The Master (2012)
The only way to defend ourselves is to attack. If we don’t do that we will lose every battle that we are engaged in. We will never dominate our environment the way we should unless we attack!
“Yah don’t know much about love, do yah?” Jasmine chuckled good naturedly, ruffling his hair. “Yah feel it in the heart.” She was not surprised to discover his lack of knowledge on the subject, just…sad. How had he grown up? Had anyone ever kissed him goodnight or put bandaids on his scraped knees? Cooked him dinner, played with him at the park, spoiled him with treats? Her expression gradually fell. “Sweetheart… do yah even know what love is?”
"Of course I do…" He responds simply, not feeling much use in going into depth. It was simple, wasn’t it? Why bother? It wasn’t as though he had much time for feeling it anyways. He hadn’t much to give back to the world in the form of positive feelings.
Her mind couldn’t register anything at the moment; what she was feeling, what her expression was.. She’d seen plenty of horrific beings that were results of Adam lurking about, but for some reason, Jack managed to completely stun her. Within the span of time that had passed since she saved him from Fontaine, he’d turned into /this/.
The boy seemed just about as staggered as she was, and possibly even… frightened. He wasn’t here to try and take hold of whatever Adam he could get his hands on. But what /was/ he here for?
Most of the girls retreated to the stairs immediately when Jack appeared, others climbing behind the couches or on top of the bunk beds to continue watching with inquiry.
Her hand, still occupied by the gun, began to lower down to her side.
The sound of his name from her lips made him quiver visibly. It’d been ages since someone had addressed him by his name. It was always “Ryan” or “The Son of Ryan” or “The prodigal son”. In truth it distanced him from himself. Made him forget the reality of things, that he was a person and that he was very much his own. Not some ruthless bloodthirsty bastard son that did everything on another’s whim.
It made him feel like so many things were his fault. So many. And they probably were.
Jack sighed- Something that sounds vaguely like ‘yeah’ in response to the question of his name, but he nods instead. Still barely able to talk, barely able to form a sentence that he doesn’t find unnecessary. She seemed shocked to see him, and he didn’t want his voice to break her out of the stupor she was undoubtedly in with the vile drawl of his voice.
Hands clasped into fists, she resists the urge to crack them sharply against him. But the splicer is much stronger and faster than her and he’d have her at gunpoint in seconds. Might even use his wrench if only for the satisfying crunch of it against her skull.
The sensation is awkward but the close contact with another being has long been a desire of hers. She feels like a child in grade school, kissing a boy who tormented her and pushed her around. But that was a result of a crush; young boys being mean to the girls they like. But that wasn’t the case here; Jack hated her almost as much as she hated him.
"Your breath stinks."
“Good.” He hadn’t planed on having her enjoy it. If she was repulsed by him, then all the better. Knuckles slid clean across his mouth, more as an exaggeration of his own disgust although it did also serve that compulsive need he felt to get the taste of her off his mouth- However slight.
Jasmine mewled softly, a timid sound of pleasure. She was afraid, but not of him. Afraid that the smallest movement or sound would break whatever spell compelled him to seal his mouth over her own. The slightest twitch of her muscles, or even a breath too deep— Then it was over and he was watching her with those luminous amber eyes; expectant, and she knew that she could not bear to let him down. The blonde offered him a dazzling smile, her pale face glowing with affection as she grasped his hand and brought it up to rest against the swell of her breasts. “Do yah feel it?” She inquired quietly, her pulse throbbing beneath his palm. “I love yah.”
Jack watched her with a degree of curiosity; following the path of her hand, it’s guiding of his to her chest wherein his eyes focus on hers instead. Feel what, exactly? The dull thud of her heart? Does that really mean anything? He doesn’t quite understand, brows knitting upwards as he tries his very best to form a response on the tip of his reluctant tongue.
I want to torture you.. I want to make you crazy for me.. I want you in the middle of the street, screaming to the heavens.. I want you unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to see.. I want you.. to want me.
— August J (via warpten)
imma get it in w/ur daughter tho.
"Feelin' a bit under th'weather, boyo?" He toed the side of his head with his boot, watching it rock back and forth with idle fascination. Moved well out of the way when he began dribbling at the mouth, stinking up the place with that unmistakably thick, rancid liquid that could only have one name. Atlas lips pulled back in a grimace. "Now isn't that jus' a cryin' shame." How easy it was to step over him, ignore the terrible sounds and leave him alone to suffer.
He doesn’t make it a step passed him before Jack’s hands are firmly curled around his ankles, keeping him in place with a vice grip although it is a gesture of a submissive nature. He fears that gripping too loosely will just allow him to shake him off… But he doesn’t want him to go.
The boy knew that he didn’t deserve him. Had done terrible things in the wake of his instability. But he wanted him; He was desperate for any sort of affection he might throw his way. All that he knew was that having the Irishman around made the pain hurt less. It made enduring worth while, even if he was treated like dirt. He would’ve willfully licked his boots the moment he was’t vomiting up his insides relentlessly, sanguine slopping onto the floor in a pathetic heap from the back of his throat.
Jack clutched his ankle tighter now, a broken, woeful sob ripping itself from his burning throat.
“Please— Don’t leave me.”
Here was she trying to help for a change and the man didn’t seem even remotely thankful. Medical supplies weren’t exactly in abundance and those might be needed in the future.
Evelyn turned back to the man, needle and thread in hand. “If you prefer I could just leave you to die. If the blood loss doesn’t kill, I’m sure the splicers eventually will.”
"Tch." Thick brows knit together, his breath hitching silently at the sight of that needle. He didn’t like pain. Wasn’t used to it, that was to say. Oftentimes when he would find himself in fights, he was always the victor, escaping without so much as a scratch of which to speak.
Now… Jack was supposed to sit through someone pulling thread through his flesh? The thought made him cringe.
”...Just do it.”
Evening On The ground
Frankly Elizabeth only ever had a tolerance for the volatile, no matter how often she seemed to voice her opposition. And she certainly knew how the mind of a volatile person worked; wind them up enough, and they are bound to spring. She expected nothing less from him as she clawed at those old wounds, though obvious satisfaction faded quickly as she stumbled back against the force of his hands, and as the air began to struggle to reach her lungs.
Eyes displayed a range of emotions as he toyed with her, from concern that he might actually go through with it to annoyance when she realized how he’d been treating her the way a child treats his play thing. Perhaps that’s all she was. With her free hand, her fingers gripped at the palm that had been wrapped so graciously around her trachea, scratching against his skin as much as she could; a natural response to something like this. She attempted to choke out words, something to get him to quit fooling around, but she wouldn’t even get her chance to speak.
She can only really compare it to the taste of blood, that coppery tongue which had been heavily diluted by the man-made chemicals that surged throughout his body. Threatening to steal the air from her in an entirely different way. Only now, the woman had her chance to try to take it back.
She could feel him trying to assert himself, warning against a lack of censorship around him. She could feel herself gradually leaning back against the surface of the desk, and Elizabeth slowly curled a leg behind his calf in a half-assed attempt to get some leverage. At least she was fighting back a little bit now, pressing further into the bittersweet taste of his mouth, and letting out a gratuitous moan now and then. While she obviously struggled to gain any sort of dominance, she had to admit, she was curious to see what he intended on doing to her next.
His following actions are a blur of motion, of haste and impatience. The response that she gives him is enough to send him into an almost fevered state, reaching behind her and with a touch of difficulty unclasping bra that remained. The only thing concealing that which interested him most at the moment.