srs2013 | Bonus Round 2

srs2013

Bonus Round 1 is now closed, and Bonus Round 2 is now open!

This round, the theme is holidays/special occasions.

If you have an idea for something you'd like to see, please leave the ship, a holiday/special occasion, and any other details as a PROMPT below. After you've posted, read through everyone else's prompts, and leave a FILL for any which catch your eye. Fills can be in any media, and they need not be long, but please put a little effort in--if anyone starts spamming this post for points, we'll be able to tell.

You should place PROMPT/FILL, your current team affiliation and a brief summary in the comment title. Do not forget to change the title of the comment when posting a FILL as a reply to a PROMPT. NSFW prompts and fills should mention this in the summary or at the top of the post. Reminder that team names must be in alphabetical order (ie. Balthazar/Death, not Death/Balthazar) and that portmanteaus (ie. Lubriel, Annaby) are not allowed when identifying team affiliation.

You will be awarded five points per prompt for the first five prompts you leave. The first three fills posted for each prompt will receive 15 points, the next three 10 points, and the next three 5 points. Prompts with ten or more fills will no longer receive fill points.

Bonus rounds are still rarepair only, but you can post prompts or fills for any rare ship this round, including gen/platonic ones (which should be indicated with an & as above). Due to some unforeseen complication from last round, we have changed the rules. It is now 15 points per fill for the first three fills by three different people. So if someone does a fic for Fill 1 and a fanmix for Fill 2, then get 15 + 10 points, and then Person 2 does a fill and Person 3 does a fill, so even though those would be fills 3 and 4, they count as 15 and 15 points since they're fills by new people. You are still not permitted to fill your own prompt. We also encourage people not to fill prompts from their teammates, although the points will not be deducted if you do.

Bonus round fills can include links provided they are publicly viewable. Works can also be cross-posted to other websites, as there is no anonymity requirement in bonus rounds. However, works posted directly to comments will be limited to 16,000 characters by the Dreamwidth comment limit. Longer works should therefore be divided between multiple comments.

Remember, Team Chuck can participate in bonus rounds, and if you change teams, points earned will transfer with you until the end of the team shuffle period.

This round is now closed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

horizonevent

Someone figures out Death's (supposed) birthday and starts a road trip to find Death and wish him a happy birthday! Even immortal beings like to celebrate being 'born' right?

- Scenario can start with actually finding Death, any person or pairing applicable.
- Scenario can be as crack/OOC as you like. But I would like Death to stay Death, thanks. (so no AU's with Death not being the horseman or leader of the reapers, etc.)

From:

thedahlingdarling

Because no one looks as thrilled in a party hat as death

http://thedahlingdarling.tumblr.com/post/63622061115

From:

mllenightingale

I admit to shamelessly shipping SPN!verse God [ God!Chuck or just God ] and Death.

Therefore, this happened. I'm not sure if this can be considered crack, but it's probably a lot more serious in the beginning than you meant it to be, so whoops.

—

It’s what one might call tradition, albeit a long-neglected one — the fault of no other but Himself, He admits. He’s squirrelled Himself away in a multitude of mortal bodies through the years, sealing off the bank of eternal knowledge that is omniscience in favour of leading each new life in blissful ignorance.

It had been a cowardly escape, to be sure, but He’d forgotten the meaning of honour the day He’d cast His most-loved son out and sentenced him to eventual death.

(In the moments of clarity between His bouts of imitating humanity, He lamented over all that had passed; it was far beyond what limited meddling He’d allow Himself, though, to reach into the past and correct where He had transgressed agains His children.)

What had driven Him to — still in the guise of a human, His own prophet — mount transport and seek out His age-old associate was a scrambled medley of recent events that could be aptly summed up in the name of Winchester. Fated to lose themselves in an apocalyptic clash of corrupt grace and glory, they’d instead circumvented His ill-plotted plan.

Free will reigned victorious.

Humanity continued on — living, shrouded beneath euphoric obliviousness.

And in the tumultuous process, Death (power confined, role diminished to that of a mere instrumental “Horseman” of young deities’ holocaust) shrugged off Lucifer’s shackles and was unbound.

The weary growl of a fickle engine serves as a more immediate reminder of His current situation, as it jolts Chuck Shurley out from further reminiscing of His grandiose celestial character. In that brief moment, frustration at the vehicle’s refusal to operate in any degree of quiet overrides any grander awareness of the universe at large.

Then a barely-tangible desire silences the rickety machine, healing over markings of rust and time, and He again remembers.

The disconcerting mental pendulum swing from Chuck Shurley, semi-famous author and occasional prophet of the Lord to God, omniscient and omnipotent being revered by billions continued on for the remaining few hours it cost Him to drive — with minimal supernatural assistance — up to the rather cozy set of cottages, one of which He knew of as a favoured residence of Death. There’s an inaudible click as the two identities finally seem to fall in neat alignment each other, just as gravel crunches arrhythmically beneath whirring tires in illustrative background percussion.

That Death — dressed perpetually in that dark-haired, gaunt, suit-garbed form —stood already in some approximation of a welcome greeting came as little surprise.

A tense pause, as both parties consider an appropriate opening statement, then— “Happy birthday.” There’s a light, friendly lilt to His voice when He speaks up, meant to peel away a layer of the suspicious unease that dwells between them. Death, of course, is impassive as always, expression twisted in an indecipherable mask of slight disapproval.

“I’m surprised you came.” It borders on a lie, or at least hyperbole; surprises are nigh impossible when a multiverse of infinite possibilities uncataloguable to a human mind can be easily read and remembered in a matter of moments.

“Well, yes, I’m… sorry about that.” Sorry. A collection of impermanent soundwaves, four characters arranged in a five-letter word of the English language, stuttered in a timeframe of less than a second. “It slipped to the back of my mind— I forgot for a bit.”

“You ran off.” Not an accusation but a declaration of fact; He doesn’t deny it. “Realizing you weren’t going to cancel your dear son’s plans was disappointing.” And there, then, was the accusation.

“Stupid, I know,” then, again, “sorry.”

“You’ve been impersonating your precious humans again.” Another observation. “Annoying things, arrogant as your last creations.”

“I’m not ashamed of that— the running away, maybe, but not that. It’s… refreshing. You should try it sometime.” The last part is added with a trace of a smile, fully knowing that the thought was, to his companion, insufferable.

“Not unless time steals away my sanity, but I will be sure to let you know if that happens.” He seems to sink into consideration of some other matter, and Chuck’s— God’s— nervous diction quickly cuts in.

“Can I come in? That is— are you going to turn me away at the doorstep? That is what you’d call impolite, isn’t it. I did come all this way…”

Death’s gaze briefly skirts over the metallic scrapheap parked haphazardly across the narrow driveway, before stepping back into the quaint stone-and-wood establishment. It’s as clear an invitation as any, and He follows his footsteps in.

“I brought you a cake. And fries, pizza—” The forementioned foodstuffs materialize on a small table, grease-stained cardboard packages neatly stacked one over the other. A slight quirk of the lips betrays amusement in Death as he looks on; to describe Him as having brought the meal was a relatively inaccurate claim, not that semantics were of much concern to either of the two.

“Much obliged.”

“And,” a hesitant laugh introduced His next pronouncement, “a few decorations.” Tacky, inexpensive party decorations suddenly lined the lines between wall and ceiling, ribbons and streamers dangling mere inches above them. From the air around His own head sprouted a brightly-coloured cone-shaped paper hat, the new weight on Death’s skin suggesting to him that he now wore a similar accessory.

“Your standards for décor run much lower than mine.” There was a hint of mirth in the deadpan comment; distinguishing the once-familiar sentiment, He appeared to relax visibly, some degree of confidence granted by this subtle show of acceptance.

“Just a few hours. Tear it all down afterwards, if you want. But it’s your birthday— we really should celebrate.”

And there it was. Truce. Discussions, quarrels, further apologies would be addressed soon after; that was guaranteed now that communication between them had been reestablished.

But for the moment, it was time for their little tradition to be resuscitated and carried on once more. It was time to celebrate Death’s birthday.

Edited Date: 2013-10-12 05:37 am (UTC)

From:

fatalchild

There were very few things about humanity that Death liked. For the most part, he found God’s chosen beings to be rude and self-important and annoying, but there was one thing. Oh, and it was a small thing, such a quaint triviality that even the horseman couldn’t help himself but indulge. Food; it was the food. The modern era had seen the production of processed food, potentially chemical laden and laced with fats and sugars that made it so energy dense, even if that was a form of energy that humans burnt off quickly. Also, it tasted marvelous, regardless of the complete nutritional deficiency. Perhaps that was part of the fun. Greasy, gooey, sugary pleasure for its own sake. That was why Death was so initially pleased when, in taking a brief reprieve on Earth, he returned to one of the dilapidated old buildings he had claimed as a hideout and found the room set up with a small table topped with a grease stained paper bag. The mere hint of a smile fell when he saw the cake though, and Death’s irritation reached new heights when logic caught up with the smell of the food. If he was correct in his analysis, which he often was, the display before him meant two things: someone knew it was the anniversary of his creation and that someone had managed to get past all the protections he had put around his pseudo-home. Someone would be reaped, he decided, cane clicking against the floor as he crossed to inspect the room. The food was still warm, wrapped in layers of heavy foil to keep it so, and he was considering eating it when he heard the door click behind him. He spun around, face twisting into a snarl when he saw the man stepping through.

“You,” Death hissed.

Lucifer looked up, blue eyes blinking placidly as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Oh. You’re here.”

“Of course I am here. This is my place. How dare you intrude. How did you even… What’s in your hand…?”

Lucifer grinned broadly, sincerely proud of himself, and for that moment, Death couldn’t help but see something boyish in his demeanor. Lucifer was, after all, simply a child to him.

“Candles.”

“Candles?”

“Yes…?” Lucifer’s face fell. “Is that wrong? I swore that was the tradition. I obviously can’t put the proper number on there, not that I’m really sure what the proper number is, but as a symbolic gesture…”

“How did you even get here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this entire area is warded. No angel should be able to fly--”

Lucifer nodded, fishing around in his jacket pocket until he produced the small set of keys, which he jingled in an explanation.

Death squinted at him, eyes narrowed into curious slits. “You drove?”

A soft, airy laugh rose in Lucifer’s throat. “I can drive,” he said, stepping over to the table and unwrapping the package of colourful candles, examining the cake to determine the best arrangement.

“Well?”

“Well…?”

Death pursed his lips. “This is your plan? Some magical concoction in the food that will… do what, exactly? Debilitate me? Make me easier to wrangle so that you can--”

“It’s just food,” Lucifer said softly, brows drawing together in a sad little frown. “I don’t think cake does anything like that, not unless you have a particular problem with sugar, neither do fried potatoes and a hamburger. I don’t think… I mean--”

“What are you going on about?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never had one, so--”

“What do you mean you’ve never had one?”

Lucifer shrugged. “I’ve never had a hamburger… or a french fry… or cake.”

Death watched him warily for a moment before he sat down at the table. He opened the paper bag, finding all the food still wrapped up from where Lucifer had apparently purchased it. If not for Lucifer’s confession, Death might have said that he had good taste, but as it was, he’d simply gotten lucky with his selection. Death gave a small, permissive handwave towards the opposite chair, and Lucifer sat down quietly, candles still held in his hand. He tilted his head, looking over the way Death laid out the food with an almost innocent curiosity. He’d never seen people eat.

“How about soda?”

Lucifer looked confused, turning his gaze towards the large plastic cup that was quite prominent in the set up. “It’s right there…”

“I can see that. Have you ever had soda?”

“Oh.” He shook his head. “No.”

Death nodded, pulling the lid off one side of the cup and pushing it across the table. “Drink,” he said.

Lucifer did, nose crinkling at the carbonation that rose up in tiny popping bubbles.

“Well?” Death asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Well… what?”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s sweet.”

“That it is, but I asked whether you liked it.”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. Do I have to decide that now, having only had it the one time?”

“No… I suppose not.” Death sat back with a heavy sigh, dunking a french fry in a heap of ketchup before crushing it between his teeth. “So do you want to tell me what all this is about…?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Perhaps, but the question stands.”

“I thought it was a nice tradition… this idea that people just celebrate something like that.”

“Something like…?”

“Just the fact that another person exists. An entire day devoted to just celebrating someone being alive…”

Lucifer looked down then, and Death frowned. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the boy looked sad. He chided himself inwardly for that. Boy. This was no boy. This was Lucifer. This was the spoiled brat of an archangel who was going to tear the world apart on a whim. This was Satan, the Devil, the great destroyer of… well… perhaps that last part would be hypocritical. As ancient and immortal a being as Lucifer might have been, Death couldn’t see anything but a child looking at him from across the table: blue eyes wide with curiosity, hair a disheveled mess from riding with the windows down, fingers still clutching a packet of colourful candles. A child and an almost hopeful child at that. Death realized it then, with a sudden pang in his chest. Lucifer was lonely, as abandoned by God as Death himself often felt. He sighed.

“Put the candles in the cake, Lucifer.”

“You’re not going to eat first?”

“Sometimes you have to have dessert first in life, child.”

Lucifer tilted his head, not quite understanding, but he reached for the cake and began carefully arranging the candles in a neat little circle.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

“I didn’t really expect it to.”

“Good.” Death sat back and watched quietly while Lucifer set up his cake, lighting it with a wave of his hand. “...Well?”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to sing, Lucifer.”

“Oh.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t know the song.”

“Make one up.”

Lucifer pressed his lips together in a taut line for a second, but then they broke apart in another boyish smile as he began to sing an old Enochian ballad to the birth of a star.

Death kept his face straight, hiding all emotion as he listened to the angelic song. His fingers twitched on his cane, and he blinked his eyes rapidly once Lucifer’s gaze was turned. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps there was something good in the boy after all. He shook the thought from his mind and helped himself to a rather large piece of cake.