, but I hope this will do." He forged the ring (and a matching band for himself) out of a heavy broken bolt used for securing climbing gear to the trees. He had to smuggle it out and then asked his father for help at his small forge. It came out somewhat rough but he hoped the intention was there to see.

Chase took much more pride in the wood carvings. His father had shown him the box that he had made for Chase's mother when he decided to marry her. And it was truly inspiring for Chase- burned designs of delicate flowers and detailed acorns. It was a tradition in District 7 to give your love a ring in a box that you created yourself. Chase worked hours into the night trying to sand everything perfectly smooth and ensure the varnish was evenly coated.

When Stacy didn't say anything immediately, Chase took a deep breath and tried again, "I don't know what's going to happen today…" He starts, voice low so only the two of them can hear, "But I know I want this. With you. I-I know I'm not the brightest man in the world, or the quickest with a saw, or talented in anything besides using my hands… But I know that I want to be with you, no matter what might come. When I'm with you it feels… It feels right. Like I'm coming home to something worthwhile." There is a pause, and Chase looks into Stacy's eyes which are brimming with tears. "You mean the world to me, Starlight. You're brave and creative and sharp as a thorn. You inspire me every day to fight for something, to get out of bed every day because there is someone worth loving and protecting." Chase sees tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and his smile wavers just slightly, "So… hah, what do you say, Miss. Wells? Will you be mine? Do you want to marry me, Stacy?"

Stacy barks a wet laugh and Chase can feel his heart sinking. But she nods her head quickly, hand falling away from her mouth to reveal her huge, brilliant smile, "Yes." She replies, tears warbling her voice, "Yes, yes I do." 

A smile breaks across Chase's face like a blinding flare in the night sky. As they both move to hold each other close, Chase kisses her like he needs air as she holds his face in her hands like he is the world.

When the two finally pull away, Chase takes the ring from the box and delicately slides it onto her finger, gently rubbing his thumb over the gem to try and shine it while holding her hand. He gives her the box as well and Stacy takes a moment to admire both gifts and then Chase's face again.

Stacy was about to say something when they froze at the sound of the old clock tower. 9 AM. One hour until the Reaping ceremony. Stacy shakes as anxiety fills her, looking from the window back to Chase before throwing herself into his tight embrace. He quietly tries to calm her while rocking them back and forth. 

Running fingers through her short hair Chase tries to comfort her, "It's okay. It's going to be alright, I promise you, Starlight. I promise it will be okay." He whispered into her hair as he held her head close to his heart. 

"But what if-?" She started but stopped herself. "I can't do this alone, Chase. I can't-"

"You won't." He says more firmly than he believes himself, holding her impossibility closer. "You are not going to be alone, I promise. I promise you won't be alone…" Not again, he thinks to himself.

The two young lovers hold each other tight for a minute more before Chase forces himself to pull himself away. He stands up and quickly puts his work shirt on before leaning down over the bed again, gently brushing hair from Stacy's face and using his thumb to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Hey, I'll see you later, okay?" He tries to smile, praying his eyes don't show his true fear to her. 

Stacy nods and smiles unevenly, "Okay." She whispers, then Chase kisses her forehead and quietly leaves out the back door, waving to Stacy's mom, Lilly, who gives him a sad smile as he goes. Shrugging on his thick, sap-stained gray flannel, Chase heads towards his home in the Seam to prepare for what's to come.

As soon as he enters the small home, Chase's father looks up from the table. The two men have a silent conversation with just their eyes and subtle gestures in their heads.

Did you ask her?

Yes.

Did she say yes?

Yeah, she did. I'm so happy she did.

I'm happy for you. Go clean up.

Yes, sir.

And just like that Chase went to the small bathroom and used the tub of lukewarm water to scrub himself clean. Picking splinters out of his thick skin and dunking his entire head underwater to wash his hair. He took extra care to trim his close-cropped beard so it was even and tried his best to smooth out the wrinkles of his father's hand-me-down pale orange button-up shirt. Stacy told him that the color made his eyes pop but never really saw the difference himself. Dark brown slacks, polished leather shoes with an unseen hole in the bottom, and clean socks- also with unseen holes. There was a small stain on the collar of his shirt, but there wasn't much either of the men could do about it so Chase just tried to pretend like it didn't exist. 

Like he was pretending the Reaping wasn't going to happen today. Instead, he pretended he was going for a nice walk with Stacy, his fiancée, around the square.

But his delusion barely took root when he heard the half-hour chime and felt his skin grow cold. 

Chase's father came in without a word and helped his son with his hair. A quiet, somber air about them as the larger man carefully brushed and styled back his son's unruly dark blonde hair. It used to be lighter when he was a baby, but it's grown dark as the years have passed. When his father is finished, Chase stands and they look at each other quietly. Chase's father nods, and Chase pulls on his gray flannel and leaves. It was way too hot for it, but he needed the comfort today.

Much sooner than he'd like, Chase was heading to the town square. 

°○°○°○°

It's the same proceedings as every year. Get in line for your age, check in with a finger prick and blood sample, stand in a roped-off area for your age bracket, listen to how the rebels are the reason for the games, draw names, and go home. Everyone would celebrate their children not being reaped except for two families. All of the kids stood in the front near the stage while the rest of the district stood behind them to watch. 

It's mandatory to watch. 

Chase remembers how his classmate's older brother tried to skip it a few years back and the peacekeepers dragged him from his house kicking and hollering,  only shutting up when they pointed a gun at him. 

The square was decorated with harvest-colored banners that paled in comparison to the actual trees in the fall. They did look nice Chase supposed. All things considered, anyway. The buildings were normally blank, the Justice building being the only one made entirely of concrete in stark contrast to all of the wooden ones that made up the rest of the town square. Storefronts, mostly. But in the center was the clock tower and city hall. There was talk of the clock being torn down to make way for the Justice building way back in the day, but to everyone's amazement, it stayed erect.

The young man scanned the crowd behind him looking for his love. So many somber faces but Chase couldn't find the one with a birthmark just below her ear and nose dusted with freckles. His attention was quickly drawn back forward to the center stage that sat in front of the mostly unused Justice building.

Chase holds his breath as the national anthem starts to play, his fingers playing with the stray threads at the bottom of his flannel. Just one last time. Someone, anyone besides him had to be picked. There had to be what, five maybe six hundred other slips of paper in that bowl, he would be fine. He’s lasted this long.

One more year then he'd be free from the games.

He watches as the previous victor, a man named Jameson Jackson, drags his shoes back and forth on the stage while leaning heavily on a cane.

Chase remembers that year well, Jameson managed to use traps and hide in the trees until the girl from District 2 shot him down. An arrow to his leg, and an arrow to his throat. The entire district grieved thinking that was it, District 2 would win again. But when the final canon went off, Jameson was still alive. The girl had wandered into one of his traps, making the mistake of not finishing him off right then and there, then falling into a carefully covered pit. At least she broke her neck in a way that she died almost instantly. Jameson lost his voice to the arrow but, miraculously, never seemed to lose that cheery exterior. 

Chase would hear about him buying loaves of bread for the kids whose parents died in the forest while cutting trees down. Giving his coal rations to the parents who needed them most. Hell, he's even heard that he carved wooden toys for the kids who live in the Seam and couldn't afford such frivolous items. Chase still has no idea how someone seemingly so kind could have won the games.

The Capital woman came out wearing a gown even more lavish than last year's. Pink lace draped off of her hips making her look like a cupcake and her body the candle, with her orange and red hair being the flame. Every inch of her was covered in a layer of glitter that was flaking off with every movement. The mayor and the previous victor sit down in their chairs when she reaches the microphone, waiting for this to be over with. To Jameson's credit, he did try to put on a smile. But Chase could see it was strained.

“Happy Hunger Games!” The bubbly woman exclaims into the microphone, her shrill Capitol voice echoing throughout the town square from the old speakers and spotless TV screens. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” She brightly nods her head and another cascade of golden glitter falls from her hair.

Chase took in one last deep breath as he waited for the names to be called. 

“Why don’t we start with the ladies?” Her heels click as she moves across the stage. Chase watches as her white-gloved hand dips into the bowl plucking a white slip out from the bottom. She moves back to the microphone, opening the slip with minor difficulty thanks to the gloves, prolonging the announcement of someone’s worst nightmare. The square is silent until it is cut through with a crisp reading of a name. “Ivy Cinder.” 

Chase feels his stomach twist as he hears a former classmate of his scream out in agony. As if someone had already killed her. The crowd around her backs away as if she were poison- as if her fate was contagious. 

Peacekeepers in bright white uniforms grab her arms, dragging her to the stage as she tries to thrash out. Chase licks his lips and grabs the ends of his flannel. All things considered, she could do well in the games. Well-built, and good with an axe as far as he knows, she could be a force to be reckoned with. Well, if she wasn’t so kind. Chase knows that poor girl won’t last ten minutes, she couldn’t take a life, and she’d probably step off the platform and save the other tributes the trouble. He remembers her crying over a dead bird once in school. Her choked sobs were heard through the speakers and everyone tried to ignore them.

“Any volunteers?” The Capitol woman says, voice far too enthusiastic. The crowd remains silent, except for a few stray sniffles from her friends and family. “No? Well then, onto the boys!” 

Chase bites his lip as his body freezes like it has every other year since he was twelve years old. He watches as she plucks a name right from the top, fumbling a little while unfolding the slip. The districts don't really practice religion anymore. Believing in a God gave people hope, and that was a very dangerous thing. Still, Chase slipped his metal band onto his finger and prayed. To whom? He had no idea. But it didn't matter. It's obvious he wasn't heard.

“Chase Brody,” she says right into the microphone. His name echoes through the air like the breeze was trying to carry it away into the trees. 

--------

Tag list:

@brokentimewatch

[forget-mad-not]

the urge to write a dark academia!AU with the Jacksepticeye egos, and with magical realism, secret societies, Faustian bargains and with even more literary references than usual in my final year of university.

the urge is growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.

(grumpy, gloomy and snobbish twenty-something medical student Schneep. think about Victor in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and Victor in V. E. Schwab's Vicious. that's all I'm saying.)

[franklyshipping]

Sometimes Heroes Wear Monocles ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Here we have a fabulous prompt from the ever lovely Jameson/Marvin anon! You have been so so patient, so I hope you enjoy! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @jameson-lee-jackson and @jam-lee-jackson ​

Quiet footsteps padded through the manor in the midst of the night, the figure trying to be as quiet as possible. Then that figure slipped into the living room, reached the couch…and flopped onto it face first. Within seconds, Jackie-Boy Man was sound asleep. The septic superhero had been spending nearly every night out on hero duty, keeping people safe, stopping crimes, and generally being an incredible human being. But it was also gruelling and tiring for the poor guy, who now was quietly snoring as he curled up on the couch.

A few moments later, another set of footsteps came through the room. It was Jamie, with a glass of water he’d fetched himself from the kitchen. He was using his phone torch to light his way when he saw the snoring hero. He gave Jackie a fond, warm smile. Everyone knew how hard Jackie had been working, and how exhausted all his efforts made him. Jamie tilted his head down at Jackie, his moustache twitching a little as he thought to himself. Then, his face lit up as he made a decision. Tomorrow, after Jackie had enjoyed ample rest, Jamie was going to treat him to the cheer he deserved. He carefully put a blanket on the hero, and headed up to bed.

The next morning, Jamie got up early to begin his endearing plot of love. First, he made sure everybody knew to keep out of the living room where Jackie was sleeping, so that he could get as much rest as possible. Jamie also took over the nearest kitchen, and set about curating the most delectable buffet of sweet and savoury snacks. He made, from scratch, cheesy breadsticks, little garlic buns, jam donuts, chocolate marshmallows, and his ultimate snack… his famous chocolate chip cookies (Jamie had to whack Anti with a dishcloth to stop him stealing them!). As they reached the middle of the day, Jamie put a little of everything on a tray, along with a nice dark roast cold brew with vanilla milk foam, and brought it to Jackie. He put it carefully on the table beside the couch, and it wasn’t long before the delicious scents woke Jackie up.

‘What the…?’

Jackie mumbled, his eyes going wide at the sight of the amazing spread of food in front of him; for a few moments, he genuinely thought he was still dreaming! Then he spotted Jamie sat across from him, and the young man wiggled his moustache as he signed excitedly.

‘Surprise!’

Jackie let out a laugh as he sat up.

‘Jamie… did… did you make all this for me?!’

Jamie nodded, his eyes sparkling as he signed.

‘Yep! You deserve it, you’ve been working so so much and I wanted to treat you! This is your first surprise.’

Jamie’s reply made Jackie grin, his eyes lighting up like that of an excited child as he replied.

‘This is just one surprise, what’s the second?’

‘You’ll just have to wait and see, now c’mon eat up!’

Jamie signed playfully, making Jackie giggle as he got started on the banquet of goodies Jamie had put together for him. Needless to say, it was clear Jackie needed every last morsel of it. It had been a while since Jackie had been able to dedicate time to even a little treat, so to be able to have something of this scale was just… heaven! He ate every last crumb, and for the first time in ages the hero actually felt like a properly energised human being. He let out a sigh as he flopped on the couch, rubbing his stomach with a grin on his face.

‘Whew, man… you sure know how bake up heaven!’

Jamie beamed, his moustache wriggling.

‘Why thank you!’

‘So, what’s this second surprise?’

He asked, doing a little stretch as he let the baked goods sink into his system as he looked across at Jamie with a curious grin. Jamie grinned back… and then stood up. Jackie’s brows knitted together in confusion as Jamie came over to him slowly. Then Jackie’s eyes widened as Jamie stood over him, raised his hands… and wiggled his fingers at him. Colour flooded the hero’s face as he suddenly realised Jamie’s intentions.

‘Woah woah Jamie wait hold on–AH!’

Jamie jumped on Jackie, interrupting him gleefully as his chest shook with giggles. Then, without hesitation, he slipped his fingers into Jackie’s armpits and tickled them, his blunt nails scratching as the hero’s hollows as he winked down at him.

‘Nononohoho! Wahahahait! C’mahahan, thihihis ihihis mehehean!’

Jackie squealed, and Jamie merely giggled, especially when Jackie dramatically clamped his arms to his sides. This didn’t hinder Jamie one bit, his fingers still deftly wiggling into Jackie’s underarms as he sent him a teasy grin. Jamie’s nails showed no mercy, making the hero writhe and wriggle under Jamie as he exclaimed.

‘Thihihis ihihis hehehero abuhuhuse!’

Jackie’s words made Jamie mock-pout at him, making Jackie let out an indignant noise as he squeaked out his words.

‘Dohohon’t mohohohock mehe-AHH!’

Jackie yelped as Jamie suddenly dragged his scratching fingers down the hero’s ribcage, his eyes gleaming as he watched Jackie snort and kick his feet, now throwing his head back with his laughter.

‘Yohohou’re ehehevil! Ehehehevil mohoustache mahahan!’

Jackie yelped, his words making Jamie gasp as he raised his hands to sign.

‘Don’t you bring my moustache into this!’

As a punishment for Jackie’s insolence, Jamie dug his fingers properly into the hero’s poor ribs. Jackie’s eyes widened at the intensity, letting out howls of giddy laughter as he hurried to babble.

‘AHH! NOHOHO IHIHI TAHAHAKE IHIT BAHAHACK! I TAKE IT BACK I TAHAKE IHIHIT BAHACK!’

Jamie grinned, and kept on tickling his ribs. His lean fingers plucked at each of Jackie’s ribs playfully, as if they were cute little string instruments, as Jackie batted at his hands (though, not too strongly). By now Jackie was a mess of cackles and yelps and snorts, a veritable cacophany of boisterous ticklish reactions that Jamie enjoyed listening to. Jamie was certainly dedicated, ensuring that each of Jackie’s sensitive ribs got the exact, precise attention it deserved.

‘Coochie coochie coo!’

Jamie raised his hands for a mere moment to sign, before continuing the rib tickling with delight. Jackie’s face went red as the ticklish feelings surged under his skin; he was desperately wishing he hadn’t slept in his spandex suit, which just made the sensations so much worse!

‘OHOHOHO GAHAHAD NOHOHO!’

Jamie giggled warmly at all of Jackie’s reactions, thinking that they were just beyond adorable! After a few more moments he eased up on Jackie’s ribs, leaving the hero panting and giggling as he gazed up at Jamie.

‘Oh gohod, ahahare yohou dohohone?’

‘Not quite yet.’

Jamie signed in response, along with a wink. Then he teasingly wiggled his fingers above Jackie’s tummy, making the hero squeak and instantly hide his face in his hands.

‘Nononono not there!’

Jamie grinned, his face bright with fond teasing.

‘Oh yes there!’

Jamie signed, before his fingers descended to their fresh tickly task. He only used his fingertips against Jackie’s tummy, giving the hero the most teasy, fluttery tickles known to man… aka, a technique that was Jackie’s most endearing tickly weakness. The gentleness and teasing were almost unbearable! Jackie’s face was beet red beneath his hands, and he couldn’t stop kicking his feet as he giggled and babbled.

‘Ihihit’s nahahat fahahair ihit’s nahahat fahair!’

Jamie adored watching Jackie hiding his face, he thought it was so cute how he was flustered merely from the softest tickles at his tummy! Jamie curled and uncurled his fingers slowly, making Jackie let out a loud, embarrassed whine.

‘Plehehehease! Yohohou knohohow Ihihi cahahan’t!’

Jackie peeked through his fingers as Jamie pulled a mock-innocent expression, his eyes shining as he signed.

‘Can’t what?’

He continued the evil, gentle tickling as Jackie whined even louder, his feet now kicking the couch as his voice got even more high-pitched.

‘Ihihi cahan’t tahahake thihihis!’

Jamie let out a soft, playful gasp.

‘Oh, am I being too rough? I can be gentler for you!’

He signed… and then Jackie squealed when Jamie somehow lightened his tickly touch even more. Now, Jamie’s stroking and fluttering were practically featherlight, which was even more tickly for the poor hero!

‘Ohohoho my gohohohod!’

Jackie soon descended into a stream of purely incoherent giggling and rambling as Jamie treated his tummy to the softest tickles for minute after minute. His fingers swirled over his waist, the little pudge under his navel, the sides of his tummy, the centre, all of it. No part of Jackie’s tummy was left un-teased. When Jamie was satisfied that he’d flustered the hero into the happiest and most blissful oblivion, he then had mercy on him. Jackie ended up consumed by giggles for another two minutes before he was able to catch his breath. When he slowly revealed his face he was completely crimson, practically matching his suit. His eyes glimmered as he gazed up at Jamie, his brain racing with a million giddy thoughts… but there was only one thing he wanted to say.

‘…thank you.’

Jackie’s whisper made Jamie beam. Indeed, there was nothing else that needed to be said. Jackie melted as Jamie gave him the warmest hug imaginable, both of them relishing in the happy snugness. As he hugged the hero, Jamie could feel the joy in him, the relaxation… and for once, a real sense of relief too. They cuddled and cuddled for what seemed like forever, only moving to get more snacks or slip in a movie. It was bliss. Truly, the most well-deserved bliss.

AHHH HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC, LEMME KNOW IF YA DID! WOOO LUV YOUS!!

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 20: Music

Music had been around since the first time someone had decided the sound of something struck or that had wind through it sounded nice. One could argue that it had been around always in the natural music nature made. But the point was that there was something sweetly nostalgic as Will dusted off his record player.

He’d found it again a few days ago and due to how vinyl were still being made and he knew he had records in his room, he’d wanted to have some fun. He picked a record at random, a lovely number from the 1920’s. Oh how those years were so good for music. ragtime ahd jazz and blues and so much more. He put it on and closed his eyes softly.

He let the music take over and he didn’t have to think as he danced in a way that felt like stepping into old shoes. Familiar and comfortable.

He found his mind traveled to his lover, a smile slid onto his face. James would love this, he could already picture the excited glee on the timekeeper’s face. How his navy eyes would sparkle and he’d stim with his hands before he’d sign something sweet if he didn’t use slides.

For Will, time blurred as he danced without a care in the world, his power swirled out in pink mist, glittery pink flame and fairy light filled bubbles as reality took a vacation around him. Things turned to candy or baked goods, crystals erupted, the scent of sweet things filled the air as everything tilted just so in his room. Then he felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned, instantly he blushed a little sheepish as he saw James there. Likely he had been for a while.

James beamed at him, navy eyes just as sparkling bright and beautiful as Will had pictured. They didn’t need to speak, as Will smiled back and squeezed James’ hand. They pressed their foreheads against each other’s in affection before the timekeeper pulled the chaotic into another dance. The sound of ticking clocks mixed with the music like a metronome, time spiraled out into the warping parts of the room froze, parts cycled through a moment, parts slowed through a crawl or sped up.

They could both loose themselves for a while in the music of the past, time could let itself bend and twist and break and chaos could let itself be set straight and steady.

[lirusstories]

Count, Till I Don't Know What Counts - Chapter 1: Every Nightmare Has an End

TW: Depression, Jack being talked about while coma, Begging, Mind Control(?), just, over all creepy scientist

A/N: The end is Egotober Day 8, yes that was intended, gonna try and update once a week but no promises

“And I will see all you dudes!” Chase takes a big deep breath in, “IN THE NEXT VIDEO!”

And then he stops, falling back in his chair as what little energy he had left leaves his body.

It takes him a good five minutes before he’s actually able to stop recording, turn off the camera and turn everything off before just sitting in the silent room, only lit by the ambience lights.

And then Chase just breaks down, first with tears streaming down his face with his hand over his mouth before just sobbing.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying for but he is rather startled out of it by a quiet, “Oh Chase…”

He quickly whips around to see Liru standing in the doorway, looking at him sadly.

He quickly begins wiping away his tears, turning away from the door. 

“Shit- I’m sorry.” He croaks out, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He jumps again feeling a hand on his back before she’s next to him, having him look up at her. She looks at him so sadly and Chase can’t help but start crying all over again.

“C’mere love.” She murmurs softly as she encourages him out of his seat and gently cupping his cheek and wiping away a few tears.

“Jack?” Her voice cracks a little even asking. Chase swallows a lump in his throat as he nods.

She just pulls him into a strong hug and he slowly begins to cry again, he cries a little harder when he feels her tears on his shoulder.

They stay there like that for minutes until they both manage to calm their sobs and wiping away their tears.

Liru hugs him tightly once she’s free of tears and Chase hugs back once Chase 

“I just, miss him so much…” Chase finally says. “I just…”

“I miss him too.” She whispers back, sounding so choked up. “I miss his laugh.”

Chase lets out a stuttered breath, “Me too.”

“The only thing I don’t miss is him nearly burning down the kitchen.” Liru attempts to joke, to her relief, Chase lets out a watery chuckle.

“Let’s… Let’s go downstairs.” She tells him in a small voice, “Its… It’s not good to stay in here for long.” She barely gets out.

Chase nods and she gently holds his hand before turning and leading him out of the room before gently leading him downstairs and two the kitchen.

“Sit.” She tells him softly, “I’ll reheat some clam chowder.”

Chase nods and sits at the table as she grabs a pot and a container from the fridge, scooping enough for the two of them into the pot and putting the container back, putting the pot on the stove and turning it on before going and sitting at the table with him.

They sit in silence while Chase twists his ring around in an attempt to soothe themself.

“Do you remember his turmoil series?” Liru asks softly, breaking the silence.

“I do, I remember how badly you just wanted to take over for him for the first like, five episodes.” Chase recalls with a small smile.

Liru chuckles fondly as she remembers, “Poor thing had no idea what he was doing.”

“In his defense you learn things freakishly fast.” Chase tells her while she waves him off.

“It’s a simple game alright leave me alone.”

“Mmm, nah. I like being around you.” Chase responds with a chuckle, grinning softly, then widely when Liru flusters and reaches over to lightly smack his arm.

“You can’t just say stuff like that.” She hisses, her face a deep red. He can tell she doesn’t really mean it, she’s just never been one to be able to handle flirting.

Chase reaches over, gently grasping her hand with his left, the ring on it reflecting the light above.

“I’m afraid I can.” He tries to keep a serious face. She pouts playfully making Chase laugh a bit more.

“Hey, you’re the one who agreed to married us and that comes with all the flirting with it My Dear Rose.” Chase tells her in a fond voice with a chuckle.

She hums, smiling softly, though her face is still pink she has a calmer demeanor as she looks at him lovingly. 

“And I don’t regret it one bit My Flower.” She hums affectionately and it makes Chase melt. 

She smiles seeing his face turn a dark pink and it seems like he’s trying to hide his face under his short hair.

She chuckles and reaches up and stroke his cheek gently. He leans into her touch, reaching up to cup her hand in his own.

Chase swallows as the reason why they came down here in the first place comes flooding back.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this…” He whispers quietly, sounding so small.

She’s quick to blink away her sudden tears at his words, 

“Why don’t you text and ask the others to pick the kids up from school, yeah?” She asks softly as she gets up.

Chase nods and fishes his phone from his pocket, sending a message in the group chat before getting him.

“Go pick out a movie to watch love, we can eat on the couch.” She murmurs, leaving a soft kiss on the top of his head before going and checking on the soup.

Chase nods and goes to the living room, choosing and putting on Bolt before helping her bring the bowls and glasses of water to the living room. 

Liru winces a little seeing the movie, this one always makes them both emotional, but she’s not complaining, she’ll gladly watch it with him. But she will be singing along. Not that chase will complain anyway.

And with that they snuggle up to each other on the couch.

.

Jackie comes home a few hours later with the kids, hushing them a little, he can hear them sleeping on the couch. The kids are giggling however as they see their mom and one of their dads sleeping on the couch together.

“Alright alright.” Jackie whispers. “Let's go upstairs and eat and work on your homework.” The kids pout at the thought of homework but are quick to make their way upstairs for their carls jr.

Jackie tiptoes over to the couch after giving the kids their bag of food  them running off with it upstairs. He turns the tv to YouTube to play something for them as they sleep but grabbing and putting the dirty dishes in the sink. 

Jackie gives one last understanding look to the sleeping pair before making his way upstairs.

------------

He feels floaty, he hates it.

Whenever he feels floaty something bad happens and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone again.

He finds himself mumbling apologies as he feels his body begins to rise and he begins to properly panic.

“Please.” He begs, voice warbled and warped beyond recognition, so deep it makes his throat sore.

Please don’t make him do it, don’t make him hurt them again please he begs for deaf ears.

They don’t care, sometimes if they’re especially sadistic they’ll taunt him. Asking if he’s excited to feel blood between his finger again after a particularly long time.

God, he feels tired, like he could sleep for a thousand years and never wake up. 

He wishes he could. In his floaty haze, he wishes they’d just kill him already. They’ve already taken everything from him.

But they still refusing to show any mercy to the pleading man, he’s nothing more than an object to them.

“Just go to sleep.” The scientist says in a soothing voice, like talking to a cornered animal. Their voice sounds too calming and it makes him so, so tired. He attempts to fight the darkness away amidst his floaty haze but he just can’t.

“You’re just going to have a little fun.” The scientist continues.

“Please…” He whispers as bright silvery tears begin to fall, his voice sounds so fare away.

“Oh none of that. Just get some sleep, you’ll be fine.”

Anti can’t help but consumed by the darkness as he fades out of consciousness, his last sight being the smiling scientist.

.

Anti wakes up much later, the smell of blood permeating his nose making him want to gag, but he feels too weak to even do that.

His vision his blurry and the light blinding him is not helping and oh god his hands are sticky with congealing blood. Oh fuck who did he hurt? He can feel his heart beginning to race as he tries to remember.

Then he gets a flash, Jameson, oh god he feels like he’s gonna be sick.

He tries to push himself up so he can move to the toilet and throw up but his arms give out before he can get his legs under him.

He can hear the sound of Jameson screaming so clearly in his ears and his insane laughter ringing in his mind before the tears begin to fall again, much heavier than before, before a sob tears through his throat and he just quietly curls into a ball on the floor, sobbing out soft apologies to his little brother that he knows will never hear him.

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[luxuriadanti]

Care For A Stroll?

The Host meets JJ in the woods behind the manor.

“The Host walks along the wooded path. The soft sound of decaying leaves crunch underfoot. Although the man can’t see them; their wet scent clings to the air surrounding him."

Read on AO3

[pxppet]

Iris AU - Part 2

(Part 1)

-👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁-

Two IRIS employees sit in a rather bland looking home, talking with the owner over gone cold coffee.

"Why would you ask me to do this?"

"You're a perfect lure for him."

The homeowner sits back in his chair away from them, folding his fingers into each other. "You are joking."

"No, we wouln't joke over a matter as serious as getting him back under containment."

The man shakes a finger at them, angry and disbelieving that this is real. "No. No, no, no. You promised me I would never have to get near that thing again. When you let me go you said I would never have to be involved!"

"Please calm down, Mr. Schneeplestein," calls the more tired and haggard looking of the two. "The ALTRs containment wasn't expected to ever be broken, and this is a dire situation."

"Dire? Why should I care if it kills other people, all I care about is never seeing it again."

"Henrik," the second one in a lab coat attempts in a way too friendly way. "I know that those months were traumatic for y-"

"Understated, like any good IRIS poppet would."

"Mr. Schneeplestein if you don't do this, he may come for you anyway. At least this way you'll be guarded and have a high likelihood of us recapturing him to further keep you safe."

Henrik balks at them, trying not to look as furious as he is. He pinches his forehead over and over, feeling a headache start in the same place it always does, the heavy scar along the back of his skull. "You're insane. The whole company."

"Sir, you're needed for something bigger than yourself. Isn't that what doctors do?"

"I haven't been a doctor in years."

"If we can't convince you, we will use force. Too many lives are at risk, and too many have already been taken. We have no way of knowing he won't come for you. ALTR 114209 is obsessive when it comes to the people he chooses to 'serve' his purposes. All we're doing is ensuring you don't have to go through anything like that again."

"Try drinking shitwater out of a moldy pipe while that thing laughs at you, and after you know what it's like do this your goddamn self."

The employees glance at each other, and the tired guard stands up.

"We don't want to use force. Last chance." The mans hand is gripped on the taser in his belt.

Henrik feels his heart in his throat at the thought of ever being electrocuted again. The floor lights up and a blaze of agony stabs into him. But no, he's at home in his apartment. He just wants them gone. Don't look at me, he pleads in his head.

"Fine," he tries to sound drawn and cocked like a bow, but even he hears how badly his voice cracks. "I will help. But you have to keep that thing away from me as much as possible. I am not running blind into forests or slathering myself in butter. That thing and I have as little contact as you can manage."

The guard stands down. "Your help is appreciated, doctor. The van is waiting out front, we can fully explain the plan as we go."

Henrik sighs, drinks the remains of his freezing coffee, and stands to follow them out. Goodbye nice apartment, goodbye rebuilt life. The goons have plans for you.

-

Chase feels tired. Even still holding Anti's hand, which usually seems to make that go away. Even with shoes, they've been walking for nearly 6 hours across the English countryside. His body hurts. He's thirsty. But he can't seem to open his mouth to complain.

"We're getting closer," Anti says, as though reading his mind. "Even you'll be able to feel him soon."

Feel him? Chase feels a pang of fear at not knowing what that will mean. He doesn't have to wonder long.

He feels the smell of an antique store slap him across the face as they pass into a clearing, and he suddenly notices that an entire portion of the sky is… grey. Not with clouds, the usual blue has just been completely washed out to nothing. He stares up at it as Anti pulls him along, and for a brief moment he stumbles over his feet as his mind tries to stop him from going any closer. Anti doesn't even seem to notice, his entire face has contorted with excitement and he's nearly pulling them into a sprint.

Anti stops, across the clearing and against the next line of trees. "He doesn't like people he doesn't know. Wait here, Chase."

Chase feels his feet freeze in place, his entire body stiffening into an upright position. Wait, as a physical command on him. He feels foggy as Anti walks away, images and sounds flashing in his mind. Things he's seen before and things he never has. His wife's face, his old guitar, a childhood television show, a bowtie, Anti's face when they met- It cycles through his fluttering eyes so quickly that he can't tell what's real. He starts panting slightly. Where did Anti go? He feels his hands begin to shake.

His breathing has progressed to hyperventilating, when suddenly Anti's hand is in his again. Everything clears instantly and his eyes refoucus onto Anti, grinning, his eyes glowing even brighter than usual in their pits.

"Chase, this is my friend. Say hello."

Chase looks behind him, and whatever he was expecting, well, it's not that.

A polite-looking younger man bounces on his toes, half behind a tree. Like a child hiding. The only odd thing about him is just how pale white his skin is, and just how deeply black his hair and irises are.

"Hi?"

The man doesn't really do anything. No words come out, no gestures. He looks almost timid and tiny behind the tree. Chase swallows down his nerves.

"Uh, I'm- I'm Chase. What's your name?"

The man still doesn't do anything, his face nearly cartoonishly afraid. Chase looks at Anti in confusion.

"Oh, right, 'course. He's like a lot of creatures, doesn't really respond at first unless you use his own language."

"I don't speak anything but English and a highschool course level German, man."

Anti scoffs. "When did your kind get like that?!"

"Most people only speak one or two, I don't know what you want from me!"

Anti chuffs at him, like an annoyed dog. He turns back to look at his friend, and then looks at Chase. "Just copy my hands, okay?"

Chase watches his hands make a variety of shapes, tapping and touching each other. He figures it's sign language of some kind, but it's hard to follow it. He attempts to though, looking at the man with a slightly forced smile.

"You just told him your name, watch him now."

The man steps out from the tree, arms to the side as though he's trying to emphasise how lightly and carefully he moves. He siddles right up to Chase, and his hands slowly come upward. Chase doesn't have time to think before the man grabs both of his cheeks and squishes them. Chase accidentally blows a raspberry from the sudden force, and the man grins widely at him, shaking in his shoulders but making no noise.

"He likes you," Anti assures when Chase gives him a hurried glance. Chase blinks, confused but not entirely scared anymore. Anti's friend seems harmless. Just a... odd, overly formally dressed guy who doesn't speak. Ok, he can work with that.

Anti begins moving his hands again excitedly, and Chase watches them converse, slightly in awe. Not that sign language is unusual, it's just seeing these two almost-but-not-quite-humans use it that sets off his 'weird' radar.

Chase resigns to let them talk, and begins to sit down to rest. A branch crackles under him as he does, and Anti's friend stiffens in place as a massive wave of something bursts out of him. Chase tries to stand up and apologize but he... can't move. Can't do anything. Even Anti is frozen with a half smile and eyes halfway to looking at Chase. His blood feels strange. He doesn't think he's ever felt his blood, but it's like it's... heavy, all of a sudden.

The friend is still moving, rubbing a fist on his chest with wide eyes. The wave recedes back inside the man, and Chase gasps in a breath, not having realised he wasn't breathing. The rush of oxygen makes him light-headed and he falls the rest of the way onto his ass.

Anti is laughing, and grabs his friend and puts him in a headlock, rubbing his hair into a mess. "Asshole, I haven't seen you in 150 years and that's how you treat me?"

The smaller man is being smothered, and despite what just happened Chase finds himself worried Anti is actually hurting him. Not that he would risk getting between that.

Instead the man breaks free, shaking in that same way, shoulders heaving. Chase realises he's laughing, the open mouth clicking the pieces into place. A totally soundless laugh. A totally soundless... everything. Even his footsteps don't make much noise at all in the leaves as he tussles back and forth with Anti.

"Alright, enough!" Anti shoves at him and he dips respectfully in a small bow as he's thrown back. "We needed you to keep safe, but now I need a place for my human to sleep. Anything you can think of?"

The man taps his chin and foot in thought, face screwed up. He signals a lightbulb going off with his finger, and begins signing to Anti again.

Chase just tries to catch his breath on the ground before he'll have to walk again.

They seem to make up their mind, and Anti walks over to him, holding out his hand. "JJ has a place in mind for us. Let's go, Chase."

Wordlessly Chase feels his exhausted body follow Anti's instructions as their trek through the forest begins again, now with a third companion.