hs_olympics | BONUS ROUND 1

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bonus round

BONUS ROUND 1

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

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.

Look through the prompts and fill whichever you like!

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

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.

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.

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!

Page 145 of 146

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

oh snap it's kind of like i'm filling my own request;

he wonders, aloud.
you touch his leg, sigh, and say
"wouldn't change a thing."

He has his loud yells
Her, laughter to egg him on
It's like his movies.

Edited 2012-06-24 04:03 (UTC)

Half machine these days
Dave still loves like Tav was whole
Nothing holds them back

A prankster's gambit
Proves to earn higher ratings
Than the irony

The fucking sunscreen is gone and you're going to fry.

You didn't want to encounter light but then here you are again. Fucking shitting hell.

And then you feel a cold trickle down the back of your neck, unfold your arms and look up. Okay. So that's where it went. Maybe it's not so awful if Aradia is going to rub that in.

Sorry for length!

Edited 2012-06-24 03:58 (UTC)

There is sand in the
water guns from their tussle.
And then they made out.

Here you are!

---------------
“I’ve got an idea.”

“Nope. Don’t even,” you respond.

“I’m serious.”

“I am too. And I seriously don’t want to hear it.”

“Why the hankering Christ not?”

You lean against your cot, fold your arms behind your head and cross your legs, “Because you don’t have ideas, English. You have extemporaneous bouts of pure idiotic thought that either leads to you nearly being killed, or me having to dedicate my time to saving your ass. And, premium as that ass may be, I ain’t in the mood for nursin’ your shredded ego.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s never happened.”

“I can have AR give you the exact figures.”

“None of that mathematic rigmarole even matters to me,” he says, inspecting a spider web in the corner of the tent. He loses interest quickly and sits on the cot next to you, knees brushing against yours, “Way I see it, we’re only going to be able to succeed at infiltrating their base if someone cuts around the fields while the enemy is distracted.”

“No.”

“But—”

“Fuck no.”

“Dirk!”

“Fuck’s sake,” you sit up and rub at your eyes underneath your shades. You swear your life was a lot more stress free when English was just the hot, vaguely stupid kid behind the computer screen, instead of your roguishly brave but mostly stupid choice-as-fuck boyfriend, “there’s a reason why we’re not attacking from head-on. Their frontlines are filled to the fuckin’ saddle with nothing but overpowered juggalos and seadwellers that make Eridan look like less of an asshole. Just stay put and follow the General’s orders.”

“Since when did you like following orders?” he scoffs. Wind rustles the tent and it’s raining a second later. You look forward to slippery trails and the weakened defenses that tomorrow will bring.

“My sagacity doesn’t extend to all topics, English, as hard as that may be to believe. I have no plans to question someone who clearly knows better than I do.”

“Yet,” he smirks at you. The fucker knows you too well for his own good. You lay back down.

“Whatever.”

“Oh come on, Strider! If intel’s what you want then you’ve got to quit playing by the straight and narrow! That’s how all the best heroes do it! They ride in on pure instinct, guns blazing and throwing caution to the wind! And everything works out alright in the end.”

One day you’ll give up trying to convince Jake that movies aren’t real, “Life doesn’t work that way. Idiots die.”

“Do idiots with sidekicks die?”

You establish a pointed silence before your deadpanned, “Sidekick.”

He laughs loud enough to wake up the entire camp. You cringe. The last thing you need is Vantas sticking his sickle down your throat, yelling about the noise as he drips sopor onto your front.

“We make a crackin’ team, Strider,” and his breath is in your ear. You hadn’t registered he’d moved this close. He hikes your shirt up to your armpits as you cock an eyebrow.

His finger touches your rib, “If the General is leading the troops to attack their base from these highlands,” his finger moves up your ribs, “the Highbloods will crank out their forces from these two directions,” two fingers now, one moving down the center of your chest, the other at the top, “and that leaves them weak and wide open over here,” he’s touching your other rib, “So if we approach the rascals by travelling through the fields,” down your other rib, down, down, down, swirls around your belly button, dips lower, fingers your hair, goddamn it English, back up to the other rib, oh Jake’s still talking, “they’ll be so fucking distracted they won’t be able to tell their heads from their horns! Giving us the perfect opportunity to initiate the most dastardly sneak attack they’ve ever seen!”

You grab a handful of his hair and kiss him hard.

Tomorrow’s not going to be your day.

You and Jake wake up early, forgo your uniforms, pack up your bags and prepare Maplehoof for your impromptu foray into the world of wild guesses and dumb fuckin’ luck. Captor’s already in uniform wiping mud off his shoes. He assesses the situation incorrectly and throws you a look.

“I swear to fucking god if you two are planning on running away—”

“Relax, Captor. Just takin’ my girl here out for a run.”

TT: It seems he’s in an arguing mood today. Good for the Highbloods, bad for you.

You snap the reigns and Maplehoof runs.

Jake hasn’t stopped smiling since last night. He hums and blathers on behind you for the entire duration of the journey. Even when you stop by a lake to wash your face and brush Maplehoof’s mane he comes up with fifty fatuous metaphors for how beautiful the sun’s rays will look when they reflect off his medal of honor. You’re relentless in your sarcastic replies but he knows that you’re full of horseshit.

It’s late afternoon when you get there; the ground is splattered with purple and blue. Jake pulls out his pistols.

“Great blooming fuck, it’s been a day for retreating.”

“Looks like it,” you mutter. Reaching up, you press a button on the side of your shades and zoom in on the Highbloods’ base. They’re still fighting but they’re weak; the high sun is having a debilitating effect (you imagine how your own trolls are doing and think of Vantas in a giant parka). Nevertheless the sun’s going to set in a few hours and your troops will have wisely retreated by then. If you want to have an effect here you’ll have to do something now.

“Dirk, look.”

You close your window and see scum of the universe Equius Fuckin’ Zahhak kneeling in the grass. Blood’s pouring out of an arm wound and there’s a bag of archery supplies slung over his shoulder. A troll’s laying on the ground beneath him—still breathing, higher up than he is, soaking the ground with indigo—and Zahhak reaches into his bag, removes a towel and dabs it on the troll’s face. His equipment falls over with the motion, broken arrows tumbling everywhere.

Another troll runs over towards Zahhak. A seadweller.

“Got my back, Strider?” and then Jake’s off, firing his guns and shouting ridiculously.

“Bang bang, crack crack! You can’t defend yourself from my pistols!”

Zahhak jumps up and dodges laboriously, but it’s easy. He keeps his balance on sturdy legs and moves in a way that reeks of someone who was at the top of his self defense class. Jake grunts in frustration and Zahhak tries his opening.

You flashstep in front of Jake before his punch can hit, effectively blocking it with Lil’ Cal.

“Ah, so the old boy’s in the mood for some fisticuffs? Move aside, Dirk.”

You’re ignoring this as you flash left, right, and fill Zahhak with a face full of puppet ass. Jake wants to protest but he’s distracted by the seadweller, so you’re free to kick Zahhak’s ass in peace. He’s annoyed but his balance is kept. You flash into view with Cal slung around your shoulders and your katana in your hand.

If he recognizes you he doesn’t say anything. He throws a sweeping kick that you dodge, a high punch that misses, and you know that he’s going to block his face so you slice his chest and leave a pretty gash. His fighting style is stiff and predictable so you throw down your sword. With a quick application of punches to various pressure points, you’ve got him down on his knees and finally down on the ground.

You look over at Jake and he’s covered in violet blood. He swallows loud enough for you to hear.

“I should…loot the body or somesuch. He might be carrying treasure or an important doohickey,” he mumbles. No matter how much he boasts Jake will never get used to seeing a dead body.

And that won’t do him no good.

You drag Zahhak away and remind Jake to shoot his injured indigo blooded friend before you leave.

Maplehoof’s great but she’s not great enough to carry you, Jake, and the mammoth of muscle and sweat-saturated testosterone that is Equius Zahhak. Instead you keep the captive on her back as you trudge back to camp at a pace that makes Jake gnash his teeth.

“Do you think we’ll get back in time? They wouldn’t leave without us, right?”

“I doubt it matters much. Especially if the Highbloods have advanced.”

“But you damn well saw what I did back there! There’s no way they’ve managed to pull a fast one on our forces!”

You snort, “These are the Highbloods we’re talking about, Jake. Not some middle school baseball cap gang. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

“Yeah okay, Dirk. I forgot you know everything.”

You lick his cheek, “Damn straight.”

He laughs and pushes you away but he’s still bothered. You sigh, “They won’t leave without us. At this rate we should make it back in less than two days. If they are gone, then we’ll find a way to help, I promise.”

You get a kiss for your consideration and Zahhak accidentally tumbles off Maplehoof’s back.

It’s nighttime. You stop by a small lake, unroll your cot and start a fire. Jake collapses on his stomach and falls asleep easily and your eyes flicker over to Zahhak. He’s slumped against a tree and his breaths are coming too quickly for natural slumber. You flashstep and suddenly you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes remain closed. Oh you’re not playing this game.

“So,” you say, trying not to rouse Jake, “Pretendin’ to be asleep so you can run away when we’re conked out?”

Silent still. You grab his hair and yank.

“Don’t be a coward, Zahhak.”

His eyes open. He sneers at you and your blood boils, “Are you truly operating under the notion that I wouldn’t kill you as soon as I have the chance?”

You keep his eyes. His hair is greasy and it feels gross beneath your fingers but you don’t let go, “Do you remember me?”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

You smirk, “I’d suspected those robots on the field were yours. I had hoped that, even though you’re a twisted piece of shit, you wouldn’t have joined the Highbloods.”

“Extremely sorry to disappoint.”

He reaches up and gently—fucking gently—takes the hand that you have lodged in his hair. One by one he unworks the fingers before slowly—what the fuck—lowering it. You let him remove it about halfway before you shake him off and punch him.

Blood spills out of his mouth and you think he lost another tooth. He gathers himself and rubs his jaw.

“And I assume those machines were yours? The ones with the ludicrous hats emblazoned on the front?”

“Fuck yes.”

“They’re ridiculous and ineffectual.”

“They destroyed the robots of your inferior design.”

“My robotics are and always will be superior to yours, this I believe strongly.”

“Of course you do.”

He glares, “I order you to stop talking to me.”

You send a kick to the side of his head and he groans, eyes popping. He’s always been a bit of a powerhouse but you’ve always been a bit of a badass so injuring Zahhak isn’t a problem for you. Reaching over, you grab his knees and lean in so you’re right in his face.

“Maybe you don’t remember me as well as you thought. Because if you did you’d know that you can’t order me to do nothin’.”

He spits blood in your face and you punch him until he falls unconscious but you’re not stupid.

You caught the way he shivered beneath your hands.

You wake up early and Jake is eager to go. He drags you around and throws all your stuff on top of Maplehoof and you groan and complain because goddamn it you’re a man who doesn’t like his morning rituals to be disrupted.

You leave. Jake’s riding Maplehoof and Zahhak’s in front of you with your sword at his back. Jake tries to pester him into revealing inside information about the Highbloods but he stays silent.

You don’t push him and you don’t help Jake and you’re worried about why.

vriska <3< kanaya
hospital au + the second coming

((that first fill was already perfect but I cannot resist this set of pairings so... here's another?))

An hour or two after lunch, John Egbert finds himself without much work to do and (unsurprisingly) wanders over to the shared office of Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider.

Dave happens (unsurprisingly) to be absent. John sits in Rose's chair, swiveling back and forth idly, as she rummages through one of her file cabinets for some old paper she needs to reference.

“So when’s this report due?” He flips through a stack of papers next to her computer – meeting minutes, a newspaper, another file, some trashy romance novel that, yeah, is definitely unrelated to anything she’s working on.

Shutting the cabinet drawer, she says, “Oh, not for a few days.”

“No rush then?”

“None at all.” She drops the file on her stack and moves to sit on his lap, sliding her arms over his shoulders and grinning down at him.

He wraps one arm around her waist and runs his other hand through her hair. "So you'd be free to go out to dinner tonight?"

"Most certainly."

She leans in to kiss him then, and that's exactly how Dave Strider finds them (unsurprisingly) seven minutes later when he enters his office.

"Oh god dammit."

Neither of them so much as opens an eye to look at him; he sits down heavily in his chair, throwing his meeting notes onto his desk, back-to-back with Rose's. Luckily their computers tend to make their working spaces fairly separate, but Dave can still see them.

"Hey. Romeo and Juliet. This environment ain't exactly conducive to working. Don't make me get all Office Standards Contract on your asses. Pretty sure it says in Article Twenty-Six Subsection Who-The-Hell-Knows that sloppy makeouts are strictly prohibited and punishable by a stapler to the head."

Rose extracts a hand from the collar of John's shirt to flip Dave off, and he frowns, leaning forward to cup his chin in his hands. "All righty then, carry on children. Enjoy sucking face secure in the knowledge that I'm right here. Watching you. Same as every other fucking day. Like some sick voyeur who gets off on dorky office workers kissing in terribly inappropriate places. In fact, hey, if it's getting off you want, I--"

Finally John pulls away, looks (still a little dazed) at Dave, and says, "Ew, dude, that's gross."

Dave leans back and picks up a pen. "Yeah, dude, look who's talking."

Coughing lightly but with no hint of shame, Rose slides off John's lap and opens the file she recently retrieved. "John, I need a photocopy of this page. Would you mind?"

"Yeah sure, no problem," he says, standing up and taking the page. He adjusts his tie slightly and Dave rolls his eyes at the way John and Rose smile at each other before John leaves.

Once the door shuts the room is silent. Rose flips through the file again, closes it, and moves to half-lean against, half-sit on the only uncluttered part of her desk, at the end. "Are you sure you're not mad just because you wish you could be in John's place?"

"Really, Lalonde? Playing the jealousy card? There ain't nothing Egbert has that I want."

She raises an eyebrow, telltale precursor to what is sure to become a lot of psychoanalysis bullshit that Dave doesn't care about, and he stands up to move next to her.

"You're not thinking about switching quadrants on me, are you?"

"No."

"Good, because your mushy, lovey-dovey stuff with Egbert makes me want to throw up. This shit's black."

She smirks and runs a hand up his neck, fingernails leaving faint white marks on his skin. "Just the way I like it."

"You goddamn player." Dave reaches up to remove her hand. "Got a matesprit and a kismesis in the same office. Didn't anyone ever tell you dating your co-workers is trouble?"

"Fuck the rules," she says, and leans up towards him, but then pulls away before their lips meet.

Dave scowls and Rose throws him a smirk over her shoulder as she saunters back to her computer. "Fuckin' tease," he mutters. "What, afraid your boyfriend's gonna walk in on us again?"

"Jealous and bitter. You continually find new ways to make me loathe you."

"Damn straight, I am so on top of my game. Most hateable bastard this side of the watercooler. None of you chumps can even come close to my level of assholery, but you're just enough of a hypocritical, manipulative bitch that you'll have to do."

Dave falls back into his chair, rolling it along the floor just far enough that he can stare at Rose around his computer. She snorts and goes back to work.

When John comes back, Dave is tapping his pen against the side of his desk in a steady rhythm. Rose thanks John for the copy, still warm, and says, "I believe I have two options here. I can either break the pen in two and drive it into his ears, or find an online recording of the hoarse, demonic chanting used to summon Fluthulu and play it full volume."

"Option three," John suggests, "come work in my office so nobody gets killed or fired today."

Rose shrugs, gathers her files, and takes John's hand as he walks back to the door.

"'Work' my ass," Dave mutters, and Rose winks at him before they leave.

"Don't worry, I'll be back to work with you too, dear."

Edited 2012-06-24 04:04 (UTC)

PART TWO:

The sun’s in the middle of the sky when you stop to give Maplehoof a break. Zahhak goes to sit down but you stop him with your sword aimed at his throat.

“You’re a shitty fighter.”

His muscles flex, “That is incorrect. I have bested many tough opponents.”

“You’ve got strength, sure, but your application of it is conventional and uninspired. I kicked your ass back there.”

He bars his teeth, sweat beads at his forehead. “Your language is atrocious.”

“Your subject diversion is atrocious,” you lower the blade, “Stand up and I’ll teach you how the fuck it’s done.”

You think you might have heard him growl, “Do not tell me what to do, human, you and your elementary tactics are beneath me.”

“Stand up,” you demand.

He’s shaking, “I have no need for fighting. My purpose is to build robots for the defense.”

“Stand the fuck up, now.”

You’re not touching him but you feel the shudder that courses through his body. He’s perspiring heavier than before as he obeys your order. Jake comes over, eating an apple that he stole from Maplehoof’s sack.

“Ah, showing the delinquent a little what-for are you, Dirk?”

You ignore him and attack Zahhak. He pulls the same moves that he did yesterday and he’s on the ground in less than a minute.

“Hey guess what, asshole,” you stand over him and place your foot on his throat. He keens. “Self defense classes are great but you’re not supposed to fight like there’s an exam around the fuckin’ corner. Mix it up, surprise me. Or you’ll be on the ground again.”

He grabs your foot and launches you away. You barely save yourself from tumbling to the ground. Jake wants to interfere but you hold up your hand.

He’s better during the next fight but he’s thinking too hard. Not working on instinct. He contemplates his moves, analyzes yours too slowly, winds up on the ground. But this time he hooks his legs around yours and takes you with him when he falls.

The wind is knocked out of you as you land on his chest but you don’t let it show, “I’m getting the feeling that you like being beneath me, Zahhak.”

There’s a noise in the back of his throat that you just barely catch between the rushing in your ears. You grab his hands and pin them above his head.

“Get off me.”

You dig your nails into his skin, “No.”

His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“This is depraved.”

“But you like it like that, don’t you?”

He groans.

“Tell me you like it like that.”

“Strider…?”

You didn’t hear him approach but suddenly Jake’s hand is on your back. His eyes are wide as you stare at each other and he understands more than you’d like him to.

He pulls you off Zahhak and you follow, squeezing his hand when he squeezes yours but entirely ignoring the question in his eyes.

You stop a few more times that day, all of them your fault. You engage Zahhak in surprise battles and he manages to suck a lot less than he did when you first found him. You attempt to get information out of him a few times but he riles you up too much and you find that you can’t retain a levelheaded composure when he’s around. So you make sure to punch him as frequently as possible.

Before you’re about to rest for the night Jake grabs your arm.

“It’s getting out of hand,” he says.

You gnaw at the inside of your mouth, “Be direct, English, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. You always know,” he’s whispering and fuck it all you lean into him. He smiles, “I just… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You blink at the sunset.

You have no fucking clue what you’re doing.

Jake left to search the parameters for potential enemies but you know that’s horseshit. He’s not coming back for awhile. Your heart thuds in your chest as you stare at Zahhak. He’s tense, ready for a battle if you so initiate.

So you do.

But neither of you are really into it so you crash to the ground and bite at his neck until you find his lips.

He submits completely beneath you and your head is spinning.

“Keep your hands above your head.”

He does.

“Tell me how fuckin’ rad my robots are.”

He does.

“Grab my dick.”

He does.

When it’s all over you’re both panting and exhausted and you feel fuckin’ disgusted with yourself. His face reads similarly and he wipes your blood off his chin.

You tell him to leave.

He does.

Jake wakes you up and you’re in the same position that you were in last night. He wets a cloth and dabs it against your swollen lips. You make a point of trying to push him away but it’s fruitless and you end up leaning against him as he kisses your temple.

Maplehoof takes you back to the camp and it’s empty. There’s no blood, no sign of a struggle. It was a willing departure.

Jake looks around like he’s trying to find the Holy Grail. Eventually he stops with his hands on his hips.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to get on their trail lickety-split! It’ll be another adventure, eh Strider?”

You roll your eyes, “Sure thing, babe.”

And there you go. You’re always moving on.

"Whaaaaaaaat are youuuuuuuu," the brunette dragged out, "doing here?" She pushed herself off the sink, dropping her half-smoked cigarette into the drain. "You're a good girl, Kanny. Don'tcha know this isn't the powder room?"

"Well," the taller girl said. She swished away the last hints of smoke with her home-ec folder. She folded it against her chest. "Well. Maybe." She couldn't look at V, at her weird eye and her chunky glasses and her wind-blown hair. How was it even this messy? Her own was neatly tucked under the hairband that matched her skirt and blouse. But she couldn't look, even thought she desperately wanted to. Dear me, she thought. If she did, she'd not leave.

"Maybe what?" Kanaya backed up as Vriska advanced, her scent and spiky nails threateningly close as she placed a hand on the door. Now she was trapped.

"Maybe," she said, her voice closing on each word. "Maybe. I. Want. Something."

Vriska held up a pack of smokes. Her weird eye glinted, and Kanaya shook her head. "That's what I got, Kanny. This isn't a place to be picky."

"You have, um." Kanaya leaned down and kissed the messy tangle. "You have you."

From Haven in a Heartless World: Unraveling a Revolution, Revealing a Relationship

pp.133 Chapter Four: He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune

[...] unclear when they met. Hypotheses abound: perhaps in Hollywood during early discussions of the film adaptations of her novels, at a party on a mutual acquaintance’s yacht, at a private high school known only to the gifted elite, during a sudden rainstorm in upstate New York. One popular pet theory--first put forward, it seems, by an member of one of Mr. Strider’s infamously volatile fan forums with the username “turntechGodmyfansarecredulousassholes”--is that they bonded in childhood, maintaining their friendship across the fifteen hundred-mile distance through first letters, then phone calls and even gifts. This hardly seems likely, though, given Ms. Lalonde’s notable elusiveness and Mr. Strider’s notorious eccentricity. Most scholars now give little credence to what they call the Pen-Pal Fallacy, though the idea refuses to die.

When asked, both director and author avoided comment on their relationship; Mr. Strider only admitted to knowing of her, while Ms. Lalonde said even less, though both were asked multiple times. The following is an transcripted excerpt from a promotional interview for SBaHJ the The Film hosted by renowned journalist Stephenie Meyer.

SM: [...] Maybe we’ll discuss that off the air. [Laughs.] Besides, I’m married.
DS: Don’t worry, it’ll all come back to you eventually. It’s like riding a bicycle: uncomfortable in the crotch regions, a pretty decent cardio workout, and perfect for pissing off everyone around you.
SM: [Laughs again.] What would your girlfriend think if she saw this?
DS: Nah. I keep all my conquests chained up in the crawlspace with a typewriter and some Cheetos. By Day thirty-seven, every page is gold.
SM: Oh, is that the story behind Complacency of the Learned?
DS: Uh.
SM: That’s so romantic.
DS: Wow, okay, hold onto your panties there, Steph.
SM: Come on, admit it. Weren’t you and Ms. Lalonde a thing?
DS: If we were a thing it sure wasn’t a thing anything like the thing that you’re thinking was a thing that could actually happen.
SM: So, yes or no?

pp.134 Haven in a Heartless World

DS: Have you seen her? I could get the same effect by grinding a mirror, but with less freezerburn.

A similar question put to Ms. Lalonde at a book signing in Seattle yielded the following answer:

RL: Who?

[...]

p.312 Haven in a Heartless World

[...] stories about running into them at charity events and A-list parties exploded after their disappearances. Celebrities and Joe Plumbers lunged for the spotlight, drooled over a chance to share in the mythos surrounding two such controversial and, dare I say it, inspiring rebels and social shakers.

One source, a young Disney channel starlet in their time who asked not to be named in this chronicle, claimed to have met Ms. Lalonde at a Hollywood function.

“I was drunk,” he said. “I was sixteen and signed on for a second season, we were gonna shoot in Florida and I was going to have four solo songs on the album, and I was wasted off my ass. And that lady was a fine piece of ass, let me tell you, and she was standing in the corner with a glass of, I don’t know, I don’t even think it had a drop of booze in it, the bartender told me later it was like apple juice or some shit but I don’t know, he ain’t exactly a reliable narrator. You copying all this?”

I reminded him that I had a tape recorder.

“Right, yeah. Anyway, she was standing all by her lonesome, and I’m a friendly guy, right? I didn’t have any dishonorable intentions or anything like that. So I go up to her, and I’m like, ‘Hey,’ and she’s like, well she doesn’t say anything, but she gives me a once-over or something. And you know, she smiles and maybe flutters her eyelashes a little--”

“The bartender’s on record that she rolled her eyes--”

“Yeah, what does he know. I’m telling you that dude was fucking unreliable. Anyway, I’m introducing myself, and along comes Strider,

p.313 Chapter Eight: The ones to catch you when the world lets go

[A photograph of Ms. Lalonde and Mr. Strider in gala attire. They are not looking at one another, but his hand is on her elbow.]

Mr. Strider and Ms. Lalonde at a party in Los Angeles.

p.314 Haven in a Heartless World

and he goes, ‘Didn’t know jailbait was in this year.’

“And she’s like, ‘You know me, Strider, I make my plays in advance.’

“I tell him, ‘Beat it, Bozo, you’re standing in my sun,’ and he gives me this look, like, I know he’s got those shades but like I’ve got this killer instinct, right, and that’s what he is. He was a killer, lady, and I knew it even before he went bananashit on the Presidents.

“Anyway, yeah, he gives me that look, and he’s like, ‘Kid, I think they’re handing out glowsticks downstairs, why don’t you go pick yourself up a nightlight?’

“And of course he’s being a huge asshole and I don’t take that shit from anyone, and I know Lalonde doesn’t think he’s funny, either, so I tell him, ‘Dude, who do you think you are, King Arthur? This ain’t chivalry, it’s fucking sexism, you don’t have to protect her from me.’

“And he just smirks. Like it doesn’t even qualify as that, it’s like one pixel moved in his whole face. ‘You got it all wrong, dude. She doesn’t need my protection from anything. I’m protecting idiots like you from her.’

“And then he just walks off, and she slides her hand in his elbow and they leave like that, and it’s like, man, everyone already knows you’re banging, why you gotta make everyone want to clock you in the douchesmirk, please?”

[...]

p.413 Chapter Twelve: For there is no friend like a sister

[...] Yes. It was the boy, Strider, just sitting out by his lonesome on the roof. I wanted to tell him to get down, it’s not safe up there, but he wouldn’t have heard me. For a whole minute there, I was afraid he was going to jump. We get jumpers sometimes, yes. And he looked--he didn’t look like a jumper, but he looked. Thoughtful, I guess.

“I was going to call the police when I saw the lady come up behind him, and he looked at her over his shoulder. I couldn’t see his eyes, of course. Nobody’s ever seen them. But as old as I am, you know, you get to know some things. He was sad. And they didn’t notice me, neither of them. Nobody notices the old people.

“‘I bought him a chair,’ he said. Just like that, none of those weird things he says on the T.V. sometimes, just quiet and gentle and sad. ‘I bought him a chair. Put it together myself. With a screwdriver.’

“And that girl, she just knelt right there in her pretty dress and everything, and there’s pigeon droppings all over the roof, and she puts her arms around that boy’s shoulders and rubs his back and whispers to him, and you know? I think he was crying. Because he hugged her back, too.

“I never seen anything so sad in my life. I went home and held my wife and kids and never told a soul.”

oh my goodness you're amazing

you steal a quick glance
the time lurks inside her eyes
the cogs, churn around.

at his right shoulder
you stand, ever loyal
your heir smiles at you

It's not adventure
to get hit in the glasses
with Jake's volleyball

geez, dave is always
so clingy and huggy, but
i like him this way.

One word, viva. It’s like a little revolution if you say it right. Listen how it charges the air. It’s more electric than electricity. It’s light. It’s free. It twists around your veins; the heat ebbs and flows and wraps like a stronghold. Hold on - the ride’s just starting, you tell him when he tells you that he honestly doesn't know if he can hold on much longer, that he's tired of everything and doesn't want to be angry anymore and-

You tell him to just jump to the roof and shout sometime.

He is you true heir
You, his loyal knight at side
Together all time.

Edited 2012-06-24 04:01 (UTC)

You look back at him
Time and Breath are at your sides
Victory is yours

Edited 2012-06-24 04:00 (UTC)

Coolkid and the dork
Gentle kisses together
Laughs ring in the air

Edited 2012-06-24 04:01 (UTC)

Ok, I hope it still counts :-0

I'm not even sure comments are still open and if not I'll see if this is elsewhere but my god this so wonderful and I want to thank you for writing this.

Oh gosh, thank you! It is actually up here on AO3 for people's convenience, though I think it actually looks nicer here.

dang kanaya you look fierce

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BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

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