BONUS ROUND 1

[hso_mods]

Bonus Round 1

Genre-Mixing

Hey, shippers! Welcome to your very first bonus round proper--we hope you have lots of fun with it! This time around we're going to be asking you to mix it up a little--each fanwork posted for this round will be a mish-mash of two different genres, blended together in a delightful incestuous slurry to create an UNSTOPPABLE CREATIVE CONCOCTION--er. Or. Something.

Yeah, we're genre-mixing. That's what we're doing this round.

Rules

1. Submit prompts! Prompts should consist of two different genres and one ship. This cannot be your team's ship! These are worth 5 points each, for a maximum of 100 points per team.


2. Look through the prompts and fill whichever you like!


3. You may not fill prompts for your ship, nor may you fill your own team's prompts.


4. Fills should be posted as replies to the prompts which they are for, following the format below. They may be any medium.

Title Format
If you are starting a new thread, please use this format in your title.
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP]
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.

If you are filling a prompt, use this format in your title.
FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP]
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.

Posts not using this format in the title will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, no matter what they contain. They, like all comments on the comm, are subject to the Wank Policy.

Scoring
For prompt posts: 5 points each (maximum of 100 per team)

For fills (as stated here):
First 5 entries in each post: 30 (per entry)
Entries 6-10 in each post: 20 (per entry)
Entries 11-15 in each post: 10 (per entry)
Entries 16+ in each post: 5 (per entry)

All scored content must be created/assembled new for this round.

If you have any questions, please ask them at the FAQ post here, or email them to us (homestuck.shipping at gmail). Otherwise, we cannot guarantee that we will see them in a timely fashion!

Comments

FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave

[eremiticantiquarian]

He has lost track of the number of nights he has spent in his pitch prison. In the beginning, he had counted by the times he was fed stale bread and dirty ale. Then he started suspecting that the meals weren't at regular intervals. But he was cut off from the sun, and therefore had no way to track the time in any meaningful manner.

He twists against his shackles, not to get comfortable on the stone slab he is stretched across, but rather yearning to scratch at where the cuffs have dug in and left itching wounds.

Sometimes, he would hear them whispering outside the iron door. The iron door that sealed so tightly not even a stray beam of light could pass through. And he wondered if he was going insane, maybe hearing voices from beyond the grave waiting to greet him, or they were just trying to make him feel that way.

On occasion, he would be unchained and dragged as quickly as possible up numerous winding stairs and into a courtyard. Always midday. And he prayed to the Lord he served to provide him with some means to shield his eyes. Even a blindfold to protect him from the worst of it.

Today seems to be one of those occasions. He tensed as he sensed a club being brought down on his head. A precaution against attempted escapes while they uncuffed him.

Smart of them, he admitted.

His eyes fell shut soon after impact.

When he awoke, he was sprawled face down on the floor of a room. A room, he wondered in his head, and not the courtyard. Today would be one of those days, he concluded with a cynical twist of his lips.

"Open your eyes," bellowed an angry voice, instantly recognized by the prisoner.

He refused.

The man spoke once more, quickly and under his breath, this time in a tongue he understood not. The words of those heathens. The words of his captors.

His hair was grabbed and head flung back. He sprawled backwards on the floor. Eyes opening instinctively, and he lost the first of the day's many battles.

The atmosphere was caliginous; Smoke filled the room and his maladjusted eyes burned and hazed his vision. A single flame flickered from an oil lamp in middle of the room. From his viewpoint, he room itself was empty except for the table holding aloft that lamp, his captor, and himself.

"Are you ready to obey," yelled the dark-skinned man in front of him. "Are you going to willingly submit to me?"

The prisoner rose up to his knees, ankles bound and looks into the jaundiced eyes of his abductor. He spits in his face.

It only earns him a back-handed slap across his face.

The sudden hot breath on his face causes his to flinch away.

"You will crumble before me today, knight."

"I have all the time in the world, saracen."

The man stood, retrieved a harvesting instrument from the table. He watched him walk, hazy in the abrasiveness of even the single flame. The man dropped to his knees to come before him, face nearly touching his.

"But, Sir Strider, do you have enough blood in you to withstand that long?"

And he bit down on the prisoner's bottom lip, drawing blood and chuckling as he pressed the curved blade against the crusader's pale neck.

The knight smiled wickedly.