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[jackfromthegrave]

[jackfromthegrave]

RHYS·

“Uhh…” Rhys knows right away what the ‘other attachment’ is. In fact, the moment it comes out of Jack’s mouth he realises he was already bracing for it, the way one grips the edge of a desk without thinking after months of working on a shaky floor. “Aha, yup… dicks. Looove those.”

Even though it comes out with a decided lack of enthusiasm, he still reflexively glances around as if to make sure nobody else heard. Still, he feels a little bit more comfortable conceding a love of dicks than a love of collapsible chainsaws. Seems a tiny bit more civilised, at least by his estimation, even if he has limited experience with both.

“I mean…sure. How hard can it be?” He shrugs, one hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He must have, like, a zillion cricks in that thing by now. “It’d just be about finding the right frame and building over it, right? Any idiot can do that–and we’d have all Hyperion’s resources to do it with, too. I guess it’d be more about… figuring out what to do about things that aren’t standard. Like, I dunno, smell or taste… or uh… yeah, I guess dicks?”

THE ENTHUSIASM FOR ALL THINGS DICK-RELATED has at least eased Jack into a better mood. Shoved aside the strangeness of hang-ups he doesn't understand in favor of making sure to keep tabs on that juicy new audio file he'll have to keep on hand for the rainy days Pandora never has. Saves it discreetly into the memory files Rhys allowed him access to in a moment the AI likes to think back on just to re-live that heated surge of trust he'd practically tasted even beneath the scope of so many Atlas turrets sizing them up. A good moment, a good test of an alliance he'd like to see blossom into something twisting up, up, up. 

“Preeeetty sure Namayaka had some notes on that. Somethin,' somethin,' ‘replicating sensation sectors in the brain’ so he could continue creepin’ on me or whatever. Could check it out once you're the big man in charge. Get a couple dozen lackeys in there, threatening to space their scrawny asses if they don't get me just right. Gonna tell ya right now, anything less than a six-pack deserves a date with Mr. Airlock.” His bravado fizzles slightly as he ends up staring hard at the back of Rhys' skinny neck. Notices the redness there from all the anxious fondling and feels another odd, plunging swoop of disappointment that frustrates the algorithms that prefer streamlined functionality.

His hologram lifts an eyebrow. “Not gonna lie, pal, I'm.... a lil' surprised, here. Guess I was worried Pandora was gonna rub off on ya.” They all wanted him dead, after all; dead and buried under so much of the rotten filth they’re so persistent to roll in. “...Glad you’re keepin’ your priorities straight.” His smirk returns and he flicks him a wink. “Y’know. Dicks and all.”

[jackfromthegrave]

"JACK"

     *  @jackfromthegrave· ,     “ they must’ve told you more than that. ”       [ ♡ ]

must’ve..  he must’ve misheard.  must’ve not asked the right thing.  he’d not held his head up right or spoken with enough bravado to erase whatever lingering doubts there were that the man himself hadn’t found the time in his  busy schedule  to make regulation runs like he’d said he would.  to research departments that smelt like the less savory pockets on pandora.  helios in an ever present state or strained functionality the further jack drifted from an idea of composure no one  wanted  to admit he’d lost sight of a long time ago.  sat behind a desk littered with papers he could remember peeked out there, beneath a pizza box, the last time he’d been called in.  before he was shooed away to play the hero and told to smile with his teeth next time.  loosen up.  unless he didn’t want to be there.

“ they didn’t, ”   and he’d barely gotten what he had before tight lips and nervous fidgets let him know that even those claims were under certain..  stipulations.

“ they said they needed an advance in next quarter’s funding. ”   and tim’s bark had been loud enough to squash whatever narrow - eyed skepticism’d survived.  a laugh all parts jack.  what surged from his gut and turned the sharp angles of their face threatening.  cutting like his tone when he’d relayed the scripted response that he’d  cut  the funding if they brought it up again.  that he’d cut their families off, too.  send their children through the airlock and..   “ and i.. did what you told me to do. ”

and felt less encumbered by guilt than he’d liked to’ve claimed.

a short stairway felt yards when it came to approaching.  that waiting wolf with his otherworldly expectations and the glow of elpis over his shoulder.  years in and the effect was the same.  it stifled lawrence’s confidence and loosened the square out of his shoulders till what was left was as limp as the file he’d arranged on reentry to the station’s orbit.   “ i added the id numbers of everyone there to the report. ”   by the books.  no thread of his own opinion or how it sat in favor of overworked employees with bigger bags than his own under their eyes.  or that, by the looks of them.. they’d not been functioning near full strength for months.  “ they got the message. ”

THEY’RE ALL IDIOTS. Stupid, useless, incapable morons who don't understand the simplicity of their role in a mastermind's elegant scheme. Don't understand self-preservation, either, what with the news Tim drags back with him to the base of a throne Jack truly feels the framework of beneath so much lumbar support. Has him leaning forward with elbows propped over his desk's surface and fingers laced in a lazy steeple beneath that sharp jut of chin.

Tiger-like, mismatched eyes watch Lawrence's approach with ease as he considers his options. Whether he's bored enough to lunge for any slender slip of throat or if the energy isn't worth the spending on something that's offered no true offense for his pearly whites to mangle. He can't help but wonder if his double did everything ‘right’ though; if he put enough snarl in his voice, enough swagger in his stride, enough Jack in the demands that should be met with nothing besides belly-up groveling and some goddamn results.

“I give 'em everything, y'know?” Scoffed eventually, breath washed hot over his knuckles. “Resources, cash, test subjects galore... Everything those lil' eggheads could ever want. And it's still not enough.” Ungrateful, greedy, selfish, sucking him dry like parasites.... Like everyone, all of them, hungry only for fat stacks and names scrawled into his success story. It's enough to make a hard-working tyrant's stomach churn.

The message might've been delivered, but satisfaction falls lacking where it usually does for the man who has everything and still reaches for more. Sharpens the usual edge to the point of his stare, though Jack remains seated. Moves only a languid tilt of his head as one edge of a masked mouth pulls its crooked smirk. The peek of teeth from behind his lip glints under the light of Elpis looming an ominous reminder over the slopes of broad shoulders.  “How clear was that message, huh? 'Cause-- 'Cause sometimes I wonder about you, pumpkin. Back in the day you had yourself one hell'uva bleeding heart. Remember that ol' thing?”

[jackfromthegrave]

𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆𝒔  𝒐𝒇  𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆  :  𝒅𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒔  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒔  𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔

adapted  from  this  post  !   bold what  applies  to  your  muse. repost  ;  do  NOT  reblog.

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽   »   toothy  grins,  stories  around  the  campfire,  clothes  covered  in  pet  hair, hot  temper,  old  jeans,  heartbeat  in  head, potatoes  and  steak,  beaded  jewelry, bruises  like  galaxies,  mementos,  backpack  stuffed  full,  craigslist  furniture, spontaneous  road  trips,  air  ripped  from  lungs

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳   » homemade  bread,  white  lies, easily  excited,  trying  on  hats,  band  geek, pep  talks,  no impulse  control,  sunsets,  vintage  fashion,  long  showers,  selfies,  following  dreams, rosy cheeks,  song  mash-ups,  pink  lemonade  with  tequila, loves  easily, animated  storyteller, full  of  comebacks

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲   » list  of  wishes,  biting  their  tongue,  band-aids  and  neosporin,  shoulder  to  cry  on, morning  sun,  necklaces, trial  and  error,  homemade  quilts, formal  clothing,  astrology  fan,  messages  in  bottles,  pleated  braids, speaking  up  for  friends, feathers, motivational  quotes,  vivid  dreams

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳   »   bird  watching,  shy  kid,  wind  chimes, trying  to  whistle,  summer  camp, apple  orchards, lost  in  their  head, glow-in-the-dark  stars  on  the  ceiling,  hoodies,  thrift shopping,  saving  worms  off  the  sidewalk,  pig  latin, bare  feet,  thunderstorms, numb  fingers,  braided  hair, naming  potted  plants

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁   »   goose  bumps, leather  jackets,  adventure,  chewing  nails,  cares  deeply  but  can’t  show  it,  bronze  locks, no  sleep, taste  of  iron,  netflix  binges,  never  forgets, combat  boots, stories  behind  scars, table  for  one,  official  soundtracks, sore  calves, trusts  themselves  the  most

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺   »   always  trying  to  be  better, wanderlust,  meditation,  sweat  pants, old   photographs, yoga,  sleeping  in  hammocks,  nostalgia,  minimalist  design, breath  of  fresh  air, baby  animals,  volunteering,  perfectionist,  doesn’t  care  about  fashion, healthy  snacks, noticing  the  little  things

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽   »   school  uniforms,  thick  jackets, sleeping  with  the  windows  open, logical  advice,  scrapbooking, compasses, i  fight  for  my  friends,  sculpture  gardens, cold  morning  air,  big  soul, likes  routine, secret  romantic, last  to  get  jokes, sunflowers, practical  presents,  misty  weather

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁   »   herbal  tea, smell  of  rain,  blinking  away  tears,  camping  trips, collecting  bones,  swiss  army  knives, first  impressions,  anxious  thoughts,  bobby  pins, burnt  marshmallows, too  competitive, clothes  lines,  messenger  bags, holding  grudges, gets  along  better  with  animals  than  people

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴   »   flirtatious  sarcasm,  candid  photos,  lost  phone  chargers, adrenaline  rush, picking  dirt  out  from  beneath  their  nails,  social  chameleon, clashing  clothes, self-deprecating  jokes,  claw  machines, sits  in  chairs  wrong,  smudged  eyeliner,  has  too  many  sunglasses, eats  nothing  or  everything

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁   »   infectious  laugh,  family  trees,  shivers  down  their  spine,  lipstick  and  roses, mood  swings, clumsy, believing  in  destiny,  high  expectations,  sleeping  in  darkness,  collection  of  nail  polish, passionate,  good  grades  but  never  studies, poetry  books, blowing  kisses,  not  knowing  their  own  strength

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺   »   knowing  everyone’s  secrets,  backpack  covered  in  pins,  envy, being  in  walmart  late  at  night,  earl  grey,  selective  memory,  conspiracy  theories  and  cryptids, keysmashing,  need  to  know  basis,  can’t  cook, bags  under  eyes, experimental  art, flickering  bulbs, black  clothing  all  year  long

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳   »   piles  of  textbooks, cat  in  lap, keeping  a  diary,  indecisions, scented  candles, studying  alone  in  a  café, lingering  touches,  museum  dates,  unanswered  questions, taking  on  too  much  responsibility,  collections,  chalk  dust,  comfy  robes, unnecessary  apologies,  coming  home  after  a  long  day

tagged  by   :  @abelunwilling​ ilu 

tagging : @rhysinpieces , @idlegore​ (athena) , @vilifyme​ (angel) , @quietanthem​ (fiona) , @stardustvein​ (sasha) i know you’ve all been tagged but i love u guys so w/e

[jackfromthegrave]

if you ever feel stupid or weak or powerless, just remember that I, am not. And I am out there, very dangerous and I am looking for you. Good luck

[jackfromthegrave]

Sup.

[jackfromthegrave]

LIV / FIONA‌:

SHE STILL ISN’T USED TO THE HANDSY-NESS.  Fiona has never been one to be open with her affections and tended to keep everyone on Pandora at a healthy distance as a rule.  On a planet rife with all sorts of exotic illnesses, one could never be too careful.  But these folks probably all had immunizations.  At least, she hopes so.  A lot of them are swapping spit at the moment; she has a hunch some of them will be swapping other bodily fluids after another round of drugs and liquor.

Jack’s smoking something she’s only ever seen in vids; at it smells like absolute ass.  She remembers somewhat fondly the smell of cigarettes back when she used to run with Her.  Those always conjured warm memories, even though Fiona herself never partook.  Not even She could have made a cigar sexy.  And, in her opinion, neither does he.  But his teeth look particularly feral on display, lips pulled over pearly whites that practically blind.  Maybe it’s less about the smell and more about the message.

She drags her attention away from the smoke and the big hand at her waist just in time to hear him flippantly mention a man’s impending doom.  “He probably deserves it, right?”  It slips out before she can catch herself.  Such a fucking  FIONA  thing to say.  Slick bitterness over someone having more than what she’s got.  She tries to play it off by drinking some more, scooching close to him on the couch in the hopes that her proximity will assuage any potential doubts of her legitimacy.  “I mean, strangling, though? Won’t your hands get tired?”  Fiona attempts her approximation of a disarming smile.  The one positive aspect of her true identity is that it’s so easy for her to acclimate to his random acts of violence.  Not a day goes by on Pandora without witnessing something heinous.  It’s the same shit up here, apparently.  It’s just the scenery’s changed.

“Make ‘em play a game of Russian Roulette. At least then you can just sit back and watch.”  The fact that everyone here would sooner spit on someone like her than lend her a dime makes this train of thought slightly more palatable.  She shrugs and crosses her legs.  “Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll off each other. Two for one deal.”

JACK’S ALWAYS ENVISIONED HIMSELF HERE. Sometimes he recalls the moment it all clicked; a day where everything in him ached, stung, and burned with a hate for mediocrity, for all that dusty nothing in his life. And he'd worked his scrawny ass off, climbed every ladder and kissed every rear propped between him and the fame and fortune he'd hungered for since a childhood of scars. So he soaks in all the light bouncing off those disco balls. Basks in the haze of thick smoke and trashy perfume. Because he earned this. Earned this with every body thunk’d limp to the floor.

All the more reason to smugly share it with someone plucked so humdrum off the vine. But there's a strange, hidden sense of respect for a woman climbing her way to the top. It's always been a factor drawing him to the more prominent ladies in his life. To Moxxi, to Nisha, to his long-gone wife with the sleek, dark hair.

And, so far, Livia’s holding up better than he thought. Must be that slyness in those wildcat eyes, the subtle crease in the curve of lips he doesn't mind staring at. She might be a fish out of water, but she's easing into the uneven flow. Helps, he thinks, when you've got such a large shark to lean to when the barracuda start slinking too close. What she says, though, makes him wonder all the more if this flightly lil' fishie's got a few fangs hidden away. He senses something in her waver, trying to adjust what might've been a daring slip of the tongue. Something that has Jack leaning his face in closer, smoke blossoming lazily from around his teeth when he next speaks so uncharacteristically low. “...Almost makes it sound like ya think I should off 'em all. Every naaasty, corporate scumbag in this room. 'Til it's just you and me. Then what, huh?”

But he just laughs. Leans his head back along the couch to do so when it builds into a lazy hyena's cackle. “Ohhh these hands got experience, baby! All kinds, if ya know what I mean.” He reaches to tap the underside of her chin, innuendo still sleazing off the edges of prosthetic lips. “Guess we’ll see how lucky it gets me.”

In spite of the way that smirk widens, Livia's got his attention more murder-side than anything. “Lovin' the way that sexy lil' mind works. Russian Roulette's a claaaaassic up here. Especially when I give 'em rigged guns. 'Cause there’s no fun in playing fair, right?” He downs his champagne in one go and chucks the glass aside. The resulting shatter and yelp aren't even recognized in the focus of mismatched eyes locked only on her.

“...Tell me about somethin' you've always wanted to do at a shindig like this. Lay it aaaall out for me. Like those two goin' at it in the corner by the chocolate fountain. Just. All out there. Damn.”

[jackfromthegrave]

vibe check *smacks you across the face*

[jackfromthegrave]

RHYS‌

Rhys has some pretty specific feelings about the mental image of his brain being consumed like a burrito bowl. “Ew-ew-ew-ew-grosslet’snottalkaboutit.”

And although he’s quiet after that, the image of Jack puppeteering his unconscious body is equally disturbing in another way. Perhaps it’s something deeper and more violating of the fragile trust scraped together between them–or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to deal with the inevitably embarrassing fallout of whatever Jack would do with full rein. 

“I’m not, but –” He falters, unsure how to string the thought together. He pauses for a minute, cradling his chin in one hand in a thoughtful posture. “What’re we gonna do? ‘Cause neither of us can really have a life like this, y’know?”

As if he had one to start with–but he doesn’t need to say that.

“Maybe I can build you, like, a robot body? Once I’m back to the top, we’d have all the resources… that’d be kinda cool.” Him and Jack working together on a project had always been a pipedream. Maybe not quite the way he’d imagined it coming true, but it still made him smile again. “Ha, would make it–pretty easy to change up the mask if you wanted, y’know? W-we could do like, modular hand attachments. For baking or murder or… I dunno.”

THE FUTURE ISN'T COMPLICATED for an AI with a simple, singular objective, though spanners still find themselves wedged within the works. Like how such a harmless proposition plucks at a dead tyrant's fleeting attention span. Draws his gaze back to a smile where it lingers ever so slightly over-long. Been a while since he's seen someone grin without so much rotten malice splitting the seams. And it's contagious.

“Heyyy now. I like the way you think!” There's no teeth flashed dangerous in the image of the hologram's smile this time. More a crease that meets his eyes and doesn't narrow them tight into a pair of dangerous slits hungry for cash and corpses alike. “Laser eyes are a no-brainer. Gooootta have a collapsible chainsaw somewhere in there.  Next to the flamethrower, ya think? Not next to the, uh, other attachment. Y'know, the uh. The big ol' massive attachment. Just ginormous. Very sexy, very functional. A real crowd pleaser, if, uh-- if ya know what I mean.” He leans in all the closer, sleazy smirk spreading wide to match the smugness of a building, snickering laugh. “Dicks are what I mean.”

Dicks aside, Jack catches himself yet again in one of those moments. Moments that don't have wretched rhythms of 1s and 0s matching together all the murderous schemes that try to label Rhys a nameless body, a barcoded shell. It’s the pesky kind that somehow sticks; a concept where they build him back a place in this life and Hyperion is theirs. An empire bigger, better, brighter than ever before.

Such is the result he plans for, regardless of the messy means that make it so. Still, this very naive, charming scenario has itself jammed between tangles of code. Tangles that might tie a noose just as much as they flicker a shine of something curious in a spectre’s eyes.

“So you'd actually... make that happen? Like, seriously?”

[jackfromthegrave]

didnt you die

That was weeks ago dude. Things change

[jackfromthegrave]

his hands on hips pose is my aesthetic 

[jackfromthegrave]

Isn’t it so great to be the most beautiful person in the world? not that you would know cause it’s me but can you imagine?

[jackfromthegrave]

rhysinpieces‌

Something passes over Jack’s translucent face that makes Rhys pause and just watch him quietly; a moment’s vulnerability, one that almost makes him want to… comfort him? Which doesn’t make sense, all things considered–so he pointedly skips over it. Techo-babble is something they can both understand.

“Yeah, but like–you have memories, right? And you’re creating new ones all the time–so that means, your code gets longer?” He taps the side of his own head to gesture to Jack’s current chassis. “So what if, like… you ended up on a device that didn’t have enough storage? What if only part of you could be transferred? Would it just–not work or would you split, or–”

A dark thought occurs, and after a moment’s thought, he gives it voice: 

“I mean, also… if I died, my cybernetics might not be destroyed. So you’d just be like… stuck in my… ew.” He maybe should have thought about that one a bit longer. Now the image won’t go away, and he’s sure Jack’s only going to contribute to the grossness. Not before he word-vomits an addition of his own. “That’d be even worse, like–you could still see but not move and just–ew ewewew.”

IT’S EASY FOR JACK TO FORGET THE NATURE OF WHAT HE IS. Easy to confuse the essence of an electric ghost for ever-ravenous meat and bone. He's fully self aware at this point, yet the lines still blur when the heat of a moment flushes white-hot through those strands of code growing, feeding, evolving. Like it'd be so easy to sink into the lanky framework Rhys provides and resume where his death had put so many plans on hold. Except it's not that easy.

And his host sure paints a picture that the AI's already considered in the confines of his well-coiffed cage. “Oh man that would suuuuuck,” he laughs out. “‘Cause-- 'Cause your brain would be total psycho dinner. Like, they’d 100% scoop that puppy out with spoons for brain-bean stew and I’d just be right there! Front and center! Can't do shit while that beauty’s outta commish.” (Unless there was a fully-functional robotic skeleton waiting to just... slip into that skin). “Now if you were put in a coma? Totally different story. Oh-ho-ho the stuff I'd do if that happened would be freakin' legendary, baby! It'd be like handin' the wheel over to someone who really knows how to drive!” But he clears his throat and shrugs like the idea hadn't gotten him slightly excited. “Dead, though... Yeah, that, uh. That would suck.” 

At least tech-talk doesn't leave the ugly imagining of a taste in the mouth he doesn't have. Doesn't have his software itching with why the death of one man would matter as more than anything than a rude roadblock on his trip back to the top. “Let's just say I'd be stuck in lag-town if my code doesn't have room to work its magic. Pretty sure Naka-whatshisname programmed some work-arounds so I'd still function, just with a few lame-o complications. Not that I think we're gonna have that to worry about. Already checked your systems and I'll be good for a while. Hyperion sure did ya a solid with these cybernetics, pal! You're welcome.” 

He falls an unsettling (uncharacteristic) silent as he gazes out into the desert again, hideous and barren as it is. “Hope you're not askin' me all this 'cause you're gettin' cold feet, here.”

[jackfromthegrave]

[jackfromthegrave]

have you ever looked at someone and thought…

i could look at you for hours and not get bored

[jackfromthegrave]

idlegore‌ / mad moxxi

PEOPLE  LIKED  TO  TALK.   if moxxi had taken anything from her many run-ins with the animals of the business world, it was that.  what couldn’t be evidenced in actions was always somehow rectified with words.  with empty promises flung out in late night emails or muttered through a sly, dirty grin.  in a structure so fragile, one spark could spread a wildfire so large it was capable of burning entire corporations to the ground.  of reshaping the world as they knew it.  and while moxxi was yet to witness an event that awe-inspiring, she had full faith that jack would one day be responsible for something like it.  whether she would be along for the ride was another matter entirely, and one she thought best not to consider for the time being.  not when there were other, more pressing, issues at hand.

“ hmm, ”   her feigned consideration was little more than a breath against his neck, a sigh too contented for its own good.   “ no can do, baby.  think the only thing strong enough to slow down  assiter  is a bullet the size of elpis. ”   slim arms slid over the curve of jack’s shoulders to caress his chest.  settling in closer, her nails pressed into the skin beneath his shirt.   “ and  that  one didn’t get here in time so.. ”   she slipped away, abruptly pulling herself from his warmth.  a small black box stared up at her from her coat; what’d been so carefully dumped on the table hours earlier.  an object that’d almost been stowed away a while longer, for fear it was too soon.  or too late.  fitting for what it was  —  a watch so expensive she  really  shouldn’t have.   “ you’ll just have to settle for what i gotcha instead. ”   with the box in hand, she turned, traipsing a path back to stand in front of him.  moxxi held it as if it were a bomb, and waited rather impatiently for jack to relieve her of its burden.   “ no more work.  take it. ”

THE SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND TONGUE LASHINGS WILL ALL BE WORTH IT. It doesn't matter how many times Tassiter likes to remind him that he's useless, that he's nothing, when every keystroke beneath Jack's fingertips drags him that much closer to the Hyperion throne. Still far out of reach, still not quite ripe for the taking, but one of these days... Oh, one of these days, it'll be his. For now, he tightens his jaw and types in the usual apology. Makes sure to add the simpering ass-kissing he knows placates Tassiter's ego. It's part of what makes him so content to see Moxxi stepping into a spotlight of her own making. No one holding her back, no one crushing her dreams of success beneath a gaudy loafer's heel. He think the galaxies are better off beneath her heel, but that's plenty of bedroom bias thinking for him.

The kind that can't help but prickle the back of his neck when pretty-painted nails rake over his chest. With such ease she can melt away the tension that had lined the edges of those broad shoulders; have him tilting his head back with eyes falling closed like it would be so simple to just... shove his work aside in favor of the come-hither spice of her perfume. But she pulls away and puts a groan of disappointment in the fall of Jack’s laugh. “Now that's a gift that can't come soon enough. Friggin' prick's killin' me, babe.”

His hands rub up over the length of his face, ignoring the beginnings of stubble he's neglected in his time at the terminal. But once his palms move aside, he sees that she's in front of him now and with a little black box so carefully offered forward. Mismatched eyes blink down at the gift, then up at her as a curious expression slowly fits into a playful smirk. “...What're you up to, huh?” Mindful for once, he reaches to relieve her of its peculiar burden. “Is there, uh, some kinda weird-- er, special occasion goin’ on or-- or what? I swear I checked my calender.”

She's never done this before. Never had a treasure of her own to match all the shiny trinkets he's bought her on plenty of stupid, smitten whims. So when he opens the box and sees a watch like that glistening up at him? The surprise is genuine in every sharp-cut angle of his face all the way from widened eyes to the slightest part of lips left speechless. A rare silence that sticks as he gingerly pulls the watch from the cushion its been set in; thumb smoothing over the metal band he knows is hideously expensive. “Mox...” comes his eventual sigh, impressed to match the grin now spreading his mouth wide enough to show teeth. “How did you...? Why did you...?” 

[jackfromthegrave]

i've mentioned this in most of my posts at this point tbh but figured i should write this out somewhere semi-properly: jack's scar marked him in more ways than physical. because the transfer of knowledge was so violently interrupted, he's been left with a kind of corrupted connection to ancient eridian essence that burns him also with the whispers of a dead people. sometimes -- usually late at night when things are too quiet -- he'll hear alien voices entangled amongst his thoughts and speaking a language he can and cannot understand. if it gets bad enough (usually when he's already incredibly sleep deprived), he'll even scrawl eridian scripture over whatever surface is the most readily available to him. both the drawings and the whispers often talk of the warrior and of "his mission" to wake it. but occasionally there are snippets of other things: of vaults, of sirens, and of the future. which, of course, he'll often get paranoid over or fixate on until something else can distract him.

so yeah for once i actually lean a lot into the fanon take that a lot of people have on this one. intense alien fever dreams at 4AM? you betcha.