#prodigixsus

[toxshrug]

prodigixsus replied to your post: “bye”:

delete your blog

i will sacrifice you to the spider gods boy.

[toxshrug]

bye

       wait come back pay attention to me.

[toxshrug]

prodigixsus:

&; he’s tired. of course he’s exhausted — no rest has been given since feet has touched place down in hell. not a moment of peace — only a few minutes ago, he’d been surrounded. too many, and their screams as jack ran were piercing — they made him want to cry. he wants to sit down, curl up and scream himself. scream into the abyss, the never ending place called rapture.

;; instead, all jack can do is grip his wrench, wield plasmids and listen to their dying breaths. it felt like hours before he brings down the last of the splicers in the room — and he stumbles. vision blurs, back meeting with a wall. he doesn’t cry out, he doesn’t say a word. silence stretches, and lids fall shut. maybe a short nap. it could be a little birthday present to himself, after all. it’s difficult to remember his previous birthdays — being down in rapture seems to have made memories blurry. unable to recall — much. he remembers his folks faces, their names. he doesn’t remember what they sound like. he does remember that auntie may had made him a cake, delicious and sugary. mouth waters, and a sigh breaks the silence in the room. slowly, he slides down to the ground, arms curling around his head.

his birthday. twenty four is the age he’s turning today. if his throat didn’t ache from lack of hydration, he’d hum himself a merry tune. happy birthday to himself, he muses. a small present for jack, then. to sleep. sleep for maybe — ten minutes. he’s earned it. right? 

         maybe he’d wake up before splicers found him —

the radio springs to life, and he expects the hero — tell him to move on, don’t rest — instead, he gets the villain. andrew ryan — the cause of all this. eyes spring open, and he looks around. he expects — some sort of turret to come after him, maybe more splicers. jack doesn’t think he’d have the energy to fight them off. he know he wouldn’t. so vulnerable — hand drops down to his radio, fingers teasing on the volume button — to turn it down, turn it off, fling it somewhere far away from him.

but he can’t.

jack elects to ignore the voice of rapture, hand falling away from the radio. shoulders remain tense, but he can’t bring himself to move. perhaps ryan would be sending splicers already — maybe they’re already outside the door. there’s no reason to fight.               ( he’ll just come back to life — )

something compels him to answer after minutes — maybe an hour — has passed. there’s been no whispers, no shouts, no screams. only the sound of the radio crackling. jack swallows, and lifts the radio to his mouth. lips open, and close — before finally settling with something to say.             ( all he wants to do is cry )

               ` —————he’s not my master. ` 

voice cracks, and need for water grows — along with rest. he droops, cheek resting against his knee, hunched forward. he’s tired, he’s cold, and he’s mad. mad that — this nightmare is still going on. that he’s down here. that he’s — stuck and there’s no escape. screams rise in his throat — and anger twists in his chest. grip tightens around the radio, 

               ` —————————what do you want?                             if you’re here to just — taunt,                              save it.  ` 

       He's dropped his pipe somewhere behind his desk, and isn't about to bother to reach down and feel for it, not when he has a pack of perfectly good cigarettes sitting in one drawer. Pulling them out, he lights one up, not through the use of any Plasmid, but by way of artificial means: a common lighter, nothing more. Ryan has never spliced, has never injected himself with anything save for a gene tonic to keep him looking young. The man is pushing sixty, yet he has managed to maintain the appearance of a fit forty year old, impressive even for ADAM, though he supposes that the ooze knows no bounds.

       Rapture's king has had plenty of time to examine the effects of Plasmids upon the citizens of his city, and has determined never to touch one of those horrid needles. Jack, he knows, shot up within an hour of his arrival at his creator's request. How far will Atlas twist his-- the child in order to win his fool war? Does he not realize that Ryan will endure? That the Parasites are fated to die out either by overconsumption and then starvation or through forcible extermination? In this case, Andrew is willing to allow time to take its natural course; there is no need to get violent; he will not sink to Atlas's level.

       Which is one of many reasons why he cannot bring himself to raise a hand against Jack, not now. Oh, he does not regret the initial skirmishes; he did not know, and Jack was and is still something of a threat, more so now that Ryan understands that he cannot harm the boy any more that he can allow him to continue to wonder about and wreak havoc on the population. He can only pray that a stray Splicer will catch him off-guard.

       Perhaps he should lapse into silence, let the boy sleep; he could die feeling nothing, and Ryan would be guiltless. No horrified screams, no pleas for it to end, only a short jerk, maybe a gurgle, then a thump of that blond head hitting the floor.

              ( Like his mother, but with less shouting, less anger. )

       Ah, but that won't work, will it? If Jack does 'die', he will be revived instantly: the drawbacks of having the Vita-Chambers keyed to his genetic code. Trauma will trigger the machines, and he already fully comprehends that he cannot kill Jack any other way. He will not poison him, he will not infect him with some virus. Ryan is many things, murderer included, but even he cannot bring himself to assassinate his biological child.

       "Taunt," he echoes, bringing the cigarette away from his lips and exhaling quietly. "I do not taunt, child. If that is your friend's prerogative, well, I am not he." Despite the way that his lips curl around the word 'friend', his voice is not sneering, not sarcastic. It is true: Atlas is Jack's only amicable companion, even if he is using him for his own benefit.

       Lowering his cheek to one hand, Ryan watches the smoke rise from the smoldering end of the stick, following it up to the ceiling, then casting his eyes back down to the radio. "We ought to chat, you and I. You may still be saved from your... ignorance."

[fauxsalvation]

GIFT FOR JACK. GIVE JACK A PUPPY PLEASE DO THAT

x

   it wasn’t sympathy. he didn’t care    if he cared about jack in the first place, he wouldn’t have bought him from his mother. he was cruel and heartless, but he recognized how terrible it was to buy children. buying and selling children was absolutely inhumane. good thing he has never been concerned about being seen as human to others. he’s seen as a monster, and he’s feared because of this. respected. 

                                                    ( you don’t fuck fontaine                                                          fontaine fucks you. )

   even with the lack of warmth in his eyes, even with his frigid hands and his snake tongue, jack loves fontaine, prefers his company more than he prefers tenenbaum or suchong. why this was, no one understood. sure, sometimes fontaine allowed jack to sleep on his lap, sometimes he told him stories about new york, and whenever jack would cry while getting tested on    fontaine would try to calm him down. a simple pat of the head and a ”it’s gonna be alright, kid, okay?"and just like that    jack gave his loyalty and adoration over to the man who had yanked him away from the womb of his mother. 

                                          ( son, you’re special.                                            you were born to do great things. )

   it was a phrase fontaine told jack once    when the kid wouldn’t stop crying while tenenbaum was working on him. he hadn’t meant to come off as a father figure, didn’t mean to use son in that context    but the next day, jack called him papa fontaine. and fontaine had hit that child in rage. he didn’t apologize. he only left, stayed away for days    weeks. he was not ashamed. he did not feel guilty. he’d wasted the time and money to smuggle in a puppy for jack simply so the kid would forget about fontaine’s lashing out. a female pup    springer spaniel, purebred. even fontaine admits she was adorable to look at. once she arrived in rapture, he boxed her up, dug some holes in the cardboard, then went to find jack. he grunted a greeting in response to tenenbaum when she passed by. she was evidently curious about the box in his hands, though she was wise enough to not ask. 

   jack sits in his room, idly playing with some of the blocks in there. fontaine doesn’t knock or say anything when he steps in, only motions the kid over with his finger and plops the box down on the floor. he lets him open it up, and as expected, the pup eagerly jumps on jack once she sees him. it’s the first time he’s seen jack so genuinely happy    it’s a strange sight, in all honesty. 

” thank you, mister fontaine.. “

   he snorts in response, shrugs a shoulder. he’s as aloof as ever    and yet, he reaches down and pets the kid’s head, momentarily runs his fingers through his hair. he pulls away almost immediately.

                    ” yeah, it was nothin’. jus’ keep it outta sight, understand? ”                       who knows what suchong or tenenbaum would do to it?

[toxshrug]

will you teach me to golf.

sure. take this club and hit me in the head until i stop twitching.

[toxshrug]

am i your favorite fetus

i am clinging to the hope that you are my only fetus.

[toxshrug]

dad

son.

[hisfavoritegal]

   she hears him coming, and at first, she thinks it's just another splicer she'll have to hide from. she didn't like fighting. she was forced to kill a splicer once    bent his head in with a wrench. she'd cried for hours later    and then she'd taken her first hit of ADAM. she could use the plasmids to protect herself and she wouldn't have to get blood on her hands again. being in rapture by yourself was terrifying, and she'd been forced to take more and more ADAM. she wasn't... necessarily addicted to it, but if she went more than three or so days without it, she started to get shaky, violent    and then she turned into those... monsters. she didn't stop until she got ADAM.

                                                                     ( mama, i'm sorry. look at what i became. )

   ❝ you're not a splicer? i didn't.. think any actual    humans were left here. there's no dancers here anymore, if that's what you're lookin' for. ❞ there's fear in those blues of hers    but she no longer fears death. she wishes she could die. she just hopes when she does, it's painless and quick.