Prompt: Jack hates his tattoos and tries to get rid of them and atlas calms him down. (Real!Atlas/Jack)
fluff in a horrible twisted way, but I mean ITS BIOSHOCK.
The chains that hold.
Jack hated those tattoos, he had had them as long as he could remember and he hated them. They represented all the things he hated about his life, about Fontaine, about his father (Could he be called that?) about how nothing could go right. Hell, even after they went topside he still couldn't get it right.
So he felt completely in the right as he took a razor blade to his wrist.
It was an odd sensation, potato-peeling the skin off like it was completely rational. If he thought about it for longer than a minute he would have been ashamed and disgusted with the way he was acting.
Or, at least he would have payed attention to the time.
"Boyo what the hell d'ya think y'er doin'?!"
oh no. He thought, finally coming out of the episode.
Atlas was home. Jack really had no excuse for this, usually when he got like this he tried not to let Atlas see it. 'Tried' was the keyword, he almost always found out.
The older man strode towards him, looking a mixture of enraged and concerned.
"Jesus.." He swiftly grabbed his wrist to examine it. The razor blade dropped from Jacks' hand and he whimpered,
"N-no just let me finish it!" Jack cried, "I—They need to be gone Atlas! Please..."
Atlas ignored his pleas, just held his arm in place as he made a makeshift tourniquet out of a piece of his shirt. Once he was sure it was compressed enough, and the bleeding slowed. He took hold of his other wrist, and kissed it.
"You need ta calm down about these tattoos, Jack."
Another kiss.
"Its becomin' a problem."
And another. Jacks breathing was slowing and he was calming down, little by little.
"That ship has sailed." He murmured, "And sunk, down to rapture."
"Hm, you lost a bit o' blood." Whatever psychological issues Jack needed to work out could wait a minute, right now his prerogative was making sure Jack didn't die of blood loss. Vita-chambers weren't so popular up here, still he continued his efforts to calm him down; kissing him, running his fingers through his hair, whatever. Atlas wasn't about to let Jack die because of something as petty as not liking his tattoos. Well. That was over-simplifying maybe.
"I might have t'get Tenenbaum to come over and babysit."
Jacks reaction was downright petulant. Good, at least now he could talk to him without having to worry too much.
"Absolutely not!" if one of his hands weren't being held hostage by Atlas, Jack would have had his arms crossed and his chest puffed out, completing the 'I'm-not-a-child-don't-patronize-me' look he had perfected.
"Oh-ho really? Then y'might wan' to stop mutilatin' yerself everytime I pull a double shift."