#daddy augustus

[sweatytyrantobservation]

Hello bioshock fans

[brbuttons]

sneak peak at tomorrow's shop update.~

[nervousexpertpuppy]

Thinking of Johnny topside but as a selkie and what it would mean for subject delta

Would Subject Delta see his old seal skin and know that it's his, would he just see it and not know?

When they turned Johnny Topside into Subject Delta did they take the seal skin and toss it away, in the trash or in a fire to be turned to ash? Would Johnny Topside know or see them throw his seal skin away? Or would they keep it? Would try try to splice it or turn it into something like seal skin boots, or would they just keep it in a box somewhere

Or did they let him keep it? If you took off Subject Deltas armor would his seal skin be somewhere in there? Melted into him or just against him?

If he found his seal skin and it was intact would he just leave it? Seeing it as nothing of interest? Leaving it to rot along with rapture? Or would he grab it? Would he know what it truly was or would he just find it interesting? Would he try to gift it to Eleanor or Sinclair?

If he does survive getting up to the surface do you think he would crave the ocean? Do you think he would feel guilty about having a want to go to the sea?

If he died and he gave the skin to Eleanor would she know what it truly is? That the seal skin is her father but not, that it's the only part of Johnny Topside that's left, how would it feel that the last gift your father give you is the last part of him that's not really him, Subject Delta and Johnny Topside are two different people but also the same, Subject Delta came from Johnny Topside, Johnny had to die for Delta to live...

If Subject Delta gotten out of the suit would he still be able to turn into a seal? Or would he have forgotten how? Would he want to but not be able to?

Would he stay up and night and feel guilty at feeling at home in the sea? Rapture was hell but it calmed his instincts to go to the sea, it was oddly homily, now he not only has to deal with being on the surface for the first time but also having the want to go back to the place he spent so long trying to leave.

[drawingcrunch]

Forget about waiting for the poll to end amiright

STINKMAN AND STINKCLAIR !!!! THE CROWD GOES MILD!!!!!!!!!!!

height comparison for them 2 (big daddy oc for scale)

[thenymphwithpointedtoes]

gus mccrae ♡♡

[alcapeasstuff]

Bioshock doodles plus basically my first play through

[wander-over-the-words]

The “I want to see my little boy~” “Here he comes!” vine but it’s Sinclair when he’s lost Delta so he just kinda looks around and then cups his mouth like

“I wanna see my cuddlebug~!”

and then he hears quick incoming big stompy stomp stomping and just

“here he comes!”

[darrowsrising]

Nero au Augustus' greatest serve:

They were the perfect couple, a marriage that ended old rivalries and created a new powerouse.

'Do you think we shall ever be parted my love?!

'Never. Keep on like that and I'll start to think you've lost your head.'

Hail @violethowler for screenshots

[wedielikekings]

[brinaarcadia]

GRACE HOLLOWAY HAAS CLASSY CLOTHES

[sweatytyrantobservation]

If you don't think big daddies are hot, you're lying to yourself

[brbuttons]

last post for tonight I promise-

Delta & Omega style variations.

[teenbasher]

waking up Seb’s first thought & urge was to stab Augustus.

seb literally wakes up every morning & chooses violence 🙃

[navree]

God that Cleopatra show is so fucking stupid. And the fact their saying its a documentary! Wtf

I haven't watched it and I have no desire to because it's everything I've been railing against for years (she's part of the ptolemaic dynasty! they're literally known for having a christmas wreath for a family tree! she's the culmination of like three hundred years of white macedonians fucking their siblings and their kids over and over again! this woman could be played by kristen stewart and it would be accurate casting!) and I would just get mad. The attempts to try and paint this as in any way historically accurate are especially galling, considering the legacy of the Ptolemies. They came down from Macedonia and literally conquered Egypt for themselves, refused to engage with the culture or the language or the people in any meaningful way until Cleopatra, who then proceeded to miscalculate so spectacularly that she ended up being the catalyst for Egypt becoming a colony for the next two thousand years. The Ptolemies were a bunch of white partiers high flying their way through Egypt and not caring about maintaining the country in any meaningful way and were directly responsible for its waning power in the Mediterranean (Auletes literally needed to beg for Rome's intervention to get his throne back, my God the Ptolemies were pathetic), and to try and heap all that fail-legacy on the idea that Cleopatra was "culturally black" (literally what the fuck does that mean) is honestly a bit insulting. Talk about Cleopatra if you want, but just admit that it's because she's just Egypt's most famous white lady and stop trying to justify it with some idea that she was actually even remotely ethnically Egyptian at all when she certainly wasn't and it's incredibly provable.

And I honestly want Hollywood and the entertainment industry to ask themselves: why do they keep wanting to tell Cleopatra's story? What's the point? Every time anyone tries, it's always framed around two things: her relationship with Julius Caesar and the tumult of that time period, or her relationship with Mark Antony and the tumult of that time period. And in both cases, Egypt and Cleopatra are on the periphery of that story, with the core drama centered around the Romans and their dynamics (Caesar and the Ides and Brutus and Cassius, or Antony and Octavian and the last war of the Republic). That's where the meat is, and Cleopatra's function is to just be a love interest and then die. There's a reason why I vastly prefer reading about Actium in an Antony or Octavian biography, rather than a Cleopatra one; they're the ones with the biggest stakes in the game and whose decisions are shaping the outcome. Octavian didn't even care about Cleopatra, not really, he wanted Egypt for the money but his primarily goal was to get Antony out of the way and assume sole power for himself. There are stories that can center Cleopatra, but those mostly involve her early reign, like her and her father's flight to Rome or her succession issues with her siblings, and we really don't see a lot of media that wants to engage with that at all. So pop culture is focused on Cleopatra as a side character, and I think it's incredibly telling that even then, they still took the white lady and ran with her the most when they refuse to do anything actually interesting, as opposed to looking at stories about actual Egyptians.

There are so many interesting Egyptian figures I wish were getting more press, Egyptians who were actually, you know, ethnically Egyptian. I'm incredibly partial to the late Eighteenth Dynasty and early Nineteeneth Dynasty myself (I have a fondness for the Amarna period in particular) and I would kill to see anything from that, or about Hatshepsut, and I'll even allow for a skipping of Tutankhamun given how done to death he's been. These people all have incredibly fascinating stories where they're, you know, the central figures, where they affect the world and where their actions have weight and consequences. Tell those stories, adapt that history, rather than trying to shove some ridiculous narrative that a woman who owned slaves and who is, I'm sorry, most famous for fucking up, is actually peak representation for your modern American understanding of race and ethnicity. I'd kill for more documentaries about Ancient Egypt and some of these royals, give me them and enough with fucking Cleopatra.

[angevinyaoiz]

This meme is about to become my reality

(u can also buy the zine here. It's SFW and more dialogue focused so no position is favored. I greet my archnemesis with open arms and the kiss of peace because while I have preferences I am not tied to any singular headcanon, and am only committing to the Bit for the joy of performance)

[vvatchword]

The King Is Dead (Long Live the King)

Twenty giants in custom divers’ suits hunched against the wall, a number of them swaying in the throes of sedation. The armor had been scuffed and shot to hell; old blood and rust stains striped them in brown. It was horrible; he could smell them—the musk of unwashed bodies and blood.

“What the hell is this?” Sinclair asked, clipboard clapping to his thigh.

“Ryan Industries is currently examining all Fontaine Futuristics projects and determining their fungibility,” said the dark-suited woman. “This project was deemed undesirable for philosophical reasons.”

“Look, our terms are nowhere near complete,” Sinclair said. “The contract Fontaine signed owes me for canceling early.”

“And Ryan Industries shall abide by the agreement.”

“Ah, very good.” Sinclair relaxed a little. “So, ah. Where’s the documentation as to their, ah… conditions? Needs?”

“The documentation is still being overlooked and has not yet been released,” said the dark-suit.

Sinclair paused. “Excuse me?” He gestured at them with his reading glasses. “These are the prize fighters of Fontaine’s Plasmid Theater, are they not? I know for certain that bunch has medical necessities lying outside the pale. At least give me their medical regimens or I’m refusing this shipment outright. I don’t think I have the facilities to hold them, full stop.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “This was what Ryan requested…”

“One moment,” Sinclair said. “I’m calling someone. You, chief—” He pointed at Dr. Alexander, who had frozen against the door, where he had begun pushing his shoulder. “—you make sure this lot doesn’t go mad in my absence, all right?”

He ducked into the first office he saw. The placard on the door said something about shipments. Inside, a squirrelly man with round glasses jumped.

“Mr. Sinclair?” he squeaked.

“I require the use of your telephone,” Sinclair said, plopping onto the corner of his desk.

He lifted the receiver, knocked on the cradle a few times.

“Yeah, darlin’, Andrew Ryan, please,” he said. “Augustus Sinclair sending his regards.”

The squirrelly man turned red, batted about for pens and folders, and scuttled out of the office. Sinclair watched him go.

“I trust this is important.”

“Andrew,” said Sinclair. “This is Augustus speaking.”

“Yes.”

“Some of Fontaine’s projects are being sent back to me.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “Without records. I hope you understand why this is a problem.”

Silence.

“Now, look, I’m a reasonable man. If you intend to pay for early cancellation, well, be my guest. But part of that agreement is full data on the subjects’ medical needs, which I’m being told are…”

“Those records contain sensitive information. Our genetics department is going over them before they are released to you.”

“Andrew. I can’t take care of them if I don’t know what they need. What’s more, these are Fontaine’s Plasmid Theater boys.”

“Are they?”

For a moment, Sinclair was struck dumb. There was weight in that sentence. It curled out cold and clever.

“Andrew,” Sinclair said slowly. “Have I done something to irk you?”

“Have you seen the news, Sinclair?”

“Well, naturally.”

“I no longer know who I can trust,” he said.

Sinclair had started twirling his cigarette in circles, over and over and over. Several sentences banged up in his throat, but they all started with, “But Fontaine.”

“You worked with Fontaine almost exclusively over the past four years.”

“Well, sure, chief, but he was the…”

“And I want to know if you are, as the vernacular goes, ‘on the level.’”

“Andrew, please. I’ve done you nothing but good since we met, haven’t I? I’m a productive member of society, aren’t I? Why, right here in my possession I have a number of your ne’er-do-wells…”

“The Johnny Topside case comes to mind.”

“Andrew, Andrew. That boy is long gone. A flash in the pan. Besides…”

Sinclair cut himself off. He’d been about to say, “Why not have a little fun while you’re at it?” But not only did Ryan not know the meaning of “fun,” the familiar emptiness gaped below his breastbone.

That boy, long gone.

That boy, no doubt swaying to music only he could hear.

“Besides?” Ryan asked softly.

“Besides, you can’t fault a man for having needs,” Sinclair said matter-of-factly. “We all know about Ms. Jolene.”

Ryan’s silence was particularly cool.

“Take them for now,” he said at last. “I will not leave you helpless, Sinclair. But take them… as a sign of your trust in me. I will deliver the records in time.”

“I have a facility to run down here,” Sinclair said softly. “Just as you have a city to take care of up there. Your boys know how to take care of them. I don’t. Just hold on to them for now; it’ll save both you and me a lot of heartache.”

“I have decided, Sinclair.”

Sinclair let out a long breath.

“If they go wild,” he said, “I’m sending you the bill.”

“Very well.”

A click. The dial tone hummed.

For a moment, Sinclair closed his eyes, let the receiver hang numbly in his fingers. Then he dropped to his feet, hung up, straightened his tie and jacket, and marched back into Receiving.

Dr. Alexander stood in front of one of the diving suits, injecting something into the inside of its elbow. The others twitched or shifted foot to foot or rocked side to side, but this one stood completely still—so still that it might have died and was merely held upright by its shape.

“What are you doing there, doctor?” Sinclair asked softly.

Dr. Alexander swung ’round, clapping a hand to his heart. He laughed nervously.

“Delta’s our firebrand,” he said. “He started looking shifty, so I thought I’d give him a little extra sedation before you took him.”

Sinclair gazed up into the viewplate. It was featureless. No sign who might be underneath.

“How the hell do you tell?” he asked.

“Oh, he begins standing very still. That’s how you know he’s thinking.”

“Can you at least give me a hint as to how to take care of these things?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Alexander said. “Don’t underestimate them. They change.”

The dark-suited woman glared at him, but Dr. Alexander rattled on.

“This bunch has had more ADAM pumped into them than most,” he said. “They’ve started, ah, adapting.”

“Good lord.”

“And there at the end all we kept them for was fighting, so the minute they wake up, they’re violent. Keep them sedated at all costs. I cannot stress enough how dangerous they are.”

“Well, it looks like I have no choice but to take them,” Sinclair said. “But if they cause trouble, I’m sending Ryan the bill.”

“He said you might say that,” said the woman. She held out a pad of paper. Sinclair took it.

It was a pack of invoices.

“He trusts you won’t need them,” she said.

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