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Entry tags:
bitches lovve mixtapes
Fandom: Homestuck + Hanna is Not a Boy's Name crossover
Characters: Eridan Ampora <3< Conrad Achenleck what is my life
Word count: ~800
Warnings: Language
Notes: Some nebulous manner of AU. Homestuck kink meme prompt: So here's the thing. Eridan is an undeniable douchebag of the hipster, and maybe, just maybe, his proper soulmate would be another undeniable douchebag of a hipster. Eridan/Cheren from Pokemon or Eridan/Conrad from Hanna is Not a Boy's Name. Any quadrant.
I lasted over a year without writing Hamsteak fic. Apparently my resistance is over. I regretnothing all the things some stuff.
It had to be something about bloodsuckers - they were always well-dressed. Or maybe it was the other way around, and only the most infuriatingly stylish ever became undead. Either way, here was this pale ex-human douchebag who was so avant-garde he seemed to be wearing a necktie as a belt, and Eridan hated him.
It was wonderful. Conrad had that stupid fuckin asymmetrical fang and that stupid fuckin impeccable taste in art and that stupid fuckin penchant for hanging around cafes even though he was literally incapable of drinking coffee, being the inferior human equivalent of a rainbow drinker or whatever. Their eyes had first met, two thick pairs of medically-necessary-but-fortunately-hip corrective lenses between them, over the discount rack at some used record store nobody had ever heard of. They had each sneered and returned to browsing. In the check-out line (hours later, when each got tired of passive-aggressively demonstrating what a discerning musical connoisseur he was and realized it might be best to get out of here before dawn) Eridan had surreptitiously gauged the obscurity of his selection's against Conrad's. He suspected Conrad had done the same. It had confirmed him, regardless, as a worthy adversary. "Potential recipient of caliginous advances" had come later - seeing that Eridan was Eridan, all of five minutes later.
He started to haunt all the same places Conrad did, for the express purpose of adjusting his glasses and looking unimpressed. And the more time he spent at it, the harder that got - because he was impressed. Which just made him angry. Which just nurtured the precious flower of hatred taking root deep within him. Which impressed him. The graphics design job, the English accent, the hanging around art galleries at night, the esoteric musical tastes, the perfectly appointed respiteblock (not that Eridan had ever seen the inside of Conrad's apartment, but he couldn't imagine it any other way, and he was correct) - Conrad Achenleck was a flawless being of pure hipsterosity. Eridan had always expected to find his kismesis in the context of piracy or the killing of lusii or his plots for landdweller genocide; he hadn't known this was even an option. But the hatred he felt was too pure to be denied.
It wasn't long until he made his first move. He cornered Conrad outside the record store on a Thursday night. "We meet again," he said dramatically, tossing his scarf back over his shoulder. "I've got somethin you may be interested in."
Conrad stared at him. "Great. Another creep wants to give me stuff. How about no."
There were other creeps? Eridan felt a flare of jealousy. What if Conrad already had a kismesis? No, humans didn't generally fill that quadrant left to their own devices, and anyway, if you killed somebody's kismesis, shouldn't you get to replace them? That would be easy enough to solve. More likely he was just saying that to make Eridan angry, to play along with this black flirtation. It was working. "It's the only survivin copy of a tape of a live performance by a certain short-lived troll band."
Conrad had started to retreat, but stopped, interested despite himself. "You mean -"
"If I have to name names, you must not be as informed as I thought," said Eridan, with a slightly different version of the usual sneer. This one he'd been practicing. A potential kismesis was worth it.
Conrad's eyes narrowed. "What do you want for it?"
"Promise you'll listen to the whole thing," he said, and with an equally practiced movement, brushed past Conrad and pressed a casette tape into his cold hand.
"Don't touch me," Conrad snapped, a little too late.
Eridan had spent hours pestering Jade and Nepeta for hideously mainstream music recommendations, which they'd given unironically and enthusiastically, as though they genuinely believed there could be any merit to anything more than 40 people had ever heard. He'd scoured the entire Internet for answers to the timeless question, "what is the exact opposite of Janelle Monae?" He had poured all this research and a not-inconsiderable portion of his heart and soul into creating the most contemptible mixtape in the universe, and Conrad had to listen to the entire thing.
"You asshole," said a seething Conrad the next time they met. He threw a tape at Eridan's forehead. "Listen to that. It's a band I'll bet you've never heard of."
It was Aqua.
It was painful. And it was perfect.
They argued about argyle and took every opportunity to call each other sellouts and Philistines. Conrad put his stupid single snaggly fang through Eridan's lip and Eridan put his feet on Conrad's couch, and everyone else was very happy not to have to deal with their shit anymore.
Characters: Eridan Ampora <3< Conrad Achenleck what is my life
Word count: ~800
Warnings: Language
Notes: Some nebulous manner of AU. Homestuck kink meme prompt: So here's the thing. Eridan is an undeniable douchebag of the hipster, and maybe, just maybe, his proper soulmate would be another undeniable douchebag of a hipster. Eridan/Cheren from Pokemon or Eridan/Conrad from Hanna is Not a Boy's Name. Any quadrant.
I lasted over a year without writing Hamsteak fic. Apparently my resistance is over. I regret
It had to be something about bloodsuckers - they were always well-dressed. Or maybe it was the other way around, and only the most infuriatingly stylish ever became undead. Either way, here was this pale ex-human douchebag who was so avant-garde he seemed to be wearing a necktie as a belt, and Eridan hated him.
It was wonderful. Conrad had that stupid fuckin asymmetrical fang and that stupid fuckin impeccable taste in art and that stupid fuckin penchant for hanging around cafes even though he was literally incapable of drinking coffee, being the inferior human equivalent of a rainbow drinker or whatever. Their eyes had first met, two thick pairs of medically-necessary-but-fortunately-hip corrective lenses between them, over the discount rack at some used record store nobody had ever heard of. They had each sneered and returned to browsing. In the check-out line (hours later, when each got tired of passive-aggressively demonstrating what a discerning musical connoisseur he was and realized it might be best to get out of here before dawn) Eridan had surreptitiously gauged the obscurity of his selection's against Conrad's. He suspected Conrad had done the same. It had confirmed him, regardless, as a worthy adversary. "Potential recipient of caliginous advances" had come later - seeing that Eridan was Eridan, all of five minutes later.
He started to haunt all the same places Conrad did, for the express purpose of adjusting his glasses and looking unimpressed. And the more time he spent at it, the harder that got - because he was impressed. Which just made him angry. Which just nurtured the precious flower of hatred taking root deep within him. Which impressed him. The graphics design job, the English accent, the hanging around art galleries at night, the esoteric musical tastes, the perfectly appointed respiteblock (not that Eridan had ever seen the inside of Conrad's apartment, but he couldn't imagine it any other way, and he was correct) - Conrad Achenleck was a flawless being of pure hipsterosity. Eridan had always expected to find his kismesis in the context of piracy or the killing of lusii or his plots for landdweller genocide; he hadn't known this was even an option. But the hatred he felt was too pure to be denied.
It wasn't long until he made his first move. He cornered Conrad outside the record store on a Thursday night. "We meet again," he said dramatically, tossing his scarf back over his shoulder. "I've got somethin you may be interested in."
Conrad stared at him. "Great. Another creep wants to give me stuff. How about no."
There were other creeps? Eridan felt a flare of jealousy. What if Conrad already had a kismesis? No, humans didn't generally fill that quadrant left to their own devices, and anyway, if you killed somebody's kismesis, shouldn't you get to replace them? That would be easy enough to solve. More likely he was just saying that to make Eridan angry, to play along with this black flirtation. It was working. "It's the only survivin copy of a tape of a live performance by a certain short-lived troll band."
Conrad had started to retreat, but stopped, interested despite himself. "You mean -"
"If I have to name names, you must not be as informed as I thought," said Eridan, with a slightly different version of the usual sneer. This one he'd been practicing. A potential kismesis was worth it.
Conrad's eyes narrowed. "What do you want for it?"
"Promise you'll listen to the whole thing," he said, and with an equally practiced movement, brushed past Conrad and pressed a casette tape into his cold hand.
"Don't touch me," Conrad snapped, a little too late.
Eridan had spent hours pestering Jade and Nepeta for hideously mainstream music recommendations, which they'd given unironically and enthusiastically, as though they genuinely believed there could be any merit to anything more than 40 people had ever heard. He'd scoured the entire Internet for answers to the timeless question, "what is the exact opposite of Janelle Monae?" He had poured all this research and a not-inconsiderable portion of his heart and soul into creating the most contemptible mixtape in the universe, and Conrad had to listen to the entire thing.
"You asshole," said a seething Conrad the next time they met. He threw a tape at Eridan's forehead. "Listen to that. It's a band I'll bet you've never heard of."
It was Aqua.
It was painful. And it was perfect.
They argued about argyle and took every opportunity to call each other sellouts and Philistines. Conrad put his stupid single snaggly fang through Eridan's lip and Eridan put his feet on Conrad's couch, and everyone else was very happy not to have to deal with their shit anymore.