biotrash | BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires
- bioshock trash crew proverb

== A RAPTURE REMINDER: ==

PROMPTS AND FILLS WITH INFORMATION ON BURAL AT SEA 2 ARE SPOILERS.

THIS POST IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE UNTIL APRIL 27th.
PLEASE ADD ALL SPOILERY PROMPTS AND FILLS TO THIS POST UNTIL THAT TIME.

Spoilery comments to this post will be deleted, and their authors vanished in the night to volunteer in our city's fine Protector Program.

Thank you for your attention. Have a nice day!

Welcome to the Bioshock kink meme.

You can find a semi-frequently-updated list of prompts, with links and an indication of whether they've been filled, here at the index.

it is a kink meme. people anonymously (or not) request fic and pictures; other people anonymously (or not) write that fic and draw those pictures. everyone masturbates, peace is achieved.

there are two ways to take part!

1) start a new comment thread with a pairing/ship, and a kink. there's a kink masterlist here if you find yourself strapped for ideas.

2) swoop into an existing comment thread, and fill the person's request with art or writing. if someone's already filled the request, go for it anyway -- the more the merrier! if you need somewhere to upload/host images, try imgur.

there are some beautiful gems on the old kink memes. if you want an example of how this whole thing works, or you're digging for gold, look no further: on Livejournal, on Dreamwidth.

NOW GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY, MY CHILDREN

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

hi red

i can't open my FUCKING mouth without it ending up as a prompt on the meme

(and i love it)

JOKES ON YOU I'M RIGHT HERE
YOU HAVE BEEN COAXED INTO A SNAFU

Every time I read "Jatlas," my brain translates it to "Jackass," at which point the JACKASS theme starts playing in my head over clips of Jack getting his ass handed to him by Big Daddies, presumably while Fontanei watches and laughs at him... It makes fapping very difficult when just acasual glance at the fic name in the open tab can start the nonsense going again!
Somebody help me excise this brainfart already..! Fic, comics, interpretive dance, ANYTHING to soothe this itch!

jesus christ 'I'm Jack Wynand and welcome to JACKASS' is basically how I play bioshock hold on buddy I got you

LITERALLY shitting my pants

OP thanks you from the bottom of their desperate heart..!

Cindy and Cheryl have done a lovely job on the banner. It’s in every colour of felt tip pen they could find, and it’s got pictures of dogs and ponies and flying sharks. And right in the middle are stick figure images of Harry and Mark, and the words:

DAD AUDITIONS TODAY

Once they’ve hung the banner above the door, Mark and Harry stand with their hands in each other’s trouser pockets and beam at it proudly.

“Daddy, don’t do that with your hands,” says Cindy.

“You’ll get cooties,” says Cheryl.

“Boy cooties.”

“Oh really?” says Mark.

Harry gently kisses him, and there are two identical squeals of ewwwww! from the girls. Harry grins into Mark’s mouth.

Then they take their places behind the interview desk, while the girls take crayons and board games to the corner to play. And they wait.

-

“Who’s first on the schedule?” asks Harry.

Mark opens his planner. Harry’s been happy to let him handle the writing side of things; Mark’s punctuation game is just so much stronger than his. He peers over the other man’s shoulder at the book, trying to pick out names from a solid wall of scribbled annotations.

Helpfully, Mark points to one.

Harry squints.

“Is that… even a real name?”

“I think it’s Greek,” says Mark. “Could be code.”

“Is ‘Subject’ supposed to be his first name?”

There’s a knock on the door of the interview room, which smashes it clean off its hinges. Mark jumps to his feet with a noise like an exclamation point. A drill enters the room, followed by a diving suit.

Several seconds late, Harry throws up his hands to protect his face.

“What’s that?!”

“I think,” says Mark, “it’s the first applicant.”

The first applicant makes a noise like a whale going through a grinder. Harry grabs a fistful of Mark’s suit jacket, and slowly pulls him down so that his ear is at whispering level.

“What?”

“He’s saying sorry about the door.”

“You understand it??”

Mark escapes from Harry’s grasp with dignity. “I uh, think I should handle this one.” He turns to the massive diving suit man. “Bowwwooaahh hhoouuuughhghh oooughhhhhh, baaaawwooooaaaaaar baaaaahhhhhhohuuuuuuuu.”

Something in the diving suit’s helmet lights up green. “Boooooouuuuuoooooouuu,” it agrees.

Harry slides waaaay down in his chair, and sort of lets the conversation happen.

The next thing he knows, Subject Delta is being accepted into their dad squad, and Mark’s shaking his drill and offering him a seat. A few broken chairs later he’s sitting on the floor next to their table. Mark says something to him in grinder whale, and there’s a long disbelieving groan in response.

“What did you say to him?” asks Harry.

“I told him congratulations on getting the green light.”

They both laugh and high five at the excellent dad joke. Then Harry says, “Seriously, though — where the heck did you learn to talk like that?”

“You don’t want to know,” says Mark.

-

“Is the door supposed to look like that?” asks the second applicant.

Delta lifts his drill, and makes an apologetic-sounding horrifying hell noise. The new guy looks shocked and alarmed. Harry warms to him instantly.

“There was an accident,” he says. “So you’re, uh—”

He consults Mark’s notes. Or tries to. There’s so much written here. ‘Crackpot’, that’s probably not their three o’clock appointment’s name. ‘This goes all the way to the top’? That’s almost certainly not.

“You’re… oh, here!… Jack, right?”

Jack nods, not taking his eyes off Delta.

“Good to meet you,” says Harry, offering private thanks to Samael that this guy is human and not another surprise monster. He finds Jack’s filled-out application on the desk, skims over it to refresh his memory. “Your application was great, really great, but there are a couple things we want to go over that were a bit…”

“Highly suspicious,” says Mark.

“Hard to believe,” finishes Harry.

Jack pulls a face. “I didn’t lie,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” says Mark, in what he probably thinks is a very hardboiled tone. “Then what’s with this birthdate? That’d make you, what, four years old. And how come you didn’t put down a surname?”

“I don’t want either of my surnames,” says Jack.

“And what about that age, huh? You dodging the question?”

Harry is not sure if he’s seeing things, or if there’s something sparking around Jack’s hands.

All of a sudden, they’re interrupted by whale noises. Delta has pinned Jack’s application form on the end of his drill, and he’s reading it… probably. Who knows if he has eyes under that helmet. Harry tries not to think about the gummy red fluids that his drill is getting all over the paper.

Mark raises his eyebrows and starts making whale noises back. Jack’s face slides from anger to ‘what’ to ‘really, WHAT’, and Harry wonders if he can will the floor into swallowing him.

“Yeah,” says Mark, “you gotta good point, buddy.” He looks back to Jack, who has a real fight-or-flight struggle happening on his face right now. “You’ve rescued a lot of girls. There’d be a lot more missing kids under the sea if it weren’t for you.”

Harry realises that hey, there’s a funny parallel there, and he’s about to point it out when he realises that Mark probably already realised too.

“So what are you saying?” he says instead. “We let the age thing slide?”

Mark nods slowly. “Yeah. Jack, I reckon we can find you a good place in the dad squad.”

-

The room is a lot noisier now, because when Mark invited Jack to sit with the girls, Jack revealed that he’d brought a few of his own. Like a lot. At least twenty. They just kept filing into the room as if the corridor outside was a clown car, and now they’re sitting on rugs in the corner, playing slugs-and-ladders and drawing flying sharks into all the colouring books.

It’s a little overwhelming. But then again, they’re all dads here, and what are dads without daughters?

Lots… and… lots of daughters.

Jack himself is fiddling with one of Cheryl’s toy walkie-talkies, taking it apart, while about four different girls vie to be king of the castle on his massive shoulders. Cheryl is chattering away to him with a screwdriver in her hand. Harry swallows, and tries to concentrate on the newest applicant.

“Mr… Ethan Mars?”

“That’s right,” says the hobo beard attached to a man.

“Good to meet you,” says Harry.

Ethan Mars pulls a face, his eyes uncertain. “I guess… I don’t remember filling out that application form. I’m not sure why I came here. I just woke up in the corridor outside.”

“You mean,” says Mark, “you didn’t planet?”

They both laugh and high five at the excellent dad joke. Then Mark says, “Seriously, though — that’s really worrying and it’s probably going to hurt your application.”

Ethan doesn’t answer. He just stares into space good three inches to the left of Harry’s ear.

“…Mr Mars?”

Ethan sways. Then he turns and starts to shuffle away, muttering something about drowning children. Beside Harry, Mark goes still.

Harry puts a hand on his wrist, and squeezes gently.

Still muttering, Ethan leaves through the smashed up door.

“I don’t like him,” says Mark.

There’s a loud, obnoxious BZZZT!! from the corner, and Mark jumps out of his skin; and then, a few seconds later, so does Harry. They both stare over at where the children are playing. Jack is holding up the cannibalised walkie-talkie and smiling proudly.

“It’s a ‘no’ button,” he says.

“Like in a gameshow!” beams Cheryl.

Mark and Harry look at one another.

“Nice timing,” says Harry. “That’s a good idea, sweetie.”

-

“Sorry, what’s your name?” asks Harry.

“DeWitt. Booker DeWitt.”

The new applicant scratches his stubble. He’s lean and tall, with hints of salt-and-pepper creeping into his hair. Completely poker-faced, Mark slides one of the blank application forms across the table to Harry. Harry looks down. There’s a forest of exclamation points drawn at the bottom of the paper, next to the single word HOT.

Harry nods, and pretends he’s nodding at the name. There is a problem, though.

“Okay, Mr Dewitt, your application was, uh…”

“Partially consumed,” supplies Mark.

“Partially consumed,” says Harry. “And the bits that weren’t, well, we couldn’t read them through the beer stains.”

“What are you tryin’ to say?” demands DeWitt. “There a problem with that?”

Harry holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No problem, it just means we’ll have to do this orally.”

Mark, who was taking a drink of water, inexplicably starts coughing. Harry gives him a baffled look and picks up one of the application forms.

“Okay, first question.” He clears his throat and starts to read it off. “Have you gone to a weird, scary place to look for your lost daughter?”

“Sure,” says DeWitt, with the easy air of someone who knows he’s going to ace this test.

Harry puts a tick next to question one. “Okay, good. Question two: Is she only lost because you sold her to pay off your gambling debts? Because that would be an automatic fail, I’m afraid.”

No answer. He blinks up at the guy in front of them.

“Mr DeWitt? …Why are you sweating?”

BZZZT, goes Jack from the corner. He seems to be having fun.

-

The door slams open while they’re eating their lunch, making everybody jump. A bald man in a business suit strides in and gives them the kind of look you give a slug pooping on your shoe.

“I’ve come ta—”

A loud angry BZZZZT makes them all jump again, only harder. Mark stares over at the children’s corner. Jack is staring daggers at the man, and his hand is jammed down onto the ‘no’ button.

“I don’t think we’ve got you on the schedule,” says Harry weakly.

“I own the schedule,” drawls the man. “I own this room. I own this whole flea-pit building. The name’s Frank Fontaine. So you’re gonna sit there like good boys an’ tell me why I wasn’t on your schedule.”

Mark looks at Harry.

Harry looks at Mark.

“You never made an appointment,” says Mark at last.

BZZZZZZT

Fontaine narrows his eyes at Mark. “This here’s some kinda gatherin’ of dads, right? Well I raised a kid once—”

BZZZZT! BZZZZZT!!

“—So that makes me a dad, so I wanna know why you schlubs think you can throw this party—”

BZZZZZZZZZZT!!

“—without me. Will someone shut that goddamn brat the hell up?”

Harry looks over towards the corner and sees that now, Cheryl is holding the button, and pressing it while jabbing it angrily in Frank Fontaine’s direction. Fontaine lifts his lit cigar, as if he’s going to throw it at her. Harry stands up. Delta stands up faster.

The huge metal monster picks up Fontaine by his entire shirt, bellows, and flings him at the window. The sound of breaking glass is almost as loud as Fontaine’s yell of alarm.

Harry wonders if it was a good idea to schedule these interviews on the eighth floor.

Yes, he decides, it definitely was.

He gives Delta a pat on the back, as the diving suit man ambles back to his seat.

-

The door opens to admit a handsome man in rough boots and thick suspenders. He looks like he’s come straight from a shift at the factory. He’s also walking with a limp, and his arm is in a sling.

“Evenin’ to ye,” he says. “I’m Atlas, and I’m lookin’ for me wee baby Pa—”

Jack’s hand comes down on the ‘NO’ buzzer so hard that it almost breaks.

The sound of breaking glass etc etc.

-

“Success?” says Mark.

They look around together. It’s the end of the day, the room is warm with the colours of the setting sun, and a few of the girls are drowsing in the last puddles of sunlight. Jack’s piggybacking three of the more playful ones, and Delta is piggybacking seven or eight more. Cheryl is teaching Cindy to make shadow animals in the light from Delta’s helmet. Cindy is teaching Cheryl to cover and uncover the light to make morse code.

“Success,” says Harry, and tangles his fingers around Mark’s.

Delta makes a sonorous noise, with a lilt at the end that means it might be a question. He’s getting the hang of this, Harry thinks. He’ll be understanding the guy in no time. But for now he still has to look to Mark for a translation.

“He asked if we’re a couple,” supplies Mark.

Harry nods. “We are,” he says to Delta. “A couple of dads.”

They both laugh and high five at the excellent dad joke. Then Harry says, “Seriously, though — yes.”

Mark gently kisses him, and there are twenty-something identical squeals of ewwwww! from the girls. Harry grins into Mark’s mouth.

Then they all go home together in the warm twilight.

Oh my god help me this has killed me

IM SHRIEKING

you heard me.

hey ho

so this is what we've come to

The Luteces are real twins who where separated at birth. Years later they meet up, fall in love, bang, then find out they are actual siblings.

make this happen

don't ask questions just fucking do it

Warmth. He was warm. Hands on her face and body near hers and the warmth of the blood beneath her own cheeks. Red was stunned, Atlas's face growing closer to the young revolutionary, newest member of his movement. Eager she was, needy to please and hard working. Her heart stilled, or was it going too fast? One hand moved from her cheek to cup against the base of her skull and bring her ear to Atlas's mouth.

"Oh, Red..." He cooed, name soft on his lips. Her name. Red nearly fainted.

"Atlas...." She stammered, stumbling on the name. His name. Hopefully he couldn't see how nervous she was, then she really would keel over.

He chuckled, noise low in his throat.

"If only there was someone who loved you."

He was still chuckling as he walked off, middle finger in the air, stiff as Red's abandoned dick.

i have followed red on tumblr since like 2012 and watched her every step of the way through atlascraze. i'm so proud. i'm so proud she and we have come this far. we've reached the apex. god bless you and god bless red and god bless america.

Im crying. Real tears

I am Red's roommate, and

Nothing
Nothing could have prepared me for this

fucking Incredible

“No,” said Red, “please.” The words were hoarse, struggling up through her bruised throat. They stung her torn lips. “Please, no.”

Atlas just laughed.

“I don’t do what you say just ‘cause you ask me nicely, love,” he said. Then he grinned. There was blood in his teeth, and it wasn’t his.

“Now you, on the other hand…”

The breath stopped in her chest. She knew what was coming next. And she couldn’t stop it. She could only pray. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t…

“Get down on your knees, would you kindly?”

Her legs buckled under her. The rough wooden floor stung her knees. The impact shocked a sob out of her mouth.

“Please,” she said again.

She barely knew what she was asking for any more. Hadn’t she wanted to meet Atlas? Hadn’t she wanted to be a part of his rebellion? Hadn’t she wondered how he would act when they were alone, when it was just her and him, when he didn’t have to put on a brave face for the soldiers he was leading?

She had. She had. But she wished she’d known just how far that face could slip.

There was the slide and slam of a desk drawer. Red jumped, and realised there was now something in Atlas’s hand. Hard to see in the gloom, until the blade caught a dusty beam of light. A knife.

She was too afraid to even beg.

“Open your mouth, would you kindly?”

Red’s mouth opened, and she made a small, terrified noise in her throat. Her head was suddenly full of visions: he would cut out her tongue. He would cut out her teeth. He would put the knife down her throat and make her choke on the blade.

Atlas crouched down in front of her, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Don’t you fear, lass,” he said. Quiet. Soothing. He lifted his hand, and she flinched away, but he only took her chin tenderly between thumb and forefinger. “Worried I’ll harm that pretty face?”

She made another inarticulate noise of fear.

He shushed her gently. “No need for any apprehension, pet. It’s all right.”

Against all her better judgement, Red felt a little less afraid. He always seemed so trustworthy. His hand was so strong, like an anchor in the whirling nightmare that was however long she’d been here. Listening to his firm, reassuring voice, she could almost believe that he meant all of it well.

Then the blade of the knife glinted again.

“It’s okay,” he said again. “Number of spliced-up beauties I’ve got in my army, I’ll bet you won’t stand out at all.”

And he put the point of the knife against her cheek, and shoved.

The pain was splitting. Her entire face screamed, every nerve burning, hot and cold all at once as her warm blood spilled over the chilly metal of the blade. She felt the deep clunk of metal on her teeth. Blood ran backwards down her throat and she started to choke, coughing violently, jerking her head forwards and tearing up her face even worse.

Then the knife was gone, and a strong hand was slapping her back, but she could barely register them — her eyes were streaming — her ears were ringing with pain — her entire face was on fire.

“Would you kindly get down on the ground now?”

Red could barely tell what Atlas was saying, but her body knew. She lowered her hands to the floor, still coughing, crouching like an animal.

“Good girl,” she heard above her.

Atlas patted her head, stroked behind her ear.

“No need to cry, girlie,” he said. “You’re doing so well.”

Then he trod on Red’s face, pushing the toe of his boot through the wound in her cheek. It shoved her skin aside — she swore it was tearing the flesh even further. The dirty tip of it pressed against her tongue.

“Lick it,” he said, “darlin’.”

Red whimpered in pain. But it wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop until she did what he wanted.

Tongue still inside her mouth, she licked the invading boot, the taste of leather and blood thick and polluting. There was sour-tasting dirt, salty Rapture grime, and blood, always more blood. Always more blood. She kept licking, entirely focused on getting it clean. For Atlas. For her own life.

“Not bad,” said Atlas. There was laughter in his voice. Utterly cold laughter.

“Y’look like you’re enjoying it down there, you little whore. I didn’t even need to ask you kindly.”

Red closed her eyes, tears and snot diluting the blood on her face, but she didn’t dare stop licking. A stone came loose from his sole, stinging her tongue, but she still kept going.

“Would y’even dare to think about saying no to me?”

She couldn’t talk with his shoe in her mouth. But the thought of not answering scared her more than the harrowing pain in her cheek. She shook her head, as small a movement as she dared, choking down sobs.

A voice responded.

The wrong voice entirely.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

A gravelly drawl that made her heart stutter. As rough and overpowering in her ears as the boot was in her mouth.

Then the boot was withdrawn, and kicked her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. She opened her eyes, terrified for a second that she would see someone else there. But it was Atlas. Only Atlas.

She didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“I think you’ve learned a good lesson here today, sweetheart,” he said, his voice back to normal. Maybe it had never been wrong. Maybe she’d imagined it. Maybe she’d imagined everything. Her head was swimming too badly with pain to know what was happening.

“Now,” said Atlas, “take my hand.”

Obeying was terrifying.

Disobeying was worse.

She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She tried with all her strength to stay there.

“Good girl,” he said, and despite everything that had happened, he could still make her stomach jump with those two words. She was sick, she thought. He was sick. She was sicker. But she couldn’t stop listening to him.

“Would you kindly,” he said, “forget what transpired in here just now? Just the details, mind. You keep our lesson nice and clear in that ugly little head of yours.”

Red was holding Atlas’s hand, in his office. Her body hurt. It was so bad that even her soul hurt. She put a hand to her face, where the pain was worst, and felt teeth through her cheek, and screamed.

Then Atlas was holding her. Atlas was protecting her.

“It were Ryan’s men,” he said. “They got you, love. But don’t worry. I’ve got you now.”

She grasped his shirt weakly, and gave way. She cried and cried and didn’t stop. Her throat was raw from sobbing. Her stomach twisted with guilt at getting blood and tears all over his clothes, but Atlas didn’t seem to mind. Atlas was generous. Atlas was understanding.

“Look at me, girlie,” he said.

It hurt just to think about moving, but — she couldn’t disobey. Just the thought put knots of dread in her stomach for reasons she couldn’t explain. She looked up at him, and with a thumb, he wiped away the wetness from underneath her eyes.

Atlas smiled down at her.

“I’ve got you now.”

I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO DELETE THIS ENTIRE WEBPAGE
I NEVER MEANT FOR ANY OF THIS I HATE ALL OF YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

Just to shake things up a bit. Slutty Atlas gets Jack to fuck him as part of his continued ploy to convince Jack that he's not the one getting fucked down here in Rapture, that Atlas isn't the one who's really holding the leash.

For whatever reason, the Luteces get to double team Atlas, Rob in his mouth while Roz pegs him. Halfway through they switch up, Rob taking Roz's position while she sits on his face. Would prefer no non-con.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 19 of 34

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Re: Jatlas, knifeplay

Re: Everyone loves chubby jack.

Re: Jatlas, knifeplay

Jatlas, crossover with JACKASS

Re: Jatlas, crossover with JACKASS

Re: Jatlas, crossover with JACKASS

Re: Jatlas, crossover with JACKASS

what the almighty bloody hell is this

Re: what the almighty bloody hell is this

Re: what the almighty bloody hell is this

Atlas/Red (tumblr user glitchedwitch)

Re: Atlas/Red (tumblr user glitchedwitch)

Re: Atlas/Red (tumblr user glitchedwitch)

Luteces actual twins!AU

Re: Atlas/Red (tumblr user glitchedwitch)

bioshock coffee shop au

Atlas/Red "GlitchedDick" part 1/1

Re: Atlas/Red "GlitchedDick" part 1/1

Re: Atlas/Red "GlitchedDick" part 1/1

Re: Atlas/Red "GlitchedDick" part 1/1

Re: Atlas/Red "GlitchedDick" part 1/1

get your kink bingo sheets ready

Re: get your kink bingo sheets ready

Atlas/Jack, put it in Atlas

Rosalind/Atlas/Robert