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.

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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 - Bucket Code

(Anonymous) 2012-03-20 11:44 am (UTC)(link)
Bucket Code - the Alternian version of the Hanky Code? ( Practically any character or pairing is fine; just tell me something about what a bucket says about what its carrier wants. I'm good with just about any direction this can possibly go.

Re: Any - Bucket Code

(Anonymous) 2013-08-02 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Reposted and filled at the other meme:

Re: Any - Bucket Code

(Anonymous) - 2013-08-02 23:38 (UTC) - Expand

Signless/Dualscar or Karkat/Eridan; Reversed hemospectrum breeders; kinks/warnings in prompt

(Anonymous) 2012-03-20 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Didn't have room in the subject, so kinks and warnings for this prompt are; sexual slavery, dub-con/non-con, mpreg, brainwashing

Seadwellers with purple streaks are capable of laying eggs fertilised by another troll, but this time it's a world with a reversed hemospectrum.

Breeders are the only sea trolls considered worth anything - tyrians are just another shade of purple trash. And their only value lies in their fertility. They're trained to obey any troll who comes inside them while they aren't in heat and guarded jealously.

Sea trolls are still the longest lived, so they're passed from noble to noble - not to their own offspring, but traded between lines and houses. The ownership transfer is highly sexual, and very degrading to the breeder in question. Dualscar/Eridan considers himself lucky to belong to the Scarlet Emperor, at least for now.

Either there's always a Scarlet Emperor/Empress, because (s)he has access to a harem of breeders, with one added by each Emperor/Empress and they're inherited by each ruler, or the Scarlet Emperor is a semi-mythological figure, who only appears maybe once in a thousand or more sweeps and is a harbringer of change.

"a jewel in the scarlet crown," Karkat/Eridan, slavery, forced breeding, 1/?

(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
((anon, I apologize in advance, because I don't know how long it will take me to write this whole thing, but please have this first scene as a promise! I adore this prompt and want to write more, I just have a crazy huge number of deadlines to meet right now.))

You'd thought your master's hive was grand, but it's nothing compared to the Imperial Palace. The building rears up before you, sweeping arches and high towers, black stone ornamented with garnet-colored tile. The banners snapping in the wind are brighter, though, a red so bright it looks unnatural: the banners of the Scarlet Emperor, newly risen, the first of his blood since the Signless Sunderer tore down the old empire and built the new one a thousand sweeps ago. Every noble in the Empire is coming to the Capital tonight, bringing gifts to demonstrate their allegiance and beg the new Emperor's favor.

Your master is bringing you.

The carriage creaks and sways, moving more slowly as it approaches the palace. You duck back from the curtains, even though you'd like to see more; you were too small to remember much of anything when you were brought to your master's hive in the first place, and in the six sweeps since then you've been kept close at hand. You've certainly never seen anything so impressive as the Capital and its palace in real life before. But you've thrown off your cloak and veil in the hot, close quarters of the carriage, and you've been given strict orders not to show so much as a fin where commoners could see you. Part of your value is the fact that you're new: untouched, pristine, just at the cusp of your very first spawning season. Your mouth has been thoroughly trained for recreational use, of course, but your nook has never been filled, and your master wants to make a point of that—he's giving you up without using you to spawn his own heir. Breeders like you are rare (though not as rare as a holy scarletblood, of course), and whoever he acquires to replace you will be an older troll who has already serviced other masters.

So you've been hidden in a closed carriage to play up all that new-and-untouched business, covered from horns to toes in layers of silk and embroidery, all of it blazing saffron orange as an advertisement of where you came from.

You think it looks like shit with the purple of your eyes and your breeder's forelock, but symbolism doesn't care about that.

When the carriage rolls to a halt for the last time and the driver gets down to fuss over the hoofbeasts, you're in the middle of daydreaming about how you'd look in scarlet. None of this stiff embroidered bullshit, either—some kind of clingy wispy silks that make it clear how pretty you are. (You know you're pretty; all your trainers said so. One of them used to tell you, all hushed and needy, how bad he wanted to fill you. Well, he said "pail," but nobody actually pails with a breeder, right? It's the whole reason nobles keep you around. No pail necessary, direct genetic lines guaranteed. Anyway, that was damn flattering right up to the point where the guy saying it got suddenly disappeared and you had to deal with a lot of questions and physical exams to find out whether he'd done more than just talk.)

Your mind is wandering; you get snapped out of it when the driver bangs on the carriage door and calls, "Hey, fishpail, you decent?" You won't miss that bulgelicking sack of cerulean grubshit at all.

"Just a sec," you answer, fussing your cloak back on and fixing your stupid veil. There was really no good solution for hiding your magnificently developing horns; the cloak has a hood with a lot of extra room in it and it looks fucking silly but it gets the job done, you suppose. Not like you need to impress anyone who's only going to see you in this stupid orange tent of a costume, and maybe it'll make the Emperor more pleased to unwrap you and discover what he's actually gotten. "Okay," you say when you're as fixed up as you're going to get.

He unlocks the carriage and offers you a grudging hand getting down; your feet peek out from under the bottom of your costume, but too bad. If they didn't want even a glimpse of your skin to show anywhere, they should have given you slippers.

"The Marquis Boneplain's gift?" asks a servant in scarlet livery. She has neat, smartly curled horns and a face that says she takes no crap from anyone.

Your driver nods. "An unbonded, untouched breeding slave," he says. He hands over a thick, creamy envelope. "His lineage records, and the notes on his conditioning."

The servant makes some notes in a ledger, and then on a loose sheet of paper that she gives to your driver. She looks you up and down. "This way," she says. You follow her into the palace, and you're not going as fast as she'd clearly like, but once she gets a look at why you're slowed up—the thin ceremonial hobble-chain that only lets you take half a step at a time—it seems to turn from annoyed at you to annoyed with you. She sighs in exasperation, but she slows down so you can keep up. The floors are black marble, cool under your feet.

"So, you takin me to see His Imperial Devvastation?" you ask.

"Directly?" she asks. "Goodness, no. He's in the middle of a reception right now, with all of the most important dignitaries of his Empire. His adjutant will review the tribute and determine what needs his personal attention."

You fidget with the edges of your sleeve. "About how long wwill that take?"

Her lips purse; she's not impressed with you at all. "I suggest you cultivate patience."

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Any - Strangers in a strange land

(Anonymous) 2012-03-20 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
The game is won but Alternia and Earth are both gone. The kids and trolls wake up in a strange new world and have to figure out how to survive the dangers this world presents. Go wild! Are there wandering herds of violent beasts? Does someone eat something poisonous? If you bring back characters who have died, how does the group deal with that? Bonus points for Jake/Dirk exploring adventures, Feferi and Eridan having to deep sea dive (and everyone being horrified she has to go alone with him), Jade and Nepeta bridging the dog/cat barrier, and John and Karkat being the best boyfriendleaders.

Feel free to handwave how the Alpha and Beta kids are here together. XD

Kanaya/Rose, illness/guro

(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Kanaya has a very odd reaction to drinking Rose's blood, thanks to her humanity - shakes, nausea, hallucinations, anything you want, really - and Rose helps take care of her as she's suffering.

Dolorosa and parental figures

(Anonymous) 2012-03-23 03:12 pm (UTC)(link)
The Dolorosa + any of the parental-figure-humans of your choice form a single parenting support group to try to figure out wtf they are doing (and vent about the little monsters they're raising.) You could do it cross-temporally over chat if you wanted, any romance possibilies are yay...


(Anonymous) 2012-03-29 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
Pairing is only a suggestion - open to others

So there I was - thinking about troll genetic material... as you do. About how all the trolls' is that same color as their blood. And your blood is the same color as your writing.

And some trolls know this mysterious omnipotent omniscient entity who writes in white.

And even though they know the kids aren't writing in the same color as their blood or genetic material, it has to be freakish for a troll who'd conversed with the white writing to see human ejaculate.

Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) 2012-04-05 10:07 am (UTC)(link)
Oh no! The nefarious Doctor DS, master of the Robot Death Fortress, has captured the intrepid Jake English, gentleman adventurer! Stripped of his weapons (and his clothes!), imprisoned in the Doctor's secret lab...what dastardly deathtraps and terrible torments await our hero?

Jake and Dirk do sexy pulp hero/villain roleplaying.

Bonus points if Dirk makes elaborate props for it.

Extra bonus points if Dirk keeps trying to be self-consciously ironic about it, but Jake takes everything DEAD SERIOUSLY and is super into the role.

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) 2012-04-05 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
this prompt wins AT LIFE.

bonus bonus points from this meme stalking anon if Dirk is doing this as a Valentine for Jake.

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 19:57 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 19:59 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 23:48 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 23:53 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-04-06 09:18 am (UTC)(link)
(inspired by the second gif here (

Most important thing you own?
John: My troll, but I don't like to say I own (him/her/hir). We're just kind of buddies.

Tell me about John and that troll he owns!

Which troll and what kind of dynamic is up to you! Maybe it's Karkat yelling NO WE ARE NOT BUDDIES WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, maybe it's Vriska peeing on police officers and tearing up all of John's homework, maybe it's Equius who is enjoying this more than John knows!

You're welcome to include other kid/troll pairs as well, romantically or not.

Preferably funny or happy, and if there's sexytimes, please NO non-con! (Yes, I know, no non-con in the ownership prompt. I'm a weird kid.)

John: be a responsible pet owner, John/Equius, fluffy smut

(Anonymous) 2012-04-07 07:11 pm (UTC)(link)
When you get home Equius is waiting for you by the door, which he hasn't really done since the first week after you brought him home. (Gosh that week was nerve-wracking—you spent so much time pestering Dave and Rose with questions, since they'd already had trolls for ages, and you were so sure you would mess up with yours.) He's kneeling, back ramrod straight, hands on his thighs, his blue-and-yellow eyes wide. He really looks like he needs a hug.

"Hey, buddy," you say as you drop your keys on the table and kick your shoes off. "What's wrong?"

Equius chews on his lip like he's nervous about answering you, which is just weird. He's really good about being obedient—it was one of the reasons you got him as your first pet. (Dave's bro was the one who found him and suggested him for you: Equius came from a really good bloodline and had been trained well, but his broken horn wasn't growing back, so he had to be sold at a discount. You have a scratch-and-dent troll. It's kind of adorable.)

You touch his mouth with one fingertip to remind him to stop chewing. "Don't hurt yourself," you say. "Come on, let's go sit on the couch and relax, and you can tell me what the problem is."

He gets up and follows you into the living room, and you pat the couch next to you when you sit down. He still needs to be encouraged to actually use the furniture—when you leave him to his own devices he's spooked all the time like he thinks he'll break things by touching them. He sits, carefully, and you pull him down so you can pet his hair.

"So," you say. "What were you up to while I was gone?"

"I...I watched your program," he says.

You laugh awkwardly. "Not the best interview I've ever given," you say. You're still not used to being even a little bit famous.

Equius clings to your pant leg a little, his shoulders hunching. "You don't like owning me," he says really quietly.

"What?" you say, flummoxed for a minute. You're pretty sure you said no such thing. Then you remember that one weird question. "No, buddy, that's not what I meant! I like having you here. I like you a lot." You huff out air in a rush, trying to explain yourself. "It's just...saying I own you sounds creepy! I own my car. I own the furniture. It's just stuff. You're not just stuff."

"You're not going to get rid of me?" Equius asks.

"No," you say firmly. "Definitely not. No getting rid of." Dave and Rose were both really clear about that (in their own special ways, heh) when you started talking about getting a troll of your own. They've both had rescue trolls whose first owners didn't care, and the abandonment issues are, in Dave's words, a catastrophe of massive tearjerking proportions, Egbert, so think carefully about whether you want to take this dive.

You slide your fingers up through Equius's hair until you can massage the base of his broken horn, which is pretty much always a good skritching spot. He starts to relax, and you watch the tension ease out of his shoulders. He starts making that low thrumming sound in his chest that Rose insists isn't a purr on a technicality, but it sounds pretty purr-like to you, and it means the same thing, all the manuals say so. It's an instinctive noise produced when a troll feels safe and receptive to touch. (Wild trolls are apparently really violent, so they need to have signals about when it's okay to get in arm's reach, just so they don't attack each other all the time.)

"I'm glad you want to keep me," he says. His voice goes rumbly in a really neat way when he's purring. "I like being yours."

Well that sure makes you feel warm and smooshy inside! "Good," you say. "I want you to be happy here." You keep skritching, watching him calm down and stop being so nervous, watching the way he sort of squirms around when he starts really getting into being touched. He's big for a troll, almost human-sized, and blues tend to be really muscular, and between those two things he's...well, sometimes watching him move makes you feel pretty funny in your pants! Which you have tried to be tactful about. You know some people do that with their trolls and you're not judging! It's just that Equius is so well trained, and so eager to please, you'd worry about him going along with stuff he didn't like, and then you'd feel like such a jerk.

The way he's moving right now, though, man. You can watch the slide of all those muscle groups in his back that you don't know the names for, and when his hips roll your mouth goes sort of dry. You shift your weight a little and let your right hand take over horn-skritching duty so you can reach down with your left and scratch your nails—bitten-short and blunt as they are—down his back.

Equius moans. There goes your ability to ignore what's going on in your pants.

"Wow," you say, all softly. "You feel good, huh? That's nice?"

"Mmmn," he says, "yes. It feels—aahn," and he just breaks off right there, rocking his hips, shivering. You feel sort of shivery yourself, watching him move. There was actually a part of you that figured he just didn't feel this kind of stuff? Like, the breeder had him fixed before selling him to you, but it sort of looks like that just means he can't make more trolls, not that he can't, uh. Feel exciting things.

You lick your lips. "You can take your shorts off, if that would feel good," you say, and your voice comes out a little funny.

Equius nods, almost poking you in the leg with his good horn, and reaches for the buttons of his shorts right away. (Some people also don't keep their trolls dressed at home—Rose has sent you some really elegant photos of Kanaya lounging naked on the fancy couches in her house—but you have always been Not So Sure About That. It occurs to you now that maybe he would rather not be wearing clothes, and you've just assumed without ever asking. Being a responsible pet owner is hard!)

He squirms out of his shorts and you can see a blue flush around the sheath of his bulge—it's starting to swell and open up already. "Just from a little scratching, huh?" you ask.

Equius hunches in on himself a little. "I apologize for my poor self-control," he says.

You laugh. "Don't apologize," you say. "It's fine. I'm glad you're enjoying it." You drag your nails down his chest and his purr gets louder. His hips arch a little and the tip of his bulge slips free of the sheath, dark blue and shiny-wet. You've heard they're prehensile. You lick your lips again. You almost say, Should I keep doing this? except that you've noticed it makes Equius sort of nervous and confused when you ask him what you should do.

Instead you say, "Tell me if anything I do feels bad, because I want you to have a good time." You keep rubbing behind one horn and scratch his chest and belly some more. (You're sort of proud of your dexterity right now, actually.) Equius purrs and digs his shoulderblades into the couch under him—he's wiggling, gosh that's cute, and it makes you feel so good to see that under all the serious business training he can still remember how to just be happy sometimes. "There you go, buddy," you encourage him. "That's nice, huh?"

"Yes," he says, "yes," the words barely rising out of the purr. He rocks his hips up again when your hand strays low across his belly and you think maybe this really is okay after all. You let your fingertips drift lower, trace the opening of his bulge sheath, and his bulge slides out enough to twine around your fingers.

That is the cutest thing. You might say "Aaww," a little. You curl your fingers, stroking along it, letting it twine between them. It slides further out to get a better grip on you, and mostly you're just fascinated until Equius moans again and that reminds you that you're playing with his junk. And your own feels kind of neglected.

"Okay, hang on just a second," you say, and scoot out from under him so you can get up. He watches you like he's not sure what's going on but he trusts you, whatever you have in mind. It makes your heart feel a little funny.

You unzip your jeans and then figure you might as well go all the way with this, and pull your shirt off over your head before you shove your jeans and your boxers down. Equius is watching you sort of curiously, and you definitely catch the moment when he looks down at your dick and then looks away really fast. His bulge squirms against his belly, leaving little blue trails across his skin.

"Here we go," you say, climbing back onto the couch with him. You coax him to stretch out, and lower yourself down on top of him, bracing your weight carefully. When your dick rubs up against his bulge, it curls right around you. "Oh," you say, "wow, yeah."

Equius nods frantically, his bulge twisting and squeezing rhythmically. "Is this—may I," he says, his hands sliding tentatively up your sides.

"Yeah," you say. "Go ahead and touch, it feels good." You thrust into the grip of his bulge and that's awesome, slick and gripping you just right. You let your head fall forward, forehead against his shoulder, and hum a low moan of your own as his bulge slides across the really sensitive spot just behind the head of your dick. You kiss him along the alien curve of his collar bone and he clings to you, his hands on your back and his bulge on your dick, and you're pretty much just letting your hips do what comes naturally at this point.

The noises Equius makes are kind of amazing. The purr's in high gear and it makes all of his moans have a rumbly undertone to them, and his breath comes in harsh warm puffs past your ear. When you let your teeth scrape his skin a little bit, experimentally, he croons wordlessly and shudders all over. You bite him a little harder—trolls are pretty rough with each other, right?—and he bucks hard enough that he almost throws you. "Please, please, yes," he says, and hearing actual need in his voice pretty much wrecks you.

"Yeah, I got you," you tell him, "I got you, it's good, you're doing really g-good, aah," and you give up trying to talk about then because wow and also oh my god, the things he's doing to you, slick and squirming and pulsing. You bite again, right at the base of his throat, and this time you're ready for it when that makes him start to thrash. You hold on tight and let his needy sounds wash over you and feel the way he's squeezing you tight, oh god, milking your dick, and your desperate losing-it sound is muffled by his skin as you blast right past the point of no return and come all over him, a big shuddering mess.

His bulge is still coiled around you, squirming just a little, when you finish, and you try to just stick that out but you're pretty sensitive and it's a little uncomfortable. When you try to pull back—slowly, because yanking when you're tangled up like this seems likely to be uncomfortable for both of you!—he whimpers a little but he lets you go. You wedge yourself into the tiny space between the back of the couch and Equius, still pressed against his side.

There are a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. You reach up and smooth them back off his face, and he smiles at you. "You are...satisfied?" he asks.

"Oh man, yeah," you say, grinning at him. "You bet I am. How about you? Did you, uh," there's no great way to ask this and you feel sort of weird about it, because you've heard they make like bucketloads of mess and you don't see any evidence of that, "did you get off?"

Equius blushes deep blue across his cheekbones and that's kind of stupid adorable. "Y-yes," he says. "Ah. Three times."

"Haha, wow, really?" you say. You definitely need to learn more about how trolls work. "Awesome."

He looks sort of shy about that, but he leans into you and that's adorable. "I...I'm glad it pleases you," he says.

"Of course it does, silly," you tell him. You realize he always seems a little surprised, a little confused, when you make a point to take care of him or worry about making him happy. "You know, you missed something, being so hung up on me not liking the word 'own,'" you point out. You kiss his forehead. "The question was about what's most important to me. And I picked you."

Equius looks up at you with such adorable puppy eyes you think you might just melt right there. "I'm very glad," he says. "I am...happy to be yours."

"That's really sweet," you tell him. "I promise, I'm going to do my best to take good care of you." You look down at the sticky mess drying on his stomach, his fluids and yours. "Starting with getting you washed up, I think. And then we'll see about making dinner. How's that sound?"

Equius smiles at you, and yeah, melting time. "Excellent," he says.

Re: John/Troll

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-08 21:41 (UTC) - Expand

Re: John/Troll

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 09:02 (UTC) - Expand

Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 1/?)

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 12:38 (UTC) - Expand

Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-09 16:26 (UTC) - Expand

Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 4/4)

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-24 06:50 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-04-06 01:12 pm (UTC)(link)
The mouseover text on today's XKCD says, "Bruce Schneier believes safeword are fundamentally insecure and recommends you ask your partner to stop via public key signature." As someone on my rlist said, I would read that fic.

...obviously I thought of Sollux first. But it would also work with Roxy! Or Sollux/Roxy! (yum) or Dirk, or various robots and AIs that Dirk is responsible for! Or Equius/Bot!Aradia, if you want to go to a dark place with it...

Karkat/John, sweet delicious blackrom

(Anonymous) 2012-04-07 04:51 pm (UTC)(link)
sweet, sweet blackrom play. a dessert fight ends in Karkat licking cake frosting off John, delighted to discover (a) that human desserts are delicious, and (b) John hates cake. 2x satisfaction combo!

Re: Karkat/John, sweet delicious blackrom

(Anonymous) 2012-04-14 04:42 am (UTC)(link)
I was hoping to finish this on 4/13, but it's not going to happen. ;_; Hopefully soon.

Re: Karkat/John, sweet delicious blackrom

(Anonymous) - 2012-04-14 19:30 (UTC) - Expand


(Anonymous) 2012-04-10 05:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Strider gets doubleteamed and is honestly quite surprised.

"wonder twins," Jane/Dirk/Jake

(Anonymous) 2012-05-14 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
You haven't seen or heard a thing from the 21st century wonder twins in hours, not since you finally picked Jane up and she threw herself right into Jake's arms and kissed him before she broke down sobbing. Of all of you she was probably the least prepared for the unbelievable levels of bullshit this game had to throw around. Jake kind of locked up and gave you panic eyes of the where do I put my hands? variety, as if you'd have the answer to that; you've cribbed everything you knew about human interaction out of movies, too. You were just more subtle about it.

Seemed like the best thing to do was shoo them off someplace where they could have an old Earth style feelings jam, while you got this beast of a mecha headed Roxy-ward. So that's you: keeping the plan moving, keeping the irons in the hottest part of the fire, clearing the path for mister dashing adventurer and miss gutsy gumshoe to have their action-romance and hopefully a happy ending. You had been trying to keep yourself from getting too into the idea of your own particular Jake English Hollywood ending, and that's been really tricky since you met up in person. Maybe having Jane around will give him some focus, so it won't be so hard for you to focus where you need to.

Which is on this damn game, and all the hard work you need to put into it. You don't have the luxury of pursuing the romance of your dreams here: you're this team's strategist and stage-setter and you have a lot of work to do. It's for the best that you don't get distracted. You reach up under your shades and rub your eyes, then try to focus on the viewscreen again.

Your hijacked sweet ride pings as the intercom turns itself on. "So if I'm doing the calculations right, and it's safe to assume I am since I'm vastly overpowered for a simple task like that, it'll take another five hours, give or take a few minutes, before we're in range to enter Roxy's world." It's a decent approximation of your voice. It's annoying to listen to.

"Sounds about right," you say.

"Five hours that could be accomplished with a pretty simple autopilot. Which I am not," AR says.

"Also true." You wait for him to get to the point.

"So those are five hours during which you, an organic being with baseline established needs for food and sleep, don't need to be sitting at the helm of this testosterone-enriched tin can." He sounds smug. You feel a faint twinge of pride, like always, that he's complex enough to convey deeply human things like smugness. "Leave this part to me and go get your squishy human self some snacks and a nap."

You frown. "There's always a chance of something going wrong on the way there," you argue. "We're fighting this one on a lot of fronts."

AR makes a noise that you think is supposed to mimic your own derisive snort. "There is a 98.1025% chance that my lasers and I can handle anything that goes wrong between here and the world gate."

"Your lasers, huh?" you ask. "I didn't think you were into embodiment."

"Being a battlemech gives a different perspective than being sunglasses."

"What's the percentage chance that I'm going to regret loading you into this thing, anyway?" you ask.

"Vanishingly small," he says dryly. You'd better hope he's right.

Still. He's his own self, but he's also you, and if you have to delegate responsibility, there's nobody else you'd rather hand it off to. "Okay. Give me an alert if anything weird comes up." You pry yourself out of the captain's seat and leave the Battlemech DRONEGORG in AR's capable metaphorical hands.

There's not a lot of space in this thing, despite how big it looks on the outside. Most of it is taken up with the mech's engine (weirdly biological, like the aliens' technology tends to be) and the various weapons and stabilizing systems that keep it on its ugly feet oppressing the locals. But there are a few empty spaces in its middle that were probably originally cargo bays, and they'll do for cabins for now.

You can hear voices from one of them, too quiet to make out details. The kids are getting along; that's good. You don't want to intrude, even if there aren't currently any sloppy makeouts going on. No reason to make it awkward again. You'll take the cargo cabin on the other side.

You dump the entire contents of the plush row of your sylladex, making a pile of shit soft enough to sleep in. Or at least soft enough to lie in wishing you were asleep. You try to at least keep the constant fretting focused in a direction where it might do some good: planning for the game, anticipating problems you might have, worrying about how you're going to keep your little team out of trouble. That's productive, right?

More productive than the other things you could be making yourself miserable over, anyway. You're happy for Jake. You're happy for Jane; god knows the poor girl has been obviously smitten for ages. And you made the choice to be unapproachable yourself. You had priorities, right? They were just so much easier to have when you were a few hundred years apart.

Jake hugged you when you met up in person—beamed at you, bright white smile against brown skin, and hugged you so hard your spine made cracking noises. It took a lot of fortitude not to kiss him right then and there. You would have been terrible at it, but he wouldn't have known better, and you could have—

You could have let yourself get distracted and ruin everything. You roll over in your pile and try to get control of your train of thought. Honestly, sometimes you think the AI versions of you are more tolerable than you-prime.

A clang on the metal wall interrupts your embarrassingly maudlin train of thought, and then Jake says, "Ah, knock knock?"

You roll over again. He's peering around the edge of the doorway, his hair a mess and his glasses crooked and you are stupid for this boy despite yourself. "Who's there?"

He grins. "Orange," he says.

It hurts so much to smile back but you do, because you can't not. "Orange who?"

There's a brief scuffle and then Jane appears beside Jake. "Orange you going to invite us in?" she asks.

"You're completely hopeless dorks, both of you," you tell them, but it doesn't make either of them stop grinning and you're out of your depth here, feeling too much and planning too little.

"That's no way for a gentleman to answer a lady's question, Strider," Jake says sternly.

You sit up, spreading your hands to indicate the grandeur of your surroundings, the echoing empty cargo bay and pile of lewd plush dolls. "Hey, my battlemech is your battlemech," you say. "I wouldn't dream of denying you."

Jake gives you a look that makes your face hot. "Damnably charming as always," he says. That's new. Damnable, sure, but since when does he think you're charming?

"That's enough of an invitation for me," Jane says, squaring her shoulders and setting her mouth in determination, like she's about to...what, storm you like a castle?

Close enough. She marches over and flops down next to you on the pile, eyes wide behind her glasses. "I don't think I thanked you properly for your help earlier," she says.

"Don't worry about it," you say. This was not part of your plan anywhere. "It's been a rough day all around."

"But you have been working your handsome posterior off to help the rest of us," Jake says as he sits down on your other side. "It really is all right to take a bit of credit for acts of heroism that you've actually performed." He's close enough that you'd swear you can feel his body heat. They both are.

You swallow hard and try to keep your cool. "Okay, as much as I'm thrilled at the opportunity to wind up the filling in a 21st-century goober sandwich, it has been a pretty long day, so if we could move this prank along to the punch line—"

"Dirk," Jane says, and puts her hand on yours. You shut up. Her palm is just the slightest bit damp. "It isn't a prank."

You look from her serious eyes to Jake's hopeful ones, and you think maybe you don't want her to let go of your hand. What comes out of your mouth is, "I don't know, man, I'm a pretty far cry from those blue-skinned alien ladies you go for."

"Oh, fuckbuckets, Dirk," Jake says, which is probably the most obscene thing you've ever heard, and shakes you into actually listening: "Would you stop acting as if I can only like one sort of person? I like all of my friends, I'll have you know."

You struggle valiantly for something witty to say so that you'll feel in control of the situation again. It feels like they must be able to hear your metaphorical gears grinding. "Okay," you say at last. "I'm in your hands."

They close in on either side of you like a thing that makes you forget how to make fabulous metaphors. They're so warm. Jane kisses your cheek and Jake slides an arm around your waist, and you close your eyes. Sure, there was always a chance, some percentage that you could bullshit right now if you wanted to, but it would have been a pretty low number even before you tossed in the extra variable of having both of them think this was a good idea.

Jake kisses your mouth. Your fingers slip under the hem of Jane's shirt. Everything is warmth and the smoothness of skin that's not yours, the smells of Jake's sweat and Jane's shampoo, the taste of their mouths, the slow fumbling exploration of their hands. Your own hands are shaking a little, but if they notice, they don't say so.

You wonder for a second as they combine forces to tug your shirt off over your head—what's this going to mean when you all make it to Roxy? And your instinct is to worry, to plan, to try to figure out all the contingencies. But there are wet kisses mapping the hammering pulse in both sides of your throat, and you think this time you can borrow a trick from Jake and just hope.


(Anonymous) - 2012-05-15 02:01 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "wonder twins," Jane/Dirk/Jake

(Anonymous) - 2012-05-15 10:17 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "wonder twins," Jane/Dirk/Jake

(Anonymous) - 2012-05-20 00:17 (UTC) - Expand

Any/Gamzee [noncon, drugs]

(Anonymous) 2012-04-10 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Some days, Gamzee doesn't keep too close of an eye on how much sopor he's eating. And while he may have a decent tolerance built up, if he goes too overboard, he's still out like a light. Which leaves plenty of opportunity for someone to take advantage of him...

Kanaya/Rose dominance play

(Anonymous) 2012-04-16 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
Kanaya/Rose with seriously toppy Kanaya getting past Rose's cool poise and finding a molten-hot libidinous center. Aphrodisiacs, rainbow drinker mind powers, dom/sub dynamics inducing a needy submissive headspace, any way you want to play it. Just give me blistering hungry passion and Rose's self-control falling apart. unf.


(Anonymous) 2012-04-17 04:19 am (UTC)(link)
In which Vriska uses her mind control abilities to her advantage.

Highblood Philanthropy [Vriska/Tavros [Non-Con, Mind Control, Asphyxiation]

(Anonymous) 2012-05-05 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
[This got a bit twisted, OP; I hope it's what you had in mind!]

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you're doing Tavros a huuuuge favor! In fact you wish that he'd be able to remember what you do for him after you're finished, so that you can tell him just how huge a favor you're doing for him. It's one of those things that you'd love to get credit for - and maybe you'll find a way, someday, once you get a few of these other irons dealt with. But for now, honestly, you're having more fun doing this for him when he doesn't know about it when you're done.

Nobody else knows about this either, and you're being very careful to keep it that way! Not your matesprit, who still acts like her fussy meddlefanged self sometimes, and definitely not your real kismesis, whose blood is just a shade too low to understand what an important thing you're doing for him! And not any of his friends, or his matespirt, who'd probably flip out and club you to death for messing with the kid.

Why is everyone so messed up over this? You're only trying to help the miserable little brownblooded wimp, is that so wrong? Look at him - short, skinny, glassy-eyed like a stupid hoofbeast, ugly brown blood running through his veins. Who could possibly wax any shade of black for a disaster like that? He'd be culled the minute the drones came over for not having a kismesis-pail to contribute, no matter how many ugly brown-and-indigo swirls his matesprit tried to push on them to make up for it! Someone has to do something, and you figure you're the lady for the job; you know soooo much about hate to begin with, and you might as well share.

Really, if you're going to be honest with yourself, you should just cull the poor little guy already. And you've thought about it, you really have! Just like you thought very, very seriously about making him jump off of that cliff that one time, when you had him cornered and all he could do was whine. It was just like that white-text jerk had said, and you were all ready to finish him off, and then... well, okay, you don't know what stopped you. You want to think that you finally got fed up with the jerk telling you he knew what you were going to do, and decided to prove him wrong. But either way, he never contacted you again, and Tavros ran away screaming like a little kid as soon as you dropped the game, and you just stood there and pounded your fist into the dirt and hated yourself a little bit.

You were just a kid back then, though! You're older now, and they'll be sending you off to space before too long. You've made too many stupid childish mistakes, and you're going to make sure you don't make this one again. You're going to do your duty. It's just what a highblood does!



He's on his knees, and she is standing over him, her eyes gleaming blue. "You're so beautiful when you're like that," she whispers, almost endearingly. "When you act like you know where you belong. You DO know where you belong, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispers - he knows exactly what she wants him to do. Her control is more subtle now, less overwhelming, but no less powerful - all she has to do is give his mind the merest nudge, and he'll do whatever it is she wants. Sometimes, she thinks he's convinced that he wants to do it. "I belong... right here."

It's so pathetic - he never fights back! He probably doesn't even know how to fight back, not against someone as powerful as she is, and it makes her sick to think about it. Not that she's sure what she would do if he did fight back - the thought fills her with a different sort of rage. She hates him no matter what he does, which is why she figures that this is okay, that she's helping him, that it's the right thing to do.

The fact that HE doesn't believe it is irrelevant, she thinks. He'll figure it out someday, and when he does, he'll thank her.

Tavros, kneeling before her, can't do anything but stare up as she strips off her pants - he thinks that maybe he wants to look away, but he can't, because his mind is telling him to do this, and he can't help but listen to it. Part of him knows that this isn't real, that Vriska is doing something to him, but that part of his mind is meek and silly and can't be right, because Vriska's long legs are shapely and grey, and he can see the tip of her cerulean bulge emerging, and his mind is overcome with the blackest sort of lust as he stares at her. It's wrong, in his head - envy and rage don't make any real sense to him - but it's there, and he can't make it go away by thinking about how wrong it is.

"Now, Pupa," she croons above him, "I think I need some time to warm up," and something inside of him flips, because he knows what's going to happen next. He's just not sure whether it's the part of his mind that wants this that's reacting, or the part that wants to run away as fast as he can. Maybe it's both, at the same time. "Open wi-ide!"

He opens his mouth so obediently, and her bulge throbs, squirming out further. Her smile widens - she might not have the widest or thickest of bulges, but it's more than enough for his tiny frame. She steps forward, grabs him by the horns, and pulls, so that he falls onto his hands and knees (skinning them - she'll have to add something to his memory to explain that, she thinks, annoyed.) Her bulge practically engulfs his head, the thickest tentacle forcing its way down his throat. The rest wrap around the rest of them, trying to creep into as much of him as they can - plugging his nose, trying to crawl past his eyeballs into his eye sockets. She'll never let them hurt them, but it's nice to see the fear in his face when he realizes that there's nothing he can do about it!

He makes a little moan as she pushes harder in and around him, and he shifts his weight just enough to lift one hand - her idea, of course, although he might think that it's his - and push one long finger into her nook. He has claws, of course, but that just makes it better - this kind of thing just isn't the same without pain, and anyway, it feels as close as it ever does to him trying to fight back, and that helps, too. "Harder," she growls, bucking her hips. "Harder, damn you."

He moans as best he can, exactly as if he's enjoying it. He IS enjoying it, isn't he? He doesn't have to do this, after all, doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do. Therefore, this must be something he wants to do, and there's no reason to be worried, right? He didn't need to feel like he was screaming inside, and he didn't have to be worried that he could barely breathe, because he wanted to do this and that must mean it's okay.

It doesn't take long for her to finish, moaning in pleasure and nearly choking him in the rush. There's no genetic material - not yet, not until later - but it's good, and she's hoping it'll be as good as what's about to come. "Nice," she manages after a while, and grins. "I might even make sure that YOU enjoy it, this time. You'll like that, won't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he says, and smiles his biggest, angriest smile - it seems like the right thing to do - but something in him is still screaming, and screaming, and screaming -


Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you're having the weirdest dreams lately.

For the most part, life's pretty good - you have a fantastic matesprit and a lot of fun with your friends. It's a lot better than it was when you were a kid, and afraid of everything - sure, you're still not the smartest troll, or the fastest, or the strongest. And maybe your blood color isn't too great, although you don't understand why people like Equius make such a big deal out of it. (You don't understand most of what he does, anyway - especially when he keeps following your matesprit around like an angry hatesick puppy, and it's starting to make you kind of mad.) You're fine, until you try to sleep.

You keep dreaming, though, and the fact that you're dreaming in the first place is weird enough - maybe the sopor isn't strong enough, somehow? You don't know how - you even have the nightmares when you go to spend the night at Gamzee's hive, and he has really nice sopor, a lot better than yours. But for some reason they still come through.

It's weird, too. They never really get really specific. You're always afraid inside, and you always want to run, even though for some reason you can't. But for some other reason they make you feel good inside - really good, sometimes. Good in a mean, angry sort of way, but still good.

You'd ask someone about it, but it's not as if you have anyone you can just ask. And although you're pretty sure Gamzee knows, you don't want to tell him too much. You really don't want to worry him, not when he's so good to you. So you just sleep as best you can, and you ignore the weird nightmares, and you try not to remember.

They're probably nothing, anyway. You're probably just nervous.

John/Rose, asexuality

(Anonymous) 2012-04-17 04:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Pretty much what it says on the tin. I'd like to see fic where the two are asexual, but are interested in seeing what sex is like so they agree to try it with each other. Optional: they enjoy it, they just don't really understand what the fuss is about. (Mostly I just don't want the end result to be "oh well that was terrible" "yeah let's never do that again".)

(Anonymous) 2012-04-18 09:54 am (UTC)(link)
You are the best qualified to lead the blue team; you are certain of that. But you wish rather fervently that you weren't.

Oh man, such a perfect Equius line.

(Anonymous) 2012-04-18 09:55 am (UTC)(link)
Ahaha, misfire. Sorry.

Gamzee/Jane, Gamzee/Tavros

(Anonymous) 2012-04-19 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
He wouldn't trust Tavros to just any motherfucker. There's something special about this girl.

Bro Strider x Grandpa Harley

(Anonymous) 2012-04-23 08:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Bro has always had a raging hero-worship crush on the dashing adventurer Haas the Flame. What happens when the two somehow meet? Would love to see some ironic flirting, adventures, and makeouts, not necessarily in that order (hey, his alpha self seems open to new and different experiences, I can't imagine his beta counterpart wouldn't be as well.)

DirkJake; casual sex?

(Anonymous) 2012-04-23 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
sooooo i have this headcanon where jake is sort of indecisive about his feelings towards dirk, but he can also be sort of unconsciously selfish about the way he acts towards dirk aka leading him on while still being unsure of what he wants their relationship to be.

which is my prompt!
this could even go so far as jake having sex with dirk (although i'm fine if you don't want to include smut), but when dirk asks about his intentions jake sort of just dodges the bullet with laughter. of course, this would excruciatingly emotionally stressful for dirk, but he would play like an ironic coolkid and not really show it, and keep up with his ironclad persistence in the pursuit of the doki doki yaoi lovings jake's romantic reciprocation. but he's only human, and so certainly there would be some moment of weakness on his part where he just wants to like, curl up next to jake while he's sleeping and hold him (the babbu ;____;)
i'd appreciate any length of fic, with any type of ending (resolved or unresolved), canon or au, and if you do decide to put smut in idc who tops (though i prefer dirk)

i want angsty dirkjake with jake being indecisive and noncommittal and dirk being a semi-pathetic but still ironically cool and extremely persistent lovesick puppy

thank you! :)

crossposted from homesmut

davejade ; first time sex / awkward friendship to romance stage

(Anonymous) 2012-04-24 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
i have all of the feels for davejade. and i have even more feels for them stumbling around and getting used to that weird going from best friends to full blown romance phase.

ideally jade would be sort of overconfident and fumbling and silly
and dave would be all cool and ironic but going insane with nervousness behind his shades
and everything would be awkward and hilarious and fluffy and nothing would hurt ; u ;

terrible jokes in attempt to lighten the awkwardness and fail sex (lol) is highly encouraged. bonus points for jade taking the lead and dave sort of anxiously following along.

au or canon idc do as you wish.

fill this pretty please C:

Re: davejade ; first time sex / awkward friendship to romance stage

(Anonymous) 2012-04-25 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Question before I start this: Would Davesprite work for this, or would you prefer alpha-timeline Dave?

Meenah/Roxy [graphic non-con violence]

(Anonymous) 2012-05-01 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Meenah catches Roxy and decides to vivisect her to see how she works.


(Anonymous) 2012-05-09 12:48 am (UTC)(link)
I'm not sure if this has ever been requested before (I'm...fairly new). So I apologize if it has.

But in the world where Davesprite comes from, he thinks Jade is dead right? So when he goes back in time and sees Jade alive, he's relieved...and excited. So excited that he kisses her...among other things...much to Jade and Dave's surprise.

And it's probably not the best time to be doing those things, but Davespirte can't help himself because he's spent years wondering and worrying and thinking she was dead and now she's not, and...and he's still a teenager, dammit, he needs this.

And Dave's jealousoffended because what the hell does future-him think he's doing? And how does that even work when he's a sprite, anyway?

Jade, meanwhile, is a little confused, but can't deny how nice it feels. Plus, if it helps Davesprite, she doesn't really mind.

How Dave eventually gets involved is up to you, but I would like him to get involved. DP without anal would be great, but whatever works for you, I don't mind.

I apologize if the prompt is too specific or demanding. I'm not too good at this... ._.


(Anonymous) 2012-05-09 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)
It seems like there's something in Dirk's powers that involves making duplicate versions of himself: autoresponder, his dreamself that's always awake, Jake's dream splinter, Brobot, the things the one in Jake's dream said about Dirk's relationship to self...

So basically I mean I'd like somebody to write me Jake/Dirk/Dirk(dreamself)/Dirk(AR)/Dirk(Jake's splinter)/[Dirk(brobot)/Dirk(Bro)/Dirk(any other possible way Homestuck lets you have duplicates...)] And Jake is completely overwhelmed and loving it, of course.

John/Sollux or John + Sollux

(Anonymous) 2012-05-11 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)
John: Show the other coder what you can do!

Alternatively - Sollux: Oh good griief, show thiis po2er how 2 do 2ome real codiing already.

Eridan/anyone, Bearers and politics, implied mpreg and rape

(Anonymous) 2012-05-11 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Some sea trolls can lay eggs, but there isn't any obvious sign of which trolls they are. It's something they find out for themselves the first time they come into season at six sweeps. Generally they lose the first clutch, either because they just aren't developed enough to carry to term, or because they deliberately get rid of it. Bearers are considered weak, especially if they actually lay and if they fuck up they end up crippled and used as breeding stock, usually for either helmsman grade psionics (while they're being broken and trained) or indigos. But they are given a chance to prove themselves because the ones who don't fuck up tend to be so determined to prove themselves that they're spectacularly successful.

Going into season after a particularly successful FLARPing session with Vriska and the subsequent decision to abort his first clutch was a wake-up call for Eridan. He drops the idea of becoming Feferi's matesprit, and starts actually acting as her moirail, pushing her to take some responsibility instead of enabling her denial and dropping a lot of his desperate attempts to get her full attention. He also tries to convince her that an incremental improvement process is the best option, rather than trying to just abolish the hemospectrum without any real plans for societal reform.

When he finds out about Karkat's blood colour he basically threatens him into starting planning for a rebellion, including an alliance with Feferi to get highblood support for reform at least. Ultimately he wants attitudes towards bearers to change, and once he's a hero for his involvement in the rebellion he intends to carry a clutch for his quadrants.

Bonus if one of the reasons aborting his clutch bothered Eridan so much was because the three eggs would all have been shades of purple - one each indigo, violet and tyrian

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