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 KARKAT<3NEPETA

[bloodredbites]

:P Who lasts the longest in the show without falling for a good offer?

PROMPT: TEAM Dave<3Rose<3Terezi

[dragon_bagon]

Magical Girls + The Apocalypse for Nepeta<3Karkat<3Equius<>Nepeta!

Re: FILL: Team Jake<3Jane

[veryberrybunch]

You're welcome and I'm very happy that you like it!

Re: PROMPT: TEAM Eridan<3Feferi

[kimmochi]

omg i have to do this and HI KEN<3

Re: FILL: TEAM Dirk<3Equius

[cest_what]

This is just great *g*

Re: PROMPT: TEAM SOLLUX<3TEREZI

[wallwalker]

Sollux gets back to your room late, at least for him. It's probably pushing eleven when he arrives.

You don't have to ask him if it was a rough night! You can see it in his eyes, behind his silly red-and-blue glasses; you can see it in the way he slumps his shoulders, in the way he limps in through the door to the room you share. You make enough to afford this one-bedroom place, if you're careful; everyone seems to assume that you're a couple because of it, and you guess you are, since no one seems to ask what you're a couple of.

He shuts the door to your room quietly, like he thinks you're already asleep. You know he knows better than that, but that's all right; it's oddly sweet of him to do that, really. You reach over, turn on the lamp and pull off your headphones; maybe it's time to give the music a rest, anyway.

Sollux doesn't say much as he makes his way over to the bed, cursing slightly as he steps on one of your wizard kitty plushes, then immediately muttering an apology and picking it up. Worse than you thought, you immediately realize, and you scoot over and make room in the bed for him.

"Thanks," he mutters as he settles down and takes off his glasses. "You okay, RX?"

"Yeah," you say, only a tiny bit slurred from the alcohol in your system. You didn't have too much to drink that night; it was fairly easy. Your only real project right now is with one of your BFF-sies, and she might be kind of embarrassed about it, but frankly, it's old news for you! "Worried about you."

He snorts. "Whatever," he says, but you hear the exhaustion in his voice. You've heard about the guys he's working with right now, the prima-donna actor and the perfectionist director. He's probably going through hell right about now; it's blackrom porn, and you're still barely sure what that means, but it apparently means a lot more nights when Sollux comes home with fresh bandages that need to be changed. (You do the changing, of course. His telekinetics can do a lot, but you aren't sure you trust them for that, and he has this odd aversion to touching his own bandages.)

He doesn't seem hurt right then, though, just really tired, and you decide not to press the matter any more. "Here," you say, reaching over and turning off the light. No more music - he swears he can hear it, and you'll still have your headphones tomorrow. "C'mon, let's get some sleep."

"Mmm." He snuggles up to you, his grey skin very warm. "Thanks for staying up for me, RX."

"Of course," you say with a grin. "I get cold if you're not here!"

He laughs a bit as he turns his back to you, and you wrap your arm around his chest. You're one of the few people, he says, that he'll trust to sleep at his back, and you've never asked why. You figure he'd tell you if he wanted you to know. "Glad I'm good for something," he says, his familiar lisp dulled with exhaustion.

You don't answer; you know he'll be all right in the morning. You just kiss him on the shoulder, through his black tee-shirt, and settle in for the night, and hope he's not going to have too many bad dreams. He's supposed to sleep in a tank of some sort, but those things are expensive and neither of you make enough to afford one. He says it's easier to sleep when you're holding him, though, and that's something.

You drift off to sleep listening to the quadrupled beating of his heart.

FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<3FEFERI<3SOLLUX<3<ERIDAN

[saccharinesylph]

Once upon a time, there was an honest kingdom. Whether it was cruelty or kindness that brought on this curious trait, the people had forgotten how to lie.

On the edge of this Kingdom, in a castle by the sea, lived a handsome, lonely Prince. The Terrible King and his Pirate Queen were often battling the sea's raging waves, leaving their son to tend to their rivalry, where their lies could flourish. As it happens, the Prince was very vain, and placed in his castle hundreds of golden mirrors, in which he admired himself often. He was a cold and distant monarch, but he was not carved of ice. He did not wander into the towns and villages where his subjects dwelled, for fear that they might tell the truth of his ugliness and ineptitude as monarch.

Perhaps the Prince was the grandest liar of all.

Now, the Prince grew lonely, for his only friends he found were his reflections. So the Prince ordered a companion suitable to be delivered to him. A fair Maiden was brought before her Lord. She was lovely, and gentle, yet stood with the grace of any Empress in the presence of her master. Her lips were the color of the finest oriental jade, and her skin a radiant polished stone. A prince as handsome as himself would require a comparable handmaiden. She would do.

The Maiden, it seemed, was quite adept at needlework, and would spend her warm afternoons curled by the windows with her stitchery. A curious maid indeed, who drank in the rich sunlight instead of shunning it for the safe, cool moons. It could be said that the sun gave her weaving power, for from the end of her needle bloomed rich ribboned roses and winding vines, delicate buds and tiny thorns. When the Prince saw her work, he praised her through the land and sea.

One afternoon, the Prince came to his Maiden and asked for a coat. Not just any coat, he said, the finest glittering silk, with pearls and trim, the color of the deepest peony. Yet instead of leaving her to her work, the Prince sat at the Maiden's feet- no place for a Prince, and watched her work.

As his eyes bobbed with her needle, he asked if she created magic. She reassured him, that while his clothing was certainly something in need of a miracle, that she was preforming no sorcery. The Prince lay his head on her lap. It occurred to the maid that he had not sat to watch the Queen sew by the fire, as she had attended to her own mother's hand. No, the Spideress was not one for settling, even with a wriggler at her fine heeled ankles.

So the Maiden stroked his hair, and removed his heavy crown, and for that twilight by the fire, the Prince was a boy until he last cinders faded.

The Maiden outfitted the Prince with only the most lavish of frocks and capes. He was bedecked in jewels and velvets, and strode before the mirror, turning this way and that to find a new angle of his face. It was quite some time before she realized the Prince was not admiring himself at all.

Each day he would find a new flaw- a new line, a blemish on his face, a pinch of skin on his royal hands. The Prince would rug his cape around him, bury his chin into ermine fur and will the cursed spot away, only to find it had returned in a more obvious place, such as his regal nose. The Maiden watched her master for a long, long time as he picked himself apart before his hundreds of golden mirrors, each reflecting his hundreds of flaws.

That night, the Maiden took to her chambers, and located an item she had brought from her distant oasis home. It was old, which would suit her needs fine. A pinch of polish and a story woven as carefully as her slipstitches would do the trick.

While her Prince sat brooding before his audience of mirrors, The Maiden slipped the treasured item into his ringed hand. It was the size of a biscuit, and shaped like a sun housed inside a set of moons. A bit of fiddling could have led him to break the wretched thing if the Maiden didn't slip it open with her long nails first.

A compact- one of her own, that she used to apply lip rouge with. The mirror was long tarnished into dark flakes. He snapped the bauble shut and demanded an explanation- what good was a mirror if you cannot see yourself in it? Such a terrible tease, what a terrible gift for your Lord!

But the Maiden's hand was patient as she cracked the compact wide again. It is a magic mirror, she told him. You see, it only reflects those who are ugly, so that they may fix themselves.

The Prince peered into the tarnished mirror, his eyes squinting into lines behind his spectacles. It was true- he could not see himself at all! Why then I must be beautiful, he told her. And she reassured him yes, that was how the mirror worked.

It was one of the Kingdom's first true lies, that the Maiden told. Yet to this day, the Prince pacing his palace with his mirror. So long as he cannot see his face in its reflection, the Kingdom shall remain standing. And so long as the Maiden slops grease over its surface, he never shall.

Re: FILL: TEAM Dirk<3Equius

[zoamh]

Swoooooooon! The little details are pitch-perfect and the relationship is so wonderful, ah! Perfect perfect perfect.

Re: FILL: TEAM KARKAT<3NEPETA

[deadkidsclub]

First, I would like to issue a thank you very much! Second, I would like to say: DANG, DAVE and OMG dat Madoka dress. Third, I'm dead. I'm f-ing dead. This is beautiful/completely adorable.

PROMPT: TEAM ALPHA!DAVE<3ALPHA!ROSE

[ex_lionpyh573]

Disaster thriller + stand-up comedy, Sollux♦Aradia.

(q: how is this different from canon? a: shhhh)

Re: FILL: TEAM JOHN<3KARKAT

[chiuchiu]

Ahh this is so beautiful! Thank you so much! ;v; *adores

FILL: TEAM DAVE<3KANAYA<3ROSE

[tobias_fiori]

You are Dirk Strider, you are 16 years old and you are the captain of the school cheerleading team. Your team is the best in the state and has flied through the regionals without breaking a sweat. You plan on tackling the nationals with even more skill, tenacity, and thrilling stunts.

The same cannot be said for your school football team. Cheering for them is, to put it simply, an insult to your squad. Over the years you have watched their performance deteriorate rapidly despite your best efforts to intervene.

At first you figured they just had a lack of Strider discipline and planted your brother into the team at an early age to lend them a hand, but he sits on the bench most games and the last time you watched him practice he was trying to dribble the ball. He may not have the same aptitude for sports as you.

When that plan failed, you went through the trouble of scouting the opponent team to see if they had any weaknesses that could be exploited. You even wrote up a game plan for the coach and considerately slipped it under her door, but she ended up throwing it in the trash (you know because you checked.) Apparently those meatheads don't need advice from a 'mere cheerleader'. Hah.

You obviously need to change tactics.

You have to go straight to the heart of the team.

==> Sink your claws into the quarterback.

Kanaya Maryam. A six foot five powerhouse with the throwing skill of a malfunctioning pitching machine. The ball would probably go farther if she stopped trying to spike it like a volleyball. She transferred in from Alternia High last semester and every sports team on campus was falling over each other trying to recruit her.

"You know they only picked you because you're the tallest person on campus, right?" You catch her as she's leaving the locker room after practice. She shoulders her gym bag and looks around for a second before finally looking down at you. You try not to let it bother you.

"Is That So?" She smiles toothily, a hint of fang pressed against her lower lip. "Well, They Still Chose Me, Did They Not?" Oh, so she's a cocky one. You can work with that.

"Have you ever even completed a pass since the season started?" you ask pointedly, taking a step closer. "Or do you just stand around looking pretty?" That wipes the smirk right off her face. You press on while you still have her attention. "Aren't you tired of losing yet? Or are you content with being second best?"

"Why Are You Here, Strider?" The fact that she knows your name fills your chest with a smug sense of satisfaction.

"I'm here to make you a star." It's not an offer, it's a promise. You hold out your hand to her and she regards it carefully for a moment before reaching out to take it. Her grasp is firm and her hands are cold and sweaty.

"I Hope You Are Not Just All Talk, Because You Do Seem To Talk Quite An Awful Lot." She shakes your hand and you take that as a yes.

==> Training montage.

You don't have time for training montages, the Big Game is tomorrow! Besides, Kanaya is in top physical condition. It's her technique that could use some work. You ask your friend Roxy to take over your captain duties for the day and monopolize every spare moment of Kanaya's time that you can. You have flashcards full of plays to quiz her on between classes and always make sure to keep her on her toes by hiding behind doors and inside closets. You commandeer the anime club's TV during lunch to show her the footage you recorded of the enemy last time you went out scouting. After school, you make her show you her stance and correct her grip on the ball.

"Don't palm that shit. And loosen your grip." You slap the back of her hand lightly and move the ball higher up so that she's gripping it between her long fingers. She bares her teeth at you warningly and you snort. "Save that for tomorrow, sweetheart. Now show me what you got."

You hop off your stool and jog over to the other side of the field, looking over your shoulder to watch. She winds her arm back and waits for you to gain some distance, like a cobra poised to strike, and when she lets it fly it's like poetry in motion. You catch it neatly and cradle it to your chest, stopping in your tracks. Even from this distance you can see the yellow of Kanaya's eyes as they widen in surprise.

You smirk and hold the ball up triumphantly before letting it drop to the ground.

"Touchdown."

You have got this in the fucking bag.

==> Win the Big Game.

You do not win the Big Game. In fact, the exact opposite of winning occurs. Your team loses miserably yet again, just like all the other years you had to witness this trainwreck play. You shouldn't be surprised but you somehow are, so much that you lose focus and end up dropping one of your cheerleaders when Maryam's pass doesn't connect.

Her throw was flawless, of course. What you had forgotten was that the rest of the team couldn't catch a football to save their life. Not to mention some dingus had put Dave Strider on the field as a runningback. The astroturf could have caught on fire and it wouldn't have made this game any worse than it already was. You can barely feel the shame through the numb shock flooding your body.

It's all over.

==> Wallow in your own misery.

You are not sure what happened between the end of the game and sunset, but when you come to you find yourself laying in the middle of the field underneath the stadium lights. You're still in your cheer uniform so you estimate that you must have been wallowing here for more than a few hours. The artificial grass smells like sweaty cleats and body odor and you wonder if you lay here long enough you will just become one with the bits of rubber digging into your arms.

A shadow passes over you, something tall and skinny blocking out the stark white light.

"I Figured You Would Still Be Here." You squint up at the obstruction through your shades and can just barely make out a pair of thin horns.

"Maryam," you address her flatly. "What are you doing out this late?"

"I Could Ask You The Same Thing." She kneels down beside you and you can see that she's already changed out of her uniform, unlike your sorry ass. "I Was Looking For You, By The Way."

"For... me?" You frown, eyebrows furrowing tightly. "What, did you want to come rub salt in the wound? Gonna tell me that I'm all talk and no mhmph-" A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your bitter ranting.

"I Came Here To Thank You," she says. You peel her hand away and sit up quickly.

"But you didn't win." Even saying that out loud makes you wince. It doesn't seem to phase her though.

"I Did Not Expect We Would, To Be Completely Truthful With You. We Are A Pretty Terrible Team."

"But then why are you-" She holds up a finger to silence you and you stop abruptly.

"Thank You, Dirk. For Helping Me And Pushing Me To Better Myself. I Never Really Liked Playing Football, So I Never Put Much Of An Effort Into It. But Knowing That Someone Was Watching Me And Wanting Me To Succeed..." She looks up at the stars for a moment, mulling over her words, until a soft smile finally spreads over her face. "I Had A Lot Of Fun Today, So Thank You For That, Too."

She pushes the hair back from your clammy forehead and presses a kiss there. For once in your life, you are completely without words. Thankfully, you don't need any.

"Let Me Pay You Back With An Impromptu Dinner. You Must Be Starving."

"Wait, wha-" She wraps an arm around you under your armpits and slings you up onto her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When she rises up to her full height you swear you can feel the vertigo.

"Do You Like Hamburgers? Rose Tells Me That The Establishment Down The Street Is Quite Good."

"Uh, I guess, but-"

"Good, Then We Shall Eat There." She starts walking and you are having a hard time processing the situation.

"I didn't agree to this."

"You Did Not Not Agree." She has a point there. You sigh and let yourself hang limply as the two of you leave the field. You figure you deserve a break after the day you've had.

Besides, the view is pretty great. Kanaya has a choice ass.

FILL: TEAM English

[fencesatmidnight]

Note: Some logic errors may be present. Also deviates from canon somewhat. Mentions death and war, obviously. Supporting character death.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The screen of the wonky old television is cracked, and the signal of one of the last known working satellites to orbit the Earth is terrible, but John feels better about the fact that someone is at the station manning that satellite from the Earth anyway. The station's got to be in the rubble of the higher grounds for signals to be sent, and whoever's voluntarily manning that place deserves a medal. So does the ethereal being who decided that the devices to survive the apocalypse be ones with strong connections.

John is mystified when a really, really old Marilyn Monroe film begins to play--Men Prefer Blondes--but he watches anyway, clinging on to every human word. Vriska sits flush against him right in front of the television, blocking the view from the soldiers sitting at a reasonable distance away with her long horns. She's paying more attention to polishing her unloaded rifle than the movie, but she refuses to budge anyway. Vriska only hunkers down when Johns swats at her furiously working hands and pushes her head down to settle on his lap. The room falls silent save for the television and the occasional squeak as a soldier shifts around on the battered sofa. No one says anything as Lorelei bursts into song onscreen. No one has to say anything. They all know that this is just to pass time, a few more minutes until the battle is won or lost, until judgement is delivered and their hardship ended. The hands of the clock they mounted on the wall ticks slowly past, almost as if it were mocking them.

Outside, buildings have crumbled and spare bits of the Condesce's drones are left scattered about the hangar with a partially eroded roof. The Condesce herself was long dead (but that was when they had thousands) and her colonies wiped out, but the sea levels are still rising rapidly and people have either abandoned ship (traitors, every last one of them) or died at the hands of the drones she left behind, set on autopilot to kill anything with a heat signature (and they'd been so, so successful in leaving her legacy of genocide alive).

A noise like copper bowls being smashed together and metal being crushed alerted the survivors in the shelter to the presence of yet another drone. Mutely, the soldiers stand and gather into formation. (there's nothing to say any more, anyway) Three trolls to every two humans, four squads. Highbloods lead the charge and bring up the back, while lowbloods provide the second line of attack. (it used to be effective. Back when they were a real contingent) The drone is huge and red and incredibly noisy, but they don't respond to its unintelligible screaming. (heard it too many times before) Their helmets are on and all they hear is each others' voices and the whirring of their weapons. They march with practiced order and stand to face the metallic monster. Inside, the television finally falls silent. The off button had always required a vicious push to even begin shutting the thing down. Monroe's voice fades as the power finally leaves the device, screen black.

Vriska's humming the tune to Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend as she idly sends a shower of bullets into the worn kneecaps of the old drone. This one's been looking for them for a while and shouldn't be too hard to take down. John sticks close behind, carefully perforating the protective shield of the drone's shoulder with the rest of his squad. The right arm is dislodged after a few rounds of reloading. He tucks the long distance rifle under his arm as he throws an arm around Vriska's shoulders, pulling her back just as the arm crashes to the ground. After a while of heavy fire, the vital operating systems of the drones are detached from its main body and it collapses downwards in a shower of dust and shrapnel. By then the survivors have absconded, watching yet another drone be dismantled at their hands. It's nothing new anymore. When they regroup to check for casualties (John's the first to show emotion that day as he fusses over Vriska) nothing unusual is discovered. Until the man from Squad Three's abdomen armor bleeds a sickly dull orange-red and the trolls recognise his blood as one of the experiments', and not just liquid from the drone. He's obviously not in a state to survive when they strip the armor off him: he's been hiding other wounds and they fester in an ugly mess of flesh.

"Caught me," he says, sadly. "Well it's been a pleasure working with you guys. I got hit real bad. Damn the stupid fish troll, why'd she have to change my blood colour? Do me a favour, buddy, and shoot me now. I'm not going to bleed out and die inhuman." He takes some time to shake the hands of his old comrades before handing his handgun to John. Instead of protesting like he would have a long time ago, John obeys the man's last wishes and pulls the trigger. The last of the Condesce's unsuccessful attempts to establish a blood caste among humans crumples to the ground.

"Well. 'Twas a heroic death," a lowblood troll pipes up, already geared and ready to bury their latest casualty. His squad has him six feet underground soon enough, and Vriska sighs.

"We'll have to rearrange the squad positions," she says, already heading back to the shelter. "Bluh. How annoying." The rest of the survivors don't even reply and they know, everyone knows, that they'll just march right out in the same positions next attack.

That night, curled up together on a thin mattress, John weeps silently for his friend and his bloodied hands. It's not the first time he's done a mercy killing, but he's left discomfited and guilty every time. He isn't even that good a shot. Vriska's cold, but he's long since discarded the idea that warmth is comfort. They lie in a tangle of limbs as they cling to each other (--that was kind of cruel Vriska but it's alright, really).

The next time they're passing time in front of the television, the images flicker more and it's getting easier to turn the thing off. Almost as if it were sentient and could feel tired of being used so much. That's understandable, of course. Time passes slowly when you're just sitting ducks waiting for death.

Re: FILL: TEAM English

[theycallmeruthless]

lfkjslkflfsdlk that was really cute ah GOOD

Thank you so much :D.

PROMPT: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE

[wallwalker]

Gaslight Fantasy + Political Drama, Sollux <3 Feferi <3< Eridan

FILL: TEAM JADE<3KARKAT

[gregariousprotagonist]

TAGS PRESENT: Body Horror
No other Cat 1 tags apply.


You have received the highest blessing of all. Plucked from the uniform masses of New Alternia (for no one was allowed to call it Earth any longer) by Her Imperial Condescension herself and named a test subject.

It wasn’t bad at first. She ordered ridiculous experiments; a list of what he would and would not eat, how far he could run in five minutes, and how long he could tread water. Idiotic things that caused little discomfort
and taught her next nothing. The Batter Witch knew little about humans.

Between experiments, he was allowed to roam free in the wing specially reserved for test subjects. There were no curfews here. No forced recitations of the New Alterian anthem. No weekly cullings to boost morale.
Here, he could talk to the others, regardless of the randomly assigned castes of the surface world. Here, he could openly share the stories that his bro passed on to him about the Earth that was. And here, of course, he could be with her.

Her name was Jade and she was brighter than even the most obnoxious florescent light in the lab. He asked her if she had been named after the beautiful color of her eyes. Unfortunately for his swag, Jade had been a test subject since her second wriggling day, and had never heard of the stone. He fluttered and flailed, trying to save his pride and his compliment, while she sat and listened. Jade was something special.

The tests got worse. How long he could hold his breath? How long he could go without eating? When did lack of sleep start making him hallucinate? By the fourth day, Dave could only see purple and they declared the experiment a success.

Even his freedom began to take a toll. There were less people to share his stories with. Fewer subjects left each day to listen to his jokes or to have rap with. But Jade was always there, smiling and laughing at the appropriate times. Offering sympathy when things got bad. Never letting him forget just how lucky he was to be saved from the surface.

And sometimes, when Dave felt the weight of his freedom crushing down around him Jade would lean in close, whisper three little words, and lighten his burden. He was lucky. They were lucky.

But there are always two sides to the coin. The trolls working on him explained that Her Imperial Condescension had recently discovered that some animals exhibit talents not found in humans. It was her wish to make humanity stronger and he would be one of the first New Humans. It was an honor.

They hooked him up to machines and fed wires through his veins. Wires, scraps, and motors were hooked to his muscles. Changing his shape. Controlling and morphing the very Dave-ness inside of him to something not-quite-Dave at all. And when he felt that he could scream static and weep electricity, they moved on to his skin. They pricked his flesh, covering it with tiny holes and refilling them with feathers. Thousands upon thousands of sharp, dull feathers. Hot, itchy, and permanent.

When that was done, they asked him politely to fly. He failed the test too many times to count. Disappointed, but hopeful, one of the trolls reminded the others that birds have bigger wings and smaller legs. Back to the operating room he went.

When they finally let him leave, enjoy the freedom that was the final gift he would receive, Dave was no longer Dave. He was a feathery monstrosity, whose gait was a combination hover and limp. Something not quite human. Something not quite Dave. He was an almost.

Jade was waiting for him. Sitting at the table they had sat on his first day. Loyal, radiant, and pained.

At first, he thought the look was for him. He thought she was taking in the bloody feathers that covered his body and recoiling in disgust. But, when she forced a smile, he saw that she was not unscathed.

Atop her head were two large white ears. They were sewn on haphazardly, one lopsided and one too far forward on her head. Her own ears, perfect and dark against her tangled hair, were sewn shut with sloppy stitches. They had given her the hearing of a barkbeast.

“I can’t hear anymore,” she said. “They tried to make me stronger but instead they didn’t.”

He replied that they had taken everything but his ineffable cool because no animal had more swag than D. Strider. She blinked at him with her clear Jade eyes.

“I can’t hear you,” she repeated. Dave was ashamed. He mouthed apologies over and over so she knows what an idiot he was.

She said, “I never felt free, Dave. But it was okay when I could talk to you. Now… now they’ve taken everything.”

He shuffled forward, forcing himself to move as gracefully as possibly with his hover limp. Wincing, he grabbed her hands in his and looked her in the eye. Carefully, slowly, he traced the words Jade’s magic
words into her palm with his feathered finger.

You... Have... Me...

She broke down with relief, exhaustion, and pain, pulling him close and burying her head in his feathers. The pain of Jade's solid form reminded him of one thing. While the Batter Witch could take his humanity, take his Dave-ness, and eventually take his life-

She could not take Jade.

Re: FILL: TEAM Dirk<3Equius

[zoamh]

This is so, so wonderful.

FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<3FEFERI<3SOLLUX<3<ERIDAN

[saccharinesylph]

It was not unusual for Nepeta to find strange things tangled in her nets. To be purrfectly honest as a hunter, she preferred to catch her prey from the woods or water by surprise, than leave it to struggle until she returned. Misery tasted bad, she had learned. This evening, though, Nepeta had been away, and hadn't the time nor patience to swipe at her dinner with a tired hand.

She ambled her way down the rocky crags near the mouth of her cave, that yawned open to face the misty sea. Nepeta employed a series of nets and buoys, which she would snatch with a long hook. She didn't want to get her paws wet, after all. The netting was certainly heavier than her normal haul of small sea kippers. Anything leftover could easily be taken to market, she decided.

With a mighty heft, Nepeta drug her prize ashore, harpoon raised to end the wriggling victim's life quickly and humanely. Instead of a pile of smelly fish, a body rolled across her feet, spilling hair and scales and tentacles after it.

It took some figuring to find which end was up. And frankly, Nepeta had lost her appetite at the twitching, pale tentacles. Squids would never be appetizing to her. The suckers always got caught on the inside of her cheek. Nepeta nudged the shape with her boot, attempting to find an throat to cut. The mass of hair lifted what could be described as a head- and then dainty little hands parted the soaking strands.

The girl yiped, scrambling backwards and instinctively angling herself sideways. If she puffed her dark hair, she would even look bigger. Her lips peeled back in a hiss, which was only met by another, equally angry hiss from the thing- only to be followed by a whimper.

She had read about these! Half-human, half fish. But this thing was certainly not all fish, and not all human or anything else she had seen. She had the parts of a fish at the waist to be sure, but a filmy ruffle along the sides of her tail, which fanned out into a spray of tentacles that twisted and wound. Her skin was a soft pink-grey, mottled with dark fuchsia spots that only deepened darker as she panicked.

Nepeta wasn't sure when she had decided IT was a She, and that she was clearly panicked. The big fat tears were certainly an indicator. It was then that Nepeta noticed the thick lashings of rope around her delicate wrists, biting into the soft, scaly texture of her skin. The creature made the most pitiful keening sounds, a set of fins at her ears pinning back in distress.

Before she had time to think that it wasn't the best idea to approach unknown cryptids, she was knelt at the creature's side to slice open her bindings. She laid still, petrified, her gills expanding to their full breadth and heaving shut.

The rough ropes had done plenty of damage. Dumbly Nepeta turned the wronged limbs in her hands, as if running her calloused fingers over the maid's purpled skin would somehow heal the spots. In a flash of tail and hair, the creature slapped the huntress with her heavy tail and bounded awkwardly back into the cold sea.

"W-wait, come back!" Nepeta leaned over the edge of the rocks.

After a moment, a wet head peered up to her through a ring of bubbles. Nepeta gestured with her wrists, then to her eyes. "Let me see?"

The fishgirl was suspicious- but blew a bubble up at her, and offered one- only one- arm up to her, as regally as a princess offering for her hand to be kissed. Nepeta tugged off one bandana and wrapped it snug around her wrist. The girl was making the most curious sounds now, chirruping curiously, trilling.

"Now don't get caught in my nets again, OK? I don't want to eat you!"

The girl watched for a long time, her eyes wide, knowing and her face crooked in a cheerfully sweet, possibly manic grin. She was still, her hair swaying in the tide like seaweed for a few minutes- allowing Nepeta enough time to mentally sketch her, and all her strange features, and pray someone would believe her.

Another flash of tail and the creature was gone, not even leaving a trail behind for her to track. This was why Nepeta hated hunting fish.
The next morning her fellow hunters scoffed as she described her strange catch. Did she grant wishes? Were her bubs huge? Did she sing?

No, she didn't say anything, she just chirped.

Weeks came and went, and as the season changed from fishing to snowshoeing, Nepeta drug her nets ashore so they would not freeze. Wrapped around the buoy was a bright pink bandana, tied in a perfect bow.

PROMPT: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE

[wallwalker]

Socratic Dialogue + Robinsonade/Desert Island story, Karkat <3 Karkat <3< Karkat <> Karkat c3< Karkat/Karkat

I'm sorry
no I'm not
I don't even know anymore

[zoamh]

Oh my god, someone needs to fill this.

PROMPT: TEAM ARADIA<>TAVROS

[miltennious]

Dave<3Jade<3Tavros, atompunk comedy of manners

Re: FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE

[zoamh]

Aah their voices and interaction are so great! Good buddies, best cops. (thank yoooou)

FILL: TEAM AUTO-RESPONDER <3 ROXY

[haydaviebby]

I really liked this prompt and really wanted to write for it.
But when I started writing, I feel like it turned out as word vomit. Hopefully, it's not too far off mark.
I killed my brain to keep it from becoming a sadstuck.
_____________________________________

His legs dangled from the rooftop ledge, only yards from the dark water. Shoulders slumped and hands clutching a small phone tightly, he looked out over the choppy sea and exhaled slowly. He was exhausted. Mind, body, and soul, he was tired. He needed to sleep.

She was just asleep.

She had to be just asleep.

That's why she wasn't answering him, that had to be the reason.

From the corner of his eye he could see the candy red armor of a Crocker Drone he had bested earlier that evening. It was sinking slowly into the inky depths. It was the last one he could see above water and in a few minutes it would be gone from his sight forever. That is until another fleet came, replacing the image in his mind with a new one, to attempt to kill him once more.

There was no moon tonight, so the only light was casting out his windows from inside the apartment. Dirk heard the low chime from his computer through the open window as his phone chimed in tandem. With an anxious glance at the bright screen, he found light blue text rather than the pink he was anticipating hopefully. He ignored Jane as a frown marred his features. He placed the phone on the ledge next to him and with a deep breath Dirk closed his eyes.

If he couldn't check on Roxy here, he would have to use the other resources at his disposal.
Opening his eyes again, he was greeted with the soft hues of purple found only on Derse. Without hesitance he traveled towards the tower where the rogue was supposed to be resting.

She was there. Dirk could count the number of times he had actually found her in the tower on one hand with a few fingers left over.

Time to add another finger to the count.

Roxy's back was to him as he sat on the window sill, contemplating leaving since his worries had been sated. His eyes watched her sleeping form closely for movement, but she was still. Unusually still, especially for the Rogue.

Dirk's feet hit the floor without a sound as he decided to move closer. He hovered at the corner of the bed, weary of any possible tricks he could be walking into. He just needed to see her face before hightailing it out of here.

Just one more step.

He released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

An almost frown played at his best friend's lips in her sleep, but the rest of her face was smooth and relaxed. One hand was splayed out across the silken blankets while the other clutched a small patch of the silk near her chest.

Dirk couldn't help himself as he took another step forward and sunk into the bed just above her slightly bent knees. He shifted awkwardly at being this close to another human being, it wasn't something that he was used to. Relaxing at the remembrance that it was Lalonde and not just any human he was sitting next to, he reached out and lightly grasped her wrist. Letting his thumb trace over the curve of her inner wrist until he found the pulse point, he felt relief as the soft thrumming of her heartbeat could be felt.

He didn't let go as his eyes wandered back to the girl's face.

A slight smile had replaced the almost frown.

"Why can't you just wake up, Lalonde?" Dirk spoke softly, the words sounding alien in his ears.
Roxy Lalonde didn't say anything in response, instead she pulled her wrist from his loose grip and rolled onto her back.

"You're too stubborn for your own good." A smirk graced his own lips as he took the sleeping girl up on her silent offer. Dirk swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back into a pillow.

The hand that gripped the silk tightly had found his own and now grasped it without abandon. Dirk pulled the girl closer to him and rested his other arm at her waist. His lips met the apple of her cheek lightly, something he would deny ever happening, just to cement the fact that she was, indeed, here on Derse and on Earth with him. A soft sigh of content came from the sleeping rogue and his smirk became a smile, matching hers. For now, his dreamself could keep her company.

He was looking at the sea again. It was darker than before, the black of the water blending with the deep navy of the night sky along the horizon. Beside him, the phone light up again. Once again in tandem with the computer’s chiming. He didn’t hurry to pick up the phone.

TG: drik
TG: *dirk
TG: i just had the
TG: WIERDEST DREAM
TG: and
TG: clam your shit
TG: im ok
TG: LMAO
TG: *CLAM

“Lalonde.” Dirk shook his head as he moved from the ledge to begin his trek inside.

She was awake now.

Re: PROMPT: TEAM JAKE<3JANE

[salticidae]

THANK

if only i could fill this

FILL: TEAM ROSE<3ROXY

[welcometoinnsmouth]

(Oh my god, this is way too long and I’m sorry. 2,792 words' worth of gratuitous wangst.)





It's a little past nine-thirty when you spot the girl on the side of the road near Oneonta, hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans, gazing off into the blizzard you’ve been struggling through since nightfall.

Picking anyone up is stupid, you know that, especially at night in the middle of nowhere, but geez, she has to be freezing! It's below zero and she's not wearing a coat, so what kind of person would you be if you just left her there?

A huge jerk, that’s what.

You flash your high-beams to get her attention as you pull your dented (you’re totally going to get the front bumper fixed, you swear, but you just....forget) pickup to a stop, mentally crossing your fingers that the bags you’ve bungee-corded to the bed of your truck don’t shift.

Looking back on it, trying to drive from Philly to Canada might not have been such a great idea.


She studies you for a moment before approaching, washed out in the glare of your headlights. You idly drum your fingers on the steering wheel before rolling down the window and poking your head out into the falling snow.


“Hi! Need a ride?”


“Potentially. Would you happen to be passing Potsdam at any point on your route?” You open your mouth to reply and realize that wow, you have absolutely no idea where that is, so you lean back inside the cab of your pickup, pop the glove compartment, and rummage around until you find the map you picked up three gas stations ago before flicking on the little overhead light to squint at it.


Holy shit that’s a lot of forest.


“It’s north from here, fairly close to the Canadian border,” offers a voice from directly outside your window, and the only thing stopping you from jumping a foot up out of your seat and shrieking like a teakettle is your seatbelt and the knowledge that it’s really rude to scream at people you don’t know, because you definitely didn’t hear her walk up.


Wow, you’re really out of it tonight!


Up close, your possible passenger isn’t threatening at all; just some college-age girl with short blonde hair and huge dark circles under her eyes. So she’s kind of pale and her lips look kind of blue, so what? It’s really cold out tonight, and she’s probably been there a while. Lucky for her you came along or she probably would have frozen to death, and that would have been terrible!


“Ummm,” you say, stalling for time as you scan the map again, “…yeah, actually! I’m headed to Ottawa and it’s right on the way, so I can definitely drop you there if you want.” Cue the Award-Winning Jade Harley Smile, which inevitably charms the ever-loving hell out of its target.


Alas, the young lady outside your window remains profoundly uncharmed. Dang!


No, wait, she’s looking kind of amused – okay, maybe she’s a little charmed. Hypothesis proven! Nobody can totally resist you.


“If you’re offering, I certainly won’t object.”


“It’s not a big deal, really! The door’s unlocked, so c’mon.”


“With pleasure.”


Occupied as you are with shoving your map back into the glove compartment and tossing an empty king-size bag of Doritos into the backseat to make room, you don’t see her cross in front of your headlights, but then the door is open and she’s halfway in, kicking the snow off her shoes against the step up into the cab. It’s kind of a futile gesture; her legs are caked to the knee anyway.

“Geez, how long were you standing there?”


“Long enough. Thanks for stopping.”


“No problem! Anybody else would have done the same thing, right?”


“You’d be surprised.”

She pulls the door shut, and as she buckles herself in you shift into drive, ease your foot down on the gas, and resume your crawl through the driving snow.
Your new passenger settles into her seat, and the both of you sit there in silence for a couple of minutes as the radio plays from where you’ve left it turned down low; Joni Mitchell laments that you love your lovin’, but not like you love your freedom. It’s not really a song you like a whole lot, but it’s better than ‘Hotel California’ which you swear to god plays at least twice an hour on like every classic rock station ever.


(You didn’t know the lyrics by heart before, but you sure do now.)


After a five-song block of Aerosmith, you can’t take it anymore. What’s the point of having a traveling companion if they’re not really companionable?


You clear your throat and say, in the most chipper tone you can muster in the middle of the goddamn night, “So tell me about yourself!”


And she does tell you; she tells you that her name is Rose, that she graduated from Ithaca as an English major, that she came back home in order to avoid paying rent while she wrote her first novel, that said novel has yet to find a publisher, and that in retrospect she probably should have sucked it up and gone with psychology instead, because at least then maybe she might have had actual job prospects.


Then she listens patiently as you kind of accidentally unload your entire life story, like how you decided to get out of New Zealand for a while and see the world because as much as you love it, it’s still an island, and how cool Thailand had been even if people told you that you had this weird accent that made your Thai almost unintelligible (which totally wasn’t true!), and how you kind of had to gesticulate wildly in Latvia in order to communicate, and how in Croatia you just gave up and hired an interpreter because you guess you’re just awful at languages that aren’t English.

And then you realized that you might as well go all the way to the States as long as you were heading west, so you booked a flight over, saw this shitty pickup advertised for sale in the paper you grabbed when you stopped for lunch in Philadelphia, and decided that hey, a road trip across the continent sounds awesome! But that part’s kind of boring, so you just kind of handwave it.


“You’re certainly well-traveled. But why wander the wilds of upstate New York?”


You grin. “Why not wander the wilds of upstate New York?”


“Because it’s a godforsaken wasteland composed mainly of forests and ennui.”


“Well, what if I like forests?”


“What about the ennui?”


“I’m not bored yet.”


“Then I guess I’ll have to be bored enough for the both of us. It’s a crushing burden, but one that I’ll bear without complaint.”


“Because you weren’t complaining just now.”


“How dare you insinuate that I was bitching and moaning. I’m mortally offended. Mortally, I tell you.”


“Oh noooo, I’m so sorry! Can you ever forgive me?”


“Never. Languish in the purgatory of my contempt.”


“Well, shit.”


You pull into the parking lot of a 24-hour convenience store somewhere near Lowville, partly because you need something to keep you awake, and partly because you need to wipe fog from the inside of your windshield and flex feeling back into your numb hands.


That’s weird, though. You could swear you cranked the heat up to blasting—yeah, the dial’s turned all the way to the right. It must be broken, the stupid thing. Come to think of it, you’ve been able to see your breath for a while; Rose must be miserable, but you guess she’s too polite to mention it. Man, you totally feel like a jerk now!


When you glance in her direction, there’s still snow caught in her hair.


Without thinking, you reach over and run your fingers through to clear it out; surprised, she turns to face you at your touch , and as you hastily pull your hand back it brushes the top of her ear and oh man, she really is freezing! You are the worst getaway driver, it’s you.


“Sorry, you kind of had some snow—um, I think the heating died, do you want my coat?”


“I think you need it more than I do. You’re driving, after all. It wouldn’t do for you to shiver us into an accident.”


That doesn’t seem right somehow, but you decide against pressing the issue and opt instead to jerk a thumb in the general direction of the convenience store. “I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you want anything?”


“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Go on, I’m not going anywhere.”


“Okay, I’ll be back in five.”


You slide down out of your seat and slam the door behind you as you make a beeline for the 7-Eleven or whatever the hell it is. Halfway to the entrance, you turn to look back; Rose is leaning her head against the passenger-side window, watching you with what you guess is maybe amusement, and as you squint against the snow she smirks and waggles the fingers of one hand at you in a sarcastic little half-wave. You stick out your tongue in response, and you can see her trying not to actually smile.


Two minutes has you in and out with your coffee and a few quarters in change, and as you start the engine and get back on your way, you contemplate your passenger and realize that something doesn’t quite add up.


“Hey, Rose?”


“Hmm?”


“What were you doing out there when I picked you up?”


“Let’s just say I ran into a little mechanical trouble.”


After an awkward pause, it becomes obvious that she’s not going to elaborate, so you change the topic. “So what’s your novel about?”

“Not what it should be, according to every publisher I’ve submitted it to. Apparently I’m better suited to penning pretentious nonsense about American expatriates swanning about in Paris, or whatever the current trend in literary fiction is.”


“But you didn’t write about that.”

“No.” She stretches, shifting in her seat for a better position. “I didn’t write wizard-centric dark fantasy either, which was what I’d originally intended. Instead, I waxed poetic on how no matter how desperately you defy destiny, it inevitably flips you the bird and has its way with you.”

The window on her side has fogged over again, and she clears it with her sleeve. “My protagonist ended up tearing the universe apart in order to save herself, but it was for naught. My mother despised it. She said it was far too depressing.”

“Well, I’d read it.”


“That makes one of us, I suppose.”


The next hour and a half slips by mostly in comfortable silence broken by the occasional brief bit of banter; you pass through Gouverneur and Canton without fanfare, and as you make your way into the outskirts of Potsdam, the both of you are laughing at your impression of a particularly stuffy TSA officer you’d run afoul of when you landed in Philly.


It takes a few heaving breaths before you can wheeze out a query as to where exactly you should drop Rose off, because she’d never really said where specifically and you don’t want to leave her by the side of the road again (or at all, which is really silly; after all, you hardly know her).


To your surprise, she looks uncertain for a moment, and hesitates before replying. “Actually, I don’t live in Potsdam proper - I really should have told you before I got in the car. Home for me is about forty minutes out of your way, so you can just drop me at a reasonably well-lit street corne—“


You bulldoze through the tail end of her sentence. “That’s no problem at all! I can totally get you there.”


There’s a pause before Rose answers, and you get the sense that she’s choosing her words carefully. “I’d be very grateful if you could do that.”


“Sure, it’s no big deal. You’re going to have to give me directions, though.”


Rose nods, and soon enough you’re creeping your way through the Adirondacks in the middle of the night while really hoping that you don’t hit a moose or anything.




The clock on your dashboard reads 2:16 AM by the time you reach your destination. It’s sort of weird to have this huge postmodern monstrosity of a house plopped down in the middle of nowhere, but you guess there’s no accounting for taste.


(Okay, it’s totally weird.)


You pull up at the end of the driveway, a short distance from what looks like one of those ostentatious family tombs you sometimes see in the South; okay, that definitely ups the weirdness factor. Maybe it’s a family tradition? It’s kind of small for a bunch of people, though. Huh.


Well, whatever. No biggie!


You turn to Rose, raising both eyebrows in polite inquiry. “Want me to drive you to the front door? It’s kind of a hike.”


“It’s okay,” she says. “I can walk from here,” and she nods in the direction of the mausoleum.



Everything clicks then, and your fingers contract into a deathgrip (oh god, that’s too appropriate, that’s way too appropriate) on the wheel.


“You don’t really live here, do you?” you say, deceptively casual.


“No,” she says quietly, “not anymore.”


The tiny “Oh,” you voice in response sounds more like a small animal being squashed underfoot. But what can you really say to that except ask how it happened, and that would be really rude and probably make things worse, and how do you talk about that sort of thing, anyway?



You let your hands drop into your lap as you realize that you’re not as good at this as you’d thought.


The silence lingers for a minute or so; then there comes a jolt up your spine and the strong sensation that you’ve punched through the ice on a frozen pond and plunged your arm in to the elbow, and you look down to see that Rose has taken your hand in hers.


“If you’re wondering how it happened,” she ventures, and thank god, you’re not going to have to try and ask her to explain, “I didn’t decide to throw myself from an appropriately lonely mountain peak in a fit of despair. I was never that sort of person.

Instead of a self-induced backflip off of this mortal coil, I simply became yet another victim of misadventure.

“Out of sheer desperation, I’d driven to Oneonta to pitch my godawful little book to a publisher there. They assured me that it looked promising and that they’d get back to me by next week, and heartened by the miniscule chance of finally getting the blasted thing into print, I set off back towards the revoltingly thriving wilderness of the Adirondacks.”

She shrugs. “Two hours later, I’d skidded on ice in the middle of nowhere, which resulted in my car careening off into the rapidly darkening woods, my back breaking on impact with an extremely robust conifer, and my eventual expiration from exposure. I never made it home.”


“Oh,” you say again in a very small voice, “I’m really sorry.” And you are, really; you don’t think she deserved it at all.


Rose shakes her head, and your hand stings as she runs her thumb over the back of it. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. If anything, it was mine.”


“But you can’t blame yourself for something like that!”


She glances out the window; when she speaks again, soft and faltering, she won’t look at you. “I just wanted to go home.”




The cold creeps up your arm, and the silence stretches on again until Rose says abruptly, “My mother drove by me once.”


“What do you mean, she drove by?”


“She never even slowed down. Either she couldn’t see me, or didn’t want to. The same went for every other passing motorist.”


“Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry…”



“Me too.” She finally tears her gaze from whatever’s outside her window and turns back to face you. “But for whatever it’s worth, I’m glad that you stopped for me.”



“Like I said, it was no problem.” You manage a halfhearted little smile; Rose returns it, and oh fuck, you’re pretty sure that was your heart breaking.



“Thank you,” she murmurs, pulling her hand from yours to brush icy fingers across your cheek, “for both the lift, and for listening.” And then she leans over to kiss you.


Your lips part easily for her, and she tastes of cold and blood and desolation.



She tastes of winter, and when you blink she’s gone.