might as well post wretched bloodporn I wrote for the kink meme
ok so nobody wants to see this probably but I don't have a Dreamwidth or AO3 account and I want to post this somewhere other than tumblr so I am dumping it here!!! it was the first thing I wrote for this fandom, and I am somewhat ashamed of it, but I suspect I would still be ashamed of it if I had written it after other fics.
"In the Depths of Your Despair;" Homestuck; kind of Eridan/Feferi but not really at all; explicit necrophilia
Using his wand feels good like nothing ever has, like there's some incredible force surrounding him and validating him, recognizing him as a prince. He flicks his wrist and points the spindly little piece of wood and the universe lays itself at his feet. When the bright bolt crackles through the air and strikes Feferi through the chest, pierces her like a harpoon with the breadth and weight of a cannonball, he feels a perverse satisfaction welling up in his gut. She's knocked backwards and lands in a puddle of blood, and Eridan could swear he sees the exact moment the life goes out of her eyes.
The next moves he makes are almost reflexive. Kanaya glances at the matriorb, and he aims his wand and cracks the disgusting thing open. She wouldn't have been able to fix things with it anyway. So she charges with her ridiculous lipstick-chainsaw, and with another flourish of his wrist, he sends a beam of light through her abdomen. Her body collapses beside the broken orb, and her blood splatters its undeveloped horns.
Karkat looks like he's paralyzed with fear, standing in the middle of the lab with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He's not a threat. Eridan picks up Feferi's body and absconds through the transportalizer, and he's halfway down the hall before he wonders why the hell he's doing with her. (It.) (Her.)
He lays the body on the floor of his makeshift respiteblock. There's blood drying all over his hands and the front of his shirt, an impossibly regal fuchsia. What little of it hasn't spilled already pools beneath the hole in her chest.
Kneeling next to her, Eridan surveys the damage he's done to the girl he always hoped would be his matesprit. Her chambered vascular organ seems to have burst upon impact; beneath her shirt, he can see where her skin gives way to torn muscle and respiratory sheets. Of course he's seen dead trolls before, but he's never been so entranced by the gore, never thought of bleeding tissue as beautiful.
It's because it's Feferi, not some weak, gullible land-dweller, and she has always been beautiful. He remembers the way her hair would float behind her like a jellyfish's stingers when she swam, the way her laughter bubbled out like music. The way she smiled.
The way she smiled at that gutterblood with his stupid glasses. The way she never smiled at him.
He pulls her goggles from over her eyes, lets them settle around her neck. Her pretty, wide eyes are dull and unfocused, but she still has a faint expression of surprise. She hadn't believed she was going to die. Eridan can hardly believe he killed her.
He has a sudden urge to kiss her, to pretend everything's fine - that it's better than fine, that she's accepted him as her matesprit and wants him to kiss her. So he leans in and presses his lips to hers, licks into her slack mouth. Tastes her blood.
And the instant after he realizes he can't pretend she's alive, can't imagine those cold lips aren't those of a corpse, he realizes he doesn't care. He wants her anyway.
Once he admits to himself that he's been feeling pulses of arousal since the moment his magic (science) beam shattered her ribs, he can't stop himself. He struggles to get her shirt off, has to lift her arms over her head and sweep her hair back, and just being able to move her like that makes him feel incredible. He tosses her blood-soaked shirt aside, lays her arms at her sides, and takes in the beauty in front of him.
She's so pale, he can see the individual veins that her blood hasn't drained out of yet, pink-purple netting just beneath the skin. He traces his fingers down the curves of her waist, presses upwards and rubs her breasts - they're small and so firm, tipped with darker nodes, and he has to dig his nails in, hard enough that it would bruise if she were alive -
And the feel of her flesh is so different, even though she hasn't been dead very long. He's practically lying on her at this point, his face pressed to her neck, smelling her, and he's only holding his chest away from hers so it doesn't get bloodstains on it. But that's absurd, he realizes: Her blood is beautiful, and he deserves to wear it, to take pride in claiming her. He pulls himself against her chest, kisses her cheek, her brow, her gill flap. That would be such a sensitive organ on a living troll, and he can just explore it with his tongue, nip at the edges. She won't mind.
He's so hard it hurts, his bone bulge rubbing against her thigh. Eridan knows the protocols for releasing genetic material outside of copulation between a flushed or caliginous couple, but Alternia is gone, and all the imperial drones are dead, and he does not give a fuck about protocol anymore. He fumbles to take off his pants, and starts to tug off her skirt - and then he realizes he has a unique opportunity before him.
His breathing speeds up as he straddles her chest and crouches, hesitates, then sits on her abdomen, and his weight pushes her digestive organs out a little further into the gaping hole in her torso. He runs his fingers over the ripped skin just below her breasts, strokes down the layers of tissue. There's something there, probably the end of her windpipe, that stretches slightly when he presses two fingers inside and spreads them. He plants his knees on the ground and aims his hips, guides himself forward, and slides in -
And it's so good, so tight and soft and ridged just right, and he's inside her. He's inside Feferi, who used to laugh and make the best fish puns and talk about what she was going to do when she grew up, and every time he thrusts her head bounces just a little, and her eyelids get a tiny bit closer to closing. Her expression looks sensual now, like it might have if they had been consummating their matespritship. But then he wouldn't be able to take her like this, to bury himself in her - and she's so wet, her blood pouring out around his cock when he grabs her breasts -
Then he tangles his hands in her hair and pulls, makes her head lift off the floor, makes her face him. He looks her straight in the eye and impales her, and then he's coming, thrusting in and out rapidly and tugging her face toward his own and hissing something that might have been her name.
When he lifts himself out of her chest cavity and lays her head back on the floor, his genetic material spills out both from the wound and from her mouth, pours into the pool of blood and trickles past her lips. His whole crotch area is covered in her blood, and it'll probably be itchy when it dries. At least it's a lovely color.
Eridan sits back and idly looks over Feferi's body, contemplating his next course of action. There's no hope for the other miserable wretches in the Veil, and maybe there never was, but he's going to find a way to save himself. He can make something good of any situation.
"In the Depths of Your Despair;" Homestuck; kind of Eridan/Feferi but not really at all; explicit necrophilia
Using his wand feels good like nothing ever has, like there's some incredible force surrounding him and validating him, recognizing him as a prince. He flicks his wrist and points the spindly little piece of wood and the universe lays itself at his feet. When the bright bolt crackles through the air and strikes Feferi through the chest, pierces her like a harpoon with the breadth and weight of a cannonball, he feels a perverse satisfaction welling up in his gut. She's knocked backwards and lands in a puddle of blood, and Eridan could swear he sees the exact moment the life goes out of her eyes.
The next moves he makes are almost reflexive. Kanaya glances at the matriorb, and he aims his wand and cracks the disgusting thing open. She wouldn't have been able to fix things with it anyway. So she charges with her ridiculous lipstick-chainsaw, and with another flourish of his wrist, he sends a beam of light through her abdomen. Her body collapses beside the broken orb, and her blood splatters its undeveloped horns.
Karkat looks like he's paralyzed with fear, standing in the middle of the lab with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He's not a threat. Eridan picks up Feferi's body and absconds through the transportalizer, and he's halfway down the hall before he wonders why the hell he's doing with her. (It.) (Her.)
He lays the body on the floor of his makeshift respiteblock. There's blood drying all over his hands and the front of his shirt, an impossibly regal fuchsia. What little of it hasn't spilled already pools beneath the hole in her chest.
Kneeling next to her, Eridan surveys the damage he's done to the girl he always hoped would be his matesprit. Her chambered vascular organ seems to have burst upon impact; beneath her shirt, he can see where her skin gives way to torn muscle and respiratory sheets. Of course he's seen dead trolls before, but he's never been so entranced by the gore, never thought of bleeding tissue as beautiful.
It's because it's Feferi, not some weak, gullible land-dweller, and she has always been beautiful. He remembers the way her hair would float behind her like a jellyfish's stingers when she swam, the way her laughter bubbled out like music. The way she smiled.
The way she smiled at that gutterblood with his stupid glasses. The way she never smiled at him.
He pulls her goggles from over her eyes, lets them settle around her neck. Her pretty, wide eyes are dull and unfocused, but she still has a faint expression of surprise. She hadn't believed she was going to die. Eridan can hardly believe he killed her.
He has a sudden urge to kiss her, to pretend everything's fine - that it's better than fine, that she's accepted him as her matesprit and wants him to kiss her. So he leans in and presses his lips to hers, licks into her slack mouth. Tastes her blood.
And the instant after he realizes he can't pretend she's alive, can't imagine those cold lips aren't those of a corpse, he realizes he doesn't care. He wants her anyway.
Once he admits to himself that he's been feeling pulses of arousal since the moment his magic (science) beam shattered her ribs, he can't stop himself. He struggles to get her shirt off, has to lift her arms over her head and sweep her hair back, and just being able to move her like that makes him feel incredible. He tosses her blood-soaked shirt aside, lays her arms at her sides, and takes in the beauty in front of him.
She's so pale, he can see the individual veins that her blood hasn't drained out of yet, pink-purple netting just beneath the skin. He traces his fingers down the curves of her waist, presses upwards and rubs her breasts - they're small and so firm, tipped with darker nodes, and he has to dig his nails in, hard enough that it would bruise if she were alive -
And the feel of her flesh is so different, even though she hasn't been dead very long. He's practically lying on her at this point, his face pressed to her neck, smelling her, and he's only holding his chest away from hers so it doesn't get bloodstains on it. But that's absurd, he realizes: Her blood is beautiful, and he deserves to wear it, to take pride in claiming her. He pulls himself against her chest, kisses her cheek, her brow, her gill flap. That would be such a sensitive organ on a living troll, and he can just explore it with his tongue, nip at the edges. She won't mind.
He's so hard it hurts, his bone bulge rubbing against her thigh. Eridan knows the protocols for releasing genetic material outside of copulation between a flushed or caliginous couple, but Alternia is gone, and all the imperial drones are dead, and he does not give a fuck about protocol anymore. He fumbles to take off his pants, and starts to tug off her skirt - and then he realizes he has a unique opportunity before him.
His breathing speeds up as he straddles her chest and crouches, hesitates, then sits on her abdomen, and his weight pushes her digestive organs out a little further into the gaping hole in her torso. He runs his fingers over the ripped skin just below her breasts, strokes down the layers of tissue. There's something there, probably the end of her windpipe, that stretches slightly when he presses two fingers inside and spreads them. He plants his knees on the ground and aims his hips, guides himself forward, and slides in -
And it's so good, so tight and soft and ridged just right, and he's inside her. He's inside Feferi, who used to laugh and make the best fish puns and talk about what she was going to do when she grew up, and every time he thrusts her head bounces just a little, and her eyelids get a tiny bit closer to closing. Her expression looks sensual now, like it might have if they had been consummating their matespritship. But then he wouldn't be able to take her like this, to bury himself in her - and she's so wet, her blood pouring out around his cock when he grabs her breasts -
Then he tangles his hands in her hair and pulls, makes her head lift off the floor, makes her face him. He looks her straight in the eye and impales her, and then he's coming, thrusting in and out rapidly and tugging her face toward his own and hissing something that might have been her name.
When he lifts himself out of her chest cavity and lays her head back on the floor, his genetic material spills out both from the wound and from her mouth, pours into the pool of blood and trickles past her lips. His whole crotch area is covered in her blood, and it'll probably be itchy when it dries. At least it's a lovely color.
Eridan sits back and idly looks over Feferi's body, contemplating his next course of action. There's no hope for the other miserable wretches in the Veil, and maybe there never was, but he's going to find a way to save himself. He can make something good of any situation.