hs_olympics | 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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John<3Vriska, Military + Post-Apocalyptic

Edited 2012-06-12 07:54 (UTC)

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

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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.

oh my god

OH MY GOD

i've had this request open in another tab for days just waiting for it to get filled, but i didn't really refresh it until now and WOW, i was NOT disappointed

i love how you were able to paint how death and the apocalypse has already become routine to them and hgnfnssask i just wow neither vriska nor john actually really said anything but uuhghtf

in short I REALLY LOVED IT. A LOT.

BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

PROMPT: TEAM KANAYA<>KARKAT

FILL: TEAM English

not OP