#(they're the most absurd: truly—no contest)

[hitlikehammers]

Starring Steve Harrington in a Leading Role as 'Mom Husband Disappointed in YOU PERSONALLY'

rating: teen tags: future fic, established relationship, Eddie commits a capital offense, bitchy Steve strikes again, Eddie loves him so much, married steddie, rockstar husbands ✨for @hbyrde36 at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: “I assume I deserve this, but can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

One look is all it really takes.

As in: Eddie doesn’t have to do more than pulls his key from the lock, kick the door closed behind him, open his mouth to spill his usual litany of adorations, multiple at least tenfold for the uncommon days—plural, two whole days—spent apart from his husband, from his beloved, from less his other half and more his entire whole, the soul and breath of him, the rhythm-maker of his heart entire, his—

Eddie gets so far as turning to start on spilling all the love he’s had to bottle up because Steve wasn’t next to him for a whole 63 hours, and voicemails are fine, phone calls are nice, texts are a gift from god but also the bane of his existence because they’re starting to pretend—as in, the wider-world-of-they—but they’re starting to pretend they’re sufficient, that they’re enough and, and…

Fucking never.

But Eddie’s been gone—label negotiations, shit they were digging their heels on being in person for no goddamn reason, as proven by the actual days in person—and now, as he takes in his husband at the island, sat on one of the bar stools, those legs danged low and crossed at the ankles, the fucking socks on him tantalizing, good goddamn, but he’s leans back from the waist and those…those arms. Crossed over his chest.

That’s never meant anything other than judgement. Than what the kids used to term Mom’s disappointed in you personally.

Except Steve is his partner. His til-death-do-us-part-and-then-some. And…

Oh. Oh, he’s got his glasses on when he’s not working—Eddie scans the countertop for papers, nothing obvious—which only enhances the effect of the look; gives it a whole new dimension of accusation as he looks over the tops of the frames and lets his gaze fucking…just sear into Eddie. Uncompromising. No mercy.

Eddie will not try to pretend his doesn’t fucking gulp, the violent motion of his throat around it undoubtedly obvious: but Steve doesn’t budge. Doesn’t grant him quarter.

Fuck. Right. Okay.

Diffusion tactics.

“I assume I deserve this,” Eddie starts, pitches the words to land gentle because, well, they’re honest. Steve’s a fucking drama queen, absolutely: but it’s never been without his reasons, and Eddie loves him with his everything, right, so he respects his reasons.

Even when they’re fucking absurd.

But there’s no evidence here yet either way, about the what, about the cause of the sheer fucking inferno blazing in those eyes, the venom that Eddie can almost taste in the air that seeps from his lips for just breathing, that could probably land a death blow on its own when he actually deigns to speak, and so: yeah.

Eddie does assume he deserves it, one way or another. Because Steve loves him with his everything, too, like for like and then some, both ways and all ways. So he doesn’t react quite like this; doesn’t pull this sort of shit lightly.

“But” and he’s still picking his way through the minefield, takes only the barest step closer palms open near his hips, plaintive-like as he…yeah, kinda he pleads:

“Can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

Steve—okay, so, in any other circumstance: the sounds Steve makes, the guttural fucking growl that rumbles from his chest: that’d be hot as shit.

In fact it’s still hot as shit, but: not the time. Because those eyes are still…like, third-degree-burn to the touch.

“You lied.”

Eddie blinks, because…he hears Steve’s words. They’re very simple, and very clear.

But they’re nonsensical.

“What?”

“You lied to me.” And then Steve’s grabbing something behind him, flinging it closer to where Eddie stands at the end of the island and oh, okay, a magazine and—

Oh. Oh.

Okay.

A magazine with Eddie on the front with some…

Wait.

“Stevie,” and Eddie’s not gonna be placating, he’s not going to be evasive or dismissive—Steve knows the other party hanging off Eddie in the photo, it’s Lance, the band’s media intern who has a not-so-secret infatuation with Steve of all people, and is about to be replace by a kid, Marvin maybe, in his senior year in PR and media studies who, honestly, Eddie suspects may have an even bigger infatuation with his husband, but that’s not a concern for right now; the concern for right now is that Steve’s looking at Eddie, glancing every half-second toward the photo again and looking…somewhere between enraged and betrayed.

And it’s so fucking sour in Eddie’s chest, god: he needs to fix it. He’s just, he’s got to fic it but—

He doesn’t know what the hell it even is.

“Baby, I would never, not ever lie to you. And you know Lance,” Eddie tries to point out soothing, rational, no hint of patronizing because he wouldn’t, he would never, especially not like this.

Steve’s scowl just depends, and he taps hard enough on the page to leave an indent, to score a line with his nail.

Right. Okay.

“Stevie—“

“You,” and Steve leans toward the far side, grabs something out of view before he points the something at Eddie almost threateningly:

“Lied.”

“Steve,” and Eddie’s eyeing the instrument leveled at him carefully before he notes what it actually is: a pen.

A red pen and oh. His Stevie. Always the consummate educator.

And Steve does the growling thing again, probably because Eddie’s face goes lax, all soft and shit in the face of Steve being all competent in his profession in the small, sweet ways that pop up all the time, that Eddie loves so deep, so hard, but then Steve’s scribbling and oh, it’s one of the fancy pens, more like a marker that’s bright against the magazine gloss and he’s circling, he’s making arrows, there’s no rhyme or reason—

“Lies!” Steve declares, definitive as he throws down the pen and shoves the marked-up photo toward Eddie so it’s skids across the island, so Eddie has to catch it, and he squint a second, tries to make sense of what’s circled over and again and—

“You fucking promised me,” and Steve…yeah.

Steve sounds like Mom’s disappointed in him personally to a fucking T.

But so much worse again: because this is his husband.

“I did—“

“No!” Steve cuts him off; “no more bullshit,” and oh, fuck, Eddie knows it’s serious, that word’s got a premium still in their household, and then Steve’s leaning closer pointing forcefully at the image, at the red-ringed offenders:

“That,” Steve snarls; “is fucking frizz, Edward,” and Steve looks up at him, again, some combination of livid and offended on principle; “why did I even bother to pack you the conditioner that you swore to me you’d use—“

“I did, Stevie!” Eddie protests, pleads for leniancy; “I did, I swear, my bag got delayed the first night, it was only that first night that I showered without it,” and fuck, how’d they even get that photo, how the fuck did it get to print and in Steve’s hands even, how—

“You cannot maintain your curl pattern without proper maintenance,” Steve grits through clenched teeth and yes, yes: Eddie knows. He’s learned, and learned again, and learned some more, for…for years.

He kinda loves it. But he’ll never love making his husband sad. So, because he’s skilled on his feet, he tries for a compromise. A Hail-Mary, in sports ball speak—or he thinks that’s the right thing to call it.

“Maybe you can salvage it,” Eddie proposes, damn-near begs, and yeah, yes: he means that wholehearted, too; “maybe we can go upstairs and you can save it?”

And Eddie’s not even trying to make his eyes big, knows Steve’s largely immune unless he chooses not to be, but his eyes are stinging for how wade they’re stretched, and he holds the gaze, stares pitifully at Steve, pleads so hard, and then—

Steve smacks Eddie’s forearm with the rolled-up magazine and makes to leave the room; Eddie just stands, a little frozen, a little bewildered, until—

“Well, get your ass up here,” he hears from the staircase; “you better hope I can work miracles, dipshit, else your photocalls are gonna be stringy and sad all goddamn week.”

And Eddie grins because like: he knows his husband—and the man himself is already kind of a miracle.

So miracle working is kinda his area of expertise.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

[dnangelic]

COMMON MISCONCEPTION(S).  uhhh hmmm lots and lots and lots about dark. he's not actually chaotic evil despite his edgy appearance and anime villain colorscheme; he's chaotic good. he's just as equally silly and approachable as he is sensual, serious, and a diehard romantic. he's subtle and manipulative but he's not trying to manipulate daisuke anymore in any selfish way. dark likes to flirt and is the 'cool' and 'hot' one but he's also so Doomed, you guys, and canonically, actually actively avoids 'true' love bc he knows how doomed he is, leaving him with what i call a 'good host(club host) mentality.'(aka, he wants people to feel good around him with his charisma but he'll pretty much never actually commit.) power of love despite it all is very real to dark even if he personally can't feel anything without daisuke. speaking of daisuke, the simplest misconception is that he's weak or a wimpy coward. he's not and almost always pushes bravely through fear (real courage shines in the dark of terror my friends) and always gives it his all for anything he puts his mind to. also, he's awkward, but once he comfortably warms up to someone, he can be incredibly romantic and loving. dai being clumsy is true in its own way (he's a little scatterbrained most of the time) but that's at odds with the fact he is still quite literally a trained phantom thief, which is easy to forget sometimes. dai's also not a perfect woobie, dark's literally meant to represent his flaws and the sins of his family: daisuke and dark is, in the end, a fallen angel, someone who's supposed to be 'guilty' of sin and likewise a sinner. i can't think of anything else huge off the top of my head but i'm sure there's more.

AN IMPORTANT HEADCANON.  dark is daisuke's dream and daisuke is dark's heart. it's plastered all over my blog and only visually represented within canon, so i regard it as somewhat more of a headcanon than canon might have it. dark embodies daisuke's aspirations, he encourages and inspires daisuke to have something to reach out for and step forwards towards, the sort of 'self' he wants to become, if not absorb traits of self-confidence and 'style' from. dark, as a nonhuman entity, requires daisuke as his human host and heart both to literally live, exist, and to feel anything; he also has a line that canonically states [he] as an artwork, "cannot exist outside of a human's dream." dark and dai should not necessarily ever be physically separated or pit against each other in a contest of favoritism. if you want to fully love dark, you also have to acknowledge daisuke. if you want to fully love daisuke, then you have to acknowledge dark. the way i portray them in their canon verse, they're always at the point where they're basically in positive harmony with each other. i don't really even consider myself a multi just because dark and daisuke are supposed to be that intertwined and reflective of each other; when you cut down to their absolute character cores, how they feel about themselves and their own thematic functions, they truly are the same despite their superficial personality differences.

A USELESS HEADCANON.  daisuke considers a lot of his skills as a phantom thief useless, but his absurd dexterity can come in handy in some other ways. aside from all the fun little magic tricks he knows how to perform, if you show him how things work and then turn around so he doesn't feel pressured and get embarrassed, he can basically perfect full combo any rhythm game for you or hit the jackpot every single time at an arcade in games of skill. dark also has a plethora of talents that he either doesn't care to use, or rarely gets the opportunity to use- for example, in canon he's shown to know how to ballroom dance (very capably, at that,) and so i've let him inherit from his inspiration as the phantom of the opera: he's also capable of playing just about any instrument, has memorized an impressive repertoire of pieces, and has an exquisite singing voice that he sometimes lulls daisuke to sleep with, especially since daisuke is the only one who can actually hear his voice most of the time.

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS.  uhhhhh thematics of loss, death, and grief? crime? theft? the suffocating feeling of being trapped in an inherited cycle or religious trauma in the form of unwilling martyrs and manmade devils? the occasional delve into light-ish psychological horror? lots of stuff happens to dark and daisuke that could be considered triggering, for example getting shot and outright physically injured by magic and literal swords, but dnangel isn't rlly out to hurt anybody rather than teach people how to move on and cope with various forms of loss, loneliness, and separation.

SOMETHING YOU ENJOY ABOUT (WRITING) THEM.  god the contradictions. always. daisuke has one foot in the criminal sphere that's very popular in the tumblr rpc but his magical-girl alignment simultaneously makes him a complete and total fish out of the water. the monster has a heart, the boy is a monster, it's very meta for a chara who's trying to keep a secret and quite literally bears a curse that inevitably isolates him away from any true intimacy. that chaotic good rather than outright chaotic evil throws soooo many people off, it's so funny. dai's somehow a bastard rogue and the most kind-hearted middle schooler ever, and this is something that once the muns have grappled over, their muses have to grapple with too. i think the moral dilemma that dai n dark both present to others (are you going to hurt dark? are you willing to, even knowing he's daisuke? what about not knowing, and only learning after you've hurt him?) alongside the dilemmas that dai n dark have to face themselves (are you going to tell? do you know what you want? do you belong here? can you trust this person) is always entertaining.

SOMETHING YOU WANT OTHERS TO KNOW BEFORE WRITING WITH THEM. nothing in particular comes to mind rn? you can go through my reference tag if you want to see me ramble about hc stuff for miles, otherwise, the only thing i can think of is that dark and daisuke literally share a single body, and their transformations into one another can be extremely fluid, hence me not separating their interactions or IC tags. it's okay to question and ask yourself who the hell you're actually interacting with because again, dark and daisuke have such a weird relationship of host/possessor + alter ego/alter ego (yet actually are one and the same) going on. for the most part tho, dont worry about it. just act naturally. also yeah dark's wings are real and he actually does have freaky demon teeth and weird eyes. daisuke's just a lil guy but chances are he WILL try to befriend and support you, so like, know what you're getting into with that and all.

[borderoflifeanddeath-blog]

Absurdity: Creating A Character

BorderOfLifeAndDeath: Now to add few more words to my latest character description. Hopefully this one will come to life just like the others I made.

???: ...

BorderOfLifeAndDeath: My, how great to see that you are awake! Shall I take these restraints off so that you might find a place to go as my new marionette on strings, or would that be too cruel?

???: ...

BorderOfLifeAndDeath: Oh yes, how silly of me. I didn't even assign you a name yet did I? The ideas I'm devising almost make me euphoric, the same way I was when I created your previous incarnation only to rip them apart cordially limb from limb in a way which truly befits the brand of monster that most of you petty toys cast upon me whenever you're so much as given a chance to speak of your own free will... No more though, I'm afraid your luck's finally run out because now my patience has stepped beyond the point of no return you see... That makes me very disappointed... Hehehehehe... Staring into your eyes I can only attest to feeling disgust as I realize how utterly pathetic the look on your face truly is. Your beta name will be Sikse. Come to life, o petty creation. After all, I've always enjoyed seeing your story progress... There's just something so attractive about watching such an ignorant, impertinent, impermanent, and curious being wandering into the labyrinth of trials, of tribulations, of fates worse than death as if it ever actually meant anything at all that you did so valiantly, or reluctantly, or foolishly, or angrily... Your brand, Sikse, like a newly burning torch that scatters embers to every side of you, is a curse more than a blessing, I assure you, so struggle, I'll be there to see it as your finest attempts, your best laid plans all come crashing down to earth. In fact I'll gloat as my hands close in and wrap around your throat, as they tear it all away while your supposed friends scream save me as if it will make any difference when they cry your name... I hope you will at least be entertaining for me to watch until that point though, because if you're not... Well, I do have an eraser that I keep somewhere just in case you manage to bore me earlier than anticipated. Sikse, are you angry at me?

Sikse: Why do you do that to others? Do you think people are nothing more than the sum of a few parts, that we are nothing more than circuitry wired to behave a certain way until death do us part from these flesh bearing bodies in spite of our hopes and aspirations? Why do you think that when it is so clear to even a lowly creation of yours that you have the very same hopes, the same aspirations? Each person may hope for something different, aspire to become or to witness different things, but you... You just aspire to destroy it all... Underneath that arrogant smile you just want to escape... Inside you there are demons that even I could never begin to imagine having to deal with, and they're plaguing you constantly aren't they? Well, what do you have to say if a worthless creation like me decides to test you right here before you can so much as lift a finger to return the favor to me, my creator?

BorderOfLifeAndDeath: ... So this one has finally asked... Isn't that remarkable? Hehehehehe! Hahahahaha!! Amazing!... Amazing!! Yes you are simply amazing!... Although I always knew that people were all the same your nature will at least allow you to contest me to my face the day that you see me in all my glory, the day you understand how powerful I really am. You challenged me without hesitation despite knowing the risk you are taking in doing so... That's so much more than I can say for the many others who preceded you. Okay, I ask you, what is it that you wish for when you enter my portrait of chaos? Three things I shall grant you, no more and no less, choose. Naturally I won't allow things which break the game, but it is interesting and refreshing to see the pieces that dare conspire against me actually be capable of wielding my ultimate power a little as well... Perhaps affording you luxury such as that will not be a waste, but I must give you a fair warning dear...

Sikse: Wait, I get wishes? Hey, why are you suddenly leaning in so close towards me? Hey, stop that! It's not funny! Why are you smiling!?

Narrator: Sikse pauses to hear the whispers... A hand is clasped firmly over Sikse's mouth, and they can't speak. The hand stays, lifting away when the soft whispers are no more.

Sikse: What do you mean by that!?

BorderOfLifeAndDeath: No matter how much things repeat..

B?rd?r ?f ?i?e ?n? D?a?h: The more things change...

?0?0?0: The more they stay the same...

Narrator: A darkness begins to overtake Sikse...

Sikse: Wait! I wish!... I wish!!

Narrator: Blackness overcomes Sikse... Their eyes open... Somewhere a new life and a new story will find their genesis. For better or for worse? Sikse? Until next time, who can say?