#neil will face my wrath

[hiperfixationqueen]

You know the saying "Satan works fast, gif makers work faster"

[kalique]

i see my parasocial arch nemesis neil blomkamp is returning. prime time for me to be a hater

[billdenbrough]

fem kevaaron, 790w, for @naturecalls111, inspired by this sketch mina and i stayed up way too late bc of reasons that were mostly my fault, so i wrote this for her the morning of our suffering as a virtual coffee substitute. wasn't originally planning to share it anywhere except just to her but we kept talking about it & now the doc has spiralled beyond its original purpose so i figured, ok, i could share the original scene. kevin is down horrendous

There’s a box of Frosted Flakes in the upper corner of the kitchen shelf.

Kevin knows this, because she put them there.

She’d done it with altruistic motives in mind—saving the twins from a life of cavity and sugar-induced stamina failures on the court (extremely embarrassing, mostly for Kevin, but probably them too)—but she’s having a hard time remembering that now.

Aaron got out of the shower about fifteen minutes ago, see. Her hair had been wrapped up in a loose twist of her towel, but her cereal-obtaining endeavours had involved some attempts at jumping—Kevin had paused in drinking her smoothie for a longer moment than she’s proud to think about—and now it’s half-fallen out. Aaron pays no notice. She has her hands on her hips, and she’s scowling up at the shelf.

“Fucking Nicky,” she mutters, which—Kevin can’t decide if she’s pleased to be spared Aaron’s wrath, or if she’s dismayed that Aaron thinks there’s a universe where Kevin and Nicky have interchangeable actions.

Her hair is making the shoulders of her shirt damp. It’s a loose, worn thing, so thin at some parts of the chest that it feels indecent to look. (Kevin still does, of course. She’s not in the habit of denying herself the things she wants.) There’s a discoloured album cover on the front: a bared throat, a naked collarbone, and a band name hidden by the way Aaron has it half-tucked into her shorts, but Kevin knows from prior observation is semi-faded anyway.

Aaron turns around, and for a moment, Kevin thinks she’s going to ask for assistance. She’s still deciding what she’ll say—her rational brain’s firm absolutely not warring with her appalling animal instinct’s drawling what’ll you give me if I do?—when she realises Aaron is planting her palms flat on the counter behind her. She bends her knees, as if to launch herself up. Okay, no.

Kevin moves quickly, slipping off her barstool and making her way around the kitchen island to stand next to Aaron, too close for Aaron to continue her action without knocking into Kevin.

“You could just ask for help,” Kevin says. She’s kind of looming over Aaron like this. It’s not a new sensation, but it kickstarts something in her chest every time.

Aaron glares up at her. “You could have offered,” she points out, which is true. Kevin’s been keeping her gaze fixed on Aaron’s face so she doesn’t get too obviously distracted by the swell of Aaron’s tits through the (genuinely loosest possible, Kevin is just a fucking degenerate, probably) fabric of her shirt, but it’s kind of backfiring now. The way Aaron looks, glaring up at Kevin, is just as hard to look away from. She’s close enough that Kevin can see her eyelashes, even as light as they are.

Kevin clears her throat. “That’s too close to an endorsement of your terrible dietary choices,” she says.

“Oh my god,” Aaron mutters. She’s relaxed her grip on the counter now, just leaning against it. The position has her arm resting lightly against Kevin’s stomach. It’s a searing heat through Kevin’s gym tank. “Then stop complaining and let me get it myself,” Aaron says, shifting a little to re-balance her hands on the counter. Her chest heaves with the movement, and Kevin’s eyes follow the motion, unbidden.

It’s that, more than anything, that makes Kevin swallow a sigh and say, “Fine.” Aaron glances at her before she can get her gaze away completely, but she hopes it’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing, not the pathetically obvious ogling that Neil accused her of last week in the world’s worst whisper after Kevin’s eyes strayed over to the backliners’ section of practice, where Aaron was trash-talking Nicky with a sharp grin while Nicky tried to step on her heels.

Kevin reaches up to the shelf, stretching a little for the box. She’d pushed it towards the back of the shelf, hoping the extra effort required would deter Nicky too, so now she has to twist a little to get her arm far enough in. She huffs as she manages to close her fingers around it, pulling it down.

“Here,” she says, turning to Aaron, who’s suspiciously quiet. She’s not looking at Kevin, exactly; more like she’s looking to the left of her, eyes firmly fixed.

“Thanks,” Aaron says, grabbing the box. She glances up at Kevin. Her cheeks are a little pink. There’s a slight scrunch to her nose, like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, just steps back.

Kevin nods, then realises her shirt’s ridden up a bit. She absentmindedly adjusts it.

There’s a small noise, like a swallow, but when Kevin looks up, Aaron is nowhere to be found.

[manwrre]

i have been dreaming of a top gun:maverick!inspired harringrove fic for the past few days. esp since their usual dynamic is a cocky, self assured blonde and a wildly stupid + talented brunette so puhlease. if that doesn’t scream harringrove, i dunno what will.

imagine billy, whose dad got kicked outta the military on a bad conduct charge but never tells a soul—too ashamed and too proud and too angry to bear the weight of his actions. so instead, when he gets home to his wife and kid, he makes their lives a living hell and runs their home like a base.

0600 - wake up “because i won’t have any slobs living under my roof,”

0605 - leave behind a bed of perfectly creased corners or “sleep on the floor, since you want to live like an animal,”

0615 - start the chores or “starve. there’s no such thing as eating for free,”

“don’t talk back,”

“don’t ask questions,”

“you’re not a baby, billy— stop crying over toys.”

“are you some kind of fucking fairy? sit up straight.”

“you better not embarrass me, boy.”

and it only gets worse when billy’s mom finally ups and leaves. no amount of “yes, sir”s can save him from his father’s wrath and soon enough, rewards and punishments become all too similar; the line between them, blurry at best. neil’s love feels exactly the same as his hate and both leave heavy stamps of purple and blackish-blue near billy’s heart.

so by the time that billy’s eighteen and old enough to leave, he’s more decorated than most. has given up more than most. has endured a battle longer than that of most neighboring countries.

and he doesn’t really have a choice (if he wants to leave neil’s house) but to join the air force and so, that’s what he does. and billy’s done a lot to survive but flying? the thought of it makes him feel alive. and the notion is only cemented after he watches a p-51 mustang take off for the first time and his heart feels it’s been through 10gs of force.

so he becomes the goddamn best in his batch. he gets his degree in mechanical engineering. he gets to flight school and he’s glittering. he’s whip smart and confident and has the instincts to back it up. he’s tall and sun-kissed, blue-eyed and blonde-haired. and that alone has everyone on the squad calling him “johnny— like bravo, not the jackass.” paired with his sweet, little texan drawl, he’s charismatic and a total wildcard. he bitches and preens and leads but billy,

billy gets the job done. every single time.

doesn’t care who it pisses of. doesn’t care about kissing ass. and yet still, when there’s a particularly tough mission, the admiral knows that johnny boy is up for it.

regardless, he racks up a long list of avid followers and enemies.

so when he gets to hard deck a day before top gun training is meant to start, he’s not surprised to meet the latter of whom in the form of steve “beemer” harrington.

steve, who looks the same as he did in flight school all those years ago— golden and freckled just about everywhere. he fills out his shirt just right and if billy were closer, the coupla inches steve has on him would be more obvious.

“beemer, as i live and breathe.”

billy’s pleased to see steve’s eyes widen at the sight of him. smirks when he realizes he’s on the receiving end of the brunette’s sweeping gaze.

“johnny,” steve says, around the rim of his beer bottle. “you look…good.”

and oh, does that light him up.

billy’s careful though, to not let his face betray a single thing. instead, he grins a little wider. a little deeper; a little meaner.

“well, i am good, beemer.” he shrugs and plucks the pool cue out of carver’s grip.

he ignores the blonde’s huffing beside him and instead, leans forward to line the tip of it up behind the ball.

he knows the motion accentuates the long lines of his body. he knows that gravity favors him and the undone buttons on his shirt; gives a generous view of his naked chest.

“i’m very good.”

steve’s eyes flit between his and then, somewhere lower.

and billy snorts, lining up his aim; coiled tightly and precise. holds it for all of a second before the string snaps and he’s breaking the rack with a resounding, wooden clackclackclack.

“in fact, i’m too good to be true.”

and thereby starts their enemies to lovers trope! i’m talking heated looks in the locker room, post training tension, make out sessions in the otherwise empty gym. hanging out at each other’s on base accommodations and billy calling steve ‘bee.’ imagine them exchanging dog tags?? and steve getting all possessive when billy’s got his flight suit unzipped halfway and tied around his little waist. they’d be instructors together and show off in the air, driving everyone crazy. the perfect leader and wingman.

[clovermunson]

here’s a tamer one:

gimme all your unpopular stranger things opinions, pretty please!!

sav, bestie you know i love being controversial (sometimes) and i know that some of these may get me tumblr-cancelled or cause a fandom riot because most of them will be about billy (and by extension, max), but that’s not my problem.

billy and max genuinely cared about each other. i know, some of you are gonna look at that and say “how the fuck is that true??” but trust me. it is. both of them were forced into a shitty situation, and often took things out on each other because they were both misguided and trying to navigate things on their own. neil and susan obviously favored max, often neglecting billy and making him grow up on his own and way too fast. he was handling full-fledged adult responsibilities by the time he was sixteen, and he shouldn’t have been. now while i think susan may have tried to evenly delegate her attention to both kids, neil completely prohibited that under some false pretense such as “billy needs to grow up” or “he doesn’t need a mother anymore”. any time max screwed up, billy was left to deal with it instead of neil and susan handling it themselves, like parents should, not older siblings (though i believe had it not been for neil, susan would’ve taken care of max herself— i have some very complicated opinions on susan, but that’s another story). every time billy acted out in violence, it was a defense and survival mechanism for him; and he probably did it quite often to protect max because he cared for her, and for the fact that if he didn’t, he’d face neil’s wrath for the nth time (i.e.: the fight at byers’ home with steve— which, in billy’s defense, was totally justified from his point of view). anyway, max and billy cared about each other in their own weird little way.

more on the topic of billy, he wasn’t racist and he didn’t target or dislike lucas simply because he was black. that’s just a bullshit reason that 98% of the fandom uses to justify why they hate billy because they couldn’t read context clues and use some critical thinking skills. he disliked lucas because he witnessed lucas and max arguing in the school parking lot, and lucas was upsetting max— and billy knew that it would be his ass if neil found out about it.

i think the whole “girlboss” angle they’re trying to do with nancy kinda sucks and it’s ruining her character. she was definitely a stronger character in season 2 than any other season.

the series started with will, and it should end with will. i said what i said.

max stabbing billy with a needle and syringe with no idea what was in it is not the girlboss moment y’all think it is. what was in that syringe could’ve killed him for all anyone knew.

the sauna scene was genuinely billy begging for max to help him because he didn’t know what was going on, until it wasn’t, and max knew that was billy and not the mindflayer.

speaking of the whole mindflayer thing, y’all can’t tell me that max didn’t genuinely care about billy when she said “i really hope it’s not you” in reference to the party suspecting that billy was the host.

oh and in season two when billy’s “threatening” to run over the boys?? y’all are delusional for thinking he really would lmao he’s an older brother and older brothers mess with their sisters like that. and he’s a seventeen year old with a cool, fast car. there’s no way he was gonna willingly get himself a vehicular homicide charge in a bumfuck town in indiana. y’all are dumb as shit for thinking he would. and did y’all notice when max grabbed the wheel and made the car swerve to avoid hitting them? billy could’ve easily gone against her force and kept the car on course, but he didn’t.

stancy shippers are essentially romanticizing a toxic relationship between two people who very clearly want different things for themselves and could never actually work, from a logical and realistic viewpoint.

on that note, stancy should not happen in season five. or ever again for that matter. fight me about it.

karen wheeler’s actions in season three can’t be justified. i’m not even gonna argue on this one with anyone because y’all know what happened. sure she chose her family in the end, but she was really about to go hook up with a freshly-18 year old man while being in her 40s…absolutely not, ma’am. don’t even get me started on the other pool-lurking moms.

it’s game night, send one of these!

[xovera-toz]

The parallels between Over the garden wall by Patrick McHale (@oldsidelinghill) and Stardust by @neil-gaiman are insane and, in my opinion, absolutely delightful.

We've got a small town, and a wall, and a beautiful girl. We've got a boy who's head-over-heels for this girl, who's got a younger, half-sibling and a shy personality.

This boy crosses the wall and finds himself in a world beyond his imagination, one he fits inside perfectly. He's offered help by an old man, but their companionship ends when the man sends the boy on his way.

He encounters a girl who's not where she's supposed to be, who misses her family dearly and in all truth wants nothing to do with the boy- finds him annoying and calls him names. Their "friendship" is built on lies and desperation.

They get an equine friend, who has to be left behind later. They narrowly escape the wrath of an old witch.

In the end, the boy faces two options: He accepts the rules of the world beyond the wall, stays with the girl he's met outside, OR he goes home to the girl he loved.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Wake me up when July is around

Chapter 8

Chapter 9/?

***

The loud beeping of an alarm clock wakes Billy up at 8.30 am on Saturday, and he wishes he was dead.

Last night they partied hard.

Hangover is a logical but, clearly, an unwelcome payback. It feels like a thousand of tiny evil blacksmiths are forging iron on their anvils right inside his head. Fucking christ. Billy opens his eyelids with much difficulty and immediately closes them again. He has to get up, damn it, he has to be at work at 12.

He has to rise from the ashes.

That Halloween Friday sure was freaky.

Billy is instantly filled with regret.

Why didn't he reset his alarm clock yesterday for later.

Before the party, he didn't think about it. He was only shaking his ass in front of the mirror admiring how good he looked in that leather jacket, bitches be thirsty.

After the party it was too late to think about the fucking alarm clock.

Okay, slowly .. slowly, he needs to sit up.

Just don't throw up. On the fucking carpet.

Billy is sitting upright on the bed. That's an achievement. It feels like he's still alive. He can move.

His throat is dry like the Sahara desert, he's in desperate need of water. He has to get to the kitchen.

Billy registers that he's still wearing the dark blue jeans and the gloves from his party costume. The black leather jacket is lying on the floor, near the boots.

Billy slowly takes off the gloves, finds a t-shirt lying nearby and puts it on.

Did he come home at 3? He doesn't really remember. Something like that. He only knows that he was trying to be as quiet as possible, not to wake anyone up, because that skill is ingrained in his brain and body, deep.

Billy forces himself to get on his feet, and sits back down right away, dizzy and miserable.

Okay. Let's try again, buddy.

He so overdid it yesterday.

After dragging himself off the bed, Billy makes it to the door

But the moment he opens it, he understands that it was a mistake. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, it's Neil and Susan having breakfast. The evil leprechaun must be still sleeping.

Fuck his life, he's gonna die if he doesn't drink water but his dad's wrath is also scary. At least Neil's not gonna kill him right now, in front of his wife, as an extra good morning.

Billy summons all his strength to look as normal as possible and shuffles to the bathroom. He drinks straight from the tap, washes his face and looks at the toilet bowl as if making sure that throwing up is not on today's agenda.

It's still to be seen, but not right this moment, at least.

If he's gonna go back to his room, dad's gonna get on his ass about "being disrespectful" and "not saying good morning". Looks like Billy has no choice but to show his face to them in all its hungover glory.

He checks the face in the mirror. It's fine. Looks human.

Just don't puke on the breakfast table, and everything will be A-okay.

Billy goes to the kitchen, all humble and trying to look like a shadow.

"Good morning, dad. Good morning, Susan."

"Will you look at yourself?"

Neil's voice is full of disgust.

"What time did you get home yesterday?"

"I uh .. a little after midnight, probably. I apologize if I woke you up."

"You didn't wake us up, Billy." Susan is cutting in. "Would you like some breakfast?"

He actually needs to eat something but

He can't even drink coffee right now.

Water. Water. It'll get better in an hour, he just needs a lot of water, and to lie down.

"No, thank you, Susan. I'll get myself something later."

Billy pours a full glass of water. Time to retreat while it's still peaceful.

"I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Mark my words, son, as soon as you finish school, I'm not paying for another single day of your life! Senior year, the most important time, and he's wasting it on .. what, on debauchery??" Neil is addressing Susan now, all indignant and angry, oh he is angry but Billy hopes it won't get bigger than that.

At nine o'clock Neil and Susan are supposed to go grocery shopping, like they always do on Saturdays. Neil likes it when they stick to a plan. He's already getting up and looking for his car keys. Susan takes the last sip of her tea and starts flopping her good housewife wings around the kitchen.

"Let's go, Susan. Billy will clean up after breakfast, right?"

"Of course, I will."

"Thank you, Billy. Good bye! Wake Maxine up at 10 if she doesn't get up, please!" Susan is taking her purse and the list of groceries.

"Sure. Have a nice time shopping!"

Billy hears his dad telling Susan on their way out

"Seems a bit late to sleep for a girl her age?"

"I know, honey, but she gets so tired during the week, let her have her Saturday .."

The door closes, and they're gone.

It went very well, actually, all things considered.

Probably Neil just didn't want to deal with a hungover teenager cause the said teenager might throw up all over the place, so it's better not to touch him.

Such an unfortunate episode did happen once, when Billy was still in his very green years. He came home drunk, and Neil got in his face. He grabbed the boy by his collar and was telling him what a piece of crap and a fucking burden he was, which only led to Billy feeling even worse. Neil had to run to the shower to wash the vomit off, leaving his son to clean up the mess he'd made.

He got slapped around for that later, but it taught Neil a lesson as well.

Billy goes back to his room clutching the glass of water like a lifeline.

He sits down on the bed again and after finishing the whole glass, lies down. He doesn't want to close his eyes though, cause the dizziness is gonna be back so he's just lying there staring at the ceiling.

Vile gray light is seeping through the window. Outside the rain is drizzling.

Fuck Indiana and its nasty weather right in its Midwestern ass.

Fucking hell.

Billy usually knows when to stop, but yesterday he clearly didn't.

What even happened yesterday? .. He did the keg stand, and there was more beer and vodka .. and he definitely mixed it all, hence the hangover. Smoking non-stop, dancing, Tommy following him around like a faithful bulldog, Vicky hanging on his arm and touching his abs while they were dancing. There was another girl, persistently asking for his attention, Jennifer or .. was it ..

Oh shit.

Oh no no no no

Fucking stupid piece of shit.

Fffffuuuuuucckkkkk.

Billy shuts his eyes but it is a bad idea, because he's getting the dizzies and everything's spinning, so he presses his palms to his closed eyes, wishing to erase the memory of what happened between him and .. fuck. The dumb bitch, Harrington.

He and Harrington fucking .. smooched ??

No no no no nooooo

Billy is groaning hoarsely, and the sound of it reflects the depth of his desperation at his own stupidity

Why is he such an idiot. Why did he do it. He should've instead broken Harrington 's pretty nose ..

fuck JUST nose! Without the pretty, forget that he said .. or thought that.

What was it even, Billy didn't want to start any shit in the first place, as god is his witness.

His clouded consciousness doesn't provide him with much, but some flashes do come to his mind.

Bathroom. Harrington.

He fucking started it!

His face. His lips. His hand on the back of Billy's head, almost hurting, the fingers sharp and digging into his skin

The silky softness.

The wetness of their tongues touching

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Mission: erasing the memories.

Billy is an idiot. A certified one.

***

He crawls out of his bedroom half an hour later for more water, and to go to the bathroom. The hangover is gradually stepping away, but the more it does, the more unsettled Billy is.

His dad is right.

He's an imbecile.

At around ten he bangs on Max's door,

"Wakie, wakie, Maxine!" he bellows and then bangs some more until he hears

"Stop it, you jerk!"

"Rise and shine, birdbrain!"

Then goes to the kitchen to finally find some food.

He's slowly getting back to his senses. At 12 he needs to be at work, and he will be. Old Joe won't even notice that Billy partied last night.

Partied so hard, that he ended up kissing that annoying motherfucker.

Erase, erase, erase.

No panic. It was only once, and it was a mistake but Billy could always say nothing happened.

He was so wasted, he wasn't himself. Hell, he didn't even remember it when he woke up.

Harrington is not gonna run his mouth about it, what is he, a kamikaze?

It's nothing, it's just a drunken slip up.

Happens to the best of us, amirite?

***

***

Steve stays at home all Saturday. They only go grocery shopping with mom, he drives her to the store and back in the afternoon. Or course, Dad chooses this very day to ask him fucking questions. Steve mumbles something about his captainship ot the basketball team and finally finishing his college application essay. He's also retaking his SATs at the beginning of November cause the results of the tests he took last year were not very high. Not high enough.

They were pretty low. After he gets the new results back, he'll still have time to apply to some places. Mom asks him if he has thought of a backup plan, and Steve honestly says

"No, mom. I haven't."

"You probably should."

"Yes, I will, after I'm done with applications. Can I go study now?"

Parents do not seem very happy with the outcome of their conversation, but Steve can't offer more. To him, his future plan looks okay for now.

Honestly, Steve doesn't even know what specific sphere he'd like to study. He's still at home and at school, and the future seems vague and a little bit scary. Nancy is definitely aiming at a university, and Steve's not sure what will happen to their relationship.

Especially after yesterday.

He spends the whole evening revising for his SATs. A lot of confusing stuff. He probably should've started sooner, and not a week before.

Well.

Steve studies more on Sunday, but then Tommy calls and they decide to go to a pizza place.

They order pepperoni and cola, and Steve can finally take a breath with his whole chest

"Ugh man, I've been studying for two days straight, my brain's on fire."

"Dad wants you to get into Yale or something?"

"Well no .. but .. they want me to have a clear plan, and I don't have it, and it's just .. they fucking nag."

Tommy nods in understanding

"Yeah man."

"Must retake SATs soon, and it just .."

"It sucks."

They chew some more pizza

"You remember, Hargrove took your keg king title? The dude got 52 seconds, fucking crazy."

At the mention of Hargrove's name Steve's cheeks start feeling hotter

"Yeah, whatever. I got bigger problems to worry about now."

"The princess?"

"We had a huge fight at the party. She was so drunk. I dunno, Tommy."

"You haven't talked to her since the party?"

"No. Why?"

Hagan is looking at Harrington in a weird way

"Hey, man .. I've actually been meaning to tell you. I think you should know."

"Know what?"

"Your Wheeler girl .. remember you asked me and Carol where she was and we told you she'd left home?"

"Yeah?"

"Well she didn't go home alone."

"That's good? She was drunk."

"Do you know who she left with?"

"How am I supposed to know that? I didn't see her leaving. You and Carol told me she was fine, and I .. I kinda left it at that?"

"So you still don't know?"

"Tommy, what the fuck?"

Hagan's still looking at Steve like he pities him but he also wants to gloat so bad because he told his friend a lot of times to "dump that prissy bitch", and they even fought over it, more than once, and voilà, in the end Tommy is actually right

"I thought that maybe she left with this .. Samantha or something? .. Tommy??"

"You girlfriend left with the Byers freak."

WHAT

"She what?"

"Just thought you should know."

"She left with Byers?"

"Yup."

"Jonathan Byers?"

"Yes, Steve."

Fucking what?

"Are you sure?"

"Dude, I was drunk but not blind. Carol saw that too. Nancy went downstairs in her wet dress, and it was like .. well, he was just standing there near the stairs. They talked for a minute and then went away together."

Well, that's uh .. Steve didn't expect that.

Is that what people feel when their heart breaks? Is that the burning acid of being betrayed?

Tommy eats what's left of the pizza.

Steve doesn't pick Nancy up on Monday to drive her to school as he usually does.

***

***

On Monday before practice coach Nelson informs the team that

"We're having visitors this week, boys! Let's show them all you've got!"

Two sports recruiters are coming to see if they have any hidden talents here in Hawkins.

Billy thinks someone should warn them not to waste their time. There's nothing to look for here. Nada. Fucking zero.

He knows that the odds of being chosen are extremely slim. And even if a recruiter spots you, it guarantees nothing.

Billy has seen his share of sports scouts back in San Diego. He's aware that they are not interested in him.

There are so many good things recruiters told Billy. He's a great player, he scores points, he makes flashy moves, his techniques of shooting, dribbling, rebounding and defense are excellent as well as such attributes as strength, endurance, speed and agility, blah blah blah. His physical characteristics - weight and wingspan - meet the requirements. Add to it Billy's intelligence on the court and the unbeaten desire to win.

He basically has it all.

There's just one problem - Hargrove's too short to be a professional basketball player. He's too fucking short, and that's why a career in basketball is not even an option.

He's 5'10. It's fine. Just not for the NBA.

At some point in his life Billy used to be bitter about his height. That was when the first recruiter came looking and he was like

"Kid, if only you were taller."

The second one said the same. And the third. Little by little, Billy accepted it as it is, and that's why

He doesn't care about the visitors. Unlike him, the whole team is buzzing. Are they stupid? Recruiters will never choose any of them. The only player who has a tiny microscopic chance of getting noticed is probably Andy. He's tall, he's got the physique. His game's not great but it can be worked with.

Harrington, on the other hand? Billy's has seen his serious and focused face, eyebrows knitted together, when the coach mentioned the recruiters.

Please, it's ridiculous.

Billy's not even gonna elaborate. It's simply ludicrous.

Harrington can drool all over his pillow having dreams of a sports scholarship or a prominent career in the NBA, and the sucker can keep on dreaming because that's as close as he's gonna get to playing this sport professionally.

Anyhoo.

It's skins and shirts as always, and Billy's playing rough as usual. He's seen Harrington in the school hallway earlier and they shared a class. Billy just straight up ignored the loser. Steve also didn't seem to look his way much, maybe he doesn't even remember about the kiss.

He also looks as if he's brooding about something, like something weighs heavy on his preppy-ass soul.

Either way, it's not Billy's business and he doesn't give a shit.

And yeah,

Mission: erasing the memories of the most idiotic kiss

Status: incomplete.

In his defense, Billy was so wasted, he could've kissed anyone.

***

***

During the match Hargrove behaves like nothing happened, there's just something about his game that's extra precise and extra ruthless. Like he wants to show with all his obnoxious persona that he's above all that and doesn't give a fuck. It's likely he doesn't recall what happened on Friday night because he was drunk as a fish.

Or it's a bluff.

He remembers.

Steve knows he does. Why is he so sure? Cause Hargrove hasn't touched him once since the beginning of the game, hasn't said anything mean to him. He's trying to send a message that he doesn't care, but he's trying too hard, and it shows.

Billy knows what they've done, and he's .. what, ashamed?

Heheehe.

Nice.

Harrington would've gotten much more pleasure out of it if his heart wasn't hurting.

Are they broken up with Nancy, did she cheat on him? What the hell is this whole fucking situation?

Steve's lost in his thoughts when suddenly he hears Nancy's loud irritated voice

"Steve?"

There she is, standing at the gym doors, clearly expecting Harrington to come have a conversation with her outside.

He doesn't want to bail on his team in the middle of the game but he's been avoiding Nancy all morning, and soon he won't be able to tolerate the level of acidity that has swallowed his whole being.

They do need to talk.

Steve needs it.

They go outside to the little passage between the gym and the school building where they usually hide smoking with the guys.

Maybe it's the first time since they got together, when Steve's absolutely not happy to see his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend? Guess we'll find out now.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

Nancy sounds pissed. She talks to him in that tone like .. like a strict mother to a naughty child, when she's angry at him.

"You didn't call all weekend.. and where were you this morning? I missed first period!"

"I figured Jonathan would take you."

"Wha .. what are you talking about?" Maybe she's a good actress but there's genuine surprise in her voice. She looks confused.

Harrington scoffs

"Jesus, you really can't handle your alcohol."

"Uh ..?"

"You remember going to Tina's party on Friday night?"

"Yes?"

"And then what?"

"I remember dancing .. and spilling some punch."

Nancy's thinking for a second.

"You got mad at me because I was drunk. And then you took me home."

Does she really remember nothing or that's all acting?

"No, see, this is where your mind gets a little bit fuzzy."

Steve's making a pause.

"That was your other boyfriend. That was .. that was Jonathan."

There's a perplexed expression on Nancy's face

"I don't understand."

"It's pretty simple, Nance."

"What?"

"You were just telling it like it is."

Maybe she really doesn't remember. That doesn't make it okay though.

"Uh .. apparently, we killed Barb and I don't care cause I'm bullshit and our whole .. our whole relationship is bullshit and .. I mean, pretty much everything is just bullshit bullshit bullshit."

Nancy raises her well-defined eyebrows and wrinkles her forehead

That doesn't make the stuff she told Steve okay!!

"Oh yeah also you don't love me."

"I was drunk, Steve. I don't remember any of that."

Really? So you can get hammered and tell your boyfriend you don't love him, and then everything should just get back to normal cause you don't recall doing that?

"So that makes everything you said .. it's what? Just bullshit too?"

"Yes?"

"Then tell me. Tell me that you love me and there's nothing going on between you and Jonathan."

"Really, Steve?"

"Harrington !!"

Roy is out of his breath, appearing between the buildings.

"Dude we need you, man! That douchebag is killing us! Let's go !!"

"I'm coming!"

"There is nothing going on between me and Jonathan, Steve."

It's nice to hear, really. Steve needs a longer explanation though.

"We're not done talking, Nance."

Their team loses anyways, with or without the captain. There's something about Billy's game today, it's .. like he's holding that distance, with a hint of "nothing personal, guys".. Is he getting ready to show off in front of the sports scouts? The new behaviour infuriates the hell out of Steve, even though the asshole hasn't pushed him one single time.

You're wrong about nothing personal, Hargrove. Locking mouths seems pretty personal to me.

However, Billy's not number one problem on the list of Steve's troubles right now. Let him believe Harrington has suffered a case of amnesia, and there was no kiss.

***

Steve picks Nancy up after school. On the way to her house she tells him

"Nothing happened that night, I swear."

"Are you sure, Nance? You didn't even understand who took you home! You thought it was me!"

"Steve, I would know if someone tried sleeping with me in my own bed, okay?"

She also admits that they sometimes talk with Jonathan between classes or during library study. They talk mostly about Barb, because his little brother Will was also missing last summer. They found him in the woods. Three weeks later, yet they found him. Maybe Barb also disappeared in the woods. Too much time has passed and there's no hope of finding her alive, but bringing some certainty would help her parents obtain peace.

Nancy assures Steve there's nothing romantic going on between her and Jonathan.

Steve's at a loss. Like .. he feels that he can't give Nancy the consolation she's looking for. He has no idea what happened to Barb and he thinks they should let the police deal with the whole thing. He can listen to Nancy, but what else can he offer? He's not .. experienced at things like that.

Steve should probably make a scene anyway and get really pissed and show her how hurt his feelings are, but he's also kinda glad everything 's cleared up, and she didn't cheat on him, and they are still together.

They are still together, right?

Nevertheless, he definitely must keep an eye on Jonathan Byers. The guy took creepy pictures of them in the middle of the night, Nancy seems to have forgotten about that. Steve should have a talk with Byers, tell him to stay away from his girl.

They kiss each other good bye.

It feels .. mechanic.

***

Late at night when Steve's again tossing and turning in bed, he suddenly realises that Nancy told him a lot of words but forgot to mention the most important thing - she didn't tell him she loved him.

Should he ask her again?

Tell me you love me

He's always thought if you're in love and in a relationship, you shouldn't be asking the person you're together with for confirmation.

Steve again feels that he wants to give so much, but no-one needs it, and no-one is willing to give back the same amount.

Of love.

Or even close to it.

Maybe relationships aren't that easy, and he's idealising them.

However, if there's no love, what's there to fight for?

[deeppenguinstudent]

I have no jeandrew prompts however I would love to hear your thoughts because I fear I'm being converted and it's wonderful

Oh my god I've been blessed, I absolutely love ranting about them so much!!

Their dynamics just make so much sense (kinda?) to me. Obviously it'll never happen in canon but scenes and scenarios just plague my mind sometimes.

Post-canon/Pro exy au:

This is the AU I think about the most honestly. Can you just imagine them on the same professional exy team as literally the best defence line the ERC has ever seen? So obviously, they have to go on a lot of press duty since Jean is ex perfect court, and it is slipped that Andrew was offered a position.

They fucking hate the press, Andrew in particular since he can see the hidden innuendos within the questions that are sent Jean's way. So he responds to them with a curt response before asking the interviewer to move along to the next question. So then Andrew starts his shit. He's not sure of what happened to Jean in the Nest, so he proposes a game to keep each other in good grace without breaking out into a brawl every time they speak.

Since by some grace, Jeremy and Neil aren't in the picture (God knows how), they slowly start to attract each other. Andrew has a thing for making standoffish people break under him while Jean gravitates towards him because he enjoys Andrew's decisiveness and steadfast wit. Andrew also especially remembers the small things about Jean. He blames it on his eidetic memory when, in actuality, he patiently listens and retains every small thing that Jean speaks about. Jean falls in love, of course, because no one had cared enough to know anything about him.

Raven Andrew AU:

What if Andrew said yes? Obviously, he knows of Riko's wrath, but he realises Jean's presence as the wimp beside number 1. Riko has the entire perfect court with him (minus Neil, he's still finding a substitute), so naturally, Andrew's and Jean are temporary partners. None of the Ravens disturb Andrew particularly because of his rumours of being put to juvy because of killing a man (it's not true of course, but Andrew entices the rumours mainly because he just thinks yeah I like none of these fuckers better they leave me alone). Jean, on the other hand, had the biggest mouth behind Riko.

Andrew hears of the rumours of Jean being a whore. So he puts it to the test, he slowly indulges in Jean's presence talking to him the post to jibe back at him. Also Andrew completely defies Riko by speaking German behind his back and Jean is privately praying Andrew would stop because he gets the most shit. They have to shower together, do everything together so they get closer obviously.

They learn of their shared love for literature and mainly converse like characters in popular literary books and compare Riko to the facetious and most annoying characters in front of him. Since riko cares for no literature, he thinks they are complimenting him. I feel like Jean would absolutely fall first but he doesn't want a repeat of Kevin to happen so he lets his feelings silently subdue.

Honestly, I feel like the confession would be something along the lines of Andrew claiming he's jealous of Kevin or something. And Jean is like yeah, he's a pretty awesome striker but Andrew scrunches up his nose, looks at Jean and just utters his confession much like he did to Neil and gives him the option to decline but Jean just blurts out You don't want to be with me over and over again and Andrew feels something unsettling occur in the Nest.

So then he starts to actually pay attention the Ravens beside Jean and he gets wind of the rumour of Jean and him sleeping together. He wanted to let bygones be bygones but he heard the Raven utter out something jarring about raping Jean to Jean's face that makes him tense and he just snaps. He takes his goal keeper racket and stalks over to the backliner and hits him across his stomach.

He gets heavily whipped by the master but he doesn't care he just goes to the shared room of his and Jean and demands an answer. It's when Jean finally breaks down and tells him that Andrew decides he's had enough of this stupid nest, riko and Moriyamas.

Jean also stays with Andrew very tightly since of course none of the Ravens try shit with him around.

Foxes Jean AU: (abit NSFW?)

Okay so this was my first draft of the Foxes Jean AU before I decided to change it to Kevjean😭 but I may indulge in this with snippets or maybe a one chapter one-shot.

Basically, after Wymack rescues Jean from the Ravens, Andrew doesn't trust him at all. So obviously, he invites Jean over to Eden's Garden. Jean levels him with a look before saying no and walking off. The cousins are shocked at this because no one other than Dan had the balls to talk to Andrew like that.

Andrew's interested in Jean because he is hot, tall, French, and such a travesty that Andrew yearns to unfold and break. Jean on the other hand wants nothing to do with Kevin and thus avoids Andrew because those two are joined at the hip. So comes Renee that invited both Andrew and Jean to hang out, she doesn't come obviously and she leaves Jean and Andrew to their own devices to talk it out as Wymack had requested.

They do talk it out but instead Andrew asked if Jean has ever fought before to which Jean says you want me to spar with you? You're like half my height, I could win with no experience. Andrew just smiles creepily and they start to train, Andrew's criteria was that if he wins Jean has to answer one singular question and that if he loses, Andrew would leave Kevin in Jean's hands and he was free to take Kevin wherever after.

Jean agreed because he thought he could win but as he felt Andrew on top of him, knife in his hand pinning Jean's arms over his head with a knife and his other hand pushing Jean against the floor. So then Andrew goes close to Jean, his lips almost touching, but he waits. He doesn't move forward, and then he asks, "Yes or No."

Jean's breath hitches before he cranes his neck to kiss lightly. They pull back before Andrew kisses Jean bruisingly into the dead of the night.

This is how they cope with each other. No one knows, of course, except Renee because she's all seeing. But anyways, they're basically having little trysts when the rest of the Foxes are busy.

I'm not going to get into the jeaneil aspect of this (this fic was originally jeandreil), but long story short, Jean realises he's catching feelings for Andrew, obviously but he knows that Andrew doesn't do love at all. So he moves away from Andrew, he gravitates towards Neil and finds him growing more attached to the runaway, and this scares him because what if the Ravens were right? A man shows him a minimal amount of attention, and he grovels at their feet? So what if he is actually a whore?

He doesn't think more because Neil finds out about Jean and Andrew one day. Jean says there's nothing, but Neil can see it in Andrew's eyes because he can read Andrew very well. Normal Andreil take place, but they both secretly yearn for Jean, too.

I think long story short basically they three end up together 😭😭

I'm so lazy for typing out every idea I have but if I have anything else I'll share it with you♡♡

[sandersea]

coach!neil au

i will (probably) never flesh this out further but please enjoy this au that has been living rent free in my head since 2016:

after the butcher cuts the tendons in Neil’s ankles, he laughs. he laughs as Neil crawls his way across the floor, already bloodied fingers leaving streak marks against the cement. no one laughs as Neil drags himself from the house, when he refuses any of the offered help.

the hospital sends him home in a wheelchair, and he refuses to leave the building until he’s shoved it down a flight of stairs. he’s only been out of surgery for twelve hours, only been out of bed for six, but he signs himself out AMA and orders them to give him a pair of crutches. sitting down in that wheelchair feels too much like he’s got a future there.

the FBI tells him he has twenty minutes with the foxes, and it takes him eleven of those to climb the single flight of stairs to their room. they tell him ‘starting now’ at the door, awkwardly, and he snarls in their face that he doesn’t need their pity.

it’s not Andrew who has him collapsing to his knees in the hotel room, but exhaustion. he faces the foxes the same way he first met them - doubled over, scrabbling for his dignity against the floor, fighting the urge to vomit. (this time Andrew is not the one who knocks him down, but he is the one who picks him up.)

the horror in their eyes isn’t just at the mess that is his face or his arms or the haunted look in his expression, but the way his legs are shaking, spasming, and even with the surgeries they just aren’t moving the way they’re supposed to.

the first week with the crutches, Neil’s legs collapse beneath him like a puppet with its strings cut. after that, he can’t get around without the wheelchair.

they still play the ravens in the finals, but they don’t have the fastest defenseman in division i anymore. they do, however, still have Neil. it’s Neil who notices the way Matt is limping. the way Riko is weaving through the backliners like they’re not even there. it’s Neil who makes the call to sub a few players out - Matt joins him on the bench. Kevin takes his place in front of the goal. they don’t have the fastest defenseman in division i anymore, but they have the best player in the country, and the man who knows riko’s moves better than anyone. they leave the foxes with barely anything in the way of offense, and focus entirely on defense. Kevin guards the goal like his life depends on it.

(it does.)

they don’t win the game, but they don’t lose. the buzzer sounds with the score still tied. Neil wheels himself to center court for the final shootout and gets as close to Riko as he can. Riko grins like he’s already won. he might not have orchestrated this injury, but it’s everything he could have wanted anyway. Neil grins in return, and throws the fact that Neil and Kevin and Jean belong to the main family now. that Riko can’t touch them without bringing his own brother’s wrath down on the nest like a bomb. that even if he wins this game, he’s lost everything. Riko turns on him, anger consuming rational thought, and raises his arm with the intention to kill.

(Andrew gets there first.)

the only thing that changes is that Neil never walks again.

the future he sold to Ichirou in exchange for his life never comes to be - instead, he pays off his debts as the new coach of the ravens (you said it yourself, Ichirou throws in his face as he all but throws him from the car. it’s been 14 months since the surgery but his legs still can’t support his weight. a professional player can make seven figures a year for my family. you turned the foxes into champions, now you will do it for the ravens.)

he says no.

Andrew says yes. (you are a fox, he says desperately against Neil’s neck, and I am still the man who is keeping you alive.)

the same team he is told to lead is the team that lost to him only weeks before. the team that tried and failed to break him at christmas. the team that stands kingless, toppled, teetering at the brink of total destruction. the team that resents him. the team that can’t respect him, the cripple who calls himself their new coach. the team that refuses to listen. the team that has been turned, brainwashed, the team that reacts to his humanity like a poison.

the only thing that keeps him in black and red is the way that it’s not just his life anymore - the deal was for the three of them, Neil and Kevin and Jean, and then Andrew offered himself as a fourth. it’s hardly the first time he’s walked into evermore for his family. (but this time, it may be the last.)

Andrew turns his back on his brother and cousin and every promise that tied him to south carolina and transfers to edgar allen, like he was originally meant to. it’s one final victory against Riko’s memory. (no one is surprised to see him leave. if anything, they’re surprised that he pretends to be reluctant about it.)

the following season the ravens play the foxes and it’s the most painful day of his life - he sends his team to the court opposite his family, and he knows a hundred different ways to exploit their weaknesses (he mentions none of them). the seven original foxes refuse to play (they’ve been telling him they were going to for weeks now. the one thing that doesn’t change is that he is still a fox, and they see each other at least once a week. talk once a day. it’s not the same). he has to wheel his way to the opposing team’s locker room that still feels like home and drag them back onto the court. they go, but they don’t play their best - all these times that Neil has thrown himself on a grenade for them, it’s all too easy for them to throw the game. it’s not USC who wins that year, but the ravens.

the next season it’s easier. they’ve got new players who never knew Riko’s regime, and older players who are coming to see that there’s just as much winning to be found with Neil’s way of thinking. it’s still never going to be home.

the next season, it’s not terrible anymore. the ravens are slowly learning how to play it as a game and not a battlefield, how to be humans again. they play the foxes and the foxes win. (the ravens don’t throw the game, but they act as leaderless. Neil still won’t coach them against his people)

the season after that, he thinks he might be enjoying himself. the ravens are allowed to study whatever they want now, to make friends. the ones who were there during Riko still act like they used to, but the younger players are happy. they don’t put on their uniforms like they’re going to war. they don’t fear death if they don’t win. (most of the time, they do win. Neil drives them through the same drills he learned as a raven, the ones he learned from Kevin, and he still reads the people around him like he’s living on the run. the saddest part is that he’s a hell of a coach, and that he genuinely enjoys what he does - he just wishes it was a different team he led.)

the original foxes have finally all graduated. Matt and Kevin and Andrew make court, and 70% of their earnings go directly into the Moriyama’s pockets. 86% of all of Neil’s graduates make it to the pros, and a portion of theirs come back as well.

Andrew signs with the West Virginia team. Matt does too. Dan takes over when Wymack retires, and she and Neil get together as often as they can to discuss their teams and the sport and their lives over lunch.

now when the foxes are seated across from the ravens at the banquets, there’s smiling and laughter. the foxes are still taken from broken homes and the ravens still practice longer hours than any other college team, but they’ve found a common friendship on the court. (and it helps, now, that Dan calls out the raven weaknesses as loudly as Neil does for the foxes. it’s impossible for their games to be anything but friendly when Neil wears an orange jersey that reads WILDS 01 and Dan wears the long forgotten black and red JOSTEN 04.)

evermore is the seat of the national team as well, and for a period of months every year he’s yelling at Kevin and Thea and Matt to haul their asses, he’s not here to watch them lose. the original foxes (and their spouses and children) splay across the seats in the raven lounge and make it feel more like home than it already does. Andrew makes the short drive from their apartment to the court like he does nearly every day, but this time to play instead of to sit beside the coach and offer unsolicited advice.

it’s nothing he ever wanted, but it’s still his life, and he’s still okay. the foxes are still his family and they’re still alive, they’re just a little bit farther away than he would have liked. he still spends the rest of his life in the sport he loves and he still makes a name for himself as one of the best, it’s just in a different position than he thought. he still has a home and two cats and a life with Andrew, it’s just in a different state.

even in this world where everything goes wrong, Neil does what he does best - he survives.

[dollarbin]

The Dollar Bin at 100

It seems fitting that I should begin this, my 100th post in The Dollar Bin, with some heartfelt apologies.

Dear Wife,

I'm sorry my records are here, there and everywhere. But they are changing my life with a wave of... nevermind. I'm also sorry I cranked Empire Burlesque while you were doing yoga.

Dear Hipster Staff At My Record Store,

I'm sorry I consistently get your hopes up by amassing a fat stack of records that wind up costing just $16 total. When you hand me back all my new Bonnie Raitt and Mama Cass and say "have fun" with zero conviction I know that what you really mean is "you and your collection seriously suck mister." I hear you, hipster. I hear you.

Dear Famous Brother,

I'm sorry I copied your ass by writing a music blog, and I'm sorry my blog debases your entire professional field. I'm also sorry for occasionally schooling and lambasting you in print. Check that: I'm not sorry at all, broheim. I'm giggling.

Dear Stephen Stills,

I'm so sorry for all the mean things I have said about... forget it, I can't do it. Hey Stills: you still suck.

Dear Reader,

That's you! I'm sorry about all my typos and my complete lack of conciseness. I'm also sorry that Sandy Saturdays are often posted on Wednesdays, and that I almost only write about white people from 50 years ago. And yes, I acknowledge that I've written way more about Ringo more than any other Beatle. Way more. But I refuse to apologize for that fact.

Okay, now what?

I know:

Here's a handy guide, complete with links, for every silly thing I've written about in 100 posts.

I started this whole thing out of the blue last August by going on and on about a Joan Baez record no one else on earth currently listens to. Then I argued that Jerry Jeff Walker's voice cracks are high art. Clearly I had a target audience of about 15 people.

Even so, a few of my posts struck a bit of a chord, bringing in new readers like all of you - and I'm glad you are here! There was the time I explained how John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats taught me how to cook; people also liked when I shouted about the greatness that is The Roches. (My second piece on the Roches was a bit less of a smash, but oh well...).

Occasionally I've had some ideas to express. Listen to the Doors. Judy Collins rocks. Linda Ronstadt is the greatest artist in the Dollar Bin and sings pretty great backup. Gordon Lightfoot went electric. Emmylou Harris sings the best Jesus music. Steeleye Span did not ruin music; indeed they're often obscurely brilliant.

And sometimes I've just entertained myself by my writing about Dead Skunks in the middle of the road, Cat Stevens comedic skills or the links I contrived between Sandy Denny and Biz Markie.

There's also been some (silly and possibly inebriated) fury. Take the times when I laid waste to my famous brother's Dylan and Stephen Stills claims, or the days when I unleashed my wrath on Roger McGuinn, Graham Nash and Grace Slick.

Somehow Stephen Stills comes up quite a bit.

And yeah, I write a whole lot about Neil Young. I used his first, unappreciated record to introduce my whole Shakey Sundays project, then I moved on to trash The Monsanto Years, quibble with Peace Train, reclaim Living With War, scratch my head over Life, and shout about the glories of Ragged Glory on not just on one, but two, and then three different occasions. I also used Old Ways as a vehicle for describing some fairly reprehensible parenting on my part, considered The Shocking Pinks, quivered in the face of the greatness that is Odeon / Budokan, reported on Neil's current tour, compared Neil to my own father through Before and After, ignored him and focused instead on Richie Furray, had a mellow Sunday while listening to Comes a Time and screamed about Eldorado.

What's more, I complained about Young's attention to detail in Landing on Water, survived him on wacko safari in Earth, had fever dreams during a covid case, made big claims about After the Goldrush and discovered over two very different posts that I was grown up enough to finally appreciate Time Fades Away. The whole project is pretty never ending in that Young puts out a new record just about once a month and I've got a long way to go.

Sandy Denny has been my other major focus, and for good reason. After all, she should have had a hit in 67, is a lyrical equal to Dylan and Young, recorded some very sweet demos, scorned Pete Townsend, fronted her own band long before the public was ready for that level of feminist power, made the soundtrack for a movie no one has ever seen, provided parents with a I-love-you-now-go-to-sleep anthem, backed up Richard Thompson on the song that should be featured in all graduations, showed off her pop music pipes, is impossible to find performing live on the internet, and had her songs mangled by Fairport Convention except when she was making improved, vastly improved and then perfect music with them, even when it was about meat products left out in nature.

Then we had World Party week with one, two, three, four, five and then six different posts to honor the passing of one of my favorite artists from the 80s/90s, Karl Wallinger. RIP Karl.

Probably too often I wrote about my own pedestrian biography more than the music itself. That happened with Uncle Tupelo, and in big ways with Tom Petty's lost-to-me second record, Shakey's Re-ac-tor and Nelson Sings Kristofferson. Oh yeah and there was the time I melted all my new records...

One great thing about the blog is that it forces me to actually listen to all my records. And so my appreciation grew for some artists like Mickey Newberry (here and here), Bonnie Raitt, June Tabor, and Randy Newman

There are plenty of other artists that I'm just getting started with: Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, Van Morrison, Linda Thompson, The Incredible String Band, Stevie Nicks, Dump/Yo La Tengo, Carole King and Roger Miller will all deserve many future posts.

Finally, there are a few posts that I am pretty proud of.

There's the deep dives I took on Kris Kristofferson and Lord Franklin's connections to my own biography, and I'm glad I connected Ian Matthews to Richard Thompson and the terrible suffering in Gaza.

Plus, I think my first big piece on Dylan was alright, Ma. And I had a lovely weekend morning listening to Jonathan Richman.

And finally, I'm proud of my Sandy Denny piece on songs that birth worlds and another rambling meditation about her that included CS&N fighting over a sandwich.

Okay, you did it: you read a whole post about posts. Thank you so much for supporting my self-indulgent blog people. I really appreciate it.

[wrongpublishing]

You Should Diversify Your Horror Rec List (Rec List Enclosed)

by Rae Maybee.

If you’re a Western reader, hopelessly in love with horror as hard as I am, you might have found you’ve gotten bored of the common tropes involving demons, poltergeists, vampires, and zombies. While it might be part of the fun for genre elements to provide reliable elements to a book that you’ll know you’ll enjoy, a predictable ending might conversely not be as hard-hitting and well… scary. 

Psychologist D. Zillmann proposes that enjoyment is the result of suspense and specifically, the anticipation of a resolution.* For this sense of suspense to be at its most acute, a reader must not know exactly how the plot is going to resolve—for better or for worse—because the resolution itself is technically less important than one’s anticipation of it. Dr. Neil Martin, summarizing multiple studies of horror film viewers, also proposes that enjoyment is associated with destruction, excitement, and unpredictability.** In other words, fans enjoy horror because they find it new, interesting, and stimulating; entertainment comes from the exposure to new ideas. (Usually,  horror does this well by shocking and appalling.)

Dr. Matias Clasen’s 2012 biocultural approach to horror, furthermore, examines monsters specifically as an adoptive storytelling form designed to help readers encounter and deal with innate fears.*** Most interestingly, he argues that there is a depth to horror that taps into our upbringing and the instincts we’ve evolved to survive—that is, environmental factors brought on by our culture and other surroundings.

While it is true that many cultures share fears and conceptualize similar ideas revolving around those fears, it is also true that there is a wealth of unfamiliar concepts waiting to be explored outside the boundaries of intra-national fiction. Using Dr. Clasen’s model, one could surmise that writers of different cultures will have grown up with varying fears, based on their unique geographies and socio-political climates. A writer from one continent might write a monster inspired by an animal that another continent doesn’t encounter, to give one broad example. And horror consumers will attest that religious and mythological elements play a big part in many subsets of the genre (those tend to be known for inspiring fear.)

To give an example from my own experience, when a reader who has consumed nothing but American horror is exposed to say, a demon possession in a book they’re reading, they may be able to predict its strengths and weaknesses (ergo, an exorcism). However, that same reader picking up a book from, say, Bolivia, might find themselves introduced to a threatening Pishtaco and especially worried about the powers it might yield. 

Of course, if you’re reading this and you’re already well-acquainted with the monsters of the Andes region of South America, fear not. I’m excited about a few other recommendations for books that will pique your curiosity.

Violet Kupersmith’s Build Your House Around My Body is a good example of a novel that winds around itself and consistently keeps the reader guessing. The story revolves around a young Vietnamese-American woman who has traveled to Saigon to teach English—and, hopefully, reconnect with her heritage. She gets far more than she bargained for, though, as her story intersects with almost fifty years of Vietnamese history coming back to (quite literally) haunt.

Stephen Graham Jones’s The Only Good Indians is a novel about four Blackfeet Native American men struggling with tradition, identity, and the wrath of a spirit hard-bent on vengeance. Readers are kept on their feet by the intense imagery and shifting points-of-view which never let the tension slack for a moment.

The Queen of the Cicadas, by V. Castro, follows a woman who’s returned to Texas for her best friend’s wedding. Once there, she comes face to face with a local legend, la Reina de las Chicarras, who was born from the unsolved murder of a Mexican farmhand. Part detective story, part tale of revenge, this book introduces readers to a number of goddesses and ghosts—and all the worse, the very harsh realities faced by migrant workers.

Whether it’s with the books above or beyond, I highly recommend seeking out and supporting authors from cultures and nations different to your own. Fear is such a universal emotion, and not only will more international interest boost chances of further translated works (we always need more), their perspectives simply demand to be heard. After all, it’s a big, diverse, and terrifying world out there. You already love it; why not wander further into the darkness?

Rae Maybee is a graduate student from Emerson College’s Publishing and Professional Writing program, and she’s published the following pieces online: “Momentary Imbalance” in The Bluffton University Literary Journal and “Challenging the Best to be Better” in Moreover.

*D. Zillmann (1996). “The psychology of suspense in dramatic exposition” in Suspense: Conceptualizations, theoretical analyses, and empirical explorations eds. P. Vorderer, H. J. Wulff, and M. Friedrichsen (New York: Routledge, 1996).

**Neil Martin, “(Why) Do You Like Scary Movies? A Review of the Empirical Research on Psychological Responses to Horror Films” Frontiers in Psychology 10 (2019). 10.3389/fpsyg.2019.02298 

***Mathias Clasen, “Monsters Evolve: A Biocultural Approach to Horror Stories” Review of General Psycology 16, no. 2 (2012): 222-229. https://www.ucentral.edu.co/sites/default/files/inline-files/monsters-evolve-cineclub-julio-2020.pdf 

[dastardly-ethereal-love]

So friends. I am okay but have been so very not okay in the past. I’m reading more of this wonderful ‘Oh,Maker’ world - this time from Aziraphale’s perspective and it is hard hitting for an ex Christian like me.

Here is my looooong comment to the first bloody chapter!

But this is a flaw, a weakness in me. The LORD is righteous, and a jealous God, and I must find a way to be strong enough to witness Her wrath with the same equanimity I witness Her love. I will, one day. If I remain faithful, if I try hard enough. I will be granted that strength.

Those lines. Fuck. It’s so true. It’s how I used to think there must be something wrong with me because god is perfect so why am I not okay with his judgement of gay people or his treatment of women or his killing and punishment of anyone who doesn’t fit his exacting standards. As if Jesus’ sacrifice somehow can cover over whole societies who never knew Jesus or had a chance to accept his very limited opportunity for salvation? Who can accept those terms… who can look at themselves and be okay with being on the ‘winning team’ when so many are forced to ‘lose’. My dad was in a Christian cult that refined that saved number down to some crazy number in Revelation… 144,000? Like ever? It’s arrogance in the extreme. And Aziraphale was created within it. He’s a bloody angel and has no say in it but has to enact it. He watches it unfold.

No words for that level of trauma. How you have him watching the flood and Crowley takes him away and comforts him. How you have him watching 20,000 die in wars between England and France. So much senseless loss of life. You could lose your mind thinking about it. How does any of it make sense?

Anyway… I love your writing and how it shakes out these big questions and reminds you that we as humans have choices. I absolutely choose Crowley now and his way of questioning. I grieved losing my faith but now I’m grateful to have escaped that very limiting frame of thinking. It felt like losing something precious but you said in Oh Maker that it could be the start of something else that is joyful. Maybe not in those words… but I like the honesty and the genuineness that comes with stripping back the layers of indoctrination. I am finding so much more pleasure in simple everyday things now. I’m not forcing myself to do things because they are someone else’s will be it my church minister, a Benedictine monk or my idea of who God is. Haha I’m finding out what my will is. Who I am. It’s nice to connect with myself and find that I like who I am. I am embracing my emotions - sad and hurt as much as happy and joyful and giving them more room to be heard. Not having to paint a bloody happy face on horrible stuff. That’s a relief. Also, not feeling guilty about enjoying things for their own sake. I used to be told off for wasting my time and my labour on meaningless stuff - but life and joy and being alive is not useless! I’m going to art galleries, going to plays, going on holidays to walk under trees and be in nature and connect with who I am. It’s a kind of bliss. It’s a kind of joy. It’s a recognition that I was worth love even if I didn’t earn it. The whole love is given, not earned thing. Killed me. It hit me hard. I was told salvation doesn’t come from works by one side of my faith community and the other side was all ‘cover your head to pray’ and ‘take communion’ and if you don’t do it regularly then you will have no life in you. So it was do this or be cast out but then also, faith alone! But then faith without works is dead… such a horrible tug of war and where was I in any of it?! Like when did the person who I was get a chance to speak? When did I get to move without guilt or obligation pushing me one way or the other?

Gah. Religion is not my favourite. It may work for some but i think my brand of childhood trauma and religion created a bit of a monster. I was ripe for being taken advantage of. I didn’t know what boundaries were and I was just way too ready to sacrifice my whole entire self by becoming a bloody nun. A boy ended up tempting me away from that idea… haha but I was so ready to just give my life away to some other persons idea of the right thing to do. I just so wanted to be good. To be told I was good. Ugggghhh!

/no one was prepared for that level of trauma dumping. Apologies and thanks for sharing your words with the world!

[v1ctimplagued]

❛ don’t shut me out like this. ❜ + ❛ let me get closer, i have a hell inside of me where your demons can live. ❜

memes. / always accepting.

　ANGER WAS NOTHING NEW. The only difference was now she was there to witness the ugly form and blossom out of him. The thorny nastiness broke the surface of his haphazardly-shaped control. It's so big and threatening and looming Billy cannot manage to keep it contained so tightly inside of him. The bruises on his face are new and fresh—the hurt is nothing new but new to her 'cause normally he lets himself clean up before he sees her again. He had been desperate this time seeking her comfort and understanding, soothing away this festering rage boiling in his chest.

❝ My father. ❞ The words feel bitter and wrong in his mouth. That man wasn't his dad. Billy had known this since he had been a naive, bright-eyed kid. But it relays the message he wants her to know. A fucked up dad who hit his kid when angry and a mother who hadn't bothered to stick around to defend Billy against that man. Even now when he was no longer a child he could still manage to feel powerless against the asshole. He thought he had escaped and in some ways, he had when he moved out as soon as he had graduated. But Neil had a way of disrupting his life and barging his way in, ironically in the same way Billy often bulldozed his own way into others. The apple doesn't fall too far from the fucking tree, huh?

Bruised fingers—smashed against the nearest surface, a tsunami of repressed wrath washing over him—falteringly reach for hers. Her presence has always been a tranquilizer to the storm in him. But today he felt inconsolable. Lost, even. ❝ I know it's wrong and fucked up but I wanted to kill him. At least then, I know he wouldn't come back into my life to wreck shit. ❞ 'Cause god knows Billy felt immobilized and paralyzed when facing the man despite knowing he could easily overpower him.

[neillien]

Joshua and Neil

not quite full of themselves yet, in knowing how attraction turns physical. It would be nice. Two neglected outlines crouched on a sturdy tree bough - side by side. Chewing last autumn's psilocybin, smoking. Drinking stolen Vodka, Spitting backwashed blowflies at backstabbing imbeciles who dare try to fuck-them-over.

One atrocity down from the disreputable legend which makes them irresistible. Handsome. Vigilant. Your cumbersome hands, so male yet tenderly learning tactility. My hands often tremble. My hands and knees bent in a pugilistic stance to protect myself from wrath. If I tell you, you will go batshit. Tear straight round to my house to confront my dad.

Disgracefully, you’d cut-off your hair in an attitude of a sneer. The following evening brandishing a blunt disposable razor and a bar of soap, I follow suit. Two halves in one knave, eager to make devilish nuisances of themselves. We have a whole summer ahead, and our tongues already sharpened on brimstone will cut out the cloth of our new apparel, our bodies full of chloral and Chlorophyll, we are nature boys, a life in the trees, perched like Harbinger birds. Birds of the coming storms.

Stretching our necks out of your bedroom skylight. The heavy rain an anointment. Protecting ourselves from rural attitudes that go against our reasons. A candle burns. To Be Free, and live, off-our-faces. We don't want anyone but ourselves. We sing orisons, and set fire to your nylon bedspread, and watch it drip violet and toxic because good lives live with beauty however badly it is construed. Horror is a construct and there is horror in our tactics but only perceivable from the outside. Are hearts are wild because we are beasts. Our eyelashes full of distorted creatures.

We hunger for each other. Gossamer thin, just aching to be broken from the stem. Green between the foliage, our skin undertaken and flowing, green gildings of our own human outfitting - an egg devoured by serpents, our first trembling kiss, defiles a yoke of spittle, unhurried. Then we touch.

You are tremendously impressed by my gag-reflexes and laugh aloud when I admit to having been practicing on spoon handles. The purity of appearance, broken.

Nothing we say or do ever makes us paranoid when we keep ourselves loaded. Together we make a formidable whole. We are strong and better abled to confront our daemons. When I am discarnate, when I am uninvolved, you find me. Bring me your victories. When I am an accomplice but feeling life vicariously only, when I accomplish nothing of my own because I have autumn melancholy it brings about the worst side-effects, you say you bleed into me and make me total. You promise this for me, it will b eternal, that day is coming. I feel it already. You are the ghost in me hanging fulgently from my tree.

[orionsangel86]

Thank you so much for your thoughts! I think as the day as gone on my nerves have calmed down a bit and the thought of Brief Lives being adapted early isn't such a frightening aspect to me anymore.

I really like @tickldpnk8's view on how the arcs could play out, and when considering how season 1 was adapted, it does make sense. We had Preludes and Nocturns adapted across 5 episodes, and the Dolls' House adapted across 4 episodes, with the Sound of Her Wings and Men of Good Fortune making up a 6th episode, and Calliope and Dream of a Thousand Cats making up an 11th.

So we have 12 episodes and potentially THREE arcs being shot. Now that I've had time to consider, it WOULD make sense to adapt Brief Lives in the same run of eps as adapting the Song of Orpheus, because technically Song of Orpheus bookends the end of Brief Lives. Just like Nada's tale technically could kick off Season of Mists (giving weight to my theory that they wanted to adapt that with the story that resolves it). I initially thought the episode titles we were given were specifically for the FIRST 6 episodes, but now i'm not so sure.

Okay so I have done some extra digging and found some interviews from way back after season 1 was first released where Alan Heinberg is talking about season 2 and says this:

"The end of episode one, if we move forward, is Dream saying to Matthew, 'I'm going to Hell and I may not come back,'" Heinberg teases. "So then episode two begins with the rematch between Dream and Lucifer. It's so juicy! I'm so looking forward to doing something entirely different with Gwendoline's look. I don't want to spoil the surprises for people who haven't read Season of Mists, but that's where Dream's trouble really begins."

So if this still tracks today, episode 1 must throw us right into Nada's tale and the family dinner, and ends with Dream going to Hell. and episode two focuses on his journey to Hell to face Lucifer.

Alan Heinberg also said this about A Game of You in the same interview:

"If we're able to do Game of You, we've got a lot of characters who aren't even human, who are talking animals, who I'm looking forward to meeting," Heinberg says. "Lenny Henry is so good as Martin Tenbones, and I can't wait for the audience to meet Wanda, Foxglove, and Hazel."

But I notice the big "IF" at the start there so I'm still not holding out much hope for it, unless, as @tickldpnk8 suggests, its an animation.

I'm also thinking a lot about that interview with Jamie Childs the Director who said "we know what worked and what didn't work" [in season 1] and "we've got all that prior knowledge and are coming at it again" and I've been wondering what they think didn't work and I can hazzard a guess that they didn't think The Dolls' House arc worked as well as the Preludes and Nocturns arc because the Doll's House didn't focus on Morpheus. I'm sure saying this will ruffle some feathers but I'm trying to think about this logically. I enjoyed the Dolls' House, and it was a really faithful adaptation, but I can admit that in order to adapt something to television and appeal to the widest audience you need to keep your protagonist your protagonist and the biggest issue with the Sandman comics is that Morpheus is NOT technically the protagonist half the time. Sometimes he is sure, and usually, those stories where he IS the protagonist are the favourites among fans - Preludes and Nocturns, Season of Mists, Brief Lives and The Kindly Ones.

So I wouldn't be surprised if A Game of You gets sacrificed for that reason, and becomes minimised to a single episode, or gets blended into the other arcs somehow - keeping Wanda is clearly the best move to make because Neil Gaiman would never have survived Tumblr's wrath if she wasn't included (I would myself be carrying torches and pitchforks to his door if that had happened), but perhaps Barbie's role and the roles of Hazel and Foxglove have been drastically reduced?

If Season of Mists takes up 4 episodes, then we get three one offs for A Midsummer Nights Dream, Song of Orpheus, and Thermidor (or maybe some of these can be combined? Then another one off for A Game of You followed by a final four for Brief Lives? We also don't know how long these episodes are going to be and theres no reason why they couldn't just release feature length episodes like Netflix has done with other shows like Stranger Things in the past.

Like @marlowe-zara I am nervous about cancellation. But I keep telling myself two things - 1. Neil Gaiman would never let it be cancelled without finding some way of completing it and I'm sure other networks would be hungry to get it (like Amazon who knows all too well how popular Neil Gaiman's works can be) and 2. Netflix wouldn't have just invested in Dead Boy Detectives if it was intending to cancel Sandman anytime soon. The fact that they already grabbed this show from another network just so they could make it an official spin off is a really good sign. Especially if they are planning to have characters from each series guest star as well (also the former SPN fangirl in me is just majorly geeking out at some of my fave SPN cast now being part of the Sandman universe AND my all time favourite SPN writer the beloved ghost of Steve Yockey is showrunning it. There is too much joy to be contained here!).

Finally, I'm putting my hat in the ring for taking bets on wild speculations as proposed by @writing-for-life. I'm sticking with my theory/hopes that Thessaly won't be part of the Netflix universe, and Johanna Constantine takes her place and is the one to break Morpheus' heart (or at least ruffle his feathers enough to flood the Dreaming) - sod the bloody no mortals rule, they can still change that. We haven't had Nada's story yet after all, and I just really want messy, sexy, and oh so toxic Morphanna to be canon. So sue me.

Well. This is interesting.

Episode titles in no particular order:

Song of Orpheus is self explanatory. We knew they were doing that episode.

More Devils than Vast Hell Can Hold - if this is the Midsummer Nights Dream episode then its probable episode 1 I would have thought.

Family Blood I would think is the family dinner at the start of Season of Mists.

Which would then kick start the Season of Mists arc with the episode of the same name. The Ruler of Hell presumably would come next.

Brief Lives has thrown me though. I know we've had rumours here and there, but I genuinely didn't think they'd be touching the Brief Lives arc yet because SoM and aGoY cover so much ground.

Obviously this should all be taken with a pinch of salt - I guess I had hoped they wouldn't rush through the story too quickly (for fear of Netflix not renewing further perhaps?)

This is all speculation and its totally possible that the names will change anyway. There are 12 episodes being released in possibly 2 batches according to the article, looking like a 2025 release date.

What are we thinking?

[muirneach]

ive long asked myself the question why do rock radio stations suck so bad when rock is a perfectly pleasant genre. well i think the answer is they play the same 30 hard rock songs and never stray from that. i think if they played less late 70s and more late 60s it would be better. not just because i dislike hard rock but also it’s just like. objectively nicer sounding music <33