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BIOSHOCK KINK MEME
Let not light see my black and deep desires
- bioshock trash crew proverb
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
Not Just Skin Deep
(Anonymous) 2014-04-02 11:30 am (UTC)(link)also im sorry if this is pretty fucked up and not quite what you were looking for ._.;
---
"That's it boyo, walk it off, that's the way," Atlas said, a staticy comfort through the pain.
"Get yourself to one of those medical wall-units and patch yerself up, and you'll be just fine."
Jack grunted, and nodded, though Atlas probably couldn't see it. It was what he had the energy for, after all that. Taking down a Bouncer - for nothing, at that. It was just one set off by a goddamn bomb-throwing splicer.
He slowed in his steps, thinking. Nitro. Nitro splicers, that's what Atlas called them, right? Whatever, they were a pain in the ass, even with telekinesis.
Around the next corner, he spotted the red and white neon light of one of those wall-units. Wasn't a hard search, considering where he was. Medical Pavilion sort of implied there'd be a lot of health-related things lying around, didn't it?
Jack gave a brief thought to hacking it, for practice and for a few dollars off, but he decided against it. He was tired, he was sore, and the thought of fiddling around with wires and pipes again made his head hurt even more. So fuck it, he'd spend the extra six bucks. And he'd hacked every other machine here, what's one he overlooked?
He rolled up his sleeve and put his arm on the armrest, positioned it carefully under the needle, inserted his money and pulled the lever. He winced in preparation for the needle, and hissed in surprise when it went in a little harder than he felt was necessary. Seconds passed, though, and he realized he didn't feel any serum entering his veins - and then he noticed the sign above him blink green, and he had just enough time to think 'Hey, that's what it looks like when someone uses the units I hack,' before a misty cloud of air shot into his face.
He coughed on it, as much at the sudden pressure of air in his lungs as what it was laced with - there was something that burned at the back of his nose and throat, and it was muted, but there was a thought that he should get away. He tried to pull back, but the spike in his arm held him in place. Maybe not forever, but he never got the chance to test that out. In a second, his legs didn't feel quite right, and the white cross above him was fuzzy around its edges, and his head hurt and felt empty and stuffed at the same time...
Somewhere in the distance, Atlas was calling to him, but Jack couldn't get his hand to find the radio in the dark. He went under, like he was in the ocean again.
Like he was in the ocean again, consciousness lapped at him, as the waves did against the lighthouse stairs. A splash here, and he was still crumpled in front of the unit, looking at the hack job someone beat him to on the thing. A splash there, and the hall looked different. Was it upside down? Sideways? It wouldn't hold still long enough for him to figure it out. He felt sick, and he closed his eyes.
One more, and he wasn't moving anymore. His back was against something flat, but he didn't entirely feel like he was lying down. He didn't entirely feel like he was anything, though. Not even the hands on his arm, wherever it was.
Jack resurfaced again and opened his eyes. Everything still felt - faint, detached. Swimming, even though he was lying still. Huh.
He turned his head to the side, and saw a tray level with his head, and lined with metal tools and syringes. It stirred something, deep in the cotton at the back of his mind, and when he got himself to concentrate enough on it he realized that was familiarity. He frowned a little, unsure why it would feel... Oh, right. Medical pavilion. He's seen the same thing in every other room. He moved his eyes from the tray to the dark shape behind it. Teal, brown, rust, the seafoam and beige (and blood) of the rest of the pavilion walls cast in shadow. He closed his eyes, braced himself, and rolled his head the other way. Pale yellow screens with a red... squiggly symbol. Those screens they walled off beds with - partitions, yeah. Another tray of stuff, some smaller tools, things that looked a little like scissors, and a stack of metal dishes in funny shapes. Definitely Medical Pavilion. Oh, he was good at this.
He felt cold, though. Really cold. Was he in a freezer or something? No, wait, rust, teal, brown, tools, Medical Pavilion. Then... Maybe a pipe burst and froze or something, like that guy said?
He tried to heat up his hand, but he didn't seem to get any warmer. His hand and wrist started to ache, actually, so he stopped, even if he wasn't entirely sure there was something to stop. He relaxed, then, but in that moment felt a cold tickling sort of feeling across his chest, and it took him a second to realize it was a breeze. That didn't make sense, though, didn't he have a sweater on?
He felt the breeze again, and heard the clicking and squeaking of metal moving, and something tapping, and - hold on. There was someone here with him, wasn't there?
Jack tried to raise his head, but it was heavy. He didn't get far, mostly he just tilted his head down, but he did enough to see first - that he didn't have his sweater. And second, and probably more important, there was a blurry grey-and-blue-and-rust shape moving by his - feet, he'd guess. He couldn't see so clearly.
But with this angle, he could see a few other things - a pair of those metal stands with the bags on them. And there was a bright light somewhere above - which made it a little harder to see clearly, but it wasn't pointed directly at his face, at least. It still stung. He shut his eyes and let his head rest back.
Metal clattered closer to his head. That had to be the tray on his left, with the dishes. He could feel movement again, closer, and hear someone else's breathing. It was heavy - and too close.
He forced his eyes open, and could see the facemask of his new friend as a square blur of colour across a blotched and red face. Jack's own breath picked up a little, and he tried to do something about it. Forgetting if he tried it already, he tried to make his hand spark. Fire, lightning, he didn't care what the fistful was, just if it gave him some space- he flexed his fingers, tried to get some friction against them, but that ache came back in his wrist and arm, with an itchiness across his skin, like it was too dry and tight for his bones. He shut his eyes, and tried harder, and little grunt slipped out of his throat with the effort.
His new friend noticed.
"Ah, I wouldn't do that. Irritates the EVE blocker," said a voice, crackled with age or disuse or hoarseness.
As he spoke, the man took Jack's plasmid hand between his rubber-gloved ones, and it was enough to snap him back, like an elastic band he'd stretched too far between his fingers. It left him blinking dazedly as the words rolled in his head.
"So sorry, but it's a precaution I need to take in this line of work."
Jack stared unfocused at the ceiling, thinking. Eve? Wait, no, EVE. What did Atlas say- it was the juice that powered his plasmids, right? Yeah. No EVE, no plasmids. He smiled a little foggily, proud that he'd remembered that. He did catch on quickly, didn't he?
"But it's not all bad," the man added, patting Jack's hand, "It might take the edge off, a little. Scrambles the clarity of the mind, as it does. Not as good as anaesthesia, but that's strictly for clients. Expensive stuff, it is..."
Anaesthesia was a bigger word, though, and one Jack wasn't sure he heard before. That'd take a little longer to puzzle out. There was more clattering, and his hand was cold again. The man must have moved on to something else.
Jack blinked lazily, having lost his train of thought. He kept staring at the ceiling tiles, blinking again when they got too fuzzy. Something with a scent that stung his nose entered the air, and he could hear the man coming closer again. He stopped, but Jack shivered from the cold air anyway.
"Ah, look at you..." The man sighed, "Beautiful."
He - he chucked, Jack was pretty sure, and then something cold and damp dabbed against his chest, right at his - around where his ribs met each other, whatever that was called. He tried to look down again, and watched with a furrowed brow as the man rubbed the white damp ball of stuff down his chest, over his stomach, and to his hips, and back.
"Funny, some others I could name wouldn't think so," he muttered, swiping the cloth ball down again, "They wouldn't get it. It's what-" he stopped, and snickered, "It's what's on the inside that counts, isn't it?"
Jack's mind started catching up to the man's words in the silence that followed, but getting meaning out of them was something else. He couldn't keep track of how much time he spent on that before he realized the man's hand hadn't started moving again - his fingers were splayed out over the softer part of Jack's belly, and while Jack couldn't make out the man's eyes, he could somehow feel them, he thought. The man curled his fingers, a little, slightly but gently, as if he wanted to scoop out and cradle a handful of Jack's flesh, and Jack... There was a small, but heavy feeling in his gut that felt like he might be in trouble.
The man took a deep breath, through his nose, and let it out slow, and his hand relaxed.
"Purest thing I've seen in years," he sighed, and finally dragged his hand and the cloth away. Jack shuddered, the cold stung worse against his body now.
He swallowed and tried to think. He had to, because... there was a feeling in his gut.
"So fresh, almost a shame," the man muttered.
Tools clattered. Jack stared at the ceiling, thinking. Plasmids, couldn't use plasmids. Why? No EVE, that's right. Could he move?
It was hard enough to move his head, but maybe his arm weighed less. He tried to roll his arm, his left one, and he wasn't sure if it worked - but his hand stung. Not like when he was trying to set it on fire - he opened his eyes again and found that stand - IV stand, that was it, and there was a bag with a tube that ran down to - his angle wasn't good, but it was a safe bet it was his hand. EVE blocker.
There was a sharp pain under his ribs. He winced, set his head back, and shut his eyes. He had to think. He had to move. A cold feeling trickled down his front.
He opened his eyes again to the same ceiling tiles, only now, a little more awake, he noticed it wasn't the only thing up there. Of course, he'd have to tilt his head again to make out what that other thing was. He built up the breath and strength for it (and he was breathing a little harder for some reason), and craned his head a little.
There was a body, on another table, surrounded by other medical tools. Someone was leaning over it with something bright and silver in their hands, dragging a red line down the center of the poor bastard's body. But then, as Jack worked at moving his arm again, he realized something. He wasn't looking across horizontally or anything, so there couldn't actually be someone on the ceiling.
He was able to turn his arm under its restraints, and he could see in the mirror that poor bastard had chain links tattooed across his wrist.
Re: Not Just Skin Deep
(Anonymous) 2014-04-02 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)Author anon
(Anonymous) 2014-04-02 10:07 pm (UTC)(link)