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


Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires

- bioshock trash crew proverb




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.

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Bioshock/Silent Hill crossover

(Anonymous) 2014-04-02 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
Mark Meltzer and Harry Mason are just two dads searching for their daughters in a town full of monsters. And also they're both huge dork dads. And also dork boyfriends. Just roll with it.

Re: Bioshock/Silent Hill crossover

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 03:32 am (UTC)(link)

Re: Bioshock/Silent Hill crossover

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
This needs to be written, if only for the embarrassing dad jokes..! Please someone fill this!

what the almighty bloody hell is this

(Anonymous) 2014-04-13 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
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:


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.


“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.


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


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


“—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.

Re: what the almighty bloody hell is this

(Anonymous) 2014-04-13 01:42 am (UTC)(link)
Oh my god help me this has killed me

Re: what the almighty bloody hell is this

(Anonymous) 2014-04-13 01:47 am (UTC)(link)

Re: what the almighty bloody hell is this

(Anonymous) 2015-06-29 06:44 am (UTC)(link)
This is the most precious thing and I love every word.