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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.

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.


It Hurts

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
He’s had just about enough of this horseshit.

That every two-bit con in the joint thinks they can just take and use what’s his. That the old lady thinks she can collar him to make a difference. That that filthy psycho thinks he can play with his boy however the hell he wants. They all think that they can fuck with him.

But nobody fucks with the kid but him.


Jack lifts the cigarette to his lips to take a long slow drag. His fingers tremble slightly, but they still when he hears the raw grinding crackle of the radio. Fine timing too; he’d just about run through his packet of smokes and was ready for some new instructions.

“Ahh, there he is.” Atlas’s words follow a slow exhale but there’s a different tenor to them. Still the same music, but read from a different score.

“Not lookin’ too pretty, are we?” Atlas asks, and Jack takes stock of his body. Broad right shoulder torn up where a Bouncer’s drill got a little too close while he was trying to rescue a Sister. Left thigh ripped into where one of Cohen’s white silent monsters put a hook in him. Atlas was right, he was banged up real good. Jack ground out his cig under his heel and waited for the punchline.

“Would look a lot better without all their little marks on you now, wouldn’t you?” he asked, voice rank with displeasure. Atlas had never taken a real interest in Jack’s physique before, but he supposes it was worth worrying about. Not like he could get out of here if he was torn to pieces before reaching his next objective.

“But there’s nothing we can do about them all now, is there?” From anybody else Jack might be suspicious as to what was happening here, but there was just something in the softness and the sweetness of Atlas’s voice that kept him listening. Even though it came through a little different this time, deep under the sea Jack was a fish that had swallowed the hook. It pierced his guts and dragged him to the surface.

“Thought we’d try something a little different today, boyo,” Atlas breathed, low and dark over the old radio. Jack awaited his orders, ready for anything that would get him out of this quicker. “Would you kindly light up that last cigarette?”

Jack did want that final smoke. He slid it in his mouth gratefully, knowing it would calm him down while he learned how to get close enough to Ryan. He’d incinerate the tip and Atlas would let him know exactly what he had to do. He sucks the smoke down deep and lets it curl around his face in the dark when he hears the rough bark of the radio again.

“Ah, no, I think I’ve actually changed me mind.” This is strange, it’s all very, very strange. But it’s Atlas.

“I’d like you to take that cigarette,” says Atlas. “I’d like you to take that cigarette and put it out.”

Jack brings his fingers to his lips.

“I’d like you to put it out on yourself,” says Atlas. “Would you kindly.”

Jack freezes. Why would he do that. Why would he want to do that.

He wants to do it because Atlas wants him to do it.

He doesn’t ask why Atlas wants him to do it.

He just takes his cigarette and presses it against the inside of his wrist. Just inside his forearm, just above where he’s already marked up good.
It burns him so nice. Not as good as those times he calls up Incinerate, when the plasmid scorches the flesh from his bones and he blisters and pops. But his whole body is shot through with feeling just the same, every inch of him filled with that excitement and ache that faintly mirrors the one he gets when he shoots up with Eve. He breathes hard through his nose and grunts deep through clenched teeth and Atlas comes back on the radio. Tells him he can stop now.

He drops the cigarette to the ground and looks down at his arm, both hands shaking now. He’s red and raw and it’s starting to raise and fill with fluid and it stings. Not like his other wounds but it stings special. It’s going to scar, probably. The mark will sit indelible next to his chains.

He hears heavy breathing from the radio. It’s stopped short, though, with an impatient little laugh.

“Think we can do better than that, can’t we, boyo?” Jack’s still shaking with the aftershocks of his self-inflicted hurt.

What is happening to him.

“Now would you kindly find a knife or something?” Atlas sings. Jack can see the next few minutes slide out in front of him like an old reel of film. He knows what’s going to happen and he’s not sure he wants it. Not sure he wants it but he’s sure it feels good.

He’s fast to find a switchblade in a fallen splicer.

He pulls it out and stands up and he’s bathed in the golden glow of Rapture as they both breathe together. There’s a beat before Atlas kindly tells him what to do.

Jack drags the blade deep into his forearm, higher this time, painting a thick red line that slowly wells with blood. He tries to keep it in but this time he can’t hold back a moan of pain at the bite of the knife. He draws it straight and perfect for Atlas, going nice and careful to make sure he does it right. His breath trembles in his chest and again, and just like before the sting lights him up inside like he’s been dead all along and this is his revival. He adds perpendicular lines and the pain is too good he might faint. It’s nothing like the other hurts he’s gained here, so much ticker and hotter. And Atlas laughs and laughs in the background and Jack sort of still wants to know why until he doesn’t want to know anything anymore because he heard that dark voice say:

“Now why don’t you take a little rest, here. And would you kindly,” Atlas finally asks, “forget everything that has just happened.”


When Jack comes to he’s too set upon by death and monsters to even think to pull up his sleeve and look at what’s stinging; to wonder how that pounding, throbbing “F” had gotten there.
thinkinginfestation: (Default)

Re: It Hurts

[personal profile] thinkinginfestation 2014-04-03 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
Not OP, but hot DAMN!

Re: It Hurts

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 03:48 am (UTC)(link)
ohhh godddd this was so GOOD.

Re: It Hurts

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 07:45 am (UTC)(link)

Re: It Hurts

(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here! This was absolutely perfect, thank you! I love that Frank can't help but put his own initial there

Re: It Hurts

(Anonymous) 2014-04-04 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
Thank you!! Yeah this is serious business ain't got time for these Atlas shenanigans!!