hso_mods: (Default)
hso_mods ([personal profile] hso_mods) wrote in [community profile] hs_olympics2012-06-10 01:02 am
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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
  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.

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!
shellfishdimes: (bottleship)

FILL (2/3)

[personal profile] shellfishdimes 2012-06-12 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
After that night, you work harder than you've ever worked in your eight sweeps to impress him: you scrub the decks, mop the galley, polish his collection of legendary weapons, shine his boots, get the grit out of his jewellery, file his horns, and do pretty much everything else he asks. He makes you sit on the floor of his cabin in the stern of the ship while he faces away from you, looking out through the huge window onto the sea and dictates to you his memoirs. On other nights, he locks you in the library with a small mountain of scrolls and journals and asks you to copy them out, which you do, painstakingly, until the first light of day shows on the horizon and your eyes start to water.

You keep regular correspondence with Karkat, who pleads with you to go against your natural instincts for once in your life and not be a colossal idiot. He accuses you of having finally lost it, and calls Dualscar a self-obsessed, narcissistic megalomaniac, and then concedes to the fact that you would probably find that attractive, considering how you're growing up to be the same exact moron as your ancestor.

The ship creaks in the day; wind whistles through the portholes at night, and you get up at the crack of dusk to scrub the barnacles off the bow, your bare feet making the wood groan eerily as you walk. Once outside the hive, you make your way to the front of the ship, an empty waste receptacle and a metal scraper in hand. It is low tide, so the ship is fully exposed to the wind, and the barnacles to your mercy. You sigh heavily, sitting on the sand and, arming yourself with the metal tool, get scraping. It's dull and taxing work: after an hour you're hardly rid of half of them. You keep pausing to mop your forehead, and your shirt is stuck to your back with sweat. Frustrated with it, you pull it off your head, taking special care not to catch the fabric on one of your horns.

It takes another thirty minutes for you to notice that Dualscar is sat with his legs swinging from the bowsprit, watching you work. When you realise it, you nearly jump out of your skin, scraping your tool against a barnacle you were trying to remove. The shell cracks, leaving only the fleshy underside. You'll have to scrape it off with your claws. Dualscar laughs at your blunder. Apart from ordering you around, it's all he's been doing: laughing at the mistakes you've made, in that haughty, bored way of his, like he saw them coming.

"How old are you, wiggler?" he shouts down at you. He hasn't called you by your name once.

"I'll be nine in two perigees," you say, standing up. Sand is sticking to your trousers, but you aren't going to bend down and expose your weak spots to him in order to brush it off.

"Will you have anything to contribute to the filial pails?" The question is so forward it makes you blush plum. Dualscar sneers. "I thought not. How do you think I can allow you to call yourself my descendant if you shame me like this? Do you really believe I will allow my bloodline to end with the likes of you?"

"If I have nothing to give to the drone when it comes for me, I'll fight it," you say, clutching the metal scraper tightly in your fist. You expect him to laugh, but all he does is raise his eyebrows at you, regarding you in silence.

"Then you'd better start practicing," he points out.

He jumps down from the bowsprit and makes you spar with him for the first time right there and then. You're on your back after an embarrassingly short time, the skin on your cheek broken by the rings you never see him take off. He lets you get to your feet, and then hits you again, this time landing a punch on the side of your torso, his knuckles scraping against your gills. You clutch at your side, yowling.

"Useless!" he jeers. "Is that how you'll fight a drone?"

"I can fight!" you protest. "I can shoot a gun, give me a gun and I'll show you!"

He grabs you by the throat. He's ridiculously strong, and his grip lifts your feet off the ground. You've never fought an adult before, and you don't think your odds would be very good even if this wasn't one of the best fighters Alternia has seen. Your lungs shut down and redirect your breathing to your gills, which flutter rampantly, struggling to draw the oxygen from the air.

"A drone won't give you enough time to get a gun," sneers Dualscar. "Pathetic!"

"You hide out in a wreck on the beach and bully kids to get a sense of superiority, and you call me pathetic? That's fuckin' rich!" you spit. "Maybe I don't want to uphold our bloodline if I'm descended from such a loser!" Dualscar's sneer cracks at the edges, and then shatters altogether. He roars, throwing you to the ground. Your back collides painfully with the sand, and you clutch at your throat, coughing as the breath returns to your lungs. You see Dualscar storm away and wade into the surf. He jumps into an oncoming wave and disappears under the surface, leaving you alone and bleeding on the beach, your gills smarting, your cheek bleeding and your throat raw from coughing.