#i seriously cannot fucking do this anymore
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TW: dark themes, dead dove, transphobia lowkey, use of the f slur
Adam with a trans partner. oh my god, I just know he enjoys degrading his partner so muchhhhh
if you’re FTM, he’ll tug your cute little t-dick, kissing your neck and growling, “you seriously think you could please anyone with this excuse of a dick? let me show you what a real man’s cock can do.”
if you’re MTF, the second he lifts your skirt and sees a bulge, he has the most devious smirk ever. “well, well, well.. a little fag is under these clothes, huh? fuckin’ perv. I bet you’re into this, wearing girls clothes ‘n shit,”
I WANT HIM TO DEGRADE ME SO BAD ITS FUCKING INSANE i’m so sorry i cannot be sane abt him anymore..
#⋆⁺₊❅. snowflake’s dead dove takes#adam hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel#Adam#Adam x reader#Adam x trans reader
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Take a Step That is New
another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)
this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience
May 1987
The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter.
“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings.
The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again.
Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.”
It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly.
What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help.
Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye.
Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.”
“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.”
Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable.
Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”
A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“
Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines.
Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?”
And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it.
Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door.
He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while.
“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!”
Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own.
The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction.
“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns.
Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies.
“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no.
Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful.
And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!”
“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist.
Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream.
“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.”
“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.”
Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”
“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake.
Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do.
It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again.
Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow.
It’s soul crushing.
“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.”
Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head.
Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least.
Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl.
Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit.
“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!”
“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.”
Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.”
While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice.
Billy might be smoking more out of spite.
Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.
All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically.
He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox.
“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter.
Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?”
“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.
“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly.
“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie.
Billy throws a spoon at him.
Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer.
Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.
Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”
Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth.
“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry.
Billy storms off into the kitchen.
“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.”
“I like it,” Steve declares.
“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly.
She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.”
Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.”
They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way.
Steve just smiles at her.
Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.”
Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.”
Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started.
“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt.
Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“
“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question.
He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner.
For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.
Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it.
Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one.
Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx.
“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face.
The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it.
Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.”
The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags.
“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face.
“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up.
Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit.
Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one.
Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave.
No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?”
Steve rolls his eyes, “No.”
Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.”
And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.
“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.
All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room.
They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there.
“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?”
“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers.
“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?”
Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft.
“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.”
He really did, Steve must concede.
“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.”
Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?”
“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!”
Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles.
“To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it.
Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud.
“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.”
Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.”
“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?”
Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him.
Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?”
Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.”
Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!”
“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.”
“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth.
“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.”
“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks.
“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly.
“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly.
“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him.
“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.”
Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.”
“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.”
Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.”
Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money-
“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax.
“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace.
Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.”
“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.”
“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing.
Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement?
Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.
Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be.
Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.
Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke.
He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.”
Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation.
Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all.
He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros.
“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”
“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?”
Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?”
Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.”
He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.”
Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.”
“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.”
Yeah, that was obvious.
Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.”
Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it.
“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.”
“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-”
“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?”
Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one.
“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead.
“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here.
It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house.
Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside.
Steve gets it though.
He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls.
“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.”
“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.”
Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.”
“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.”
“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.”
Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book.
“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve.
“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?”
Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!”
“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!”
Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.”
“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.”
Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter.
They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold.
Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there.
“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has.
Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that.
Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too.
“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots.
They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine.
They have each other.
#steve harrington#billy hargrove#robin buckley#eddie munson#harringrove#(pre harringrove really but ya know)#more cross-posting#dishy writes#four's company#fic
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Can we please normalize not comparing people who are chronically ill and/or have chronic pains to elderly people? Can we normalize not getting offended when someone who is the target of said joke says that they are offended with those jokes? Seriously.
#throwback to my school's counselor who kept calling me old woman names because i complained about my back#chronic illness#chronic pain#chronically ill#chronically ill mood#cripple punk#crip punk#fibromyalgia#ehlers danlos syndrome#actually chronically ill#fuck this shit#i seriously cannot fucking do this anymore#im so sick and tired of people getting mad at me for setting boundaries
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I hate America so much right now. Your dumbass election shit is making me stay awake because they announced more results at 4am and I just can't bring myself to go to sleep without knowing if I'll wake up to an outright apocalypse tomorrow morning. What the fuck. What are you guys fucking up to. Why am I this concerned about YOU??? OF ALL COUNTRIES??????? I LIVE ON THE DAMNED OTHER SIDE OF THE FUCKING ATLANTIC OCEAN FOR SATAN'S SAKE
#how do i even tag this#whispers from atlantis#54% of votes for the tangerine man as i'm writing this you people are fucking KIDDING ME YOU CANNOT BE THAT DUMB PLEASE#more states are coming out blue than when i first checked 2 hours ago tho so it's kinda reassuring#i feel like my mother being this involved in the news?????#but like seriously from my point of view this isn't even political anymore#you have a literal conspiracy theorist and felonist about to win the fucking elections fOR THE SECOND TIME#this is not politics this is the damned circus and yalls are CLOWNS#like i cannot stress enough how much from a europans pov this man is so full of bullshit#that it would be an insult to call him a politicians#AND POLITICIANS IS ALREADY AN INSULT#but like this would be an insult to the insult#anyway i'll check one last time before going to bed FINALLY it's way too late for this shit and i got fucking cramps
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my family desperately needs to learn communication skills
#medusa rambles#me and my brother are no longer on speaking terms#and of course my father has blamed me#“and that means cool it” after my brother just exploded on me and was almost certainly close to literally hitting me#fucking spineless#yeah let the dude who can lift double my weight physically intimidate me and then act like it was justified. that's cool that's awesome#intimidate me again ill call the fucking cops#fuck this seriously#hes not a fucking kid anymore and my dad NEEDS to get that through his head#hes an adult who can do actual harm#im well aware i can be annoying and i can be an asshole sometimes but that's fucking crazy#to act like that is fucking crazy#no prior communication btw !#literally none !#FUCK YOU !!!#i need to get out of here dude#i cannot live like this
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Bleh
#thinking about shit#getting really tired and stressed with everything going on#and I'm seriously starting to wonder if this is my next breaking point#and if I'm going to be forever worse bc I kept pushing myself with my me/cfs#that's the fucking scary thing about it; not knowing if I'm doing to accidentally do something wrong and make myself permanently worse#and I don't know how to explain these fears other than fucking terrifying#to literally be entirely unaware of the true limitations of your body and not knowing if you're going to make yourself worse by accident#I cannot wait for the move to be over#once we have a legal address together I can get on my husbands insurance and beg him to quit#I am incapable of working a traditional job as it is but I'm forced to because I have no other options#so I'm already pushing myself on a regular basis#and I fear every flare up is just going to be my new normal#and what if it is just a flare up? I have to keep working I have to do my job I have to do chores I have to pack#will working myself this hard during the flare up lead to something worse?#I can't do this anymore I just fucking can't#I can't stand not knowing if this past year is going to permanently incapacitate me#I'm already reliant on my husband for everything short of carrying me to the bathroom and wiping my ass for me#I hate not being independent and I hate the idea that I might be stuck in this much pain and this much fatigue for the rest of my f'in life
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lmaoooo found out today that my 2 “colleagues” (that’s honestly a too nice of a word for them) complained about me to our boss that apparently i don’t work hard enough and often just sit around doing nothing :)
#can you believe these backstabbing bitches??????#i am absolutely livid#like the audacity these bitches have who the fuck do they think you are???#and now my boss wants me to be more forthcoming towards them like bitch wtf??? why should i be nicer to them or help them knowing that they#talk so poorly about me behind my back????#they’re so full of themselves and act so childish#like they could’ve just come up to me and talked to me about it like adults but nooo they run to the boss lmaoo#no wonder the boss doesn’t care about keeping me if he’s told what a bad worker i apparently am#and i only found out what they said about me from our lead pharmacist at least she was nice enough to tell me the truth#and now i’m crying again goooodddd fuck this job fuck these bitches i don’t deserve this!!!!#like i try so hard and put in so much effort but they really have the audacity to claim i just sit around#well i wonder what they’re gonna do once i quit since they always complain that they already do everything it shouldn’t a problem for them#right?? :)#like this is honestly so crazy to me bc so many people have already quit recently bc the working hours are absolutely horrible and now these#2 are making everything even worse like i already didn’t like going to work there but now i absolutely loathe it#to work with people and act nice with them knowing they they’re spewing such bs about me#and one of them was so nice to me today like how fake can you be?????#at least have the decency so say those things to my face and not talk behind my back like a school girl#fucking cowards!!!!! i really cannot stand them anymore i need to apply for other jobs asap#but i’m so scared that i won’t find anything else#but this job is seriously damaging me both physically and mentally#god please please please let me find a better job where i’m treated with respect please please please#i can’t do this anymore#i hate how much i’ve cried bc of this job and these horrible people already#☁️
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I have slipped back into the realm of insomnia....
Can I not?
#I hate it. highs are usually heavily associated to my insomnia like these bitches walk hand and hand together can you both fuck off#I can't go into detail here because A) I don't really like talking about my mental health here and#B) it's very embarrassing for me to talk about.#I'll just say it's about my hypersexuality. I'd rather not talk about it here as I've come to the realization that a lot of people on#this website don't understand the term like they think they do so it sort of makes me stand here like#🧍god I am alone huh?#Anyways highs + my hypersexuality + my insomnia need to seriously fuck off~ ♡ I've gotten worse again and I fucking cannot stand it anymore.#Most ''studies'' are very male adjacent and it makes me feel even more alone because I don't have male genes. i was born afab ..#.. so its even harder for me to talk about without someone dropping that disgusting N term to me#siigh sorry for venting. least nobody is online to see it :\#tw vent
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every time i read haikyuu timeskip i feel the undeniable urge to explode one million thousand explosions forever
#every single page makes me feel fucking ill#ESPECIALLYYYYYY THE ONES KAGEYAMA'S ON#his behaviour is quite frankly unacceptable i seriously cannot stand him ever#AND MF HINATA TALKING TO SANTANA ABOUT BEING HEALTHTY#santana mentioning “being healthy and making good choices is just a habit for you”#and hinata's first and only thought is kageyama. his nails. his journal. self matinence = kageyama#self matinence.. something shouyou spends 2 years of extensive focus on building#i'm going to eat bricks and raw cement i can't do this anymore#volleyball guys
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man it just really sucks having to go through all the motions and acting like i'm happy and proud of my family members when i'm really, really fucking not. sick of this shit
#my brother has just reached a Big Milestone in the culture which of course just means he's in it deeper.#and he's gonna be pulling other people into it too.#and i gotta put on a face and pretend im proud of him because if i dont it'll just be another Family Heretic Moment from winter#of which there are many already and they don't take any of my opinions or criticisms seriously anymore because im an Outsider now.#in my own goddamn family.#but idk idk just. it sucks having to watch my siblings get deeper into this shit and not be able to do anything to help them#because any attempts i make will be completely disregarded because my opinions about the church are invalid because i left.#HATE this shit man. i cannot fucking wait to get out of here.#i also keep having nightmares that my brother is gonna die while on his mission so that is NOT helping how im feeling about it.#lmfao just fuckin imagine. the ONE member of my family who becomes an atheist ends up having prophetic powers#whatever#winter speaks#personal
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okay, FINE, I will catch up on the Fontaine Archon Quest in Genshin.
(so there are, like, a dozen gmvs for Genshin to the song Gods and they are all FIRE??? Literally the perfect song for the game.)
#I stopped in the Fortress of Meropide because I kept getting lost#also because NaNo and no time to play catchup#I have avoided spoilers successfully can you believe it?#well okay fine not really because I have Neuvillette#BUT OTHER THAN HIS SPOILERS I have avoided story spoilers#and I need to do character quests too URG#I love this game I really really do#but I started playing from day 1#and I will tell you that 1.0 update had like 1-2 hours of new content#I cringe now because each update has 8+ hours of new content and I cannot make myself do that#I am currently not streaming my playthrough because my computer is sucky now#please I was trapped for like 3+ hours in the courthouse when I last played seriously#FUCKING TRAPPED I COULDN'T STOP PLAYING BECAUSE THE QUEST WON'T LET ME LEAVE#so now I cringe at the idea of continuing the quest because I don't know if I wanna play 3+ hours at a time anymore#but I really need to catch up#so I will. this week. somehow.
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this is the worst thing to happen to me
#thero blogs#minecraft#HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO AVOID DOING THINGS#no but seriously this is a fucking problem#this is what you get when companies insist everything log in within a single account and you cannot even access the game to play offline#what are we going to do when one day microsoft decides minecraft isnt profitable anymore#you know they'll just lock us all out and say oooh you werent REALLY owning the gaaaammmeeee#you were just RENTING the game#we are the ONLY ONES who really OWN anything#like bro what if I rent your head from your body how about that hmmmmmm
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.
#tired and sad today#idk what i want anymore and idk how to change anything but i every day i am more certain this cannot continue#everything’s fucking stupid man like i didn’t ask to be born now i’m not even allowed to not be alive cuz oooo people got feelings and shit#was it a greentext? that imaginary torture room with a sandpaper treadmill floor or whatever#if anyone knows what i’m talking about#i don’t mean to be melodramatic but that’s seriously how it feels to be alive for me exdee#like i’m just doing nothing being dragged along slowly being scraped into nothing#soon i’ll be an unfeeling lump of meat and viscera.i guess#now it really just doesn’t feel very nice#to exist or do anything or not do anything#i am incompatible with life#the guilt eats me alive#i’m sorry i’m not happy… i’m sorry it isn’t enough#i’m sorry i can’t do more and be better idk why i just cant pick myself up and keep moving for that long anymore#smh everything sucks dude#i’m going to bed#new day tmr#it will probably be mildly agonizing but generally tolerable as always#and always and always and always and
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everytime i think im done ranting i remember something else LMFAO this one is extra long i hit tag limit god mf damn
#self#for instance.....my mom wants me to cut off everyone who is still tied to the school#and im so mad at myself for feeling a certain type of way when the campus manager called me not too long ago basically to tell me she doesnt#trust the girl who did this shit and she wasnt mad at me but was also mad at me for bringing her to her dads house#for reference we were trying to get a cat from the campus managers dads house LMFAO#and i honestly cannot wait to speak to her again and be like 😔 god dammit you were right like you were every single time#i just dont understand the wiring in her head to think the shit she says and does to people is normal and okay and how she doesnt realize it#is literally a mental health break. when i finally told my mom the first thing she said was shes probably off her medication#which.....probably isnt wrong sadly coming from someone who has borderline and very easily can lose it#but the difference is i dont give in to the urges to try to hurt everyone around me in every way i can#and me and her have said before that we thought she might also have borderline because we were very similar#but god damn does she love proving that if she has it its extremely severe or its something else entirely#on an honest note. shes incredibly narcissistic and i know her mom is part of the reason shes that way bc she was given princess treatment#her entire fucking life and then doesnt understand when other people dont treat her the same way#i hate rambling about this and i hate it that it is bothering me so fucking bad but like ???#if youre going to decide that you can put our past aside period and move on then fucking do that and stop bringing the past up as a way to#hurt me and the people around you???? she acts like shes not done horrible fucking things to people. so sorry i wrote a letter that was very#honest at the time. so sorry that when you found out i apologized for it and said i regret it because 2 weeks after my apology i no longer#regret writing it. if its making school a living hell for you....theres probably a reason for that girlfriend#i am not the person who put that shit in your folder#though i seriously fucking doubt its actually in her folder shes probably assuming it is#and youre the one who made a complete ass of yourself to every educator that ever stepped foot in that building#that has nothing to do with me that you are a literal warning given to every new educator!!!! i havent even been in school there in months#yet IM the problem??? how am i the problem when i graduated in fucking january???? everything since then falls on you#AND YET AGAIN! MIGHT I MENTION! IT IS NOT JUST MY LETTER!!! THERES AT LEAST 2 OTHER ONES!!!!!#BECAUSE IM NOT THE ONLY PERSON SHE DOES THIS SHIT TO!!!!#god sometimes i sit back and realize that theres a reason she regresses as a person and i do not#im not going to sit still anymore and let someone walk all over me and she can thank herself for that#shes who taught me that blocking and running as fast as i can doesnt fix anything#so here we are bitch. youre not blocked and im sure youre sitting at home thinking about how youre right about everything
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Tumblr dot Com
I have 10 blogs
Yes 10
Everyday I get on Tumblr the first thing I do is check my activity and what do i find
pornbots
I have to go and report pornbots every day on all of my accounts
which for the record is like two per blog
so I waste my time
clicking report > Spam
and still nothing gets done about it
I am so fucking
tired of all these god damn
pornbots on Tumblr
#I cannot be fucking bothered to report them anymore#I cannot#I have done my duty#I reported over a hundred this last week#I need staff to step the fuck up and stop this bullshit#I need staff to get off their asses and DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS#I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF PORNBOTS#THIS HAS GONE ON FOR TOO LONG#seriously ready to leave bad fucking reviews on the playstore to get them to fucking deal with this bullshit#I'm fed up beyond all measure#Stupid fucking pornbots#block all pornbots#ban and block all pornbots ASAP
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big debate in the office today as to how to avoid food smell from getting around the house while you cook. consensus was "brick the kitchen and anyone who is cooking in it". margaret, i'm not going to expend time, resources, and effort in this short life to put up the elaborate fiction that I do not, in fact, live in the house that I actually reside in. i'm sorry you've been taught to attach shame to regular human activities but i will be cooking and eating inside my house
#jesus do these people not possess windows that can be opened#i think the issue here is that a lot of people do not know how to cook anymore#they dont take cooking and food seriously#they consider them a hobby like idk fucking dog races or what#so they cannot deal#fucking lost it at we cook with the door closed in the kitchen#brother in christ do you know how much time you will spend cooking in your life? eating? it's a SHARED BONDING ACTIVITY FOR MARY MAGDALENE'#sake i can't imagine isolating anyone in my house like that because they're cooking food I will eat#extremely strange behaviour
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