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 44 of 146

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

No. Thank YOU for opening my eyes to these two. They would make the best moirails. The best.

I'm also glad you think I did it justice, since I'm not entirely confident in my ability to write iterations of Dirk yet. So thanks.

(Warnings for, well, incest, violence, and horror/monsters?)

Sometimes, when they're sitting on the couch,

(the staticy soundtrack to Pokemon HeartGold blaring from Dave's DS, cracked screen and dying speakers,)

(the fan whirring overhead and the thin scrape of Rose's thumb and forefinger between pages,)

just a moment before she turns to him very slightly, blinks once as though waking from a dream, brushes the tip of her tongue against her front teeth, her careful sequence of movements before it's time to say something to him about Nabokov he'll only half understand and only a third want to--

Sometimes Dave feels like there's a flicker, a lurch, a shimmer, a--some sort of something, a weird movement in the corner of his eye where his sister should be, like Rose at rest is just a hologram and there's a lag in loading the next animation and--

Sometimes, when he's in his room, in his bed, when he ignores the powder blue analog clock on his nightstand and checks the time on his phone:

when it reads exactly an hour later than his foggy estimate, and he doesn't know whether to be irritated by his mistake or thankful for the extra sleep:

the door opens and no light pools in, no hint of powder blue walls or pale grey carpet, no aging off-white glow from the hall bathroom light (always left on, they both have shit for night vision), his door opens and he can just barely see a purplish-black hand pushing it open, wrist limp and pressing with misshapen knuckles, as if the bones have been all used up in the forming of a long, long arm, its elbow unsteady and the arm is long enough that from the doorway it can reach out and run its claws from under his jaw all the way down his torso (but where he sees himself ripped open and bleeding he just feels warm sunlight, the bone-deep satisfaction of leaving a cold classroom in March and feeling the fresh spring sun thaw deathly bored limbs)

(And when he wakes again--)

(He doesn't remember but he remembers he doesn't and he remembers to not remember and after enough repeats "remember" really sounds like a word for "penis"--)

When he wakes again in the early morning, dawn light barely barely barely reaching his windowless room:

(what kind of fuckin bedroom has zero windows isnt that like the opposite of jung swayze he'd said and petulantly dropped his suitcase when rooms were assigned; Rose said nothing and maybe hadn't even been there)

There's a soft glow in the hallway and his room is stenciled in cool black and the darkest shade lavender could ever be, and she's in bed next to him with open eyes but he gets the sense that she hasn't--breathed--

Her lips part, and they look black, and her teeth are mother-of-pearl and seem very far away, and that's where his goddamn Spinal Tap shirt has been, what the hell--

"You didn't do the dishes last night," she says, quiet and careful like she's trying to carry her laptop, coffee, and textbook from the breakfast island to the window seat.

"Oh, my god," Dave says and punches the comforter, flips himself as many degrees away from her as he can before it settles back on his aching shoulders. "I'll do them, I don't know, sometime today, just chill."

A long silence stretches; he nearly falls back asleep but she still hasn't actually moved: did her mouth move when she talked? He doesn't know, he can picture it but it's a half-dream instead of a memory, he can't even remember if his eyes are open right now so what does it matter?

(But it does matter because he kind of wonders if she's not real--)

So he punches the comforter again, flops over to face her, brings his knees up so he doesn't roll onto his face and his shin brushes some part of her and it's rough, really rough, almost scaly? Dave looks at her and she smiles, coquettish but real, it creases the corners of her pale eyes and shows her straight and modest teeth. He wants to run his tongue along her teeth, just like she does, what a fucking dorky tic--

"I think I'm too real, actually," Rose says, and this time he definitely sees her mouth moving, her eyes looking into and past his. He shifts a little, his knee brushes her thigh; it feels like poison seeping into his skin, dull and aching and sick.

He blinks. "Huh?"

"Good morning."

"Mmph."

(Sometimes, when he wakes up in the middle of the night,

nothing comes into his room,

and nothing tears open his ribcage or pulls out his tongue with dainty, soothing hands,

and when he wakes up again Rose isn't there.

When he comes down for breakfast, and she's there on her stool with her perfect posture and her skirt fluttering in the cold, wet draft they can't find the source of:

He forgets to wonder who makes their breakfast, or when the two of them started living here, or what happened to the roommates who must have lived in the other bedrooms,

and chooses to huff his morning breath on her hair.)

Kanaya<>Karkat

Star-crossed lovers, lost world

Edited 2012-06-12 04:27 (UTC)

Roxy<3Nepeta
Circus + Shapeshifting

You're one hot motherfucker. You knew that.

You're also getting less hot at a rough rate of one degree per hour because you are dead as shit. Look at you, just lying there. You can see your most gracious self reflected in the shiny wet surface of your liver, because you just gave yourself something from a bottle on the table labeled GIVE HIM THE STICK instead of whatever it is you give people cut open in hospitals.

You're not even a doctor. You just fucking walked in here.

There's juices and things in there, stuff you've never seen before. Maybe you should do something about this, massage your heart or suction something or whatever. Maybe that's what a doctor would do. Maybe that's what you would do, if you were a doctor. If you were a doctor you wouldn't cup your dead bladder like a girl's nascent boob. You wouldn't breathe deeply and smell your own dead guts, shitty and musky and metal. Goddamn.

With your free hand you pull off your own shades and plant them firmly over your left ventricle, your aorta curving up under the arch of the nosepiece like it had been grown in a vat specifically to wear those shades. There are no words for how cool you are in this moment.

You reach in. Both hands. Your guts churn up around your wrists, then your elbows. Further. You lean forward. The tip of your nose slides between two fat curls of intestine.

The hands grasp yours and you pull.

You pull for years, ages, long enough to become a real doctor, cure cancer, retire, and die. You pull harder and you feel your guts stretch around something big. Your dead face rolls to the side, its shades fall off onto the floor, and you can see the ocean reflected in there. Your dead mouth opens and the sound that comes out is the sound of the ocean. You pull.

Hands pull up out of your guts, then arms, then your head, then your shoulders, then you're out.

“Sup,” you say.

“Not much,” you say.

You're both doctors now. Shit yeah.

Zombies + Diaries/journals

Feferi<3Jade

Jane<3UU, fantasy + survival

Dystopia + Hurt/Comfort, Jane<>Dirk

Hope this is alright!

http://miss-doodles.tumblr.com/post/24935765600/oh-no-i-like-how-janes-outfit-came-out-but

How 'bout some Alpha!Dave<3Alpha!Rose, wiiith... the Lost World and Cyberpunk genres?

Road Trip + Friends With Benefits, Terezi<>Dave

Carny life + gore/vore:

Equius <3 Feferi

In the battle,
there is no substitute for
accurate, specific knowledge.

Ignorance is evil and paralytic.

The best intentions
the most sincere motives
ineffective and futile if divorced from adequate knowledge.

she is devoted.
she is determined to do all that a mother may do.
She feeds;
she provides;
she cares, and gives her lovely home.

In the environment of this young girl,
men who specialize in gaining the confidence of little girls
giving them candy
enticing them
molest them.

neglects to give the specific information to a situation,
she will fail in her duty,
all her loving care will count for nothing
when the crisis comes.

There is no substitute for specific knowledge.

the purpose
to give that knowledge.
Some of it is a little technical.
Some of it the everyday needs of life.

the information contained in it is essential to survival.

The statement is frequently heard:
"You cannot trust the Communists"
This is incorrect; you can trust.

They are extremely trustworthy.
trust a cancer cell
the laws of its lawless growth.
trust an armed bank robber
take the money and try to escape.
trust the Communists
act in accordance with the laws of their being.

operate according to clearly defined principles,
both trustworthy and predictable.
continue to believe,
feel and believe as we do,
the movement is,
as Winston Churchill described it,
"a riddle wrapped in an enigma."

movements of the heavenly bodies
mysterious and unpredictable
Copernicus discovered the governing laws.

understand the philosophy,
the unifying purpose
concealed
their frequently chaotic and contradictory conduct is revealed.

Nikita Khrushchev said:
"Anyone who thinks we have forsaken
deceives himself.
That won't happen
till shrimps learn to whistle."
to practice Marxism-Leninism.

Stripped
barest essentials,
Marxism is
the universality of class warfare,
Leninism
the doctrine of the historic role
of the Communist Party

to consummate the universal class war
in world Communist victory.

The basic
is that a state of war exists
and that has been created to win this war.

originally discovered, not declared,

between two classes of society
the proletariat and the bourgeoisie.
The bourgeoisie
class of property ownership,
owns the means of production.
The proletariat
the class of labor.

Between these two classes,
to discover a state of war.
desires profit; desires wages.
go up, come down.
go up, come down.
a fundamental
between these two classes.
This conflict Marx called the class war.

the bourgeoisie is established
created
as an instrument
to oppress and exploit.

the proletariat
creates
manifests itself
With the progress of history,
come to power

The bourgeoisie remains
her associated allies.
Thus transferred from the plane.
fundamental, therefore,
not that they could be at war;
not that they might be at war;
not that they will be at war;

but that they are declared;
universal;
encompasses every aspect;
vestige of truce.

did not choose it;
they simply recognized it.
duty
total and complete victory.

(Source: You Can Trust the Communists, by Frederick Charles Schwartz -- Truly one of the most hilarious propaganda books ever written and I own a hardcover copy of it... it's beautiful.)

Illegitimi non carborundum

It's not until the fifth assassination attempt that it hits you - this is your life now.

You're sitting in the tiny confines of the tour bus, head in your hands, and you can't leave, you can't go out like this.

"Above all, you don't show fear," you remember Dirk telling you. "Don't let the bastards grind you down" and back then it had been funny and now you are remember the look of hate in the man's eyes when he pointed the gun.

The door cracks open. "I'm sorry," you say. "I need to be alone for a few minutes."

"Jane," says Dirk, and steps into the room. "It's just me."

You look up from your hands then, even though your face must be a mess. Dirk won't care though, Dirk won't need you to be photo-op ready, he's seen you at your worst and he's seen you at your best and throughout the whole bitter campaign he's whispered strategies and encouragements in your ear.

"You did a great job out there, Jane," he says. He sits down on the bed next to you. There's just barely enough room. "Showed that impetuous conflagration of hardcore haters what's up."

"Sure," you sniffle. "Fine, I 'showed them what's up,' but dagnabit Dirk, that doesn't matter if I can't keep alive until election day!"

Your voice wavers on the last word. He slips off his shades and puts them aside and you know he can see the fear in your eyes, in the roll of your shoulders.

His eyes remind you of marigolds.

"Hey," he says, and wraps his arms around you. "Hey, come on Jane. You're talking to me here. Your number one advisor, the chess master himself, the grand puppeteer of this whole fucking thing. You'll stay alive. I'll make sure of it."

You let out another choked sob and he just hold you, shushes you gently, plants a kiss to your worried and creased forehead and you don't understand how he is always so goshdarn calm, alway, even when he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

(A sudden recollection of something he said to you when you were still kids - "If you ever need help, Jane. If you're ever in any trouble at all, let me know. Just say the word." The sincerity burned you.)

You bury your head in his shoulder, let him stroke your short choppy hair as you wipe away your tears with his shirt. "You can't pull everybody's strings," you say.

"Watch me," says Dirk.

His hand clenches around a fistful of your blouse and you hear the butterfly hammer of his heart and you hope you won't let him down.

...fuck me, the world is too beautiful right now and I gotta sit down for a bit. THANK YOU

:D I'm glad you like it! <3

Hurt/comfort + Fantasy Dirk<3Psiioniic<3Jake

Sports fable + revenge fantasy:

Tavros <> Gamzee

Oh gosh, this is horrific, yes, but so good.

You're both doctors now. Shit yeah.

oh god why am I laughing so hard

Sollux's two-tone iPhone

absolutely perfect, flawless victory

Oh gosh!! This is all beautiful, but Aradia's stunning.

Yikes, the end parentheses. This is excellent.

The alleyways were quiet. Aradia thought this was a good thing. She had been hired to make them a bit noisier, after all.

The trail led here. Somebody had been smuggling robot parts in from all across the country, and Aradia knew only one person with both means and motive to get a job that big done.

The final train would be coming in today, and the buyer was bound to be there in person. The underground steam train. Best method of transporting black market goods cross country. Also the only method.

Which meant that if a person wanted to make sure that whatever illegally-acquired goods they had ordered got into their hands, they had to be there themselves, or have a regent. And Serket only had so many servants she could mind-control into doing the deed. Honestly, Aradia was shocked that her poor maid hadn't quit; surely all of the blackouts in her memory would have raised her suspicion.

Well, either way, it was Aradia's final chance to catch the woman in the act. Serket knew a mechanic who could provide very extensive documentation showing that she had gotten every bit of machinery through the legal channels. The only to prove she was behind the thefts was to catch her at the drop zone.

The underground was bustling as usual. Aradia recognized a few of the people - mostly ones she'd helped put behind bars. Hopefully dying her signature red mop and donning a fedora was an effective enough disguise to fool them.

Finally, Aradia spotted what she was looking for. A tall, stick-thin, one-armed person walking up to the train. She readied her cuffs, ready for a confrontation.

"Hey! Dick on the station!"

Too ready.

The figure snatched their package from the security bot, then ran with a speed that Aradia had to begrudgingly admit was pretty impressive. Meanwhile, every other customer on the station was reaching for their guns, but Aradia was close enough to the stairwell to make it out unscathed.

"Freeze, Serket!" she screamed at the figure. "I've got you red-handed!"

Those words had never stopped Serket before, and the odds weren't in Aradia's favor this time either. The chase lead the two through every alleyway Aradia could name and a half-dozen that she couldn't - she made a mental note to get a new street map after this.

But finally, Aradia's knowledge of the streets served her well. She had Serket cornered. Aradia pulled out her cuffs and grabbed Serket by the shoulder.

"Vriska Serket, you are under arrest for consorting in theft-" Aradia's voice cuts off in the middle of the usual spiel the minute she realizes that she's been chasing a bot in a hat, wig and coat. It's still holding the goods, though, so at least she can take care of those. Then the bot's torso disconnects and lifts off into the air, headed for its master. On a night cloudier than split-pea soup.

That night, a rich crime maven finally has a new arm installed, and a private detective goes off to the cafe to plan her next move.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 44 of 146

BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

Re: FILL: TEAM [Dirk<3Roxy]

FILL: TEAM SOLLUX<3TEREZI

PROMPT: TEAM JADE<3JOHN<3KARKAT

PROMPT: TEAM Aradia<3Jade

FILL: TEAM KERNELSPRITE

PROMPT: TEAM JADE<3JOHN<3KARKAT

PROMPT: TEAM MEENAH<3<ROXY

PROMPT: TEAM JADE<3JOHN<3KARKAT

FILL: TEAM Tavros<3Vriska

PROMPT: TEAM BRO<3DAD

PROMPT: TEAM JADE<3JOHN<3KARKAT

PROMPT: TEAM Kernelsprite

FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave

FILL: TEAM DAVE<3ROSE<3TEREZI

Re: FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave

Re: FILL: TEAM JOHN<>VRISKA

no subject

PROMPT: TEAM Kernelsprite

Re: FILL: TEAM PARCELPYXIS

Re: FILL: TEAM KERNELSPRITE

Re: FILL: TEAM [Aradia <3 Sollux]

Re: FILL: TEAM JOHN<3DAVESPRITE

Re: FILL: TEAM VRISKA<3TEREZI

Re: FILL: TEAM SOLLUX<3TEREZI

FILL: TEAM JADE<3KANAYA<3ROSE