#thegxtherer

[subjectwyk]

💞

My muse is losing hope and slowly drifting towards the side of evil. 💞 to try to save them 

Atlas had said they weren’t really little girls anymore. Tenenbaum had said he could free them. And yeah, that first girl he’d saved. But… Ryan seemed to be three steps ahead no matter how far him and Atlas went. Or.. .he went Atlas guided. And the more splicers he fought. The more times he died and came back in a Vita Chamber.

Why did no one else come back

The more he wondered if it was really worth it. The saving thing. He could use the ADAM. A little more firepower and maybe the damn psychos who constantly seemed out for his blood would leave him alone. Just a little more and he wouldn’t be so afraid of the Big Daddy’s.

The thoughts bounced in his head as he walked toward a Gatherer’s Garden, pausing only when he saw a pair of eyes looking up at him. Not yellow. Not anymore. The red dress in disrepair, and familiar. He’d only saved one girl in a red dress.

He smiled faintly, kneeling down to be at her level. He couldn’t do it. He never could. He might die a thousand more times and it was a sensation he would never wish on anyone. But how could he possibly let any girl die when the other choice was to reach out and pull one he’d saved into a hug?

“Hey Sweetheart. You need to get back into a vent. What if someone saw you huh? Come on. Let’s get you safe again.”

[archerwhiterp]

@thegxtherer

Archer peeled the last remnants of his scarred flesh like a snake shedding his skin. A hand ran over the soft pale new skin that had grown under all those burns. His body was whole again, like it always did. The itch didn’t bother him anymore. The burning had become an afterthought that left his mind numb, staring out across the grand and empty foyer.

A fallen big daddy down the hall, rusted, water logged, and riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. Splicers decomposing bodies littered the entrance, splayed out in their final moments. Their faces still broken with that rage and anger that their condition filled them with. Archer almost felt sorry for them, though that sympathy ended with each hook that embedded in his face and each grenade that landed at his feet.

A shuffling noise echoed through the dead hallway and he watched a splicer slowly step out. It was cautious which meant it’s brain hadn’t fried completely yet. Muttering still to himself as it began to search corpse after corpse.

Archer stayed still and watched it with glowing yellow eyes. With as ashen and pale his skin was, he could pass off as a corpse himself and the Splicer might not even bother with him. Archer’s main goal these days was being invisible. He didn’t want to be bothered, he certainly didn’t want a fight.

Faintly from the corner of his eye he recognized a similar soft glow of eyes. A little sister hiding around the bend of the wall. Her path to her little hidey hole cut off from the meandering mad man. 

[utopianorphan-blog]

@thegxtherer​ followed.

⏩            "Get away from me!” Florence remarked. “Stop staring! What do you want?!”

[subjectwyk--archived]

@thegxtherer​ answered:

                              Comfort Sentence Starters

 She knew it wasn’t right for her to blow up at the dinner table but there were somethings she never could forget and how the other just talked about it like it was nothing ate away at her and made her boil. Like what happened wasn’t that big of a deal, being stolen and sold just so people could lavish in the luxury of ADAM.

    She just sat on her bed rocking back and forth clutching her pillow as she tried to fight back her angry tears. The others never really liked her anyway, she kept thinking that maybe she should just run away no one would miss her.

    The door opened a crack, she knew it was Jack he knew it was best to give her the space. Even if he wasn’t her real father she always felt like he was, really he was all she had. She turned her head slightly to face the door motioning that it was ok if he came in.

       “ Even being away from that place for years I still feel dirty… ”

 Tears started to fall not being strong enough to hold them back anymore. She wanted to be normal be she never could feel normal again.

“Oh Cosette....” Jack sat on the edge of the bed, not asking permission before he drew his girl close. Arms around her shoulders. Chin on her head. “You’re not dirty. Never.”

Bought and sold and experimented on. Hunted and hiding and gathering ADAM. The man knew his girls weren’t as ok as they seemed. No one who went to Rapture came out of the other side unchanged. Hell, he was six. But sitting on the bed of one of his daughters in the guise of a twenty-eight year old.

“What they did was horrible. But it does not change that you are an amazing, beautiful girl.” The words ‘it will be ok’ hung unspoken on his lips. Would anything ever really be ok for them? “They don’t all understand. They don’t remember like you and me.” The younger the children were when he’d saved them the fewer solid memories were left behind. Maybe it was for the best.

Jack looked for more words. Something that would actually comfort his Cosette. Nothing came to him.

[matilda-the-downerarchived-blog]

Playdate (Bioshocked!AU)

@thegxtherer

Small feet walk across the pristine marble floors of Rapture, admiring the gorgeous statues of their protectors and collecting from a few angels along the way. This world seem so perfect to a child: long curtains; wonderful party goers; and delightful games.

This was only in the mind of the two girls. The real world was far from a child’s storybook and straight into a nightmare. The floors were strained with blood (dry or fresh) of laying Splicer corpses. Dirtied windows reveal the murky depths of the ocean and the dim lights of store signs and billboards. Their protector was not really a knight, but a monster whose purpose was to protect the Little Sisters as their gather ADAM the dead.

The girls did not seem to mind, because their could only see the reality that was implanted in their brains. The Little Sisters continue walking around, one of them humming a nursery rhyme.

[subjectwyk]

@thegxtherer

{{ I have shed another tear cause Jack is so wholesome and pure. Cosette would eat it all cause she knows he tried his best and she loves her dad to much to complain. }}

{Cos is too sweet. Jack loves his precious daughter so much even if she complained he’d just hug her and ask if she wanted to go to a diner instead. He just wants her to be happy (and never date ever but that’s a separate issue XD)}

[subjectwyk]

🍳

🍳 for my muse to cook yours breakfast

Jack looked down at the stove top. He’d done worse. This was pretty good all things considered. The cooking classes were starting to pay off. Nothing was even on fire this time around. And he’d not panicked and thrown bees at anything. Really, aside from some toast that was mostly charcoal (but not on fire) and having to restart the eggs three times (he didn’t count the first time because the shells were not his fault so it was three not four) he’d done a pretty damn good job. If he did say so himself.

The man put some of everything on a plate. The other girls would eat at the table with him. This was special breakfast. It was birthday breakfast. Which meant that Cosette could eat it in bed if she wanted. 

“Cos?” He pushed the door open, ignoring the two girls who had pretended to try to keep it closed and had jumped out of the way giggling. Really, six girls in the room was too much. But he needed to fix the other room still. “Happy birthday sweetheart! I made breakfast.” All by himself.

Eggs that were probably edible. Mostly charcoal toast. Bacon that was somehow both crispy and not simultaneously. The only thing truly safe on the little tray was the juice. It was from concentrate. Water Jack Ryan had mastered. The rest of it… he was working on.

[whiithers-blog]

✧ Starter for @thegxtherer !

Thunder clapped outside again, accompanied by flashes of fierce lightning. The sound of the heavy rain hitting the windows of the hospital was almost a pleasant one, depending on who you asked. Although it was only the afternoon, the storm made it look much darker outside.  

Visitation hours were taking place right now, patients of all sorts were out and about, and visitors with those neat little name tags were here as well. Beacon only allowed visitors a few times a month, Leslie wasn’t sure how common that was at hospitals, but while visitors were here, everyone was urged to be on their best behavior. Anyone who acted up or started talking about their treatments here would get in some sort of trouble, and have their medications tampered with. Leslie intended to make sure he keep to himself, but he wanted to enjoy the lively atmosphere in the hospital while it lasted. Long-term patients could only be told apart by their wearing Beacon’s signature uniform/straitjacket, like the sort Leslie himself wore. Long term patients could be male, female, or children, as Beacon did have a juvenile ward. 

In the upper floor, in a lobby-like room, a television set was playing some black and white film, with repetitive laugh tracks, the sound of people talking both casually and in hushed tones filled the air. It was actually somewhat stressful to Leslie, all the sounds. He kept himself busy and present by drawing. He was sat at a small table, placed near-by a corner, near by a plastic plant, making intricate and colorful patterns with the only drawing tools he was permitted to use; Crayons. Anything else seemed too ‘risky’, his doctor said. Circular patterns, dotted and overlapping one another, Leslie felt it suited the uncharacteristic but lively mood of Beacon Mental Hospital