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

Helpful notes

  1. Both art and fic are welcome and encouraged.

  2. The character limit for comments on Dreamwidth is 16,000 characters (somewhere around 2700 words).

  3. If you need an anonymous image host for porny stuff, you can use

  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.

  5. Looking for something specific? Try hitting the tags in our Pinboard bookmarks.


  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!

Eridan, slavery, humiliation, probably rape

(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)
If a seadweller doesn't have at least two filled quadrants by the time the conscription ships arrive (s)he's stripped of his/her status and sold as a sex slave to an established adult on the fleet. Usually a land troll.

Generally the buyer will inspect her/his new property and try him/her out before actually making payment and taking possession.

Maybe this is the first time Eridan's been sold, in which case I want to see a lot of size kink, becuase trolls aren't quite mature when they're conscripted. Or maybe he's been on the block a few times already, in which case please let the buyer be one of the trolls we know.

Re: Eridan, slavery, humiliation, probably rape

(Anonymous) 2012-02-23 03:42 pm (UTC)(link)
anon this prompt is so hot it's starting wild fires over here. I will do my best to write you something for it!

Re: Eridan, slavery, humiliation, probably rape

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-12 03:53 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Eridan, slavery, humiliation, probably rape

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-12 03:58 (UTC) - Expand

Sweet Bro and/or Hella Jeff, ultimate power, humiliation

(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
SB and/or HJ are actually the primordial gods of creation, countered only by each other and their own incomprehensibility.

In their immense wisdom and power, they decide that the most appropriate thing to do is to obtain and make use of a sex slave. HOW CAN THAT EVEN HAPEN.

The Gospel According To Geromy (Sweet Bro/Hella Jeff, NSFW, References to sex slavery)

(Anonymous) 2012-03-20 12:03 pm (UTC)(link)
In the beginning there was order. Tiny particles marched in their orderly rows and waves. The energies that crackled through time and space were utterly predictable, for order is predictable. And yea, it was hella boring, for everything happened over and over again and there were never any surprises. And so two Beings from the primordial stuff of creation looked upon this order and said, "NO WAY THSI IS SOOO DUMB, WE GOTTA MIX IT UP!"

And so, with that Great Declaration, CHAOS entered the universe! The predictable patterns were broken, and objects were free to interact with each other in new and strange ways. New forms of matter appeared from nothing in the chaos, and with them new forms of life. And the two Primordials rules over it all, and named themselves Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, because those names totally Rocked Their Faces.

But even after the universe became Chaotic, and life began to crawl on its many planets, the Primordials were lonely and frustrated, for They lived in their great protean apartment and there was no one there to satisfy their needs, not even for a sandwich once in a while. And so They went out among the many universes that had started to appear now because of Their awesome chaos powerz, and searched for a servant who could do whatever They wanted.

They had not expected their search to be so long and painful. But through the many universes they found much hotness, yea, and many that They described as SMOKIN. But They quickly learned that any that They touched would spontaneously scream and combust into a rain of utterly chaotic particles. It soon became obvious that the only ones that They could touch were each other, for no one else could withstand the concentrated CHAOS of Their existence.

And so Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff were very sad, until Sweet Bro had the most brilliant idea He'd ever had, no, for real dog, this idea was totally HELLA bitchin'. And Hella Jeff agreed, because really, someone had to make Him a sandwich. And so They took their Divine Ball Gags and Leashes and Chains and played a rousing game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, except that the game took a very long time, for yea, both of Them kept trying to use HAND OF DOG to defeat Their opponent.

In the end, though, They did Take their Devices and their porny Musics to play, only with one of Them wearing these things and the other issuing commands, and a good time was had by each of Them, for half of the fun was in issuing Their divine edicts and the other was in not having to issue them for a while, because seriously man that gets boring sometimes. And at the end of each day, They did switch off, and pass over the Sacred Golden Hot God Of Ownership, and the other would make His new Master a Sandwich.

It was a Nancho Sandwich.


Vriska<3Kanaya, pain trigger

(Anonymous) 2012-02-23 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Touching a Rainbow Drinker, because of their bright skin and enjoyment of the sun, feels for a normal troll a bit like playing with fire - it doesn't actually harm them, usually, but it burns like hell.

Vriska doesn't mind. In fact, she finds that she enjoys the pain.

any character(s), body mods

(Anonymous) 2012-02-23 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
anons, I just want some of these characters pierced and/or tattooed and looking fine. Art of anyone showing off their mods or fic of anyone appreciating each other's would both be awesome. Does Sollux have snakebite tongue barbells? Is Eridan's junk as gaudy as the rest of him? Does Vriska pierce her own ears with safety pins when she gets bored? Is Dirk hiding any other tattoos? Which of the Ancestors have ink, and where? What does Rose have pierced that nobody expected of her? I AM NOT PICKY HERE.

Re: any character(s), body mods

(Anonymous) 2012-02-28 08:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Not a real fill, but I just found a post on tumblr that might be relevant to your interests:
Punk trolls!

Re: any character(s), body mods

(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 16:11 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-02-25 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
The Batterwitch's two heirs team up to take down her evil empire. Sexily.


(Anonymous) 2012-02-28 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
We've seen that Karkat is probably his own kismesis. So: the beta kids and trolls make it to the new session, where the alpha kids and/or ancestor trolls are the active players (i.e. the cerulean spidergirl of Jake's dreams really is Mindfang). Show me the legendary blackrom that will inevitably unfold when Karkat and the Sufferer meet.


(Anonymous) 2012-03-01 08:32 am (UTC)(link)
The White Queen watches over the sleeping princess every day. She says it's just in case of an assassination attempt, but there's more to it than that.

And It Sounds Like Churchbells (White Queen/Dream!Jane, PG, possible consent trigger)

(Anonymous) 2012-03-03 08:10 am (UTC)(link)
[I call this a consent trigger because Dream!Jane is asleep for the entire fic. No explicit content.]

The White Queen tells herself it's because of the long wait, because she's nervous about what Derse will do given the time to stew before the war can begin. She tells herself that she's only trying to keep her people's heroes alive.

She tells herself that, but she finds herself drawn to the maid. She watches her as she lies in her bed, slumbering, chest rising and falling gently as she breathes. She is beautiful, her face untroubled by her waking dreams, short black hair spread out across her pillow.

There's so much life inside of her. So much vibrant, beautiful life. She's watched her grow up for so many years, ever since she was brought to them by the falling stars, clothed in her magical glowing golden robes.

More than anything, she wants to see her open her eyes.


She's not sure why she goes to see the Maid of Life in her room. She has never gone to see the Page in his room; he sleeps more restlessly, his hands clenching and unclenching in his dreams, and she watches from a distance as he tosses and turns, but it's never the same.

It's simple enough, at first. She stands at the doorway, watching her sleep. She looks so quiet, so peaceful... she's growing up, her arms and legs long and shapely, plump and curvaceous in her robes. She's so different from the people of Prospit, her skin rosy-pink, her hair dark, her eyes hidden by sleep and her glasses. Such a fascinating girl, she thinks, a small smile on her face.

What sort of life does she live in her waking hours, as she waits for the games to begin? What does she do? Is she an innocent girl, with that same innocent smile? Or is she a dangerous hellion, full of passion and fire and life? She wishes that she could stare up at the clouds and see their future, but that is reserved for the dreamers.

The game that they're playing... she knows how dangerous it will be. She wants to see the future, at least so that she will know that the Maid of Life will have a chance.


One night, almost two and a half years after the cold war began, she walks into the Maid's room and stares at her for a very long time.

Her husband is gone, off to oversee the army that itches for a beginning to the long and epic conflict of light versus darkness. They might not, if they suspected what she suspects... but then, she has been afraid of a great many things. She keeps hearing whispers of strife on Derse, and a new, terrifying power that is rising there.

Her worry makes her wander. What she wonders is why she has wandered here, of all places - why the sight of this girl brings her so much comfort. Although she is no longer such a girl, now...

She gently steps over to the side of her bed, moving as quietly as she can; it's an empty gesture, she knows that she won't wake her, but she can't help herself. Violating such peaceful sleep... the thought is blasphemy. Thrilling, beautiful blasphemy.

Just sitting down next to her calms her jangled nerves. She reaches out, brushes her hand against the woman's untroubled forehead, and wishes she could sleep so deeply and so well.


The Page is dead. The Queen has failed.

She finds herself in the Maid's room, nearly blind with despair. Their hopes were gone, the hearts of the people full of pain and anguish. She should be down with them, comforting them, not kneeling down next to the Maid in tears.

If only she would open her eyes. If only she would wake and tell her that it wasn't real, that everything was going to be all right. She might even believe it, if it came from her.

She's so lonely. So lost. Her husband gone, her life turned upside down by this murder, Dersite agents wandering her nation and her own people powerless to stop them... this was the only place where her life made sense anymore, the only place that she could find any peace.

She settles down in the bed and curls up next to her, pulling the Maid's head against her chest, kissing her on the top of her head, and wonders. What would it feel like to have her arms wrapped around her, her lips warm and awake and kissing her shining white carapace. She wants to know if her hands are as strong as they are soft. She wants to hear her voice saying her name, the secret name that no one else will say, not even her husband - wants to hear her voice, imagines it like a golden bell ringing in the bright sky.

But all she can do for now is kiss her, stroke her sleeping face - not a stir, not even a whisper - and dream of seeing her open her eyes and smile at her. She won't let Derse take her away. She'll make sure of it. She won't fail her like she failed the Page of Hope.


She has nothing to lose now.

The feeling is strange, and she knows it to be false, but she doesn't care. She feels empty now that the Maid of Hope has been declared dead. Empty, and somehow that fills her with more rage than she has ever felt before.

And yet... she refuses the thought that such a brightly-burning candle can be so easily extinguished. She can't believe it, not until she sees her lying there with her own eyes. The sight will hurt her more than she can imagine, but she needs to know.

When she finally catches up to her, she sees the Dersite agent standing behind her, ready to finish what he started... and something inside of her snaps. She has never been violent, has never been as angry as she had been at that moment. She had watched her for so many years and had never known what she would do if she saw her in danger, but now... she surprises herself.

Her scepter feels as light as a feather as she swings it through the air, and it connects with the agent's skull with an audible crack. He topples, and twitches as he falls to the floor.

The White Queen stands behind him with deep satisfaction, her scepter decorated with red blood and fragments of black carapace, and pushes him aside with no care for his safety. She reaches down, cups the beautiful Maid's face with her hands (she stirs in her sleep, and it is the first time she has ever seen her stir,) and allows herself to smile. The violence, strange as it was, was worthwhile, if it meant that she *could* protect her. She could do what she had sworn she'd do from the very start.

Nothing else was going to harm her. Not while she still drew breath.

Terezi/any of the ladies

(Anonymous) 2012-03-04 10:14 pm (UTC)(link)
The one crucial accessory when seducing Terezi: a tube of candy-red lipstick. Sloppiest makeouts ever ensue.

Things Terezi Hates Waking Up To (In A Good Way) - Terezi♠Vriska, NSFW for explicit sex, fight sex

(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 03:16 am (UTC)(link)
You wake up that evening with a bad case of don't-want-to-get-out-of-the-sopor, and it takes a lot of willpower to deal with it. You remind yourself about the pre-examination - legislacerators have to pass a lot of tests, and a lot of them start before you even see a shuttle. You've got a lot to do today if you want to pass it; you've heard how brutal they can be!

Besides, you're alone in the hive tonight, so it's a good night to do some cleaning. You're not big on cleaning, but after some of the things your matesprit's done - and you pity her to death, but she makes Sollux look like a neat freak - you've decided it's important. You're kind of tired of constantly stepping on things.

So you're definitely preoccupied, but somehow you manage to keep yourself from jumping when Vriska's head pops up almost as soon as your shoulders clear the recooperacoon's edges. Or maybe she was there all along, her blueberry scent obscured by the rich smell of sopor. "Hey there," she says, and you don't even have to be able to see her to know that she's grinning from horn to horn, looking way too proud of herself.

You don't bother to ask her how she got into your hive. You've made that mistake way too many times before, and you have never liked the answer. You don't even bother to lower yourself back into the sopor. "Vriska, get out of my hiveblock," you say instead, and glare at her with your red eyes; you're told that it's pretty intimidating when you do that!

Vriska's not intimidated, though. She never is. "'Or else,' right?" she asks. "You forgot to add that! Must mean you really want me here, hmmmmm?"

"Shut *up,* you say, dragging yourself the rest of the way out of the sopor. No way you're giving her the satisfaction of knowing that she made you change your plans for her. If you do that, she'll never leave. "I've got big plans for today and I don't have time for one of your stupid games, so why don't you just go away?"

"Aw, come on." You can hear the pout in her voice; she's so good at making it obvious, like she hopes you'll relent if she sounds pathetic enough. It never works, and she knows it, but she also knows that it makes you mad, which is why she keeps doing it. She's way too good at reading you sometimes, which you think might be the only reason you haven't given up on this mess yet.

"No," you say firmly, "I have important things to do today!"

"They can't be *that* important can they?"

"Yes, they can," you insist, grabbing for your favorite towel, the one that still smells faintly of olives and sweat. "You're not the only one with a bunch of irons in the fire, you know. I have to get started on my training, and you need to go. Now."

"Pfft. You have all *night* to work on that stuff! Besides, you know you'll finish a whole night's work in no time and spend the rest of the day playing with your dragons, 'cuz you're just so *smaaart.*" She says the last word so thick with sarcasm that you catch yourself listening for her eyes to drop out of her head for rolling too far.

"You don't even know what I'm working on!" you protest, hoping that the bluster will hide the fact that she's right. It doesn't help that you've been alone in there for the past two nights - your matesprit's off helping her morail deal with some kind of big emergency involving *his* matesprit, and you don't begrudge her or anything, but once you've gotten used to having someone snuggled up with you for a whole perigee, it's hard to go back to sleeping alone. And once you've gotten used to having a matesprit with near-insatiable appetites for a lot of things, that makes going without even worse. Add that to the fact that the towel still smells not-so-faintly of her, and it's wrapped around you... oh, yeah. Your body's not backing you up on this at *all.*

If it were anyone else, you think hiding it might've worked. But Vriska is just way too good at reading you. She probably figured it out while she was watching you sleep. "C'mon, Terezi, I'm just asking you for two hours of your time! And I brought something over for you. Something you might actually like."

"No, thank you," you say - it had taken days for you to repair your hive after the last time she'd brought over something you'd like. "I'm going to get dressed and I'm going to start studying for -"

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"Are you *positive?*"

You're just about to finally snap and go for your cane, towel or no towel, but then you hear her walk over - slow, deliberate steps, carefully avoiding the trail of sopor that you've left on the floor. Then you hear a soft pop, and before you can say anything else you smell something amazing - so bright and candy-red that for a second you can't smell anything else, like cinnamon and cherries -

"Oh, no," you say, closing your eyes. "You aren't playing fair."

"Terezi, you should know!" she purred, "Team Scourge never plays fair."

You want to say something, anything. You want to grab your cane and show her the fast way out. But you don't - all you can think about that delicious, delicious lipstick, how good it would taste. You hear Vriska hum slightly, and you know, you just *know,* that she's smearing it on her lips, not caring how it looks, just getting as much of it on her full lips as she can, the sweet smell of ref mixing with her blueberry blood-scent....

Self-control, you tell yourself. She can't get to you unless you let her.

"C'mon, Terezi," she says, wheedling. "Just a little kiss."

"You're just trying to make me waste my time and fail the preexam!" you accuse her, but you're salivating. "Your deception smells just as bad as ever -"

"If you really want me to leave," she says in a loud singsong voice, "I'll go. But you'll have to whisper it in my ear..."

You grit your teeth, hard. "Just go away," you say. "I'm tired of how you always cheat, it isn't right -"

"Then maybe I need to be punished," she said smoothly. She blows over your horns, and you hold down a shudder. "You see, it's hopeless - one way or another I always get what I want. Don't I?"

Your iron resolve is slipping away faster and faster every second. She's won this one. You can feel it. She's beat you, and it might not be fair and square but that's never been something she cared about.

"We'll see about that," you hiss, and without giving her any warning at all you're on top of her, biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw her blueberry blood, drowning in the smell and the taste of red, spices and fruit and and sweet candy. She might've won this time, but that doesn't mean you have to make it easy for her.

She doesn't make it easy for you, either. She can match you, claw for claw and bite for bite. You rake your claws over her stomach, and she gives you a particularly vicious kick to your stomach that doubles you over. She pushes your head to the ground and you grab her arm and pull her down beside her. Her fangs are sharp, but not as sharp as yours, and you've spent a lot of time practicing how to deal with uncooperative prisoners - you even got your matesprit to practice, and she's really good at hand-to-hand fighting, and you even beat *her* most of the time these days!

Still, Vriska's good enough to put up a fight, so it takes you a while to get the upper hand. Finally you get her pinned to the ground. "You want this?" you say, grinning. "Fine. But on *my* terms."

She doesn't answer. She just laughs as you bite at her face, her lips, the places where the lipstick has stained her face. You can smell it - you don't know where she got it from, or what she's put in it, and you really don't care, because it is pretty much the most delicious thing you've ever tasted! Her fingers pull away the towel, which is probably good because you don't want your favorite towel to end up stained, and you use your claws to cut away her stupid t-shirt and pants and everything else, and soon you're grappling her naked on your floor and the thin tendrils of your bulge are pulling at her seedflap, working their way inside.

Of course she'd doing the same to you. She's bigger than you, if only a little bit, stretching you enough to hurt - gog, you've missed this, you two haven't done this in so long - but you keep pushing her down, and you don't let it show. You sink your teeth into her shoulder as you grind against her, and she squeezes your ample hips with her bony knees hard enough to hurt, running her claws down your sides enough to draw blood, and it's all a mixture of pain and pleasure, so hot and intense -

You can't take it anymore, and neither can she, and the release is enough to leave a hell of a mess on the floor - you're going to be cleaning it up for days, blue and teal and the few traces of candy red. Which is probably one of the things she's going to be laughing about when she gets away from you, you think with an internal groan. You're too tired to actually groan, though - you're too busy rolling onto your back and panting. You ought to be going for a bucket, preserving what you can of this -

"Tired?" she asks. "Hmph. Good thing *one of us has some foresight." She taps her claws against the side of what sounds like a metal bucket. "Better get to work!"

"Hmmrph." That's pretty much the best you can manage! You are not going to be able to walk right for days, you think, and you might as well forget about studying. If you weren't so tired you'd be pouncing on her for round two. "Vriska," you say, turning your head towards her as best you can, "I hate you so much."

"Of course you do, Terezi," she answers. Did she stop grinning once during that mess? You kind of don't think she did. "Of course you do."

romantic murder, PM/Bec Noir or just about any ship

(Anonymous) 2012-03-08 09:40 am (UTC)(link)
Feelingsfull no-other-option murder between people who are very close. An auspistice is forced into drastic measures, a matesprit has to put their partner out of misery, a kismesis decides they wouldn't want it to happen any other way, a moirail doesn't want to be left behind ... stuff along those lines, and not with anyone "snapping" to prompt the killing or to perform it. Friends would work too, especially if it's between beta kids.

What could be really interesting is Bec Noir and PM flitting about universes, mostly seeing only each other, and finally having a strangely fraught showdown.

Off the top of my head, the only ships I'd prefer to avoid are Terezi/Vriska, Feferi/Eridan, or Mindfang/Redglare. Considering canon, it's too depressing.

Re: romantic murder, PM/Bec Noir or just about any ship

(Anonymous) 2012-03-08 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)
PM/Bec Noir. Sorry, I won't be able to do anything more than a sketch for now!


Re: romantic murder, PM/Bec Noir or just about any ship

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-08 19:07 (UTC) - Expand

Re: romantic murder, PM/Bec Noir or just about any ship

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-08 20:09 (UTC) - Expand

Last Request (M for character death, Karkat <> Gamzee)

(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 05:10 (UTC) - Expand

Aradiabot/Equius/Aradiabot, abuse trigger

(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
Aradia's anger occasionally turns on herself - or, at least, on her other robot selves. Hoping for selfcest kismesissitude, with Equius possibly trying to play auspistice once or twice but failing, because Aradiabot's anger is just too powerful/he just pities her too much.

Gl'bgolyb/Jake. Xenophilia, tentacles, dub/non-con.

(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
TG: my gaydar is like the exanct fuckin poposite of urs
TG: which is to say it is better than completety nonexistant
TG: mine is so sensitive it has been used to sweep the ocean floor for mythical sea monsters
TG: turns out
TG: all of those monsters are SO gay

Gl'bgolyb gets its tentacles on the Page of Hope. That sea monster is so hot for him. Jake is a wonderful place for tentacles. He learns to like calamari.

Bonus points if Gl'bgolyb treats him tenderly and delicately, and Jake is both terrified and kind of curious BUT MOSTLY TERRIFIED and also, calamari.


(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 07:04 am (UTC)(link)
(Or Gamzee/Terezi.)

Kismessisitude. So far into the black that it's a miracle that they're both still alive. AU, or during/post Gamzee freakout.


(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 09:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Kismessisitude seems to be really physical and aggressive -- how does that work when you're so STRONG you'd break somebody if you fought back? Just about any pairing welcome, though I generally prefer Equius/Aradia to be flushed, not caliginous. I'm hoping to see Equius find a solution that works instead of just leaving him frustrated. Give me some STRONG and mutually satisfying hatemance~

Any troll pairing

(Anonymous) 2012-03-10 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
"You can't have the same person in all four of your quadrants - everyone knows that!"

Tell me the story of a troll couple who tries to prove that long-standing societal norm wrong. I just really want to see where people go with this idea, so any background and pairing would be awesome as long as they're both somehow trolls.

You Want Her In Every Quadrant Like A Desperate Fool [KarkatxTerezi]

(Anonymous) 2012-12-28 06:33 am (UTC)(link)
(I was going through the meme and I saw this prompt and it just spoke to me. This is probably not exactly what you wanted and it's really short, but it exists.)

You want her in every quadrant like a desperate fool. And that’s what you got. Surely, it wasn’t what you were actually expecting. Two trolls in every quadrant? In today’s society? Impossible. But somehow you made it happen. Your feeble attempts at romance actually worked out. You loved her during the day and sometimes at night, thinking about her made you so mad that you were glad black romance was a thing. She kept you stable and you needed her for your overall happiness and sanity, through all the everyday bullshit. That’s where the pale quadrant came in. The ashen quadrant surprised you, when you realized it happened. But someone needed to make sure that the two of you wouldn’t kill each other. So Kanaya took on the role, like a champ, and made sure that when the two of you were feeling especially black feelings towards each other, neither of you ended up dead.

You were so madly in love with her that this was the best solution. Honestly, you didn’t need a kismesis and you didn’t need her as a moirail, and you certainly didn’t need Kanaya to come between the two of you, but if her romantic life was focused anywhere besides around you, you don’t think you could handle that. Playing this game of multiple quadrants kept her with you, despite anyone else’s romantic advances.

It was only a matter of time before it all blew up in your face, but for now, you were satisfied. And you think she was too. That’s really all that mattered.

For I on honeydew hath fed/and drunk the milk of paradise

(Anonymous) 2012-03-10 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Troll breasts are for making honeydew.

Sweet, sweet honeydew. Psychoactive, aphrodisiac honeydew.

Re: For I on honeydew hath fed/and drunk the milk of paradise

(Anonymous) 2012-03-11 06:37 am (UTC)(link)
That's what I've always thought! That they makes something similar to the mind honey of Sollux's bees, but less likely to make your brain dribble out your nose.

...the aphrodisiac bit is a nice touch.

"the milk of paradise" (Kanaya/Rose)

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-18 01:13 (UTC) - Expand

Cross-species body mods

(Anonymous) 2012-03-10 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Troll and human genitalia are mostly compatible, but not really the same. A character has their genitals modified to be more like the other species'. You can go wherever else you want, but I'd like if the character with the mods has no regrets and is genuinely happier in their altered body.

Re: Cross-species body mods [Prospitcest, implied JohnKat]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-22 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
Tentabulge is a serious turn-on, so sorry if I was kind of overly-descriptive about his bits.


"Yeah? What is it, Jade?"

"Your penis is moving around again."

The two were sitting on a couch in the apartment they shared. It was a hot, sunny afternoon, and John was busy watching something on his laptop. Jade could guess what it was.

John stuttered briefly, then sat up out of his semi-prone position, doing his best to cover up the wriggling appendage in his groin. Jade sighed, slapping a palm to her forehead in exasperation. "I still don't know why you bothered to even get that thing, John. It's so weird."

John huffed. "Hey, it's my body, right? Besides. Karkat and me...well, when he showed me his, I guess I just knew I wanted one. It's not like you could've understood. You never hooked up with a troll."

"And I'm kind of glad I didn't. John, I think it's great that you're happy with it, but...what know, girls? Or guys, I guess. In the future, you know?"

"Well, if they don't like it, that's their problem, not mine."
They shared a few seconds of awkward silence. John glanced at Jade, a curious look in his eyes.

"Do you want to see it?"

Jade sputtered, turned to John, and promptly gave him the most evil-eyed glare she could muster. "Since when is it okay to ask your ecto-sibling if she wants to see your weird alien penis?!"

John moved his eyebrows up and down. "Oh, come on. Like I don't see you staring at it all the time."

"I-I do not! Stop making stuff up!"

She stormed off before John could get another word in.

That night, John heard a knock at his door. He mumbled for them to come in, wondering if it was Karkat letting himself in.

He was surprised when he turned over to have a dog-eared girl standing shyly by the side of his bed. A pretty scantily dressed girl, at that.

John was up like a shot, asking her questions with terribly slurred speech. "John, don't make this any more embarrassing!" John shut his trap immediately.

"What did you want?"

"I wanted...uh..." Jade said the next three words so quietly John had to strain to hear her. "...To see it."

He couldn't hold back a smirk. He knew she would come crawling back to him eventually, just waiting to see his new equipment. It helped that she didn't have a bra on. His member started to stir without him even thinking about it.

John unzipped his pants as Jade watched with rapt fascination. Great, John thought. His underwear was already wet with pale red liquid. Jade held her breath, and John slid his underwear down over his hips. His dick was out in
a flash.

Jade released her held breath as she took it in. He had gotten a transplant from a blue-blooded troll, so it was colored in a strange blue hue, but the slime on it was a pale, translucent red. It was skinny, bisected down the middle, with ridges and edges that didn't look incredibly comfortable. It wriggled around like a snake.

"Can I...can I touch it?"

John blushed. This was getting into weird territory. No one but Karkat had ever touched it before.

"I...guess. Just don't be weird about it, okay?"

Jade reached down and stroked the very end, which had almost a spearhead-like end. John kept back a moan. His dick expected someone to shove it into something, making it all the more sensetive. Jade was taken aback by its muscular (but still rubbery) texture. She went further down, closer to the base, and John quietly murmured to himself, shuddering. Finally, she reached the end, and found the nook. The nook was almost bony, and shaped so that he could easily fit another one of those monster tentacles into it.

"John. Can you..."

"Mm?" John was trying too hard to not let his dick squirm back into Jade's hand.

"Can you penetrate yourself?"

John nodded. pleasegodjusttouchitonemoretime.

She slowly took the slimy appendage, and gently stuck it in John's own nook. This time, John couldn't help it. He moaned.

"Oh god you're turned on, aren't you?"

The next thing he knew, he had cold water dousing him.

Any troll relationship, any quadrant

(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
Heavy service kink, trolls taking care of their quadrantmates - waiting on them hand and foot, doing everything for them. Any quadrant would be awesome - it would work great with redrom, but I'd love to see a hate-fueled blackrom take on it!
wallwalker: Venetian mask, dark purple with gold gilding. (Default)

Nobody But Me (Eridan♠Nepeta, Explicit, NSFW) (1/2)

[personal profile] wallwalker 2012-04-26 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[Not even trying to go anon with this one. I hope this works for you, OP!]


Your name is Nepeta Leijon, and you currently have no idea where you are. All you know is that you're floating somewhere warm, and something is moving gently across your naked body, washing you clean.

It's nice at first - you think you're dreaming, an old dream when you were just barely older than a grub and Pounce is washing you. It makes you feel good. Safe. Slowly, you open your eyes, expecting to find that you're in your cave, that Pounce is cuddled up to you, that the entire hunt was just a bad dream and you were home all along. You feel yourself start purring, or as close to a purr as you can get with your troll throat - you'll have to find a way to do it better, someday - and just lie there, relaxed. You always liked a good bathing. You always feel so warm and clean afterwards, and it's pretty much the best feeling ever.

You open your eyes and nothing happens. Nothing. Not even a twitch.

You keep trying as the hands keep bathing you, avoiding the places where it hurts, scrubbing off whatever it is that's sticking to your skin. You can't really remember anything - you're not sure what happened at all! Some kind of accident with one of Equius's machines that knocked you out, maybe? Or did you and Terezi go a little bit too far with the roleplay again? She's going to be so mad, if that's it - you'd promised you'd be careful!

You'd grit your teeth if you could, but that's not working either. Instead you just keep trying to open your eyes, as hard as you can. You've got to see what's going on!

It takes what feels like a long time, but finally you force them open, expecting to see a jumbled pile of roboti% parts, or a scattering of plush scalemates or whatever. Instead you see... moonlight? Stars? Are you in a hive at all?

You can't lift your head, and everything you can see from inside of the thing you're in is kind of blurry. You can tell you're in something that's made of wood, you're pretty sure, and the water is warm and soapy.

Then something comes into your vision. Something purple and stripey -

Wait. You'd know those stupid pants anywhere. Eridan?

You try to yowl and scratch out of sheer shock, but then you realize you can't - your body's limp, like a wet noodle, and all that comes out of your mouth is a weak little mew. It's enough to get his attention, though, and he turns to look at you. "Huh," he said, momentarily surprised. "Didn't think you'd wwake up so fast."

You poisoned me, you pawful little sea-slug, you want to say - he hates being called a sea-slug! - but you end up with a moan. Your body won't react to what your mind wants it to do; it's too tired, too limp. It's just so horrible!

Something of your meaning must've come through, anyway, because Eridan rolls his eyes and sighs wearily. "No, I didn't poison you, Nep," he said. "Drugged you, if anyfin. You'll be fine in a few hours. I couldn't vvery wwell take care a you if I thought you wwere gonna scratch my fuckin eyes out soon as you wwoke up, could I?"

Take care of you? What's he even talking about? You still don't remember anything!

You're still frozen, but at least you can still move your eyes. You glare at him - you don't like it, don't like being treated like this, not without your say-so. You mean, you're not so upset that you're naked - he's your kismesis, not like he hasn't seen it before - but you'd never been drugged before and you don't think you very much like it.

"I was really hopin you'd stay under. Gotta disinfect the wwounds, and it's gonna hurt." He picked up another rag, dipped it in another of his seashell-bowls. "I need to get it done wwith, though, or else they'll fester and it'll givve you a really bad fevver. So, um, I'll make it quick and I guess you otter be ready bout now."

You can't help it. You cringe, inwardly at least, as he starts to drip the stuff onto your arms. At first, you guess, it's not so bad - kind of cold, sure, but nothing you can't handle. It might bug him, but he's a big wuss when it comes to stuff like this anyway, he's got no tolerance for pain at all -

Then the burning starts, and you would thrash around and claw his stupid face and run if you could, but your stupid body still won't respond to what your brain tells it to do, and all you can do is make tiny pathetic mewing noises as he methodically cleans the wounds. You're bleeding a little, and soon his gloved hands are stained with olive-green, but he doesn't look nearly as satisfied as he usually does when he makes you bleed. He just looks like he's concentrating really hard, the way he probably looks when he's doing something real important.

"There," he finally says. "That's done. Doubt you'll need any stitchin up at least. I'll wwrap this up and then you need to sleep." He has more rags - no, they're bandages, you realize, as he starts dressing the cuts, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. You wonder, for a second, just what he's had to do to make him so good at this. It's like he's had to do this a bunch of times before. It's nothing like being taken care of by Pounce, or even by Authour the few times that you were spending time with Equius and one of his machines went haywire - Arthour's hands were so much more gentle, he was so much more worried about not hurting you any further. Eridan doesn't seem to be worried; he's firm with his hands, like he wants to get the job done and get it done right, and if it hurts you a little bit, whatever, at least you'll be better later and you can yell at him about it then.

"Okay. That's done," he mutters as he reaches under you and lifts you up, out of the tub. He rests you on top of a towel and dries you off, very careful around the wounds, which he's wrapped first in bandages and later in something you don't recognize, some kind of rubbery seaweed. He makes sure you're completely dry, looks you over a few times with this intense concentration, like he's scared he's missed something. "Let's get you down below before the sun rises."

You open your mouth again as he's carrying you over his shoulder, down the stairs and below the deck of his nasty old ship. It takes a while, but you work at it, and eventually you manage to shape a word. "W-why?" you manage to drawl at least, or at least something that sounds enough like it that you think you'll get the message.

He laughs sharply as he sets you carefully in a tank of what looks like newly-mixed sopor - and it's nice sopor, even if it does smell an awful lot like seawater - and tightens the opening so that your floppy neck can't let your head fall forward into the slime and maybe make you drown yourself. "Don't be a stupid wwriggler," he says. "I'm not lettin anyfin out there kill you, Nep. Nobody gets to do that but me." He shuts you in, and you know on some level that it's so that you won't fall out like a dead fish, but it still would've raised your hackles if you'd been able to move them. "Now get some fuckin sleep."

You can't help it - you're already going under as he's stomping off, muttering something under his breath that you don't catch. It doesn't feel like much time has passed at all when you open your eyes, except that the darkened glass on the other side of the porthole in the room is still pretty bright. You're sure it's midday, and you're still tired, but you need to try to remember. You hadn't planned to visit anyone at all that night. Had you? You were cranky, but not in a really good way, and you'd just wanted to take out some frustrations, attack a musclebeast or two....

Oh. Yeah. You did do that, didn't you? Flashes of memory, an angry mother musclebeast not happy that you were stalking its cub - how were you supposed to know it was a cub? It was big enough to be an adult! Claws tearing at your arms and your chest and throwing you around, and then a bright light, and then =

And then....

Huh. Either you're too tired, or that sopor is way too strong. You can't help it; you drift off again in mid-memory.


When you come back to full consciousness again, you realize that you're being carried. Experimentally, you try to kick your legs and claw at the air around you, and you get a few twitches for your trouble, but that's about it.

"Dammit, Nep, come on." Eridan just sounds tired now. Tired, and maybe a little worried. "Can you just fuckin hold still?"

"What's going on?" you say, or try to say. It comes out incredibly slurred.

"If you'd stop carping on that and clam up, I'll tell you, but not til we get to the table. You're fuckin heavvy."

"Mph," you say eloquently. It's called muscle, you think, and if he'd actually go out and do anything on his own instead of relying on his stupid drones and seahorses, he might know what it was.

"Alright. Here." He puts you down into a chair, and then covers you over with an ancient blanket. And you've gotta admit, you're glad for the blanket, considering that all you're wearing are a few ragged old undergarments that he must've put on you when you woke up."Don't want you to fall out. So you remember any a last night at all?"

"I was... hunting," you say, blearily. Your mouth works now, at least. The rest of you still isn't great. "Alone."

"Yeah. Sort of." He smirked a bit. "Watched the whole thing. I was gonna surprise ya once you got a big catch, see what the fuss was about. An then that fuckin huge beast almost got you before I could get the Crosshairs warmed up. Reel smart, by the way, makin a monster like that mad -"

"You followed me?" you repeat, trying to glare at him.

He smacks his forehead with his hand. "Wwelcome to the fuckin convversation," he says. "Look, you're a mess, okay? Wworst of it's taken care of. But that stuff I drugged you with is gonna last a wwhile longer, an anyway I gotta keep you here for a feww more hours an make sure it's not gonna get wworse, so if you could maybe ease up a the inane shit and try to act like a fuckin adult, I'd appreciate it."

"You wwant me to act like an adult?" you repeat, as best you can. "You're the one who was stalking me!"

"You wwoulda done the same," he snaps back, and turns away.

He's probably right. Doesn't make you any less angry.

You two don't talk as he starts doing something at his wood stove, something involving a tea kettle, then goes up and down some stairs and starts doing something with a sharp knife and some other things you can't see. He's obviously busy, and you don't really feel like talking more than you have to anyway. All you've got to keep you company is the slightly ratty blanket that's laying over your shoulders; you grab it and knead at it, fingers clutching and unclutching. It doesn't feel like any pelt you've ever felt, and it defintiely doesn't feel anything like Pounce's soft belly - you can't tell what it's made of, something oddly fiberous that you don't recognize. Not like any yarn you've ever played with. Still, it's old and soft and it feels good when you knead it, and it reminds you that you're still a furoceous pouncebeast who still has claws and could scratch if you wanted to, and that helps. Maybe it's weird to still pretend like that, but you don't care - it helps, and right now you're in a situation that feels weird enough that you need it, so you keep going.

He must've noticed you doing it as he was making his tea, because you hear him sigh. "Don't you dare destroy that blanket," he says, but not in the usual snotty way that you just ignore to make him angry. That one actually sounds serious.

You're curious about that, until you look down at the blanket - you really hadn't done that yet - and notice the pattern of tyrian-purple diamonds around the hem. That really IS an old blanket, isn't it? "Fine," you grump, and you start kneading a litte more carefully. It feels weird, not using your claws so much, but you know a boundary when you hear one.

Dolorosa/Dualscar, revenge

(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
Dualscar killed the Dolorosa, but she awoke as a rainbow drinker, and now she wants to pay him back in kind. (AU is fine; so is fitting it in with the canon somehow.)


(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
The beginning of A6I2 makes me want fic about them so bad. Probably not even porn fic, just something adorable and domestic where he admires her rather a lot and she finds him charming. Butler/housekeeper restrained below-stairs romance, is all. Can be in Hussie's lair or I'd love to see an AU setting where they're looking after bitty Equius together.


(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Rose moves to a new city and becomes flatmates with Nepeta and Eridan. Culture clash ensues, but in the end the three become the very best of friends, or more.
(Sorry for not being more specific! I just saw someone mention this ship somewhere and I totally want it now.)

Re: Rose/Equius/Nepeta

(Anonymous) 2012-03-12 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)
...Equius. Nepeta and EQUIUS. Damn it.

Eridan/Gamzee - breathplay, noncon

(Anonymous) 2012-03-14 05:45 am (UTC)(link)
Eridan plays a little game with the landdweller dumb enough to wander too close to the water. He drags Gamzee out into the water and holds him under every time Gamzee tries to fight him, then just takes what he wants while Gamzee's terrified and only half conscious.

Re: Eridan/Gamzee - breathplay, noncon

(Anonymous) 2012-04-11 05:18 am (UTC)(link)
ughh this please, so sad nobodys filled it :(

Re: Eridan/Gamzee - breathplay, noncon

(Anonymous) - 2013-03-10 14:43 (UTC) - Expand

Black Queen/Jack Noir, humiliation/noncon

(Anonymous) 2012-03-15 06:37 am (UTC)(link)
Alternate reason Jack hates wearing the prototyping costumes so much: When he doesn't follow orders, or the Queen is just in a mood, she used various means - mostly ridiculous clothing, but also whatever else you'd like to throw in there - to humiliate and demean him as part of their blackrom games.


(Anonymous) 2012-03-15 08:00 pm (UTC)(link)
So, as of current canon Karkat is pretty much coming apart at the seams and spends too much time yelling at himself, and Gamzee is "the world's shyest juggalo" and has been hiding from Kanaya and her chainsaw for an entire year. Give them the pale makeouts they so desperately need from each other right about now.

Anon has no preference as to how literally you take "makeouts" (rails with pails and vanilla moirallegiance cuddling are both fine with me).

Karkat: Visit Secret Room (Karkat♦Gamzee, nudity, pale makeouts, fluff/angst)

(Anonymous) 2012-03-19 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
This place is a secret.

It's a tiny room, and it's almost impossible to get to; you have to hit a bunch of bullshit switches in a very specific pattern to even see it, let alone get in. There used to be a bunch of old records and equipment and those lame movie character cutouts (or maybe you just think they were lame because you never cared for those kinds of movies, fucking plucky psychic kids and their lame-ass save-the-day powers, except for that one kid who had the guns and shit because he wasn't cheating, he really was that awesome.) But you cleaned it out a while ago, and you're glad you did, because these days this is the only place on this damned asteroid that you and your morail really feel safe.

That's why Gamzee stays here now, huddled up in a little pile on the floor, occasionally sitting on his one-wheeled device to see if he's really getting, taller the way trolls are supposed to when they hit their molting season. He doesn't touch Trollian, or anything else that might have a viewport. He doesn't touch much of anything these days, even food; you can feel entirely too many of his bones.

You didn't let him have an oven; he can get his food from the same stupid fucking hatches as everyone else. You gave him a recuperacoon but set it so that it fills with sopor at morning (or as close as you can get to it) and empties in the evening, and it sets off an alarm if there's even a thimbleful of the shit missing. Fuckhead's not going to go off like that again, a fucking addict with the shakes from going off his drugs. No way in hell.

You'd stay here too if you could, but you can't. You're too busy wrangling the other survivors, keeping them sane. Too busy trying to deal with the humans - and seriously, fuck those guys. Fuck them and their pink skins and their lack of appreciation for decent movies and their stupid hornless heads. Why the fuck couldn't the other two humans have come along for this ride, the ones Karkat could halfway almost tolerate sometimes?

Strain's getting to you, though. At first arguing with yourself was a welcome diversion, but after you looked up and realized two fucking hours had passed in one ten-minute memo? Nuh-uh, fuck no, you're takin' a gogdamned break, thank you very much. You've just gotta be careful when you go, because if Kanaya or Terezi are watching... well, you're not sure what they'd do, really. Both of 'em are halfway to waxing caliginous for him. That, or they just want to kill him. You have trouble telling the difference lately. But lately Kanaya's spending so much time with Rose that the two of them might as well go through the fucking ceremony and declare themselves to be in whichever clusterfuck of a quadrant those two belong in, and Terezi is... well. Fuck. You don't like thinking about where she is; she's part of the fucking problem.

Getting there's easy, anyway. It's what happens after that's hard on you sometimes. It's seeing Gamzee crouching against the wall, poking at a piece of paper with his fingers dipped in paint and pretending he's actually doing something. Still, he looks up at you when you come in, and when he sees it's really you he smiles like he means it, and that's something. "Hey," he says, voice raspy with disuse. He doesn't talk to himself much anymore.

"Hey, asshole," you say back. You think about saying something else - How are you? or Are you okay? or some other polite bullshit, except you know how he is and he's not okay and neither are you - but he stands up slowly and walks your way and you're just sort of... transfixed, you guess, like someone threw a fucking spear into your gut and it's already come out the other side.

He's kissing you before you recover, and you can taste the fucking greasepaint - does he even know how vile that stuff tastes, or has years of eating hot sopor pies ruined his taste buds completely? - and you're kissing him back just as much because you need this as much as he does. No, this is NOT all there is to being morails, but when you need something you need it.

Those little pink brats would probably freak the fuck out watching you do this, anyway, watching how fast the fucking tees come off and fly across the room. They don't even know how stupid they are about fucking quadrants, how dense they are with the simplest details. Rose spent a long fucking time quizzing you once, and she kept getting hung up on the fact that the pale and ashen quadrants were apparently Platonic, except that you still have no fucking idea what that means. Dave's disjointed commentary on caves and shadows didn't help a gogdamned thing. The only thing you were able to get out of any of what they said was that people in Platonic relationships weren't supposed to do shit like this.

You're both naked now, lying in each other's arms, stumbling towards a soft place on the floor - the thing's empty and it would take too long to fill up right now, and neither of you feel like waiting, apparently. Gamzee is just there in your arms, hugging you so tightly you can barely breathe, and you'd doing your damndest to give it back to him in kind. Every part of him is wrapping around every part of you, and vice versa - arms, legs, fingers, fronds, everything that can possible wrap around some part of each other is doing that, and you're kissing him on the neck and the chest, and it feels right again. Pleasant, but not overwhelming the way you'd imagined it would be with T - with a matesprit, fuck it all. Nothing urgent about it, seedflaps out of the equation entirely and nowhere near ready to offer up a hot serving of genetic material.

That's what the fucking humans don't get. Best you can tell from the human romcoms you've seen, they're supposed to find the one person who can fill all four of their quadrants - someone to love them and cuddle them and pick them up when they need it, someone who can help them get along with people they might not want to deal with but have to, someone with whom they can feel safe bickering. As if one person who can do all of that shit for another person would even exist. Then again, given your successful (ha. ha.) relationships so far, you're starting to wonder if it's just more evidence that humans were made in your image, some other piece of data to go beside their stupid candyblood. It's not a pleasant thought, though, and you really don't want to think about it at this moment.

His skin's cool under your fingers, and your everything else too. Highbloods live longer because their blood doesn't run so hot it burns them, you've heard. It's probably bullshit, but you're damned if you know.

"So motherfuckin' glad to see you," he mutters in your ear, and he's nuzzling up against you, and you want to answer but all you manage is a muffled little "Hmph" as you start to relax for the first time in days.

You didn't mean to pass out. You meant to talk for a little while and then head back. But that thinkpan of yours had different ideas, and you're pretty sure it's been hours once you open your eyes again. Shit.

Gamzee's awake, at least. Or maybe he just woke up when you did... no, he's been up for a while, you decide, twined around you, watching you sleep. "Shit," you say hoarsely. "What'd you let me do that for?"

"Good to see you lookin' so peaceful, palebro," he says. "I couldn't wake you up, lookin' like that. Didn't have the motherfuckin' heart." He's smiling a little. It's nice.

"Yeah, well, that's fucking sweet and all, but there's shit out there I've gotta deal with."

"Fuck, brother, you gotta sleep sometime."

"Yeah, but they'll notice if I disappear, and if they can't find me in my room -"

It's completely true, and you both know it. But the look on Gamzee's face when you remind him is always something of a burden. You're not hiding him down there; he chose to stay. He hates himself a little for it and you hate that, because you've spent enough time hating yourself to know how much it sucks. "I been thinkin'," he says slowly.

"Stop the fuckin' presses," you say, as affectionately as you can, to cover up the attack of nerves that Gamzee saying shit like that always gives you. You can already feel the paint drying on your back - fuck, you'll have to clean that off before you leave, if only so you're not flaunting this whole mess in front of Kanaya, you know how polite she is but you also know she's pissed.

"Oh, palebro," he says, "you never stop jokin'. Awful fine motherfucking thing in times like this."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the life of the fuckin' party. Now tell me what you've been thinking about before my pusher bursts from all of the suspense."

He loosens his grip a little bit. "I've been thinking," he says, "I've been wonderin' if maybe I oughta come outta hiding. I did some really shitty things -"

"Gamzee. No. It's not -"

"It's my fault," he says, and you can hear an ugly note in his voice. "Even if I was all fucked up in the thinkpan, it was my motherfucking fault. Ain't like nobody gave me those pie plates a bunch of sweeps ago and said, 'Here, Gamzee, take these plates and fill 'em all up with sopor and bake 'em and stuff 'em in your goddamned gaper, or I'm gonna put a hole in your head -'"

You kiss him again. "It was not your fault. We all did awful shit!"

"An' I killed a couple of my friends," he said. "Look, Karkat, I ain't sayin' my head was right. I ain't sayin' it is now. But... if the girls wanna hate me for what I did, ain't nobody gonna say they're wrong. Not the Messiahs and sure as fuck not me. An' maybe..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Hard to make sense of this shit," he muttered.

You sigh. "You just want to get it over with, huh."

"Yeah. Guess I do. I mean, you found this place. Some else's bound to up and say, 'Hey, what happens if I hit that miracle button over there?' And I don't wanna die in here, Karkat. I really motherfuckin' don't."

"I know." You cradle his face in your hands. "Look. You promise me that if you do go up there to face whatever horrible hate-filled symphony Kanaya's got planned, or Terezi, or whatever... you just make sure I'm with you. Okay? I've gotta provide some fucking context, or whatever."

He blinked slowly, then grinned. "You had a doubt, Karkat?"

"Of course not, dumbass. Just testing you." You settle back on the floor.

"Good to know." He settles back with you, sitting in your lap now - good thing he's not as heavy as he looks in those baggy clothes - and rests his head on your shoulder, and you're feeling cool enough to think for the first time in weeks. "Mmmm," he hums, dreamily. "You're a miracle, you know that? Just a big damn miracle."

You don't know if you believe in those any more, or if you ever did. You didn't think he did. But you'll play along, until you have to go. "Yeah," you mutter. "Feeling's mutual, creepypants. Now get some fucking rest."


(Anonymous) 2012-03-16 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Dirk: Feel torn between two attractive romantic prospects.
Equius: Introduce humans to the concept of quadrants.
Jake and Dirk: Decide it's worth a shot.

So, one possibility: Dirk♥Jake and Dirk♠Equius, with Dirk and Jake having fun fluffy exploration adventures and Dirk and Equius having a tense rivalry concerning horse/musclebeast pictures and robot building and other such things. (Not sure how Equius and Jake would get along in that scenario, so surprise me. XD) I'm happy with any possibility, though, as long as everyone's in a healthy and mutually satisfying relationship of some sort.

Grand Highblood/anyone - blackrom

(Anonymous) 2012-03-17 04:58 am (UTC)(link)
Okay, I have to ask. I'd dearly love to see anything involving the Grand Highblood and another (or more) of the ancestors that's either ashen or black. Brute strength, chucklevoodoos, whatever it takes to really lay into someone else - and preferably someone who isn't killed in the process.

Intercession (Grand Highblood &clubs; Handmaid &clubs; Signless)

(Anonymous) 2012-03-19 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
The Sufferer is the Auspistice of the World, for his cloak is Ashen, and he standeth amongst us, and sayeth, Peace. By which he meaneth, shut the fuck up, for I am Sick of dealing with your Shit.
--2nd Testament of the Disciple, 4:13


You had forgotten that hate could feel this clean.

Your old hate for your masters has gone stale, spoiled, scummed over and tainted by old despair and surrender. But for this douchebag, your hate is pure. For him, your hate can be as pure and shining and infinite as the Green Sun.

He's standing in the middle of a bustling market square, the crowd breaking nervously around his bulk like an island in the sea. He gazes out over them with proprietary enjoyment, as if he's inspecting his personal possessions and finding them good.

You hate him because he can do that. You hate him because he loves, without pity, this world you have made, in all its cruel terrible bright glory, because he can stand in this marketplace spattered with old blood, and he belongs in it as much as it belongs to him.

You walk straight across the square to him, and when you are firmly within his personal space, at the point where your choices are swerve or walk right in to his chest, you stop and say, "Excuse me, you're in my way," in the snottiest overcultured tones you ever learned from your childhood guardian.

You hate him because he will live out a lifetime measured in hundreds of sweeps, and in all that time, you will never be sent on a mission that directly concerns him. He will be always in the center of history, and yet he will always do only, and exactly, what he wants to do, because he can. He will lurch through all of your careful plans insufferable and heedless, and yet somehow he will always keep within the awful balance that you have so carefully built out of pain, and he will die laughing.

You have business in town today, but you have time for a little bit of recreation first.

You always have more time.

He deigns to stop staring vaguely out into space and make eye contact with you, indigo to maroon. "Well, if it isn't my very favorite tightrope walker! How's motherfuckin' tricks, chica?"

You hate him because you've spent eternal lifetimes establishing your own blood color as the lowest of the low, despised by all, and he doesn't even have the decency to care; he insists, instead, on hating you for your own sake.

"If you don't get out of my way," you tell him softly, "I will have to make you."

"I would love to see you do that," he tells you cheerfully. "You know I'm always all lookin' for a miracle."

He never has any bearing on your directives, after all. So your Lord will have no reason to be upset if you tear out his chitinous windtube and asphyxiate him with it.

You hate him because he is never anything less than free.


You hate her because of who she is, and because of her FUCKING FACE.

She gives you a smile full of teeth and says, "After I dismember you and cast your still-bleeding remains out among the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors, shall I tell your Messiah you were thinking of him? He'll probably ask me to tea."

You hate her because she takes everything you have ever had faith in, hoped for, found joy in, and turns it into bitterness. You hate her because she has tea with the MOTHERFUCKING MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS and doesn't MOTHERFUCKING APPRECIATE WHAT SHE'S GOT.

You are going to rip her LIMB FROM LIMB, and not even bother to save her blood for paint.

She has powers and abilities that even Her Imperious Condescension is afraid to challenge directly. You don't give a motherfuck. You're vaguely aware that you're projecting your fear-manifestations to everyone within a two block radius; as close as she is, she should be reduced to a quivering heap of grubsauce. It's all immaterial because she's coming at you with her wands and you have your clubs out and her braids are lashing around her like the deadly whips they are and any moment now you are going to have your hands AROUND HER PEARLY GRAY NECK and you are going to squeeze.

Your fear powers don't work against her, anyway. You've been close enough to her to SEE INSIDE HER HEAD, and there is nothing you can possibly come up with that is WORSE THAN THAT.

You hate her because she is the literal embodiment of EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD and every time you have things EXACTLY HOW YOU WANT THEM she shows up and ruins them, and even when she isn't there, and it's your own destructive urge that ruins it, it's still HER FUCKING FAULT.

You're vaugely aware that there's a market stall falling to pieces around you; probably a fabric merchant of some kind. Scattered cloth from overturned racks is tangling around your feet, a trail of wreckage behind you. She's faster than you and she can FUCKING FLY but she's not used to GETTING HER PRETTY LITTLE HANDS DIRTY in actual combat and you're a LOT FUCKING BIGGER than she is.

You're just about to smash her face into the ground when you feel a hand on your chest. It's not her hand; you know this because one of her hands is twisting your arm painfully backward and the other has sharp claws uncomfortably close to your bulge. It's not your hand because you have one of them wrapped in her braids and yanking, and the other in a sloppy grip on her neck.

It belongs, you realize a second later, to a troll you have never seen before. He's got the small stature, stumpy horns, and colorless eyes of a subadult, and he has one hand on each of your chests and is pushing you apart.

"I can't believe you two," he says. "Seriously? Get a room, okay? Some of us have shopping to do."

You're pretty sure he shouldn't be here. You're pretty sure everybody in the area should have fled from the sheer horror you've been pouring into the ancient, many-legged, crawling parts of their thinkpans. You can still feel the power thrumming out of you. But he's here anyway, and still scowling at you in a way that reminds you uncomfortably of your first drill instructor.

You and your opponnent have let go of each other and stepped apart, mostly, you think, out shock.

"You," he says, pointing at yourself, "At least have an excuse, it turns out you're completely off your gourd in every universe. But you, Maid, should know better," he says, glaring at her with his arms crossed over his symbol-free chest.

She is staring at him with her face blank in shock. You have never seen her rattled before; she is poised and immaculate even in the middle of a fight, but this scrawny monochrome kid has done it. You blink.

"Don't you have something you're supposed to be doing that's more important than interupting my errands?" he adds. "Go on. Time," he says, with a sardonic twist to his mouth, "Is a-wasting."

She makes a tiny gesture that might be an aborted bow, and then disappears in a flash of green. He turns toward you.

"And as for you," he says, "Cut it out with the chucklevoodoos already. I think we all get the idea."

CHUCKLEVOODOOS? you think incredulously. The power to reach across space, to take a troll's sense and thoughts, to destroy all that makes them more than mindless insects, and -- HE CALLS IT CHUCKLEVOODOOS?

You should cull this kid. You want to cull this kid. Interrupting you in the middle of a fight, it's the least he's earned, and he is far too colorless on the outside. There is an EASY WAY TO FIX THAT.

But he's staring you in the face, and you make the mistake of catching his eyes, and there's something in them that's more terrible than your powers can create. More terrible, you think, than even what is in the depths of HER thinkpan. You think it's hate.

You want to think it's hate.

"Hellooo?" he sings at you. "Is anyone in there, or has the sad clown finally checked out for good?" He snaps his claws in front of your face three times. You blink. "Show's over," he tells you. "Go home."

You blink again.

He reaches up and flicks you in the forehead - plip - and says, "Shoo."

You shoo.

You decide not to think about why.


The indigoblood disappears into the maze of city streets as if a heard of legislacerators are after him. You roll your eyes. You'd think nobody had ever tried to stare him down before.

At least he finally turned off the psycho clown powers, and the market crowd is cautiously reappearing, merchants checking their stalls and debris being pushed out of pathways. Your friend, who had stayed out of range of the chucklevoodoos, thereby demonstrating several degrees of intelligence which you entirely lack, finds you still standing in the open area created by the combatants' collateral damage.

The crowd is flowing nervously around you, now, rather than them. You could almost find that amusing.

"I ψeriously can't believe you did that," he says when he reaches you.

You shrug. "Ψ, why is it that every time I find someone I've already met in my dreams, they turn out to be a complete and utter asshole?"

He can't really do sad eyes behind his tinted glasses, but he's mastered the art of the trembling chin. "E-even me, SS?" he asks dolefully.

You punch him in the shoulder. "Eψecially you, you are such a fuckass," you tell him, and he slings an affectionate arm around you.

"I'm ψo glad you're my friend, SS," he tells you with a grin as you snuggle in automatically.

"It's mutual," you mutter into his side as you kick at the ruined finery under your feet, but you're smiling back. "Now come on, I don't think this stall is re-opening tonight, and if we don't another vendor who has that figured velvet Dolorosa wants, she'll sulk for a week."

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