imperialdrone: (cypher)
imperialdrone ([personal profile] imperialdrone) wrote in [community profile] bucketlist2012-02-11 01:32 pm
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Homestuck Kink Meme: Act 2

Homestuck Kink Meme

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  4. It's called a kink meme but we welcome non-porn requests too. Just make sure you give anons something to work with beyond just the pairing.

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  1. Your kink is okay. So is everyone else's. Do not leave prompts or comments that bash characters/pairings or put down somebody's kinks/interests.

  2. If your prompt or fill contains common triggers such as graphic violence, rape/non-con, or abuse, please label it in the comment subject line, e.g.: "Vriska/Tavros [abuse]" or "Gamzee/any [violence]."

  3. Please put the character(s) you're requesting in the comment subject line! That makes it a lot easier for potential fillers to find requests.

  4. Having prompts filled is what makes a kink meme successful! Try to fill a prompt for every handful you leave.

There's a master list of fills in this post. Please link yours when you finish them!

Any human/any troll [violence] (xeno + body horror)

(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 02:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Something goes horribly, horribly wrong the first time a human and troll try to have sex.

Severed (Dave/Tavros, M, genital injury/blood/body horror ficlet)

(Anonymous) 2012-02-16 07:13 am (UTC)(link)
At first, Dave hadn't realized anything was wrong - the white-hot flash of brief pain, and then the look of horror in the troll's eyes, had been his first clue.

"Oh no," Tavros kept saying over and over. "First Tinkerbull, now you, why do I, keep hurting everything, I like...."

The pain hit him then, and he curled up around himself, felt the sticky wetness between his legs and not much else. He wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming, for once in his life. No sick rhymes, not then, just the sudden nausea and a growing darkness.

The little troll with the huge horns was blubbering now. "He told me," he started, "he told me it would work, like, a regular bulge," he stuttered. "He told me, told me it was just fine, that it wouldn't hurt anyone..."

He couldn't have known, he tries to say, but all that comes out is a sick moan of pain. It's gone, all of it, severed and lying just below him on the metallic floor, and Tav's shiny metallic tentacle... whatever the fuck it is trolls have are small and shrunken now, and the poor kid is just babbling apologies.

He wouldn't have thought Tavros would ever hurt anyone when he met him. He'd just been so small, so meek, always backing down when he oughta be punchin' his problems in the fuckin' face. At least, he thought, his last moments were gonna be full of as much irony as the rest of his life. If his Bro had still been alive he'd probably laugh his ass off, once he was done flipping out and doin' his revenge shit, or whatever the fuck he'd do...

"I'm calling for help," Tavros is saying, holding Dave by the shoulders. "I... I don't know if we can, fix this, but I'll try. I'm sorry, Dave, so sorry...."

The last thing that Dave remembered seeing before it all went dark were Tavros's eyes. They were very brown, and very wide, and very, very scared.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Incorporate the following phrases or concepts in some way: "time of your life", "life is precious", "everyone's time must come", goodbyes


(Anonymous) 2012-02-13 06:02 am (UTC)(link)
Sensory deprivation - Dave is blinded, Terezi teaches him a few things.

"red light, GR33N L1GHT", Terezi/Dave, sensory deprivation. [1/???] some Rose/Dave flirting.

(Anonymous) 2012-03-22 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
This may take me a while to complete, but have the first part in the meantime. ♥?


"So, what d'you think would happen if I hopped on over to your bed, and we spent our last moments on a quest?"

Rose snorts. Rolls her eyes. "Why, Mister Strider, are you propositioning me?"

You strain to keep your voice even and somehow manage to keep it from cracking. "No one wants to die a virgin."

No one wants to die.

She crinkles her brow. Purses her lips. "I'm not so desperate that I would lay with my ecto-brother and allow my charred dream corpse to be discovered in his incestuous death throe clutches."

"You don't know what you're missing out on."

"Neither do you."

"Help a bro see the light?"

You didn't mean it in a bad way, but her eyes still harden.

"Speak not of our relation, and perhaps I will."

"That sounds pretty desperate to me."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'charitable'."

"The magnanimity of helping a guy lose his v-card before he goes up in a heroic conflagration of 'fuck you, I got laid,' right?"


You're both running out of things to say, words like grains of sand escaping from a shattered hourglass. You turn your head to glance at Rose, but she doesn't return the favor. Instead, she stares forward, keeping her eyes trained on the numbers ticking down to lift off as the Challenger prepares for its maiden voyage and untimely demise, and you? You're one of the hapless astronauts strapped in for the fireworks.

Houston, we have a problem. Well, two problems, actually.

One, you stopped existing with the rest of the world, and two, the rocket's rigged to blow its load in our faces. Send help.

You tear your eyes away from her and focus on the Tumor instead. It's easier to look at what you can't stop than at what you can't save.

"Feels like it was meant to be, doesn't it?"

She barks a laugh. "They even set out color-coded grave plots for us."

"We all gotta die, right? We're the ones who get to do it saving the world."


"Call me Bruce Willis."

"That line was Affleck's."

"Same difference."

"Also, Liv Tyler should be safe on Earth, not clutching onto your leg."

"Quit nitpicking."

"John would be disappointed."

"He'll never know."


You fucked up again, didn't you? Shit.

And then, "Dave?"


"Thank you."

For not leaving me alone.


Time is running out. Was this how Cinderella felt, watching helplessly as the clock marched stolidly on toward midnight? Survey says, Hell fucking yes.

And then here it is.

Clock strikes twelve.

Zero hour.

Your time to die.

At first nothing happens.

Nothing but your breath catching in your throat.

Your entire body tensing, back going ramrod straight, nails digging into your palms.

Your eyes blowing impossibly wide, taking in the mess of electrified blue and red.

And then it explodes outwards, the whole lot of it, bright white light laced with toxic green waste burning your eyes, glass shards and the scattered remains of two universes crashing into your face, an inferno eating you alive.

And you die.

Or you wake up.

Goddamn, you hate revisiting that memory.

You sit up and feel utterly ridiculous. You've been thrashing about in the scalemate pile again. Proof is in the amount of cotton stuffing plastered onto your limbs like some sort of do-it-yourself sheep costume. You set to work peeling wads of white fuzz off of yourself when you hear Terezi sloshing around in her puddle of green goo.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Maybe you did, coolkid," she's got more of a drawl than you do, especially first thing in the morning.

Evening. The whatever time of day this is. Fuck, you're the Knight of Time, but Time doesn't really matter out in the Furthest Ring, now does it?

You squint in her general direction.

She's a blur of slate grey. Slimer blew chunks at her, and now she's soaked in ecto-mucus. You can just make out the orange traffic cones that are her horns poking out of her skull.

Green sun bukkake had its consequences: you're going blind. Which is stupid, because you are literally a god and are technically immortal unless killed under one of two sets of very specific conditions, and you returned hale and healthy and relatively whole and pretty fucking unburnt from a funeral pyre fueled by two exploding universes, but your eyesight is going to shit because Ben Stiller was too cheap to invest in shades with UV protection?

Fuck your luck with a rusty telephone pole.

Good thing Rose is suffering from the same eye degradation, right? Wrong. She's a fucking Seer of Light: she sees things regardless. You? Yeah, adaptation isn't going too hot, so you're taking lessons from the pro.

Terezi slides across the cold metallic floor, leaving a trail of green in her wake like a slug that's roughly the same height as you. "Visited a particularly vicious bubble, I presume?"

She reaches out to you with slabs of grey attached at her shoulders that you can only assume are her arms, but you dodge her attempts to touch your face. "No. Back up. Take a shower first. You are not fingerpainting me with troll sleep snot again."

She laughs and respectfully keeps her hands to herself. For now. "If you say so."

Terezi is off the floor in no time at all, her dragoncane whipped out more as a formality than anything else. She knows this meteor like she knows the back of your hand: she can navigate it just fine without the cane, but C4N1NG 1S SO QU41NT. The quiet tapping of cane against metal echoes in your ears and tells you that she's headed to the door. But then the sounds of taps and footfalls stop, and you raise your eyes to look up at her more out of habit than out of the ability to actually see anything.

"You should come with me next time," and there's the flash of white that signals her razor-sharp cheshire smile.

You wave her off dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I'll go with you when I can find the ablution traps on my own instead of having to follow you like third leg, poorly grafted onto your side."

Another burst of hyena laughter and then a click, and she's gone.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-13 06:10 am (UTC)(link)
I just can't get enough of Dualscar being a sexy toppy bastard. Dream bubble or time shenanigans of some kind, Dualscar seducing one of the current-gen trolls. Bonus points for xenobiology or perving on the size/age/experience difference.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)

I just want to see how it would work, ok? Maybe they all finally meet up in person and, contrary to expectation, the respective sweet adorkable heroes of breath from each group discover that they actually hate each other's guts. Bonus points for Karkat having conniptions over this startling new development :D

Any troll/any troll

(Anonymous) 2012-02-15 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Vomit. Can be troll vomit is reproductive material, or just plain vomit. Either non-con or consensual is fine.

Dualscar/Mindfang, culture clash

(Anonymous) 2012-02-15 10:46 pm (UTC)(link)
I have a headcanon where sea trolls are the only trolls capable of laying eggs, which can be fertilised by any troll, as a result while both sea trolls and land trolls see coming inside your partner as rather shocking it's for pretty much directly opposite reasons.

For land trolls it's the ultimate insult and act of dominance, treating your bedmate as an object.

For sea trolls it's the ultimate compliment, on both sides, telling your lover that you'd risk being culled to produce grubs that were a direct combination of the two of you.

So, Dualscar was Mindfang's kismesis for a while, and one of the things that drove him mad with jealousy was that during the games she played with his slaves she'd usually end up coming inside them. In front of him. He wants her to pay that compliment to him, instead of repeatedly telling him that slaves are more worthy of her genetic material than he is.

Take it anywhere from there.

Oh, and here's a bonus. The first few times Mindfang used one of Dualscar's slaves as a bucket in front of him it was just a particularly vicious kismesis move to him, but after a while by sea troll standards it's a form of abuse, and he can't quite work out why he hasn't cut her loose/handed her over to the Grand Highblood.

Re: Dualscar/Mindfang, culture clash

(Anonymous) 2012-02-16 03:29 pm (UTC)(link)
this prompt is motherfucking miracles, anon, I will do my best!

Dualscar/Dolorosa, noncon trigger

(Anonymous) 2012-02-16 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)
AU: Instead of having Mindfang's new favorite slave assassinated, Dualscar steals her in a fit of jealousy and claims her for his own, or tries to.

Re: Dualscar/Dolorosa, noncon trigger

(Anonymous) 2012-02-16 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)
oooh. OP, do you have a preference between physically violent vs. coercive/manipulative methods?

Re: Dualscar/Dolorosa, noncon trigger

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-17 07:25 (UTC) - Expand

(Anonymous) 2012-02-16 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Most trolls don't have nipples, not being mammals. A troll is sleeping with somebody who does, and finds them exotic and erotic and very sensitive. Cue tons of nippleplay!

(In my head-canon, jadeblood trolls do have nipples, from the ancient days when they still used their vestigial pap sacs in the duties in the breeding chambers. And so does Karkat, because doing mean things to Karkat is fun. So if you want to have it be troll/troll using that, that would work too.)

A Fascinating Novelty (Mindfang♥Dolorosa, M, Nippleplay)

(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Your game at keeping her blood color a secret from yourself ends as soon as you fully strip her from her dress for the first time, see the tiny paps on what is left of old feeding sacs - a holdover from the days when mother grubs demanded its caretakers to give them nourishment from their own bodies. They are a fascinating novelty - you've never had a jadeblood slave before. Usually capturing or enslaving one like this would be a crime punishable by death, or worse; without them the mother grubs would refuse to do their work. You are fortunate that this one chose to disgrace herself, you think, running your fingers gently over the paps.

She gasps and bites down on her lips, obeying your command to stay silent as best she can, and you smile at her. "Does that hurt, my sweet?" she says softly. "You may answer."

"No," she says. "It doesn't... hurt."

"I see." You bend down. "Well, then. Let's see what other sounds I can coax from your lips."

You can feel growing tension in her body as you move - she has already transgressed once, and well does she know the penalty. For every sound she makes she faces a week alone, without your touch... a penalty you may shorten, if only to earn her gratitude. Maybe seeing that you are not the cruel mistress she believes you to be will hasten her pity towards you.

She shudders when you slowly drag your tongue across the paps, her back arching, and you know that this time that almost none of that pleasure is from her mind alone. You have released that hold that you have on her, in your curiosity - a thing you have done and regretted, in the past. But tonight the Dolorosa is yours alone, and you will have her as she was before you touched her mind.

She still struggles to stay silent, especially when you tease her with your lips; her claws dig hard into your back, even though you have made sure that they were well-trimmed, but her mouth is closed. She has iron control, you think. A useful quality in any of your servants, and especially in a flushed dalliance - perhaps she will be worthy to be called your matesprit in truth.

There is no hurry; no one has called warnings to you, and Dualscar is nowhere to be found since his last tantrum. You take your time, examine her exquisite chest in every way you can imagine. Licking and suckling seem to be the most pleasurable, for her; she does not gasp again, but she writhes like a wriggler at your relentless giving of pleasure. Then, when the pleasure loses its savor, you spice it with a bit of pain - gentle pain, of course. This is no black dalliance. The lightest pressure from your claws, the gentlest of bites... they seem to only increase her ardor.

How sensitive she is! You see her looking at you pleadingly more than once, but you cannot tell what she wishes for - is it too much? Does she want you to stop? Well, that is not in her power to ask, and so you continue on until she is moaning and panting on the floor, her control broken, undone with pleasure and all but begging for a pail.

You do not grant it, but you stop keeping track of her moans as well. "Say your mistress's name," you whisper into her ear as she pants.

"Mindfang," she says, all too readily, staring up at you as you pull back to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed dark green, her eyes wide and full of passion for the one who uses her, the poor, pitiable thing.

"That's right," you say. Yes, you definitely will not separate her from you for too many weeks. You don't think you would have the resolve for it yourself.

Any troll(s)

(Anonymous) 2012-02-17 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
After a scratch the trolls are reincarnated as trolls in the Shadowrun universe. Go.

A few ideas for those who would like them:
- Megacorp executive Eridan vs. radical eco-shamaness Feferi
- Tavros communes with dragons
- Sollux the otaku/technomancer gets trapped with a rogue AI

Any human/Any troll, snow

(Anonymous) 2012-02-17 07:43 am (UTC)(link)
Start with a troll who has never seen snow. (Can be a non-SGRUB AU if you want.) Add a human who loves snow. Combine. What is the troll going to think of the snow? Maybe the humans has to prove that it's not some horrible alien infestation coming to overwhelm the world.

(Brought to you by this warm winter we've had and me really wishing we had some snow in this part of the country.)

Let It Fucking Snow, Karkat/John

(Anonymous) 2012-03-19 03:29 am (UTC)(link)
"John. Jegus, John, wake the fuck up." The words were hushed but they were enough to wake John up and groaning, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Karkat was standing over him, eyes wide and glowing slightly in the darkness of the bedroom.

"Ugh, wha..." John looked over at his cellphone clock and frowned. "Dude, it's not even seven am-"

"Shut up, Egbert, there's something going on outside. There's some kind of white ash on everything, what the fuck is wrong with your planet?!"

John stared at him for a moment before rolling over, presenting Karkat with his back. "It's way too early for such a terrible prank." It was quiet for a moment and John was already drifting off when he felt his bed shift, extra weight coming down on it. Aw, yay, Karkat's going to-

Shnik, his window blinds were pulled up and early morning light poured into his room. John felt irritation bubble up. "Ugh, Karkat, seriously-"

"Look." Karkat pulled him up and pushed his glasses on his face, nearly taking an eye out in the process. "Look out there. As soon as I fucking land on this shitpile of a planet, this happens."

John pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes before squinting out the window. Gasping, he said, "Oh my god, Karkat!"

"What?! Has this happened before?" Karkat was a line of tension at John's side. "Fuck, has this happened before?"

"It sure has!" John met Karkat's wide-eyed panic with a grin. "It's snowing!"

After explaining just what snow was - and nursing the sore spot on his shoulder Karkat's fist left - John threw open his closet and started digging through it for appropriate clothing. Karkat sat on the bed, arms crossed. "Why are we going on in it?" he asked and John could hear the scowl. "This is fucking ridiculous!"

"Yes, it is! If by ridiculous you mean awesome!" John pulled several coats and sweaters out and threw them in a pile on the floor. He made a mental note to clean that up before his dad saw it. "Come on, pick some stuff out. It's going to be cold."


"Jeez. Just give it a chance!"

"Yeah, okay. Wearing a claustrophobia-inducing amount of clothing while standing in the cold getting hit by fucking falling ice sounds gogdamn fabulous, Egbert. Thank you for opening my think pan to the possibilities Earth winter provides."

"Rahh, rahh, my name's Karkat and I hate fun." Stripping off his shirt, John picked up a green and blue striped sweater and pulled it on. When he smoothed it down, he glanced at Karkat to see if he'd picked something out but Karkat was watching him, eyes narrowed and face pinched. "Uh. What?"

Karkat blinked and looked away. "Jegus, Egbert, don't you have any shame?" he muttered, fingers tight on a dark blue sweater.

John paused before sucking in air between his teeth. "Shit, sorry Karkat! I forgot." Nudity was kind of a big deal for trolls, even moreso than for humans. Something to do with being vulnerable or something, John couldn't really make it out under the cursing and name calling, he just knew that even though they were kind of boyfriends, Karkat still froze up whenever nudity was involved. John wouldh've been concerned that maybe Karkat just didn't like what he looked like but John had seen his eyes go dark and intense before getting wide and panicked, so really, John thought maybe Karkat was afraid of hurting him.

Which was just silly! Karkat wouldn't hurt him! But John wasn't going to push him into anything. He sure wasn't that kind of asshole!

"Here, I'll turn around so you can change!"

"Tch, like I have anything to worry about from you." But John could hear the sounds of clothing being rummaged around with, the smooth sound of fabric against skin, before a clawed hand brushed against his elbow in a barely there gesture of thanks.

When John opened the door and stepped out, the bright shock of cold immediately brought a flush to his cheeks. Spreading his arms wide, he tilted his head back and let the snow fall on his face. Gosh, how could anyone hate snow? He turned to Karkat and covered his mouth with his hands, muffling his laughter. Karkat's eyes were wide, his lips drawn back in a quiet snarl. His fingers were clenched into fists so tight John was sure his claws were digging into his palms. Reaching over, John touched his hand and Karkat jerked away from him and immediately looked a little ashamed of his reaction.

"It's okay, Karkat. It really can't hurt you," John said, tugging on his wrist.

"Shut the fuck up, I know that." Still, it was a gradual thing, getting Karkat off the porch. His movements were stiff, steps stilted, and his grip on John's hand was way too tight. They walked down the street towards the local park and slowly, Karkat began to loosen up, although he never let go of John.

"This is fucking boring," he said. "And I think this shit is soaking into my socks. Why the fuck do you like this?"

Deciding that was basically an open invitation, John let go of his hand and ran ahead, reaching down to scoop up snow.

"Egbert." Karkat's went wide. "What the fuck are you doin-shitfuck!" The snowball hit him square in the face and he fell back, scrubbing frantically to get it off even as it melted away.

John doubled over, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. "You....your face..." he gasped out. Snow was suddenly dumped over his head and he gasped at the cold wetness.

Karkat's face was scrunched up in a toothy snarl. "Egbert, what the fu-" John launched another spattering of snow at him "-uck, stop that!" He pushed John backwards. "I will fucking drown you in this shit, Egbert, don't fucking think I won't."

"It's a game!" Jogn said, grinning at Karkat's rage. "We throw snow at each other!"

Karkat stared at him for a moment. "And? That's it? Jegus, that's fucking retarded. Who thinks that's a good idea? Why know what, no. I'm going to stop trying to figure out why you shitbag humans do the the things you do. If I figure it out, that means I understand it. If I fucking understand it, that means I am somehow on you gogdamn level and that is just something I can't deal with, I can't fucking handle that. Life, such as it is, would no longer be worth it, I would just have to go punch Tavros or something and let Gamzee deal with me in the most painfully fatal way possible."

"...Okay. So does that mean you don't want to play?"

"...Egbert it's like you're made out of rubber or some shit and everything I say just bounces right the fuck off of you, killing innocent bystanders and causing mass property damage in the process," Karkat said, staring incredulously. "Fine, I'll play. Just don't fucking run to Dad when I slay your ass. No crying, you little nooksniffer. What are the fucking rules?"

John grabbed another big handful of snow. "The only rule is there are no rules, bro," he said, launching the snowball at Karkat. This time, Karkat ducked, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at an angle that sent it straight up John's nose. As he coughed and snorted, Karkat watched with a hard smirk.

"Okay, Egbert," he said. "I think I'm going to like this game."

Karkat took to snowball fighting like John took to Nic Cage movies and they exchanged insults and killer throws for nearly thirty minutes before John begged for a break. "Gosh, Karkat, you sure are good at this game," he said, bent over and resting his hands on his knees.

"It's got fight right in it's fucking name, of course I would be the superior player," he said but a teeny, pleased kinda-smile tugged on his mouth.

John straightened. "Come on, let's go get some hot chocolate. I'm freezing!"

"Wow, really? No way, you're freezing? Holy shit, we'd better get to a hospital or something, there's no explanation for why you would be freezing," Karkat said, but followed John. As they walked, John borrowed against his shoulder. "Oh my gog, what are you doing, you're going to trip me up."

"Sorry, jeeez, you're just like a furnace! C'mon, Karkat, warm me up," John said, waggling his eyebrows.

Karkat hissed, looking away. "Holy shit, never do that again, okay? Just. No." But he obliged, curling his arm around John's shoulders and tugging him closer. John butted his head against Karkat's gently.

"See, I told you snow was awesome."

Karkat sighed loudly. "Yeah, snow is awesome. I knew I wouldn't get out of this without hearing you fucking gloat."

John laughed. "I'll buy you hot chocolate to make up for it!"

"Yeah, I know you will. I don't have any money, fuckass."

"Wow, just for that, no marshmallows."

"What the fuck, yes there will be marshmallows or you can get a new fucking furnace, Egbert!"

John mimicked Karkat's sigh. "Okay, fiiiiiine, there will be marshmallows."

"Fuck yeah, marshmallows," Karkat said with a triumphant glower, settling his arm back over John's shoulders as he led them towards the coffeehouse.

Re: Let It Fucking Snow, Karkat/John

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-22 03:07 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Let It Fucking Snow, Karkat/John

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-24 20:51 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
Jake actually does end up responding well to Dirk's advances through pesterlogs, once he realizes that he's definitely talking to the real person and it's not all some baffling jape at his expense.

But as soon as they meet in person he backs off completely, and Dirk has no idea why.

It turns out that when he's around Dirk in the flesh all he can see is his resemblance to the robot that beat the crap out of him regularly. And it turns out that's just not something he can get past (or, if he can, not until several years have passed and Dirk's grown out of the resemblance some).

Re: Dirk/Jake

(Anonymous) 2012-08-13 11:12 am (UTC)(link)
I'm doing this! I'm doing this! Oh god yes!

Terezi/Karkat bloodplay

(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
Terezi loves the smell of red sooo much. Give me Terezi<3Karkat fic (femdom preferred, with Karkat being his usual cranky self) with lots of bloodplay and heavy erotic focus on Karkat's bright red blood.

Bonus points for using body types from this (very NSFW) tumblr post:

Tavros♥Gamzee, Tavros♠???

(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 08:23 am (UTC)(link)
Non-SGRUB AU: The deadline for offering genetic material is looming, and Tavros has never had a kismesis, and he's worried. But it's okay - Gamzee's gonna help a motherfucker out.
So. Give me the misadventures of Tavros Nitram, blackrom virgin, and his matesprit Gamzee Makara, who are both out to find Tavros a kismesis before it's too late. Karkat may or may not play a role as Gamzee's morail/ The Quadrant Doctor. I don't mind who Tavros ends up black for in the end as long as it's not Vriska (that pairing just doesn't work for me, sorry!) and as long as he ends up in a functional black relationship for both sides. I just want to see what his hunt for a kismesis would entail, and what sort of crazy things could happen along the way.

Dirk/Jake, Dirk/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy

(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 09:00 am (UTC)(link)
Jake likes Dirk a lot. Jake hates the Autoresponder for always messing with him (and maybe the AR is currently inhabiting the brobot who constantly kicks his ass)...but the strong resemblence to Dirk makes Jake's hatred take a turn for the blackrom. Roxy has to step in between Dirk and his own autoresponder to keep them from killing each other.

Basically, Jake♥Dirk, Jake♠Autoresponder, and Autoresponder♣Roxy♣Dirk. Jane can get in there too, if you want to have a big alpha kids quadrantfest.

Re: Dirk/Jake, Dirk/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy

(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Just to clarify, was the subject line for this supposed to read "Dirk/Jake, Jake/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy"? sounds from the description like that's what you meant, but wanted to see for sure. maybe otherwise you wanted Jake/AR ~and~ Dirk/AR, heh.

Re: Dirk/Jake, Dirk/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-20 08:20 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Dirk/Jake, Dirk/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-19 21:17 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Dirk/Jake, Dirk/AR, Dirk + AR + Roxy

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-20 08:22 (UTC) - Expand

Equius(/Tavros, kinda?)

(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 09:26 am (UTC)(link)
Equius is building Tavros' robot legs and -- since they're designed to attach at the waist -- has to decide what to do about the naughty bits.

Can be porn or not, as anon wishes.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 02:00 am (UTC)(link)
I will take just about anything...but for a specific kink, scratching/biting. Because reasons.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
Anything really sweet between these two would be amazinggggg. ;w;

Re: Equius/John

(Anonymous) 2014-02-17 07:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"H-Hey! Dude ow!"
It's just about the hundreth time you've said that, really. And in this situation you feel if you have to repeat yourself again there will be a mopy troll with a huge hard on. He apologies in a whisper against your neck, having accidentally nicked your flesh with his rughed teeth. It was always that damn chipped tooth that got you worst. His large hands, albeit cold, are flush to your hips, sprawling, feeling, experimenting, but never holding. Karkat has told you plenty of times how dangerous pailing with this troll in specific could be, but for some odd reason, that made your stomach knot in the best ways possible. He was hot, really. He was strong and loyal and god those hands a d frame...
"It's fine Equius... God, im surprised i haven't bled to death yet." It's an odd thing to say at the moment, but it was true. He'd made you bleed quite the few times now (all of which he's gingerly taken care to lap up) and even though it hurt it didn't falter your horny attraction in the least. He's lying beside you, and you're curled up right there beside him. Apparently after sex he liked a little pillow talk and teasing foreplay, because everytime you two do this he seems persistent for more. You don't mind giving. The getting part was what resulted in about a werk of tense sore movement. He usually carries you around in those days, and he certainly will tomorrow. Your hand finds its way into his hair and you itch just below his horns, earning a growl-like purr in response. You as of today continue to wonder how trolls do that. Pausing your motions, you bring him back up to you for a kiss. His lips were, despite the sweat and slight chaptness, were smooth and full, and always made his kisses feel complete. He gingerly rubs your shoulder blades, a massage in your head, and he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice a low grumble. "Your ability to withstand my STRENGTH still shocks me today." You giggle, taking a clump of his hair and brush out the knots in it with your nails, buck teeth gleaming in all their shit eating glory. "Since when haven't i surprised you with something?" He rolls his eyes (you've desposed of those cracked glasses a few hours ago.), merely taking to run his fingers over every injury delivered to you, humming as he in his mind knew they were those of traditional marking. "I suppose you keep a point, John." Another kiss to his lips. "I know i do." Somewhere, Nepeta would try and add this to her chart. You were sure.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
Kinks: sub!Dave, strife-turned-to-sex
Dave finds Jake a mangrittier and somehow sexier version of John. Jake finds Dave much less dorky and easier to deal with than his Strider. They strife, and Jake wins half because Dave lets him. Sexy times ensue.

Equius/'Rocking Horse' Fucking Machine; Solo

(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
A fic based around this adorable and nsfw ( image from the ask100dequius tumblr.

Any kink or pairing thrown in is up to you, but anon really likes large insertions -- because Equius struggling a bit with big dick is super cute, ok -- and exhibitionism.
cypher: (strider to universe:your shit is wrecked)

"save a hoofbeast," Dirk/Equius, fucking machine, d/s

[personal profile] cypher 2012-02-27 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
...okay there is no point in me going anon with this one honestly

You can scarcely believe the depths of the depravity to which you've sunk. You've found yourself returning repeatedly to a human, pleading for every indignity he can visit on you; he has the arrogance of a highblood, for all his soft white hands and shocking fire-orange eyes. He drawls commands with cool, confident assurance, and you do whatever you're told. You call him sir and he calls you any of a number of affectionate, demeaning terms that you respond to without hesitation.

When he growls with satisfaction this time and stills inside you, you are still taut and aching, in need of release; you chew your lip, trying fruitlessly to hold back the plea for a few agonizing seconds. Your resolve crumbles when he pulls out, and you beg: "Please, sir, please, don't leave me like this."

Dirk laughs, presses his lips to the sweat-drenched nape of your neck, lets his teeth scrape the skin. "Don't worry, babe, I'm not going to leave you hanging. I've got something special for you. Get up."

You obey, trembling with frustrated need. You can feel his genetic material trickling down your thighs. Even knowing intellectually that filling one's partner is normal among humans, you can't help the queasy thrill you feel every time he does it to you. He knows how depraved it is for trolls, after all, but still he does it, shamelessly making you his pail.

"Come on," he says, hooking his fingers in the ring on your collar. "This way."

The collar is another indignity that you mortify yourself by enjoying, a band of mirror-polished steel lined with soft leather to pad it against your skin; you wear it only when you are here, when you have given yourself up to his control. You could break free of it if you wanted to try, and Dirk knows this, knew this before he presented it to you in the first place. You suspect he also knows that you will never want to try.

You follow him closely, as the collar requires, as he brings you to his workroom. There is something sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, covered with a sheet—has he built some new piece of robotics with pleasure in mind? When Dirk lets go of your collar, you stop, waiting for further directions.

He crosses the room and pulls back the sheet. He's smirking at you as he reveals his handiwork.

You flush hot. His new creation is a rocking device, a shining curve of steel large enough for a troll to sit astride. At one end it is ornamented with the sculpted head of a hoofbeast, and at the other end it is fitted with a monstrous artificial bulge, thick and obscene pink-red, covered in rows of little bumps to increase sensation. You can scarcely breathe at the depravity of it, and you look at Dirk again.

"Well?" he says.

He knows your most shameful needs so well. "Please," you say helplessly. "Order me."

Dirk nods. "Let me see your hands, ponyboy," he says. You hold them out as commanded, and he flips open the top on a bottle of lubricant, squeezing thick gel onto your fingers. "I want you to slick that big thing up," he says, "and then stuff yourself with it. I'm going to watch you take it for a ride." Not an instant of hesitation or doubt; he is certain you will obey him.

"As you wish," you tell him hoarsely.

If he built this machine for you, it must be reinforced to withstand your strength, but still, you are careful with it as you smear lubricant over the length of the attached bulge. He makes you do such atrocious things. You are so lucky to have met him. This prosthetic he has built into the rocking hoofbeast is outrageous in size, considerably bigger than his, thicker at the wide ridge of its crown than your own bulge. You imagine trying to take such a monstrosity inside you; your mouth goes dry and your bulge throbs.

"I—I do not know if I can...accommodate this," you warn him.

"Sure you can," he says. He folds his arms over his chest, watching you with one eyebrow cocked in that infuriating, beautiful attitude of superiority. "Big greedy hunk of musclebeast like you? You can take it."

He will not force you. He never has to. Simply knowing the extent of his demands makes you need to obey them.

You kneel astride the device, and have to close your eyes to force yourself to continue. You reach back for the monstrous bulge, lowering your hips to bring it to your nook. After a moment of struggling with it you realize that simply pushing yourself back on it will make it rock away from you; you use your free hand to brace yourself against the carved hoofbeast head so the device can no longer move freely. You push.

The head of it scarcely breaches your nook before you have to stop, panting for breath. "It's—so much," you tell him.

"Take it slow," Dirk says. "I'm not in a hurry."

"O-of course," you say. You push yourself back on it another fraction, enough to feel the first nubs rub stretched, sensitive skin as they pass into you. You pause again there, catching your breath. Already it feels unmercifully wanton, being stretched so wide, and when you explore with your fingers you can feel how much of the shaft still remains.

Dirk groans appreciatively as you make this discovery, and the reminder of his presence prompts an undignified whimper from you. "You look great," he says. "Impaling yourself on that monster cock. It's even better than I pictured it."

"You have been, ah, imagining this," you say, as you rock your hips to fill yourself a little further.

"Damn right," he says. "The whole time I was building it for you."

Another strangled sound escapes your throat. He built this device specifically for you. He pictured you debasing yourself on it. Your actual depravity exceeds his expectations. You push yourself onto it further. The entrance to your nook feels stretched taut and sensitive, and the prosthetic is rigid and unyielding as it fills you. Your breath is harsh and panting in your ears, but oh, you want to take it all for him now. You want him to see just how much you can give him.

You can hear footsteps; you glance back over your shoulder to see him standing behind you, admiring the obscene picture you make. "So damn gorgeous," he tells you. "All stretched out and flushing blue around that big red cock."

"Y-you chose the color on purpose," you say, hoping it's true.

"Sure did," he says. "Red like my blood, for depravity bonus points."

You groan helplessly, biting your lip, pushing yourself back to take more of the prosthetic. The solidity of it feels invasive in a way that flesh does not, makes it seem far more demanding: your body must give way because the thing that penetrates you will not. Your shame globes feel swollen and heavy, and the tip of your bulge leaks an early drop of fluid.

"Almost there," Dirk tells you. "You love it, don't you? Stuffing yourself that full."

"Yes," you moan. "Yes, sir." It is utterly inexcusable, the pleasure you take in this, the thrill you feel at surrendering to his every perverse suggestion. You drive yourself back until the prosthetic is buried in your nook as far as it will go, your glutes brushing the rocking base of the device. You let your head fall forward, forehead braced on your forearm, while you breathe through the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Dirk traces his fingertips down your spine, the touch so gentle it makes you shudder. "There's a control panel along the bottom of the curve," he says. "Open it."

Your hands are shaking, but you manage to slip a claw under the smooth panel and expose the controls. "Done."

"You're doing all right?" he asks, and you nod. "Then turn it on."

You flip the power switch, and the prosthetic begins to vibrate inside you. The noise you make is quite frankly disgraceful, but you can't stop yourself. The stimulation is almost unbearable, just barely on the right side of the divide between pleasurable and excruciating. He undoes you so utterly.

"Leave the power switch alone," Dirk says, "but feel free to play with the rest of the controls. I want to see how hard you can wreck yourself here."

"Yes, sir," you breathe. You are already, in his words, wrecked by this experience, and all you want is more. You fumble with the settings, discovering that one button changes the speed of the vibration, another makes it pulse in patterns, and a third makes the entire prosthetic twist and rock back and forth inside you. When you strike the perfect combination, a stroke that rubs up repeatedly against the glandular stimulation point deep in your nook, you practically sob with the pleasure of it. You rock back onto the prosthetic, reduced to shameless need, and every flex of your thighs brings you more of that perfect stimulation. You're slick with sweat all over, trembling, your globes and your bulge aching for release as you—as you fuck yourself relentlessly on the machine he's built for you.

You feel yourself pass the point of no return, and the last rational part of your brain fumbles for the control panel, slamming it shut at the last possible instant before you surrender to the sensations and climax without even a hand on your bulge. You spill in a desperate, overwhelming rush between your thighs, growling your pleasure as it overwhelms you.

The prosthetic stops moving as your climax finishes, and you take two rasping, panting breaths before you can collect your thoughts enough to be alarmed by that. You look down, worried that you have shorted out the mechanisms, and then up at Dirk.

He holds up a small remote control device. "Everything's cool," he says. "Totally successful test ride."

You let your head fall forward on your arms again, listening to the way your blood hammers in your ears and your breath rasps in your throat. You feel so utterly wrung out, deliciously exhausted, and while you recognize in some abstract way that this is absurdly shameful, you feel so content right now that you can't bring yourself to mind.

Dirk comes over to kneel beside you, stroking your hair back off your face, resting a warm hand on your shoulder. "How you doing, babe?" he says. "You ready to move, or you still need a minute?"

He treats you with such tenderness, such pity, when he has put you in your place. Your bloodpusher swells with gratitude. "I think...I would prefer to move," you say. The position the rocking device requires is not conducive to relaxation.

"Okay. I got you," he says, and he helps to hold you steady as you ease yourself slowly free of the prosthetic. You can't help a faint hiss as it slips free; you feel so empty, so stretched and raw. "Here, let me see," Dirk says, and you, of course, obey. Your cheeks burn as he examines you, his fingers gentle as he spreads your glutes and looks at what his machine has done to you. "Looks a little sore, but not too bad. Feel okay?"

You nod. "I...will certainly be feeling the soreness for some time," you admit. "But I'm not harmed." He shifts so you can more easily see his face, his raised eyebrow. "And I feel...good. I, ah, enjoyed that. Quite a bit."

His cool expression melts into a warm smile, and he pulls you into his arms. "Good," he says. "It was a hell of a show, you know." One hand comes up to slide through your hair and massage the base of your broken horn. You feel as though you could melt, right here. At your sigh of contentment, he presses his lips to your temple. "Next time we play with the horse, maybe I'll run the whole session with the remote."

"Yes," you say, even though that didn't sound like a question at all. You lean into him, this arrogant, depraved, perfect human. "Yes."

John/Dave or Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 03:43 am (UTC)(link)
I just want John or Jake topping Dave or Dirk respectively. I don't know, I just seem to have this thing with Striders being topped. Willingly. Maybe even borderline demanding they be topped.

Re: John/Dave or Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
If you don't mind, do you mean topping in the purely physical sense (John or Jake being on top) or the psychological one (John or Jake dominating their partner?) Because I have an idea for this, but I want to make sure we're using the words the same way before I get started. ^^;

Re: John/Dave or Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-22 07:03 (UTC) - Expand

"tomb raiders," Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-14 03:41 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "tomb raiders," Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-14 17:03 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "tomb raiders," Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-15 04:53 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "tomb raiders," Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-22 03:10 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "tomb raiders," Jake/Dirk

(Anonymous) - 2012-05-11 05:43 (UTC) - Expand

Terezi/Nepeta, rough sex

(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 09:26 am (UTC)(link)
Most Terezi/Nepeta is pretty sweet and romantic, which is nice but they're still trolls. I'd like to see some rough boitey scratchy sex between these two. Non-game A/U as adults is preferred.

Re: Terezi/Nepeta, rough sex

(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 05:06 am (UTC)(link)
I am *so* on this, anon. :D Are you okay with either concupiscent quadrant for the two ladies?

Re: Terezi/Nepeta, rough sex

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 22:30 (UTC) - Expand

Jake: confound it all. be brash.

(Anonymous) 2012-02-21 03:36 pm (UTC)(link)
GT: Now please dont take me as saying im about to go leaping into his arms or anything.
GG: Heh.
GT: That would be a bit brash.
GT: Haha could you imagine??

Jake runs out of patience with this long-term and esoteric courtship ritual and decides to take matters into his own hands. Dirk, for once, loses his cool. Makeouts ensue!

"Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman," Jake/Dirk, canon-typical violence

(Anonymous) 2012-03-15 04:36 am (UTC)(link)
A gentleman should not complain when adventure finds him, but surely there is a limit. You have been beaten within an inch of your life by that confounded machine of Strider's, been taunted by your own subconscious in regards to an azure Arachne who cannot possibly exist, had a highly awkward conversation with Jane that has left you as unsettled at being placed into the chum circle as you are relieved that you don't have to choose between two best friends you're rather romantically attracted to, gotten trapped in some kind of infernal contraption inside of the frog-bedecked temple you are beginning to regret ever exploring, and now that you've gotten out you find that not only is the entire island flooded except for where you're standing, but there's an entire legion of angry beings who are presumably from either another planet or some sort of nebulous hell-dimension coming out of the distance right towards you. Given all of this, even the most enthusiastic adventurer is entitled to feel a bit cross.

You have had, dare you say it, the most bloody awful day in the history of mankind.

But however entitled to your current feelings of vexation you may be, the fact remains that you are obviously in either the past or the future, assuming you haven't gone to an entirely different planet or dimension (one cannot be too careful when dealing with ancient, mysterious devices found in remote temples, which is a lesson you will carry with you forever after you survive this). You are equipped with nothing but your trusty pair of pistols and your satellite phone, everything else being safely tucked away in your sylladex and with no time to rearrange everything to fit after removing anything. There is nothing but water around you, unless one counts the tentacles that periodically rise from the water and wave with what can only be menace and intent. Still, this is not the end! The mysterious interlopers could be easily shot down, and tumble down to feed your newfound abyssal neighbor. Said cephalopod abomination could also turn out to be an unexpected ally and rip them down out of the sky with its fearsome tentacles, bound right for its horrifying maw. Perhaps you are in some battered and frosted dystopian future, and your friends have formed a resistance group fighting the tyrannical alien government; they'll descend from the skies in a helicopter any moment now. Strider will be hanging off a ladder, hand outstretched to pull you up in a dramatic rescue while Jane takes the pilot's seat and Roxy guns down the enemy. Any number of things could turn this in your favor; you cannot give up yet.

Still, you holster one pistol and pull out your mobile. While you would never give up, you must also be prepared for any contingency.

gutsyGumshoe - last online three years ago

timaeusTestified - ONLINE

tipsyGnostalgic - last online five minutes ago

For you, it's been perhaps fifteen minutes since you last spoke to Jane. According to the network log, it's been years. Still, you know Strider is alive, and that as of five minutes ago Roxy had been as well. Having to grab the ladder yourself while Strider pilots the helicopter is not nearly so attractive a fantasy as your first one, but there is no way on Earth anyone would allow Roxy Lalonde to drive so much as a bicycle. Now you can message him and let him know you're alive, and that you are in rather a sticky situation at just this moment. And perhaps, if there's an appropriate lull in running for you lives, you can approach the subject of how you've both survived this aqueous hell-world and there really is no better time than the present— given the precariousness of your shared circumstance— to discuss your mutual attraction.

timaeusTestified has gone offline.

Oh, hell.

Nothing doing, then; you'll just have to take care of yourself. Away goes the mobile, out comes the second pistol, and you brace your feet on the roof of the frog temple and gauge your line of fire.

The first one drops after a single shot; whatever they are (and the closer they get, the worse they look— now that they're within shooting range, they look like they're out for blood), they aren't armored with anything a nine millimeter bullet won't pierce. And then another one goes down, and another; you haven't been practicing your shooting on the ferocious wildlife of the island for nothing! Still, even you cannot remain blind to the inevitability of the situation forever: you are going to run out of bullets, and they are going to swarm you in numbers too great to shoot. Which one happens first seems to in the hands of chance, that fickle mistress.

Until the sky over your head darkens, anyway; a ship is passing over your head. Apparently, whatever juggernaut spawned these horrors has decided that more of them are required to snuff out your overly tenacious existence. It's in the shadow that your doom is decided: you're out of bullets, and you haven't nearly finished off enough of them to stand a sporting chance at it without a weapon. Still, you holster your faithful companions and raise your fists, ready to face them with your bare hands.

"I warn you, I shall not make it easy for you!" You shout up in the direction of the ship, because if there is any intelligence at all to be had in this swarm of drone-like creatures it almost certainly resides there. "Stop cowering in your battleship and face me under the rules of engagement, you coward!"

"Heeey, sailor!" The battleship calls down with a giggle.

The aliens start disintegrating, as if someone's just hit them with a bloody laser. Honestly, that sort of weaponry is cheating, not sporting in the slightest, but you can't bring yourself to care. The ship is descending, monsters dropping as it goes, and as it reaches eye level you see none other than Roxy Lalonde standing behind some sort of massive cannon (and oh, goodness, who would have ever given her command over such a weapon, skill with a rifle or not?). She salutes at you, and you're so stunned you give her a salute right back.

It's right about then that one of the horned monstrosities lands in front of you; evidently Roxy's missed one in her bizarre intoxicated savant moment with the flying golden battleship's cannon. If you weren't so preoccupied with the fact that an alien is trying to tear your throat out and you're rather frantically flailing about trying to dodge its claws you would recognize that sentence for what it is, which is to say progressively more ludicrous with every passing word. Instead you worry about important things, like grabbing the thing's head and holding on for dear life as it goes for your throat with its teeth.

"Dirk!" Roxy is yelling something besides Strider's name and you can hear other people in a chorus behind her, but you're rather more concerned with the fact you are wrestling what is essentially a twenty stone wrecking machine covered with knives. You manage to get back onto your feet, still holding the thing at arm's length; you silently thank every single moment of recoil you've ever had for preparing your arms for their titanic battle with this monster's horn-studded headbutting, because your muscles are the only things standing between you and being skewered like a boar for the roasting.

And then suddenly all the resistance is gone and you're stumbling forward into the blood spraying from the stump where the thing's head had been just an instant before. Said cranium is still in your hands.

"Hey," Strider says, and shoves the body aside. He has, for all appearances, leapt from the battleship down to where you're standing and taken out the monster in one stroke.

You're standing on top of the temple, clutching a severed alien head by the horns and looking right at Dirk Strider. He's inches away from you; if either one of you leaned forward just the slightest bit, you would bump noses. He's panting with exertion, katana dripping with dull-colored alien blood where he's just decapitated the chap you'd been pushing away from your throat. You're also dripping with the resultant mess, which is admittedly a less than dashing way to end this— but everything else is exactly as it should be for a hero's ending, and thus you can't complain too much. It would be ungrateful and unseemly.

"You do know how to make an entrance, Strider," you say, and blast it all, you sound breathless and awestruck and not at all like someone who's just stood up to what must be an alien invasion force. For his part, Strider looks like you've just said something terribly confusing, and starts to turn away. This is the perfect moment, and the cad is wasting it.

Confound it all, sometimes even a gentleman has to aggress to get what he wants. You reach out with your free hand and take Strider by the front of his shirt; he starts to say something, but you cut him off by pulling him down and kissing him. He drops his sword in surprise, but he doesn't pull away from you— quite to the contrary, he brings one hand up to your face to tilt your chin up (because of course he would have the exceedingly good luck to be just a bit taller than you are) and settles the other one at the small of your back. Quite frankly, it's shockingly intimate for someone who just a moment ago had been turning away at your sporting attempt at sweeping him off his feet; he's holding onto you without a bit of concern for the fact you're covered in the remains of a giant insect from outer space.

Everything about this is absolutely capital.

"What prompted that?" Strider asks you when the two of you separate to breathe, nose pressed to your cheek as if he doesn't want to move away even for something so vital.

"If you have to ask me that, your education has not been nearly ecumenical enough." You laugh a little bit, giddy with the head rush of everything that's happened in the past twelve hours, and you're just opening your mouth to his again when someone calls out to you.

"Hey, don't do that in front of the poor sea monster! He's going to get jealous!" You lift your head away from Strider's to see Roxy hanging precariously over the railing, waving at the both of you.

That doesn't precisely kill the moment, but it does make you realize that there are more urgent matters at hand than kissing the life out of your dashing rescuer. You still need to find out what happened to Jane— who is conspicuously absent from the railing with Roxy, which is the most distressing thing about this entire day— and get away from here before more of these accursed monsters show up. And find out how Dirk and Roxy got into the future, and who in the world is on their flying battleship with them.

"…holy shit," Strider says, voice suddenly gone reverent when you step back from one another.

"What in blazes is that supposed to mean?" You ask, and then you realize you're still holding onto the severed head. He's probably referring to that tiny, insignificant detail— perhaps he realizes, as you have, what a magnificent skull trophy this will be. You are keeping it, no matter what anyone has to say about it.

"You're so fucking Hollywood, and you're not even trying." He stoops to pick up his sword, and when he stands up again he puts his other arm around your shoulders. "Hey, Roxy, you want to stop worrying about that kraken's feelings and toss us the rope?"


(Anonymous) - 2012-03-29 20:31 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 04:59 pm (UTC)(link)
The Handmaid is a Hero of Time, so she's a nonlinear existence. Sometimes, during the Condesce's service to Lord English, the Handmaid pays her visits and keeps her company. Hot mutual kismesis action ensues. Bonus points for Handmaid using time to gain the upper hand and Condesce employing hair bondage.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)
First time, virginity, femdom. During one of their feelings jams, Equius admits that he knows nothing about filling a pail because he's never had the opportunity. Nepeta, who's had a bit more experience in her wild life (she can't be the only troll who lives in the wilderness, and in my head she's had more than a few brief encounters and maybe a quadrant filled or two,) decides that it's her duty as a good meowrail to show Equius the ropes.

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