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.

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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!

"Perchance to Dream" Roxy/Gamzee 2/3

(Anonymous) 2012-03-29 10:22 pm (UTC)(link)
The first time that they'd met, he'd been a bundle of murdernerves, his face paint smeared and scratched bare in places, a trio of angry indigo lines across his face that were just starting to knit back together. She hadn't been much better off, either, and her first reaction was that this was some sort of wannabe or future Subjugulator ready to get his murder-death-kill haterage on with any fresh human meat asking to be culled just for walking up on the surface. She had to make a snap decision - fight or flight - and as things would have it, she in a much more aggrieving mood than in an absconding one.

In retrospect, she's positive it would've turned into something downright nasty - for her - if he hadn't gotten that glancing blow in that split her temple open. Head wounds are always the ones that bleed the worst. Everyone knows that. But she had never known a troll before who'd freak out in quite that way at the sight of a human's bright red blood.

With all the fight suddenly gone from him, he was reduced to a cowering too-tall adolescent, going on and on in convoluted circles about his pale bro. It would've been way too easy to take advantage of that, to finish him off while he was down and out for the count. And besides, there was just .. something about him that she couldn't help but pity in an entirely un-troll-like and very human way.

He was all awkward limbs and awkward feelings, a terrible, terrifying mix of a strung up junky finally gone cold turkey and a rage-hormone driven troll of the violent (violet) upper castes that was only just starting to realize the power that his blood pusher pumped through him, empowering and enslaving him both. His life and future were crushed, his friends dead in front of him - or by his own hands - and he had virtually no one left to turn to. He hated everyone and everything, wanted to rip it all limb from limb, just as much as he wanted a hug. Or a shoosh-pap. Whatever the fuck trolls really got off on when they were horn-deep in self-inflicted and self-directed grimdark feelings. He had a moirail, his pale bro, that - from everything she could tell - seemed to alternate between being absolutely terrified of him and the best possible thing out there to keep him grounded.

She didn't find out most of that until much, much later, but the scars were as raw as the ones that he wore for all the world to see.

Against her better judgment, she ended up papping the hell out of his ridiculous, messed-up face.


Getting drunk in a dream bubble is both very similar to and very different from getting drunk for reals. And, she's decided, it's much better.

For starters, she's pretty sure that even if they were drinking something like wine or beer, she still wouldn't have to stop to use the bathroom every half hour. But that's not even the best part. The best part is that the whole woozy floaty lightheaded buzz is much less woozy than it should be, and it never quite dives into that nasty stick-to-the-stomach phase. And she's pretty sure there's no way to die of alcohol poisoning if what they're drinking is not even real.

And, for once, she actually gets to be drunk with someone else, even if he's barely touched his drink and she's on her sixth. Seventh. Something. Nth. That's more worth it than anything else.

"And.... aaaaand to top it aaaalllllll off, I think AR's even flushed for that bastart, just like Di-Stri an' Janey." She's practically lying on top of him, both of them sprawled out on the big couch in the living room, and when she tries to take another sip, the angle's all wrong and she spills more of it on her shirt than she gets in her mouth. She giggles, completely uncaring to how the dampness continues to spread after repeated mishaps. "And I'm like.. seriously? Seriously? Oh em eff gee, I am laughing my fucking ass off so hard here it's sitting on the ground~ Can glasses really seriously crush on someone? I mean, admittedly he is a sum- spumtious- scrumdiddlyumpishous hunk of man meat, but that's like bio-physio-ecto-lectro-logically impossible, I'm preeeeeeetty totes sure."

He's got one hand caught up in her hair, fingers sliding through it with tips rubbing against her scalp like she's supposed to have horns somewhere and he can't quite find them but still doesn't quite care that they're missing. It feels nice, really nice, and she doesn't want him to stop. "Damn, girl," he says, and with her head on his chest, it feels like the words just rumble straight through her to the bone and she tries not to shiver. "Sounds like a setup for a regular motherfucking troll romcom, except without all the black sparks flying past. But hey, give it time, and I bet at least one of those motherfuckers starts to get his hate on with someone else in a real good way, and that's when shit'll start to get really interesting. Pale bro loves that sorta thing, eats it right on up. I bet he'd like to get his motherfucking watch on with them all carrying on like they're in some motherfucking amateur hack, Quadrants Gone Wild, or some shit like that."

She laughs, and this time when she spills more of her drink, she finally notices just how wet the front of her shirt is. How inconvenient! (How opportune.) She pats his knee with her free hand to let him know to ease up on petting her hair, then pushes herself up to sit - and laughs again when the room starts to tilt just a little bit more than it should. "Okay, okay. But see, that's the best part. None of them realize what's going on, and it's aaaaallllll on me me me to give them the first fucking clue that they should actually just say something to each other! It's- it's ridonkulous. Ridiculous! Whatever!"

She knows she probably shouldn't, but she finishes the rest of her glass before putting it on the table. "And! Speaking of this of which we are speaking most fortun- fortit- for- most, oh hell- that we are wont to do in what can only possibly be the most messed up of feeling jams in all of ever, I think it would be either a very good or a very very bad time for me to say that you, sir, are the finest prince charming troll that I ever dreamed of - I mean, with - and possibly maybe more scrum-dumcious than Mr. English, and my shirt is soaking wet, and I kind of really reeeeeeally need to take it off right now, which means this is going to be either incredibly awkward or fucking awesome, and I should also probably shut my drunk self ass up right now before I straight up propros- prop- prosipition- ask you if you'd ever be up for sexytimes, because this is suddenly also totes embarrassing and nowhere near as smooth as I wanted it to be."

During all of that, he just sits there, silent, watching, his carefully painted face a mask against whatever he's really thinking. And, right when it's gotten to the point where she's positive that it's moved on to incredibly awkward, and the flush across her cheeks isn't just from the booze, he just tilts his head to the side and smiles slow and wide and says in that lazy voice that means he's actually feeling good for a change, "I could be all about some 'fucking awesome' sexytimes with a sister."

Oh hell yes.

"Reeeeeeeeeeeally," she asks but doesn't quite ask, feeling a bit more of the giddy-lightheadedness of the dream buzz. And it's great timing. "Yeah, motherfucking reeeeally," he just drawls right back at her, and the way that he fails to mimic her voice breaks the tension and suddenly she's giggling again.

"Well, then, sir, perhaps I shall slip into something more comfortable. Or just into something less. Out of. Not into."

"You mean," he says, running the back of one jagged claw down the side of her face, and this time she can't help but shiver, "Your motherfucking shirt's soaking wet. Better get you outta it before you catch a motherfucking cold. Now ain't that the motherfucking truth."

She turns her head and catches the side of his finger between her teeth, leering perhaps just a bit more than she is grinning. "That is totes obvs the motherfucking truth."