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 33 of 146

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"Hey," Meenah says, leaning your elbows on the counter. "Hey! Lady! You in the blue!"

The teller puts on a bright, completely false smile, and trains it on Meenah, who is unsoftened. "How can I help you today?"

"I don't know," Meenah says, fishing out your bag of cash and dropping it on the table, ugh, ugh! You keep a straight face. You agreed to play this straight, and that means malingering, pretending like this whole thing isn't worth your time and like you have no o--"Those pink ones. How much so's I can just cart 'em out of here?"

"They're creosilk," the troll says. "It's eighty a drape."

"Oh, perfect," Meenah says. She tilts your head back at you and puts on a grin that must stretch out your mouth in new and weird ways. "I mean, delightful or whatever. I think I got a hundred and sixty in here. This is just one purse," she confides in the troll. "If you were going to mug me for some reason, you'd get a ton of cash, you hear? I mean, if we got into a fight in the backside of the ship and for some reason I had to bust out this cool strife specibus I have that is almost as a good as a trident--"

"That--is--cheating," you hiss. "The deal was that we would restrict ourselves to banal--"

She tilts your head, and you ball her fists. "Whatever," you say, overpronouncing all the consonants. "Don't krill yourself trying to look tough, fishbait."

That grin again, this time sappy and stupid on top of the teeth. Sufferer, do you look like that? That's atrocious. You are embarrassed for yourself. You can feel her cheeks flush hot, and yours answer, two pinpoint spots of blue that come to the attention of the troll behind the counter, who looks sharply from Meenah to you. "Hey, you're--pretty pink there," she says, slowly. "I--Heiress?"

Meenah rolls her eyes. "Way to go," she says. "This is why I keep my cool all the time."

"Weird blush," you say, in a hurry, and add, "PEASANT," in the general direction of both of them. "I'm obviously violet. If you weren't so imperchinent--"

"Imperchinent!" Meenah hoots, and thwacks your hard-earned cash down on the counter. "Nice one. We'll take it."

"Fine! Do take it! I don't care!" you say. "I'm probably colorblind and I think pink looks really great with green and black carnivorous sofas!"

"I will take it," Meenah says, "because I have opinions about what kind of curtain looks good with a sofa anyway because I'm a huge blowfishhard!"

The teller clears her throat. "Uh," she says. "You forgot tax."

(I think I'll turn this into a proper fic because this is a promising idea. I'll link it when I've written more, but here's a teaser.)

The couple sitting across from you looks normal enough at first glance, though the man is wearing a pair of rather outlandish pointy shades. The woman wears a nice white dress with offset buttons and sips a martini.

They seem to have very different tastes of clothes, but it's nothing too odd.

The odd thing is the case they're giving you.

You lower your pipe. "Let me get this straight," you say slowly, "You want me to solve the murders around town?"

"Have you heard about them?" The young woman leans forward, her eyes focused on you. Her pink eyes are oddly intent and you try not to focus on how nice she smells or how attractive she is, even though her body language makes it plain she's trying to make it obvious. Her husband is right there and you are not the type to go for married women.

"Just what's in the newspapers," you reply through a suddenly dry throat.

"There's a lot more to that," you sense the man's gaze on you behind the shades. His neutral expression twitches ever so slightly into a smirk. "They were found with no evidence of a break in, shrivelled up like goddamn mummies."

"I don't usually deal with murder cases... isn't this a job for the police?"

"They won't find anything," the woman says. "Because it wasn't a person who did it."

"Wasn't-- then what did it?" You're beginning to get a bit unnerved.

"Ghosts," the man leans forward a few inches, his smirk widening.

Two things hit you in that moment.

One is that this couple is a lot stranger than they look.

Two is that you're pretty sure both of them are hitting on you, and you're surprisingly okay with this.

Comic fantasy + military
Dave<3<Jake

At one time, he'd thought the book knew everything. He'd been young, then, impressionable, perhaps a bit naive. His father had still been alive to shelter him from the horrendousness of the rest of the world and beat out of him whatever weaknesses he thought unfit for a prince.

Into The Looking-Glass, the book was called, a beautifully fancy title written in elegantly ornate script. He thought the shiniest bits might be real gold leaf, but it was hard to tell, with the book being as battered as it was. The pages were yellowing and decrepit, the spine worn nearly to pieces, and for a while it was his god.

Whenever he had a question on what sort of decision to make, what policies to enforce, how to deal with double agents and manage spies, he turned to the book. It told him how to earn respect (or fear) and keep it, how to prevent coups, and how to choose the perfect bride.

Speaking of brides, he had been five years old when he'd first met his, a lovely little thing even then with deep purple eyes he could have stared into forever, fiery red hair that flowed about her as some sort of strange overgown, and the cheerfully charming disposition the book said would make her a good queen. He'd loved her as soon as he saw her, but... she'd never loved him in return.

His beloved book told him how to deal with that, of course. Simply take her as his wife and queen with no consideration given to how she felt (he was the king, after all, there wasn't a person who would dare stand in his way), and for a while that worked. It worked until she began hiding herself in her room, snarling at him whenever he so much as approached her, and spilled so much of the royal blood whenever he forced her to bed.

He'd always loved her. She just wouldn't love him back, she'd hated him instead for everything he'd done to her, and maybe there was a chance that that had driven him to drastic measures.

(poor sweet Feferi, she died so young, the prince is simply heartbroken...)

The book doesn't tell him how to deal with an angry, vengeful spirit who no one else can see or hear, who makes his courtiers think he's gone mad for screaming retorts in the middle of the throne room, who causes his life to be just as much of a living hell as he made hers.

And finally, their emotions sync.

As an assassin's knife ends the life of a king deemed unfit to rule, he's finally learned to hate her back.

Mmmmyes. This is a lovely and perfect fill, full of the restrained eroticism that marks such period literature and I just really like this??

oooooooh nice

robot dave * q *

Oh wow. This is just.... I'm having trouble finding words. The journey you've crafted here is so hypnotically enticing.

tattoo + religious art, Dave<3Jade<3John<3Rose

Cyberpunk + Comedy of Manners, Eridan<3<Feferi

Hehehehe. Definitely link me, I'd love to see where this goes!

OH MY GOD.

This is definitely not what I was expecting at all but DAMN, I laughed out loud and the realistic, disgusting, awful horror of it all was perfect. ♥

Dirk <3< Draconian Dignitary

Steampunk Mobster AU

Edited 2012-06-11 18:36 (UTC)

I might've failed at the Fantasy of Manners part, but I tried. ;p

---

Your scythes rip through the throat of another trained prowlbeast, spilling ridiculous amounts of olive blood on the ground. The monster gurgles as it collapses, fur matted with grime and blood and scars, eyes glazing over as it bleeds out.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have been fighting for your life for days. You barely sleep anymore, and it's a good thing that you're better at going without sleep than most of your old friends, because at least there's one silver lining to this whole mess. You were the only one that got caught out of your cohort, at least that you know of, and you can handle this; you trained as a Threshcutioner for most of your life.

"Only one of you will make it out of this alive," the blueblood running this mess had said to the bunch of you, fifty or so scared culling-targets who'd been selected for the games. He'd been so proud and haughty and full of himself, gesturing wildly, but you hadn't been able to keep your eyes off of the silent Subjuggalator who'd stared at you with dead eyes. He was the one who scared the grubsauce out of you, maybe because you could see something of what one of your friends might turn out to be someday in his eyes. "If you are able to prove that you are worthy of your status, you will be permitted to serve Her Imperious Condescension. Fail, and you will die."

You and the rest of the unlucky weirdos had been tossed into this labyrinth and given weapons, and never given the chance to even speak to each other. You hadn't tried; you'd spent most of your time trying to eavesdrop on the guards, not that it had done much for you - the only remotely thing you'd caught was that another fifty trolls were being carted in from somewhere to join you, just to make things more interesting. Not what you'd call good news.

You'd barely seen the rest of them since you'd arrived; you'd gone out of your way to avoid them. You can fight animals easily enough, but you don't think you could kill another poor bastard who just wants to survive. It's cowardly, sure, but maybe you can just outlast everyone else. Maybe -

A hissing sound tips you off, and you manage to throw yourself aside before the slitherfang strikes. It misses you completely, its mouth snapping shut in seeming irritation, and you have just enough time to scramble to your feet before it's facing you again. You've heard about these little fuckers, you think with a sinking feeling. One strike, and then your arm swells up and your body starts rotting black from the inside.

It's about to strike. You lift your scythes, knowing it won't make a lick of difference - the thing is long but skinny, and fast, and there's just not much to hit -

- and before you can do much of anything, the thing's head is neatly bisected by... a chainsaw??

Well, it looks like one, for a second anyway. And the gobs of yellow flesh and blood flying around are certainly convincing. You squeeze your eyes shut, but that doesn't help; you feel the pelting of wet snake flesh and bits of bone striking your face. Somehow it's not as easy as when you do it; the scythes cut fast and kill quick and clean, and this is anything but -

"Karkat," a voice says in your ear, and you're being papped all of a sudden, a very warm hand against your cheek. "Karkat? Are you all right?"

"I... what. What?" You open your eyes. "Kanaya," you say, staring into a pair of shifting rainbow-colored eyes. "No. You're dead, damn it, you're not supposed to be - I wasn't supposed to -"

"Hush, now," she says. "We have to go. It's not safe here."

It's not safe anywhere, you want to say, don't you get that? But you don't; you let yourself be led along by a troll you saw killed sweeps ago, your mind completely on autopilot.

It's at least an hour before she'll answer any of your questions - when the sun has risen, and the two of you are huddling in a cave that probably has a camera or two in it to see who's holing up where during the day. Hopefully they're not going to tell the rest of the poor bastards.

"You should rest, Karkat," Kanaya says. "I am perfectly capable of guarding us until sunset."

"Wait," you say, as she guides you to a conveniently-placed pile of dead leaves. "Can't you tell me... I mean, you're dead. You had a hole in your stomach from that accident -"

"Yes, well," she says, looking ruefully at her pale, glowing skin. "I cannot say that you are entirely wrong."

"Oh," you say. Of course. "Rainbow Drinker, huh? Figures."

"Some would call it poetic." She smiles slightly.

"Yeah, well... did you have to disappear on us? I mean, you won't believe this, but we actually did miss you, you know."

"I was aware of the possibility." She shook her head. "When I first became a Rainbow Drinker, the hunger for blood was very... unpredictable, for lack of better terms. I was afraid that I would lose control and harm someone that I cared about. It took some time before I felt comfortable with my control of my urges, and I was hoping to come back, but I am afraid that things did not happen the way I expected them to."

"Do they fucking ever?" you ask, and a sick laugh bubbles up in your throat. It all made sense, of course. You wish it didn't, but it did. She thought she had it down, and she got careless, and one of the culling drones caught her. They don't care much for dead trolls running around and eating the live ones.

"Karkat," she says, and takes off her ridiculous sash. She wraps it around you as best she can; it's not really wide enough, but it's something. "Sleep. Now."

"Thank you," you say, and relax into a long-needed sleep.

John<3Karkat<3Jade

SPACE + WESTERN I love space westerns

ok so I wound up just kind of. going all Dorian Grey with this, which may be missing the genre mark a bit but I could not resist.

Content includes drug use, incest-y themes, age difference stuff.

--

The boy causes quite a stir when he first arrives in the capital. He looks shockingly familiar, from the sharp crook of his horns to the elegant flare of his fins to the damning blood streak in his hair. People are bound to talk. They are at first relatively discreet, but given the nature of gossip in general and the potency of this rumor in particular, that cannot last. It is a brown-blooded ruffian, himself a constant source of titillation for the aristocrats of the decadent circle, who asks at last: "So, who'd you pail to throw a bastard like little Lord A—, anyway?"

Dualscar smiles, because now he has a name for the boy, and says, "A gentleman doesn't fill and tell." That will of course only make the rumors worse, as Dualscar has a long-standing reputation for being an invert who goes without pails entirely, preferring acts of perversion that stand no chance of siring offspring. Well, let them talk. The only thing worse than being gossiped about is not being gossiped about, and the more his name is linked with young Lord A—'s the more reason the boy will have to come to him.

He lets the anticipation build for most of a perigee before he leaves his calling card at the boy's lodgings, with an invitation to come share a private room in an orphorium den (owned, under an alias, by the fantastically wicked Marquise M—, a lady Dualscar holds in high esteem). If the boy is anything like Dualscar was himself at that age—and by appearances he is very much of that mold—then flattery and appeal to his curiosity will bring him without fail.

Indeed the boy comes, without fail, without even managing to delay his arrival long enough to provoke suspense. He introduces himself by the personal name of Eridan, his eyes wide in the dim light and the violet of his irises still tinged with adolescent gold. Dualscar takes a slow drag from the water pipe, demonstrating the technique, and then offers it to his young double. Even this close, he can see no signs of any other troll's genetic heritage in Eridan's face.

He waits until Eridan has had his first taste of the orphorium, and then asks, "May I inquire after the health of the good Dr. V—?"

Eridan coughs and sputters. "Howw," he says, "I mean, who told you I wwas...." His accent is pure tidewater, as thick as Dualscar's was when he first came to the capital sweeps ago.

"I made an assumption," Dualscar says, "which you've just borne out. I knew he was interested in the properties of the blood, and the possibility of creating life through artificial incubation. The last time I saw him," and here it becomes impossible to resist; Dualscar reaches out to touch the flared and trembling tines of Eridan's nearer fin, "he had not yet managed such a striking success."

"I'm a strikin success, huh," Eridan says, and while he endeavors to look smug there's a brittleness to the expression that provokes a flutter of tenderness in Dualscar's vascular pump.

"You are a marvvel," Dualscar tells him, seized with a fierce and brilliant pride at the idea that this beautiful boy is created of his essence alone.

"An you're a glubbin vvain bastard," Eridan answers, leaning into the touch of Dualscar's fingers.

Dualscar laughs. "How could I not be?" His thumb traces the strong line of Eridan's cheekbone, this very image of himself from sweeps ago. "Wwe're damned handsome, you and I."

He can see a pang of something like regret in Eridan's eyes, and guesses at the reason for it: Dr. V— is an outcaste, living in hiding, planning rebellion. Even when Dualscar was more closely acquainted with him, there was always that tension between personal affection and revolutionary ideal. Eridan must have been sent to the capital for a reason, and likely that reason isn't simply to enjoy its charms.

"Here," Dualscar says, pressing the pipe into Eridan's hand again. "Havve a bit more."

Eridan takes another long pull on the pipe, taking in the sweet orphorium smoke. His pupils shine, dilated wide, his eyelids drooping. "Good stuff," he admits. "Makes you wwant a just drift awway."

Dualscar lounges across the cushions, pulling Eridan down beside him. "Is that all you wwant?" he asks.

"You're fuckin amazin," Eridan whispers. "He told me wwhat to expect but I nevver thought you'd be so...." He shakes his head, the orphorium robbing him of the words.

"Beautiful boy," Dualscar says. Eridan reaches up to touch his scars with shaking, reverent fingers. "Let me adore you." He kisses the pads of Eridan's fingertips. "Let me wworship you." He licks the heart line that crosses Eridan's palm, tasting sweetness and salt.

Dr. V— may have created this boy as an instrument of revolution, but Dualscar knows him down to his very cells. The taste for luxury runs in his rich violet blood, and the need for affection burns in his nerves. Eridan clutches Dualscar's lapels desperately, bringing their lips together, and from the first taste of him Dualscar is certain: this boy is now and forever his.

comic book + impressionism, Davesprite<3Karkat?

Sollux <3 Karkat, art nouveau (a la Mucha) + cyberpunk or steampunk

Aaah this looks so fun!

Post-apocalyptic fantasy + mystery - Jane<3Aranea

Karkat<3Terezi, with Alien Invasion + a Luau.

(OK that last one is not technically a genre but I'm sure somebody can figure out something fun to do with it)

Karkat<3<Karkat<3<Karkat Magical Girl AU + Harem Anime

Sollux<3Nepeta with alien invasion and some tragicomedy, maybe?

Sollux stares blankly at the dark skinned boy in front of him, sizing him up from his bare toes to his untamed hair before he meets the others blue eyes.

“So….you’re trying to tell me that you’re my boyfriend?”

The boy nods.

“From the future?”

Again, he nods.

Sollux scoffs and turns, ready to leave, when the boy shakes his head at him and continues with what he had been telling Sollux prior to the technerd putting him off: “You forgot to add that I’m a god,” he says.

Sollux stops in his path and almost laughs from glee. He’s had enough of a shitty and stressful day, he didn’t need this nutcase making a fool of him on top of it. “Oh, that too, is it? You know, this is getting absurd already. How about you sod off and stop making my day worse than it is?”

The dark haired boy laughs and takes a step closer to him, holding his hands up as if as an sign or forfeit, “I did not mean any insult. I see how you could have thought of that as one, but I only meant the best.”

“Best as in what?” Sollux crosses his arms over his chest.

“To see you before you’ve met me for the first time,” the weird boy shrugs as if he just brought up the most natural of reasons, reaching out his hand to grasp Sollux’s, as if to shake it. To his surprise though, the young man falls onto a knee and raises Sollux’s hand to his lips and stares up at him, winking as he touches his lips to the hand in his.

The whole exchange goes so quickly, that once Sollux has just clasped his hand to his chest, more surprised than offended, the young man has stood, introduced himself as “John, son of the king James. I look forward to meeting you,” turned on his heel and disappeared.

It takes Sollux a few minutes and the tingling of the back of his hand to convince himself that no, he didn’t just hallucinate that, and further proof presents itself to him when the young man he’d seen lands in front of his house in a gust of wind and doesn’t seem to recognize him, yet introduces himself as “John, son of king James. It is a pleasure to meet you, ser Captor.”

Edited (I forgot the title. ... :/) 2012-06-11 18:38 (UTC)

omg this is so cute.

HHAHAHAHHAA OH MY GOD

I have an idea for a fill for this. I'll see what I can do about getting it on paper.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 33 of 146

BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

FILL: TEAM DIRK<3JAKE<3JANE<3ROXY

FILL: TEAM DIRK<3ROXY

PROMPT: TEAM DAVE<3<KARKAT

FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<3<VRISKA

Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3JADE

Re: FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave

Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TAVROS

PROMPT: TEAM KARKAT<3SOLLUX

PROMPT: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE

no subject

Re: FILL TEAM: DAVE<3KANAYA<3ROSE

PROMPT: TEAM DIRK<3JAKE<3JANE<3ROXY

FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE

PROMPT: TEAM DIRK<3JAKE<3JANE<3ROXY

FILL: TEAM Dirk<3Equius

PROMPT: TEAM KARKAT<3SOLLUX

PROMPT: Team Dirk<3Equius

PROMPT: TEAM JANE<3ROXY

PROMPT: TEAM JOHN<3VRISKA

PROMPT: TEAM DIRK<3JAKE<3JANE<3ROXY

PROMPT: TEAM ARADIA<>TAVROS

FILL: TEAM Eridan<>Rose

Re: FILL: TEAM TEREZI<3VRISKA

Re: FILL: TEAM JADE<3KARKAT

Re: PROMPT: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE