❝a season for all things.❞

❝People think that a liar gains a victory over his victim. What I’ve learned is that a lie is an act of self-abdication, because one surrenders one’s reality to the person to whom one lies, making that person one’s master, condemning oneself from then on to faking the sort of reality that person’s view requires to be faked. The man who lies to the world, is the world’s slave from then on. There are no white lies, there is only the blackest of destruction, and a white lie is the blackest of all.❞ i am αndreω ryan.

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obvIOUSLY I'm rather crunched for time right now but let me see about drafting things to respond to when I get the chance! So so so sorry for the inactivity!

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my ~dear~ andy... you *must* join me for dinner tonight, I think you'll find I have a monstrous appetite and you've left me so alone lately. Don't make me beg. ~S ps. leave that +whore+ at home, this is private dinner.

       He could lie and say that the notes were not making him uncomfortable. That 'whore' was the best that he had, at the moment; out of all of the women in Rapture (and Andrew Ryan had certainly made his rounds), Jasmine Jolene was the one he chose; she was a welcome respite from McClintock's bleating, that much was clear. Once, he had toyed with the idea of allowing Diane to carry his child, but no more; a legacy was desired, yes, but perhaps not through her. Through Jolene... but it didn't matter. After the New Year, yes, once the festivities had died down.

       Cohen's note was of some interest to him, if only because Rapture's founder admired him as an artist. The man was brilliant, there was no denying that, but, at the same time, he seemed overly-attached for Ryan's tastes. The benefits of frequenting a prostitute included not feeling tied down, and if Cohen was attempting to capture Andrew Ryan in his net, well, he had a long ways to go before he would even come close.

S.C.       There is a business meeting on the eleventh. I expect you there.                                                                A.R.

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raptureslegacy:

                   [ he wishes he had a mirror to                      see what mr. ryan wrote, but                      maybe asking would suffice.                      jack does, however, wipe at                      the now dried marks on his                      forehead. ] 

                                          “what did you just write?”

Not  that  he's  going to  tell Jack anything. He  swallows  Atlas's lies  easily  enough -- but  now  Ryan  must  make  the   decision between   compromising   his  own  values and carrying through with his joke. Though, to  be  honest,  this   is  more  of  a  lesson for  Jack to learn.  When he  finds a mirror, the  truth  will  come  out,  and  maybe  he will  get a small something out of this. Call Ryan  sentimental ( and, oh, you would be wrong ), but he is doing  his best for Jack.

              "'Intelligent', boy. It says 'intelligent'.

                                           --in his own... special way.

[luchtschild]

since im selling so many atlas posters, I felt bad for my all time favorite andrew ryan and therefore ended up thinking of posters for him. Because he needs some, and I need some

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❝A season for all things! A time to live and a time to die, a time to build... and a time to d e s t r o y!❞

home | ask | rules

[classichorrorblog]

House On Haunted Hill (1959)

Directed by William Castle

A millionaire offers ten thousand dollars to five people who agree to be locked in a large, spooky, rented house overnight with he and his wife.

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fauxsalvation replied to your post:

sacrifice him to me instead

you say this like you are not the spider god.

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hisfavoritegal replied to your post: “bye”:

NO HE'S MINE FUCK YOU RYAN

EXCUSE ME JAZZ-MINN JO-LEEN IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO AND ALSO TO MAKE A CHILD.

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prodigixsus replied to your post: “bye”:

delete your blog

i will sacrifice you to the spider gods boy.

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//Just to say that Vincent Price is pretty much the perfect Ryan faceclaim and that I kind of think that it's the most genius decision ever and yeah carry on with your day cool person you rock

Thank you I think so t oo I am glad that you appreci ate here's me & you.

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bye

       wait come back pay attention to me.

[sangreymiel]

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rapture-at-night

       "I do enjoy listening to the radio." This was what he had built Rapture for; young people making something of themselves, finding where they fit in and flourishing without the government breathing down their necks. Ryan had taken himself down to Fort Frolic for the shows, but he thought it right to drop in and visit the home of Rapture Radio.

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avis-ex-machina

       What manner of being was this girl that Atlas had chosen as his lackey, for lack of a better term. There were errand-boys, there were servants, and then there were dogs, slaves. Whatever he was dangling over this woman's head, it had to have been good, because he was certainly making her sing for him, wasn't he -- but no. No, it was a Little Sister, just one, and she spoke of it as if it had a personality, as if it was distinguishable from all the others and therefore worth saving.

       "If it is a Little Sister you want, you may have your pick of them, should you leave Atlas and his band of rabble-rousers behind."

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"Father?" The child asked, leaning on the edge of the desk. To call the boy a child was both accurate and not, given that his appearance was nearly that of a 12 year old, going on 13, and his actual age, not to mention social understanding, was of a boy much younger. "Where do babies come from?" ~Little Jack at Subjectwyk

       Why did he have to take care of this boy. It was not that he disliked Jack; as a matter of fact, the child had grown on him, and he found that he had taken a liking to his presence. In a way, it was a comfort to have someone so young around. The antics of a three twelve year old certainly kept him on his toes, and that did not go unnoticed or unappreciated. At the same time, he had not intended to have a child thrust into his care, and had not prepared himself for the entire ordeal before him. There was no usual nine month gestation period for the information to settle in and become comfortable. What was, was, and Andrew Ryan did not take kindly to others dictating how he should live his life, up to and including caring for his son.

       But he couldn't not, which was the problem. No matter his faults, Ryan would not throw his son to the wolves. Drawing a hand across his face, he sat back in his seat and considered the question. "From a set of parents. If you are looking for more detail, we shall be here for some time."