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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jack being a really bad boy
Atlas decides to teach him a lesson and he loves every second of it

bonus points for hairpulling shoving biting pressing into wounds

yoooooooooooooooooooooo

S'IL VOUS PLAIT

YES.

He’s too spliced up to really think about what’s happening, too out of it to care, and so he doesn’t know why exactly Atlas is shoving him against a wall and spitting insults in his face, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head into the wall on some of the louder syllables. The pain is barely a dull noise against his skull, softened by ADAM and adrenaline.

Atlas keeps shouting at him, a muffled stream of sound that will occasionally form words—useless, drug-addled, waste of time and money—but the only reply Jack can come up with is a high-pitched giggle and a grin he can feel tensing the muscles in his whole face, a feedback loop of feeling to reaction to feeling the reaction to reacting to the feeling and even if he could hear what Atlas would saying, he’d stopped paying attention long ago.

He’s rewarded for his attention by a punch to the jaw—not full force, but enough to wipe the smile off, and Atlas grabs a fistful of his Jack’s sweater and pulls until he’s tossing Jack bodily into a more open space. Jack stumbles and falls to his knees, coordination gone to hell in his current state, and he starts making to stand back up when a few words suddenly come through, loud and clear—Would you kindly?

He doesn’t quite comprehend what’s said around the words, but his body does, and it starts going through whatever motions Atlas intended—strip to the waist, lie face down onto the hardwood floor, stay perfectly still. He isn’t told to stay quiet, though, and just registering that is enough to encourage another breathy giggle from Jack. There’s a few warped moments of silence, of nothing but the sensation of the dust and grime against his chest and the creak of the floorboards as Atlas takes a few steps behind him, and he’s hyper-aware of every detail but unable to keep track of the time, he couldn’t say whether it had been a split second or a few hours between the time he received his orders and the first moment of pain splitting open his back.

It’s a long, slow line just to the right of his spine, perfectly straight—he can’t see it, but he knows, has seen Atlas working with a knife too many times not to have it burned into his memory—and Jack can’t help but cry out, the pain breaking through his ADAM-fueled giddiness. The blade is sharp, but not sharp enough to cut cleanly without Atlas putting a fair amount of pressure on it, and he can feel the too-slow tear of flesh and muscle, can practically see the seams of his body being ripped apart.

It’s amazing.

“Feeling it now?” Atlas’ voice is low, but right next to him, too close to ignore. “Hearing me now? Done fuckin’ around in your own head?”

Jack tries to shake his head, no, it’s too good, everything’s so much, he wants to lean into the blade and twist his body until he can feel the blood dripping across his whole body—but he’s still under orders not to move, so all he can do is breathe, hard and heavy, soaking in the sensations that this allowed act can grant him.

“Well?” Atlas snaps, and there’s a thick sound and a much deeper pain below his shoulder blade, and a wave of shock as he realizes the knife is a good ways inside him—he doesn’t know how deep, not deep enough to kill him or leave him unable to breathe, but it hurts and hurts and the hurt keeps going as the knife is removed, slowly, his brain conjuring up imagery of blood dripping from the knife, spilling from the wound, his heart incessantly pumping with no idea where the blood will eventually end up.

He screams, tries to shake and flinch away but still can’t, and that forcibly repressed reflex makes the sensations even stronger, winding up inside of him until it mutates into something else entirely, and the scream turns into a long, needy noise somewhere between pain and pleasure.

It’s so much at once, so many things building and pushing and breaking—and he remembers, the kind of state he was in before this, when it was the opposite: duller, less aware, losing track of his senses and forgetting about the outside world.

Unable to focus on Atlas.

But now, Atlas is tugging him onto his back, straddling and pinning him down. The wounds on his back hit the floor and sear with fresh pain at the touch, and Jack cries out again.

“Disgusting little freak,” Atlas says, pressing the knife under Jack’s chin now, just soft enough not to puncture the skin. “Just like any other splicer, too fucked up on slug shit to do anything proper.” He trails the knife down Jack’s throat, still only threatening, smearing blood from earlier across his skin. “Only difference is, you’re a bit more well-behaved.”

Jack laughs, the movement pressing the point of the knife further into his skin until Atlas takes it away, leaving him to float in a limbo of a few seconds of lack of new sensation until a new one appears—cold, metallic, blunt—and he blinks a few times to bring his eyes back into focus.

Atlas has a pistol against Jack’s forehead, dead between the eyes, and it’s all he can do not to reel back. He doesn’t fear death—hasn’t since his first exit from a Vita-Chamber, since he realized he was effectively immortal, could barrel into any gunfight with nothing but a wrench and some EVE and know he’d make it out eventually—but the instinct that they couldn’t quite program out of him is still there, still reacts to the possibility of sudden, imminent death. He should have been able to reason the fear away, but instead it becomes another layer of intoxication, his mind blurring and twisting even as Atlas lifts the gun away from his face, letting it swing to the side as a vague threat.

“That’s better,” Atlas says, apparently thinking Jack’s sudden stillness is obedience rather than shock and inability to process. “Knew you were better than that. Gonna pay attention, now?”

Jack lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his mind manages to focus a little, enough to cut through the haze of ADAM and the dull pain of still-bleeding wounds and zero in on Atlas’ words—an easy, familiar thing to do. He nods.

“Good lad.”

Atlas strikes him across the face with the gun.

Jack winces, would recoil back if he could move any further, and he stares at Atlas, hurt, betrayed—What more do you want, you bastard, he doesn’t say.

“Now that you’ve decided to join us, let’s get this done right.” Atlas hits him again, and he feels another wound open up by his temple. “You’re going to stop splicing to the point where you can’t hear me, understand?”

Jack nods, and receives another strike from the pistol. “Promise, would you kindly?”

“I promise,” his mouth says, his voice cracked and dry from exertion.

“Good.” Atlas finally settles the pistol on a target—sitting directly on Jack’s left shoulder, pushing into the flesh under his collarbone. “Let’s make sure you don’t forget, now.”

The gunshot rings through his entire body, the pain exploding across his chest, a scream ripped from his throat, and no amount of ADAM would be able to block it out. He can smell singed flesh, he can’t move his arm, there’s a sick sound as Atlas prods the wound with the thumb of his other hand, and Jack starts to see black at the edges of his vision. It’s a new kind of intoxication, pain sweeping everything else out of his head and Atlas’ smile slowly becoming the only thing he can see.

He soaks in his own blood, waiting for Atlas to grant him merciful death, waiting for Atlas to help him out of the Vita-Chamber, waiting for Atlas to give him his next orders—

He won’t forget again.

MERCI BEAUCOUP!!!

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS PERF OMG

a sequel would be nice but it's fine the way it is

THANK YOU ANON THANK YOU

i can't live any more, everyone needs to pack up and leave. This is it. This is the epitome of the human experience.

I still can't believe you wrote this for me I'VE BEEN READING IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Really RoughJatlas, knifeplay, gunplay

Re: Really RoughJatlas, knifeplay, gunplay OPPPP

Re: Really RoughJatlas, knifeplay, gunplay OPPPP

Re: Really RoughJatlas, knifeplay, gunplay

Re: Really RoughJatlas, knifeplay, gunplay

fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

no subject

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

this is op

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

Re: fill: "Poison Devils" not porn unless you count vague guro sorry everyone

still op