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trash mod ([personal profile] trash_mod) wrote in [community profile] biotrash2014-03-19 04:11 pm

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

Fontaine/Jack, tentacles

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 08:25 pm (UTC)(link)
tentacle fontaine fucks jack tentacularly with his tentacly tentacles

tentacle

Re: Fontaine/Jack, tentacles

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm...almost tempted to write this...

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack/Fontaine; dirty talk, collars, marking

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh yes! Who requested this is a genius!

Re: Fontaine/Jack, tentacles

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)
maybe that's what happened to his dangle

Jack/Anyone snuff

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Let's put those vita chambers to use, shall we?

on the fence about circumstances. on the one hand, it being Jack's idea is interesting but on the other hand i have a feeling it'd be more likely someone else taking advantage of those vita chambers.

or maybe jack just always pops a weird boner whenever he dies idk

the proud can feel: part one

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)
{{i completely ran away with this. i don't know if this is at all what you were hoping for, but in any case your prompt inspired a fun adventure of writing for me, so thank you!!}}

He opened his eyes to an unwelcome blackness, where within there were only infrequent pocks of light that decayed into jaundiced yellow dust. Dead veins of infertile gray glistened against hard and chiseled shadows, smearing into view like old blood as Atlas regained the events that had led him to this place.

“Wh-where’re we goin’?”

His breath came in short gasps, his insides a swill of inky blackness. His midsection convulsed in an attempt to disavow the titan’s preciously red and shining wound, which was opened up and exposed to light as the result of some misguided brand of violence.

Jack was grunting in a flighty rattle that landed coarsely in Atlas’s ears. Atlas’s arm was stretched harrowingly, as if by rack, over Jack’s unforgivingly broad shoulders, and Jack’s hand served as the inexorable roller that threatened to snap the ligaments in Atlas’s arm. It was almost a relief to be distracted from his onerously open abdomen.

“We—we’ve got to get to Arcadia,” Atlas insisted. He blinked in defiance against the rocky blur around him, his frustration causing his vision to suffer and roll, unwilling to accept how far it appeared they had strayed from his plan. The walls rose up and displayed perdition swathed in tiled floors, flickering lights, and the ominously broken emblem that read Medical Pavilion.

Ryan’s splicers had been an expected rebuff at the submarine bay, but in Jack was a combustible unpredictability. When the explosion had collapsed in clouds of wet dust around him, Atlas lurked towards his perfect disappearance. There was no doubt in his mind that Jack would use his godly-given abilities to get himself out in due time. However, Atlas had underestimated just how quickly Jack would be able to fight through the splicers: a crest of flame expanded in front of him through the cryptic turbulence and spread in wings to wrap around Atlas’s midsection like a misconstrued gift. The fire seemed to lick like a sash up through to his throat, from which Atlas felt and heard something punishing and bird-like in a shackled version of his own voice. The flare pecked through his clothes and skin and he turned to see his assailant flying towards him.

Atlas had not bargained for coming face to face with The Prodigal Son at any point in time. A significant part of his plot had been to specifically not meet the man with his own eyes. He knew now how right he was to avoid the encounter.

In front of Atlas stood a confused and hulking chimera framed by the singed and narrowed corners of his vision. The man’s brow and jaw looked like they were hoven by thumbs pressing into clay, unnaturally square with oblong edges that were eerily reminiscent of the boy Fontaine placed into the sub two years ago. His nose had been smashed into existence while his mouth was like a jagged line drawn through mud by a bored god, a ploy, a gag with no foreseeable purpose as if Suchong had been playing at an ironic joke. His shoulders bowed as if a downed bird lurching in protest from the greedy sea. Surrounded by all this and pushed into confused, defensive shadows were his eyes. His eyes gleamed and grew with startling light, vast and unreserved, and while Atlas couldn’t help but stare into them they provoked a suffering sense of unease. Then he was reminded of his searing infliction.

“Boyo!” Atlas groaned, feigning optimism and curling his arm protectively around his stomach. He saw the recognition in Jack’s face as his eclectic eyes fell to the burning skin. Jack collapsed to Atlas’s side with an earthy huff, unintentionally grabbing onto Atlas’s burn and sending a searing blankness through his skull.

Atlas imagined Jack had fought the both of them out of there. He wavered in and out of full consciousness along the way, in and out of Atlas and Fontaine and sanity.

“Where are we, lad?” Atlas managed within the burning turmoil of his frustration at the revelation of their surroundings. “The damn Medical Pavilion?” He winced with either fury or pain. “Are you up the pole boyo?! Why would you bring us here?”

Jack deposited Atlas onto an exam table with the ceremony of a malformed bird taking on too large of a prey, an eagle with an unwieldy chunk of Prometheus. Atlas moaned as he tumbled onto his back against the cold rock, his burn stretching and tearing with the clothes over his skin. The room was layered in rot and the dank, deceased wilderness that Atlas usually managed to avoid on his end of the radio.

“You’re a safe pair of hands,” Atlas’s Irish lilt trickled through the congesting stench of stale slaughter. “But I can manage myself, boyo. We just need to get to Arcadia, to Ryan—“ Atlas lurched a hissing, sour breath in agony. Jack’s hands came from the corrugated darkness; he seized Atlas against the table with a mistaken brutality. Atlas gazed in surprise at Jack, who looked at him with something as bare as - innocent concern.

“Let me help you,” Jack finally spoke. It was the voice of a grown man; the only thing that gave away his true four-year-old nature was the naiveté that dragged open his eyelids into that merciless puppy dog stare.

Atlas stared back at him, in awe of his own helplessness. Finally, he troubled himself to relent – for now. “Don’t leave me with much of a choice, do ya lad?” He subsided and carefully lowered back onto the table. “But why all the way to the Medical Pavilion? We need to keep moving forward. We’re not through yet! We could’ve made short shrift in Arcadia…” he cursed the boy’s foolishness and their lost time, tactfully translating it into an appearance of lament for his lost family.

Jack busied himself with the materials he could scavenge to tend the burn. Atlas was distracted by how much Jack’s head swiveled about to look at him. His face flickered back and forth, over his shoulder, lifting up from whichever angle necessary to get a glance at Atlas. Atlas became conscious of his heavier eyebrows, the bulb on the end of his nose, his clean-shaven upper lip, each feature as Jack’s eyes wisped back and forth between his face and his stomach. It was pissing him off. “Ryan… that bastard...” Atlas vented, blistering. He allowed himself to believe in the loss of family, a pain he was always too proud to feel unless it was a lie at its core. He needed to get Jack back in the game. “We’ll get him, boyo. We’ll find him, and we’ll tear his damn heart out…” In the midst of his brooding, Atlas had the pleasure of experiencing something like hooks chaining themselves to the edges of his open lesion as Jack fussed over him, unbidden, unwelcome, like an intruder eating away at the hard skin Atlas had so painstakingly crafted. “Christ!” Atlas howled, jolting up through the agony of his vulnerable skin. “Do ya even know what in damn Hell you’re doin’?! Get this off me.” Atlas indicated his shirt with a rough, feeble jerk.

Jack moved with a morose eagerness, the appearance from which Atlas found himself curtly turning away. He held himself up with his arms as Jack began tugging at the end of his shirt. “Might wanna undo the buttons, first off…” Atlas grimaced. Jack nodded, hurriedly obliging with his clumsy, calloused fingers. Atlas closed his eyes and waited, trying not to breathe in any more of the fetid infliction.

He sighed. “Sorry for the outburst, boyo. If it weren’t fer…” Atlas trailed off suggestively, allowing Jack to assume the rest.

Jack’s hands slid tentatively over his shoulders, his palms abrasive as they combed over his skin. His hands were unpleasantly stifling. Atlas kept his eyes lowered, almost holding his breath. He stiffened in defense against this man, who knelt so close to his cover and was yet still allowed to live. Atlas’s sleeves fell loose and the straps of his suspenders dropped off. His shirt was tenderly peeled away layer by agonizing layer from his stomach, leaving his wound fully exposed and unallied.

Atlas knew Jack would attribute his flinching and detachedness to the loss he had apparently just suffered rather than the clanking manacles of a con man suddenly insecure of his cover. If Jack looked close enough with those gaping eyes of his, he might see that forgotten abyss between the cracks in his mask, and wouldn’t that be a fake out for ol’ Frank? He felt as if the tear in his gut was threatening to play Pandora’s Box and release his cancerous secrets.

Yet Jack carefully bandaged the burn, sensitively shutting it away and tucking the lies out of sight where they could remain useful. Atlas watched Jack with an unwelcome diffidence. He unwittingly glanced into Jack’s eyes and suddenly it felt as if the wound hadn’t been tended to at all.

Jack uttered the inevitable condolence. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, boyo. It’s Ryan.” The name shivered and swelled in Atlas’s seething voice. Returning to his tissue of lies and all the weaves of hate left a pleasing taste in his mouth.

“I want to do something for you.” Jack said. Music to Atlas’s ears.

No boher,” Atlas thanked darkly. “Matter of fact, there is somethin’ you could do.”

“Can you walk?” Jack initiated.

“That I can,” Atlas replied, thoughtlessly assuming Jack had caught on to the commonly woven motive of revenge. Jack wrapped his arm around Atlas, aided him off the table, and began leading him through the solitary halls.

{{TBC hopefully very soon!}}

Elizabeth/Booker; bathtub

(Anonymous) 2014-03-23 10:06 pm (UTC)(link)
They take a bath together and then something reeeeally interesting happens. I'd like it to be something fluff and kinky, don't know if it's possible :') I don't care if it's incest or an AU where they're not related, you decide :)

Re: Jack/Anyone snuff

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
please fill this

Re: Fontaine/Ryan

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 01:06 am (UTC)(link)
Please why no one love these guys

I working on something slowly school and work suck my life

Re: Fontaine/Ryan

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
i love these guys and this is happening don't you worry

my friend is working on something and they texted me today
"there will be multiple instances of mustache touching"

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 07:06 am (UTC)(link)
“… Did that airplane crash, or was it hijacked? Forced down, forced down by something less than a man, something bred to sleepwalk through life unless activated by a simple phrase, spoken by their kindly master. Come in.”

Jack steps into the darkened office, determined to let nothing the man could say divert him from his purpose. He has a mission and he is close, so brutally close. He’s about to finish it all right now. He’s about to—

“Stop, would you kindly?”

And suddenly he can’t. Can’t raise his pistol to put a bullet through Andrew Ryan’s head, or his wrench to bash his brains out, or his right hand to burn the meat from his bones.

All he can do is stop.

“Would you kindly, powerful phrase. Familiar phrase?”

The memories hit him like a fist to the gut but he doesn’t have time to process the rage and the betrayal and the humiliation and the despair. He doesn’t even have room for confusion, only the certainty of submission, when Ryan says:

“Sit, would you kindly?”

He sits like a good boy.

“Stand, would you kindly?”

And gets up.

“Run! Stop! Turn. Was a man sent to kill, or a slave?” Ryan presses his club against the underside of Jack’s chin and lifts his head, makes him look him in the eye. And then he puts it down.

“Kneel.”

Jack’s knees hit the ground. This isn’t going the way it was supposed to. Everything’s gone wrong.

“A man chooses; a slave obeys. But you’re no man, are you.” Ryan beings to pace, to slowly circle Jack. His laughter is quick and hard and Jack can’t move. And he’s not tied down or locked up; his body isn’t bound but for those black chains. He’s not being held down. He just doesn’t want it. His whole entire self doesn’t want to move.

“Less than a man. Less than a slave, too. And what is less than a man?” Ryan gets all up close to Jack, towers over him. His eyes stare straight ahead at the growing excitement there but he’s soon spared that fresh terror when Ryan grabs him by his short hair and pulls his head back, his face up. He lowers his own to Jack’s and whispers,

“Are you going to bark for me?”

Ryan pushes Jack away in disgust, throws him bodily to the ground. Jack lies there and listens to the pounding of his heart as Andrew Ryan walks over to his desk.

“Now we have ways to distinguish the man from the slave. And you, you already bear those damning marks. But what distinguishes the slave from the beast? Now I know that I’ve seen the implements we need somewhere nearby.” He returns quietly to Jack, leans down, and pats him lightly on the cheek. “Stay. Would you kindly.”

Jack listens to the footsteps recede into the cold wet dark and he stays. There’s no way of knowing for how long, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d lost time down here long ago. There was only waiting, and listening, and thinking. Cataloguing slowly all the ways Ryan would destroy him. The thousand million hurts, all worse than anything he’s suffered down here. His chest is unbearably tight. But Ryan comes back. Jack hears the high metallic jingling first.

“Serendipitous. I had only come upon these recently.” Ryan returns into his field of vision and he’s holding some things: a bowl with a name. A long leather strap. A collar.

Jack stares and a part of him starts to tear like ripped stitches. A collar, a dog, a name, a collar for a neck. For a dog. A neck. He can’t get much deeper before Ryan’s got him back on his knees, the collar around his own throat. But there are tears in his eyes.

Ryan clips the leash to the collar and stands back to look at Jack. Jack sees his face convulse and one hand clench but it’s over in a moment.

“And now we have proof. Less than a man, no man at all, for then you wouldn’t be my—” Ryan swallows. “—my pet.” As quick as it came any disgust at his defilement was gone. What Andrew Ryan saw kneeling before him wasn’t even human.

Ryan picks up the empty bowl and the leash and loops it around his fist. Didn’t even have to tug it, not after a few sweet words. Jack goes willingly as Ryan leads him over, on his hands and knees as was proper for him, to his wide thick desk. And Ryan sits on the chair behind it and Jack settles easily between his thighs.

“Good boy,” says Ryan, the hand holding the leash coming down to pet his face, the other moving to draw himself out of his trousers. “Good dog,” he says, kindly. Asks Jack if he would suck his cock. Kindly.

Just like before, just like this whole time, just like every time with Atlas, Jack isn’t compelled by some physical force. He’s not made bodily to follow these orders, every order. He just suddenly wants to. Deeply, powerfully wants to. Wants to take that cock in his mouth, the prick of the man he was sent to kill. Made to kill, forced to kill, made to suck. Wants so badly to slip his lips and tongue around it and he knows he can. Knows he will. Knows he must.

Ryan’s quiet grunts seem so loud in his ears, almost as loud as the wet sloppy noises of a cock in his throat. He brings his hands to brace against the soft expensive fabric on Ryan’s knees while his mouth is roughly used, Ryan pulling hard on the leash every time he fucks deep into Jack. Breathing is so hard when he’s stuffed so full, and when the tight collar constricts his airways so completely. More tears are forced from the corners of his eyes to add to the filthy wetness he can’t swallow messing up his face. Ryan brutalizes his lips, something pent-up and savage being released into the thing at his feet. The collar against his throat and the cock between his lips and knowing that he’s so so good are all causing him to burn from the inside out. Just when he’s sure it’s over, he’ll pass out like this, he’ll die here, Ryan pulls out and Jack gasps, dripping and wet.

“Good dogs beg,” Ryan chokes out, and even before the magic words Jack is asking for it, sobbing for it, doing his best. But Ryan finishes stroking himself and Jack never gets it. Instead he watches as Ryan’s come lands in that metal bowl on the ground. Ryan nods to it.

“And would you kindly?”

Jack’s on all fours again and he leans down, eyes closed, and laps up Andrew Ryan’s come. Makes sure he licks up every last drop. He gets it all on his tongue and swallows it down and Ryan puts himself away and laughs.

“Not a man. Just a bitch in heat.” He glances over at the golf club he had laid down on his floor.

“But perhaps there might be a few more tricks to teach you yet.”


Re: jack/elizabeth band au, short fill

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 08:16 am (UTC)(link)
This sort of evolved into a modern band AU thing, so sorry of its sort of bad. Basically, Booker Liz, and the Luteces are an accoustic folk band and Jack, Atlas, Delta and Eleanor are a blues-rock band, and Jack and Liz are Romeo and Juliet except with a better ending and healthier relationship.

...

"Elizabeth, I said no, and that's final!"

Elizabeth huffed, fists on her hips voice ringing out in defiance. "You don't even know him, Booker! He's a really sweet guy if you just took the time to talk to him!" Booker sighed, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Liz, the kid is a goddamn hoodlum. The music he plays, those tattoos, he hangs around with that Atlas fellow for godsake! I don't want you hanging around with a punk like that."

The girl was incensed, obviously. It was a given how starstruck she was. "First of all, I have tattoos, Booker. You have tattoos," her thumb ticked off her point, followed by a slim index and middle finger, "second of all, we play music too, so you can't tell me musicians are bad guys, and third, that Atlas fellow's done some questionable things, yeah, but haven't you? Need I remind you of the show we did at that dinky little casino? The one you lost quite a bit of money at?" Booker scoffed.

"It wasn't that much money, Liz."

"We spent two days sleeping in our car in a Taco Bell parking lot because we couldn't foot a hotel bill."

The older man scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Fine, I might get carried away with gambling on occasion, but I'm telling you, that kid is bad news. You'll get your heart broken, Elizabeth." Elizabeth slipped her arms into a jacket, feeling in the pockets for her keys. "I'm a big girl, Booker," she spat, "I can make my own decisions."

...

"So you're finally gonna get some tail, eh lad?"

"I swear to god Atlas if you don't shut up I'm going to shove this pen in your eye."

Atlas laughed, cocky, mocking if Jack didn't know better. The Irishman shifted on the couch adjacent to where Jack sat, notebook clutched in ink-stained hands as he tried, and failed, to write a song about Elizabeth. "You tryin' to wax poetic bout her over there?" One of Atlas's earbuds had fallen from his ear, strains of the Black Keys siphoned from the plastic and into the quiet so coveted by the blocked writer. "Here, try sayin' that her mouth is a herald for her heart, gracing' you with the scripture of her affections."

"Wow, Atlas. I'm impressed. That was actually pretty poe-"

"And then say you'd love to see it wrapped around your cock."

"And you ruined it." Jack tossed the notebook aside, crisp shuffling of the paper flitting against the renewed guffaw of his band mate. "Seriously, can you stop it? I really like Elizabeth and you don't need to be such a dick about it." Atlas's response came with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, what're ya gonna do about it, Jacky boy? Tell 'ol Johnny Topside on me?" He giggled again, like a pleased teenager whenever he makes a crude joke in class. It Jack's turn to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll tell Delta on you, and you know what he'll do? He'll tell Eleanor on you, and you know what they'll both do? They'll steal your phone and replace all your songs with Eleanor's mom's Katy Perry collection." The laughter ceased, Atlas now sitting rigid on the sofa as Jack stood to leave.

Jack, you wouldn't really do that, would you? I was just kidding, you know that."

Jack turned, halfway out the door and replied. "Yeah, I know that, but John and Eleanor don't", the door clicking shut against a panicked "wait, boyo, don't tell them! I'm sorry!"

...

"Jack, hey!"

Heel clicked rough against the pavement as Jack's head swiveled, Elizabeth jogging towards the splintered park bench he sat on. "I'm so sorry I'm late!" Instinctively, she smoothed the indigo cotton of her skirt, and babbled. "It's just Booker and I got in a fight, and he doesn't like you but it's such shit because he barely talked to you once at that festival we gigged at together, and Rosalind and Robert don't help any but do they ever and I am rambling and I am so sorry." Jack laughed, standing to press a kiss to Liz's cheek. "Lizzie, don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll come around." He twined his arm around hers, her cheek resting on the soft wool donning his shoulder. "You're too sweet, Jack. Thanks for being so understanding." Lips pressed against the top of her head.

"Anything for you, Lizzie."

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 12:25 pm (UTC)(link)
That was the most beautiful thing I've read I'm my life I'm gonna cry

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 01:40 pm (UTC)(link)
The ending just killed me!

Re: Fontaine/Ryan

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)
gOD SAVE THE QUEEN

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 03:24 pm (UTC)(link)
(OP)
Thank you ... Bless you
I'll just...be in my bunk

Andrew Ryan/Frank Fontaine, Dirty Talk/Bondage

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 03:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Ryan and Fontaine relieve a little bit of stress.

Re: Andrew Ryan/Frank Fontaine, Dirty Talk/Bondage

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)
ohhh you would make me so happy

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 03:37 pm (UTC)(link)
so I was thinking a spring wedding

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 04:53 pm (UTC)(link)
jesus damn

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 05:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Don't be silly summer is obviously the better time for a wedding

Re: Andrew Ryan/Frank Fontaine, Dirty Talk/Bondage

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 07:18 pm (UTC)(link)
this is a thing that will happen! so many awesome prompts on this meme. i will get to this one when i'm finished with a couple others i have my eye on haha. until then hopefully another anon will tackle it please?!

Re: Fontaine/Ryan

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
YES THANK GOODNESS

Re: jack/elizabeth band au, short fill

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
OH MY GOD THIS IS SUPER ADORABLE I LOVE IT

Re: Andrew Ryan/Jack; Pet Play

(Anonymous) 2014-03-24 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
holy fucking jesus god wow I can't even

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