#typical neil behaviour

[messierthanthou]

Untitled - Bottom!Billy - Rated E - 2.5k Words - Written in Honour of @aggressiveviking !! Enjoy, everyone!

If it wasn’t for Neil, Billy could and would love more. But it has all been beat out of him, scared to ever even think of the things he wants to. Daily life is a masquerade, him in a lion’s mask, the rest surrounding him those of lambs.

It was a long way to the top of the food chain, but even greater would the fall be, if it was that anyone dared threaten his role at the top of the school’s hierarchy. 

Which - perhaps unintentionally - one Steve Harrington attempts purely by existing. Those deep brown eyes that sees past the mask of the still freshly crowned king disturbs Billy on such a ground-shaking level that it is do or die, whether either of them wants to or not, a battle is brewing between the two, and Billy, no matter his pains in life, is not ready to give up.

So he finds himself in the pouring rain, standing just a few feet away from the Harrington mansion, soaked to the bone but it doesn’t cool off his heated temper nor does it calm down his pounding heart.

Billy doesn’t know exactly what he wants, but he can’t let it keep bubbling up inside him at school, because what if he loses it? Exactly what it is he could lose, he doesn’t know, but he does know that he needs to release some of the pressure burning inside him.

Without forethought as to what he’ll say or do once Steve is there, he knocks on the door and rings the bell. He’s angry, he’s nervous, he’s unsure; everything floods his senses all at once, and as soon as the door opens even an inch, he pushes it all the way and stomps inside, past a startled Harrington.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Steve erupts immediately.

“You alone?”

“Why?”

“No reason.” Billy shrugs, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“You can’t just barge in like this, Hargrove. What are you even doing here? Get out!”

The door is still wide open.

“You’d really send me out into the rain? Cold.”

Harrington groans out in displeasure, then closes the door. Billy figured he’d be a good sport. He’s too kind, even to his nemesis, and it makes the fury in Billy boil worse.

“I’ll get you a towel.”

While Steve vanishes to go find that towel, Billy stomps around the place, dripping on the floor as he goes. He knew they were rich, Steve’s parents, but this is ridiculously fancy for Hawkins. Hell, even their family portrait in the living room is an actual painting, and not just an oversized photograph.

Harrington catches up to Billy when he’s neck deep in the fridge, looking for the cold beers that he finds.

“You can’t just-” Steve starts off with, but Billy is quick to crack open the bottle against the marble countertops. 

Then Billy yanks the towel from the brunette’s grasp and throws it over his shoulder before taking a large gulp of the beer, which tastes far better than what comes out of a keg.

“Nice castle you got here, princess.”

Steve avoids eye contact at that, looking to the side and shifting in place. “What do you want?” he asks skittishly.

Billy doesn’t answer right away as the bottle occupies his lips, and soon there’s not a drop left. “I don’t know.”

“You… you don’t know?” Steve scoffs. “You barge into my house, and you don’t know why?”

The blonde shrugs and shakes his expressionless head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

As a matter of fact, he does.

Steve then looks down at the floor. “You’re dripping everywhere, dry up for Christ's sake!”

Then Billy smirks a little, teasingly so. “Make me.”

He watches as Harrington clenches his fists before they come near his face, and Billy accepts it; the inevitable punch coming his way. It’s possibly what he deserves, he’s unsure of actually what, but a hit might be it. And yet, he doesn’t hurt, instead he feels softness caress his face, going through his hair, as Steve dries him off with the towel.

“Take off your jacket.”

“What?”

“I said take off your jacket,” Steve repeats.

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t get you dried off and warm, you’ll get sick.”

“And why do you care?”

The pretty boy takes a step back, towel still in hand. This time he’s the one to shrug, and doesn’t offer another word, lowering silence onto the two of them.

For a moment too long and quiet, Billy considers why Steve wants him out of his clothes, but perhaps the reason is simply more innocent than what Billy imagines. So he does as suggested, taking off his jacket.

“You can borrow some dry clothes, but once the rain is done you’re out, understood?” Steve sounds so certain of that.

“Sure thing, princess.”

Steve exhales hard enough for Billy to hear it, and is that a slight blush to his cheeks? Or anger at the pet name?

“Come on.”

Harrington’s bedroom is surprisingly barren in comparison to the rest of the house; nothing on the walls besides that shit ass ugly wallpaper, a few pieces of furniture around the room, curtains, and lamps. Billy’s room is a cluttered mess in comparison, but at least his got personality, and this is more like a showroom at a furniture store.

“I’m sure I got something that will fit you…” Steve starts rummaging through the dresser, and as his back is turned to Billy, the blonde starts undressing.

All of it.

And when Harrington turns around, there’s just a gentle gasp from open lips as his eyes seem to be guided like a magnet down to Billy’s limp dick. For whatever reason, Billy gets a kick out of the stare, feeling heat shoot through him to his groin.

“Billy…”

“What?” He grins wickedly. “See something you like?”

Steve looks away, but being naked in the pretty boy's bedroom, it excites Billy beyond belief, beyond understanding. Beyond common sense.

So he takes a step forward, just a small one to test the sudden tension between them. Steve tries to take a step back, but bumps against the dresser behind him.

As much as his heart is beating him into a weak pulp, Billy can’t stop walking closer after that initial tentative step. And he plans to continue till Steve says or does something to stop him. But he doesn’t, so the blonde winds up with his feet next to the other’s, too close perhaps, as he can smell Steve’s body soap and hear his elevated breathing.

They’ve been quiet for too long, so Billy says, “Steve, look at me.”

Without blinking Steve turns his head to look straight into ocean blue eyes, and their noses early touch. He looks concerned.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy, huh?” Billy whispers in a teasing way, almost sensual without intending to be, but the nearness makes it seem like something it might not be. “You wanna punch me, don’t you? Start a fight?” Billy gazes down at Steve’s plump lips, then back up to meet his stare. “Come on then, do it. Hit me. Show me with your fists how much you hate me.”

And for a second time tonight, Steve touches Billy in an unexpected way, as his mouth gently and experimentally presses a kiss against Billy’s.

Who’s stunned. Such a tender act, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and two thoughts cause war in his head.

Kiss him back, or punch him.

The kiss wins.

But his hands don't stay idle either, as they grab the collar of Steve’s polo shirt and pull him into a far more ravenous kiss than what the brunette offered before. And it does things to Billy that he’s unsure of why it does. He’s confused, angry, furious in fact, but also undoubtedly and impossibly turned on. Never before has he gotten so hard so fast.

And when Steve grabs him by the hips he moans into their brutish kisses. It’s almost as if he can’t think any further past this moment, and yet his hands act by pulling at Harrington’s shirt till Steve takes it off. While his hands are off Billy, they go down to undo his belt and loosen the button on his jeans before the zipper runs free.

With his hands back on tan skin, he softly pushes as he guides Billy backwards and onto the bed, where they both fall together and bounce around a little with slight chuckles.

Billy can’t remember when he last laughed in earnest.

But he doesn’t linger in that moment, instead he crawls back till he meets the headboard and a couple of pillows. Then he spreads his legs for Steve, who places himself between Billy’s thighs and leans down to kiss and nibble across his waxed clean chest. The blonde moans when a tongue finds its way to a nipple, and the tip plays with the sensitive bud, hardening it before lips close around it to suck, and Billy’s sounds grow even more elated.

There are no real words uttered past hoarse curses and yes’s, yet Steve seems to understand what Billy wants as he reaches for a drawer in the side table, and brings out a bottle of lube.

The lid comes off with a clear pop, and the clear fluid pours over three of Steve’s digits. But he pauses, both of them out of breath and silent as the cold lube runs down Steve’s hand and drips onto Billy’s chest. Their eyes then meet, and he can tell that Harrington is searching for approval.

Billy’s heart is in overdrive, but so is his lusty need to feel the other inside of him, so he nods just the once, which proves to be enough for Steve to bring his hand down between them, between Billy’s thighs, between his buttocks and into his hole.

It’s not something he’s used to past a few trial runs with his own thick fingers, but Steve’s are thinner and longer, reaching deeper than Billy expected to, and it takes a moment to get used to the sensation.

And what an amazing sensation it is; Billy gets worried that the pure anticipation of getting fucked by Harrington’s cock might undo him too soon, but he resist the urge to touch himself and finish it all so quickly.

After a few thrusts he dares beg, “More.”

The thrill of a second finger makes him louder, more keen on expressing his incoherent thoughts, and when Steve continues to thrust ever so gently, Billy leaks onto his own stomach whilst gripping at the sheets.

Harrington simply stares starry eyed at the expressiveness of the blonde’s expressions of elation.

It doesn’t take long for Billy to need another finger. “Fuck, pretty boy, more…”

The stretch of the third hurts just a little bit, a slight burning sensation of his rim, but on the inside he feels like melting butter, easy and pliable in the brunette’s hands, a moaning, leaking mess of spectacular nerves coming looser and looser, til those three fingers aren’t enough anymore.

“Come on then, princess, give it all to me. Fuck me.”

It’s more uncomfortable being empty of Steve than it was getting fingered by him, but it gives Billy a moment to breathe without gasping and moaning as he watches Steve lather up his cock and guide it up to Billy’s expectant hole.

Slowly, inch by inch, he glides inside with the most tender of movements, and if Billy thought that Harrington’s fingers were long, reaching where he couldn’t himself, his prick goes past that, pushing in till Billy’s convinced it’ll fill him up completely.

It is breathtaking. 

“You okay?” Steve asks him softly once he’s completely inside of Billy.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, princess.”

“Good… Good. I’m gonna start moving, just tell me if you want to stop.”

The blonde understands now why all those girls want Steve. He’s nice. Too nice maybe. Billy can’t stand looking at him, turns his head to the side and nods.

So Harrington starts, pulling out carefully before pushing in again, and Billy swears he’ll meet a swift end to this experience if he doesn’t hold back, for the feeling of getting fucked so gently is beyond excellent. Every motion, every inch, it consumes him with blinding and deafening lust, all of which he gives clear sound to by the way of moaning and gasping. 

Then Steve leans in to kiss his neck, somehow finding soft spots Billy didn’t know he had, and it helps in the worst way. 

Minutes pass this way, slow thrusts and kind kisses, so tender it might just ruin the war between the two for good, make Billy fall head first into growing a crush on Harrington, something he’s sure he doesn’t want, but doubt comes in with every near loving touch.

“Billy…” Steve mumbles and it sounds perfect coming from him.

So the blonde turns his head to meet those brown eyes gazing dearly down at him.

“Please, keep looking at me.”

Oh it brings forth buried feelings like it’s golden treasure that Billy has been trying to find for so long. Something he didn’t know he even could find within himself. So he looks at Steve as they go through this gentle time together. Billy didn’t think it possible that he and the brunette could be like this. Normally he’s so calculative, thoroughly thinking every word before saying them, practicing in the mirror for hours, but this all came so naturally once he was naked in Steve’s bedroom.

This is easier than hating and fighting him. This is it. Completeness.

“Faster,” he pleads.

And Steve complies, increasing the pace of his thrusts, and every time he bottoms out inside of Billy, the blonde calls out louder and louder, the heat in his gut building up till it engulfs him with fiery passion that can undoubtedly be heard all throughout the woods surrounding the mansion. 

“Billy, fuck!” Harrington hasn’t been completely quiet throughout, but now he’s becoming wilder with his voice, calling out the blonde’s name, telling him how amazing he feels, how incredible this is.

All the praise is what brings him to climax, his dick untouched by hands but rubbed between their stomachs proves to be enough friction, making him moan as his body tenses up and his cock empties out in the space between them.

“Don’t stop!” he calls out, riding the wave of ecstasy for a while longer than what masturbation brings him to. 

“I-I- ah!” Steve tries to speak, but is cut off as he too reaches the peak, which Billy can tell from the way his thrusts become erratic and his whole body shivers and trembles, then it stills, then collapses onto the blonde with his entire weight.

And Billy releases his grip on the sheets that he’s been choking out this entire time. Everything is peaceful and soft and he doesn’t want this moment to end, ever. 

Steve breathes out from exhaustion, and says, “How about a shower?”

Billy hopes that Steve can’t see the little secret smile he has when he responds with, “Sounds great.”

[intothedysphoria]

Going from a social outcast to seemingly universally desired was a change that Billy found himself sorely lacking the capacity to deal with.

It felt like barely a year ago he was just the fat kid with the asshole dad. The kid who was more comfortable speaking Irish than English. The weird kid who couldn’t sit still in class and had “outbursts” that would leave a classroom completely overturned.

Now he’d lost weight (not by choice), had to speak English if he didn’t want to be uprooted for a third time and was supposedly taking his adderall post ADHD diagnosis. Neil was still an asshole but that would never change.

He was desirable now. A hot commodity. Had the approval of everyone apart from his own fucking dad.

In short, Billy was absolutely miserable.

He missed California a lot. He missed Belfast even more. He missed being fat. He missed his mam and grandad. He missed everything.

Showing any signs of weakness was how it started though. So Billy did what he always did. He adapted.

Harrington was weird. Taking the crown from him was almost too easy. For all the talk he’d been fed about King Steve, what Billy got was a teenager who couldn’t make eye contact, spent an hour reading two pages of a textbook and walked like a penguin when nobody was watching.

Good thing Billy didn’t mind weird.

The usual taunts didn’t really work. All it really achieved was getting Harrington flat on his back on the gym floor and that got Billy thinking about sex which wasn’t helpful.

Harrington just stared up at him with these big startled eyes. Like a damn deer. The pointed star he wore around his neck swayed as Billy let him up. Jewish maybe. Billy felt his hand unconsciously drift down towards his own pendant, the one his granny had given him.

The one that would help him find his way back home.

They fought within a week. Arsehole had Max holed up in a strangers house. It made Billy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Especially after having to flirt with Karen Wheeler just to get any answers, All he could remember was that he was winning then the world started going black.

When he woke up there was a dead something in the fridge. He probably hadn’t woken up at all then. His body took that hint as a sign to collapse again.

He woke up again. A small woman with mousy brown hair and a nervous tic was cooking. Billy could hear The Clash drifting from another room. Christmas lights were scattered across the wall. It was the first place in Hawkins that had actually felt like home.

The woman’s name was Joyce. The house he’d found Harrington and Max and the nightmare in had been her house. She was dressed practically and smelled like paint and reminded him so much of his own mam that his heart hurt.

She was a good cook. The soup wasn’t like anything he’d ate before, probably Polish but it was fantastic. She asked if he wanted to stay the night. He said no.

Neil would be waiting. He always was.

Neil had burned the damn book. The one Billy had wrote when he was seven, colouring all the words in orange and white and green. It hurt more than any punch every could have.

He was under house arrest again. Only let out when Max needed a fucking taxi to a Christmas dance. Harrington was a couple of cars away, fussing over a boy of about thirteen who could have been his younger brother.

They weren’t biologically brothers. But Henderson was his cousin. So they were in spirit. Those were some of the things Billy learned from a few strained sentences of conversation.

He apologised in a way so Billy reluctantly returned one. Apparently he hadn’t realised how fucking dodgy he’d looked with Max.

Billy was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Neil kicked him out of the house on Christmas Day for hanging an Irish flag on his door. Billy went to the Byers. Joyce’s family didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas but she still gave him a present.

She gave him gorgeous Polish cakes which were fucking delicious and some of Jonathan’s old vinyls which he didn’t listen to anymore.

That day Billy discovered The Specials and tucked the vinyl under his weed stash in the Camaro boot. Somewhere Neil would never think to look.

Harrington was tolerable after Christmas break. Tolerable in an infuriating way because Billy still wanted to fuck him. The queerness wasn’t something he’d told anyone about though apart from Patrick McKinney so he kept those thoughts to himself.

He spent more time at the Byers, learned what Shabbat was, came out to Joyce in a flood of tears, kissed Harrington, wrote a letter back to Ireland for the first time in two years and made a plan to get the hell out of Hawkins Indiana.

Harrington managed to pass high school with a lot of bribery and tutoring and kissing at his place. Jesus but Harringtons house was a bloody mansion. Billy had spent his first eight years in a terraced shared accommodation where his entire extended family had lived. Harrington had five bathrooms and his own television. Not even in black and white.

Billy got his predicted mix of A’s and B’s so he was happy and spent most of the weekend post graduation floating on his back in the Harrington pool, beer in hand. He couldn’t afford to slack off completely though. So he got a summer job.

Working at the community pool was fine. As long as Billy didn’t think about the middle aged women staring at him like a piece of meat. Fucking perverts. Heather was fun though. Funny. The only lesbian he’d met in Hawkins apart from Buckley.

Neil had started acting even weirder than usual after a night Billy had slept over at his boyfriends. He’d taken to ice baths and Billy swore he’d seen the man drinking bleach. Ugh.

Max was pretty obviously freaked out though so Billy slowly phased her into spending most nights at the Byers or the Sinclairs or Steve’s. Susan wouldn’t budge. Something in Billy’s chest felt a bit sick about that.

The Fourth of July they were in the mall, the one Steve worked at. Something even more hellish than the thing in the fridge stood above them. And Neil just stood by with blank, hateful eyes and let it happen.

He died. Billy killed him. Stabbed him in the chest then the monster went away.

Steve was gripping his shoulders as he stood there, Neil’s blood on his jacket and he cried.

Susan left.

Social services took Max. Billy cried a lot that day. She was living with some family in Michigan. They promised to keep in touch.

Billy went to therapy twice a week. A guy from County Mayo who Billy trusted immediately.

There was no point really in Joyce adopting him as he was over eighteen. Besides she didn’t need to. Billy knew who his family were.

A letter came back from Belfast. Inviting both him and Steve back to his grandparents house. Steve had never left the US, had never really left the Midwest actually. Billy wanted to show him everything.

The years went by and Billy regained weight. He stopped speaking English as much and was determined to teach Steve Irish. He still sometimes forgot to take his adderall and had awful nightmares but Steve was there to make it better.

He was alive. And life was pretty ok.

[kuruptt]

BILLY HARGROVE X READER

That’s My Girl Pt.3

Click here to read all other parts first.

**SUMMARY - After your father, Hopper, and sister, El, go missing for a few days, you seek comfort at Billy’s place, only to end up sleeping in his car when he won’t wake. The next day, a slip of the tongue sparks a heated argument when you accidentally call Billy by your best friend’s name, Steve. Billy drives you home, where you spend the evening with Steve, until Billy shows up, forces him to leave and tensions flare. Just as the night settles, Hopper and El return with chilling news. Something dark has returned to Hawkins. Angry/Possessive Billy. Also Fluffy/Protective/Jealous Billy.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS - Possessive relationship. Alcohol consumption and Kissing. I think that’s all :)

WORD COUNT - 5k

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!!

i do not own the rights to the following characters. all characters are created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.

I do not own the rights to song ‘wango tango’. This song is created and owned by Ted Nugent.

I do not own the rights to the movies mentioned. ‘Die Hard and Predator’.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.

Requests open !!!!! :)

—————————————————————————————-One month later:

“Just a few more minutes.” (Y/N) whispered, the words barely audible against the backdrop of a late Hawkins night.

Each step crunched softly on the gravel, the sound amplified in the otherwise silent street. A shiver ran down your spine, not entirely from the cold, the darkness here felt deeper, more profound than anywhere else in town. Probably because Neil was back in town. Anxiety tightened its grip with every shadow that stretched long and distorted from the standing streetlights.

Your father, on the other hand, Hopper, had been absent for nearly two days, a fact that gnawed at your insides. El had mentioned this was typical behaviour, but what was even stranger, was that El hadn’t been home either. A sudden call to Mike and the others quickly confirmed your fears, she wasn't with them. Mike's reassurances, though well intentioned, echoed in your mind, a hollow comfort against the rising tide of unease. He told you he’d find El and not to worry.

“She always comes back.” He’d said, a silent promise that hung in the air.

The nights had become unbearable, each one stretching into an eternity of loneliness. Tonight, the pull towards Billy's house was too strong to ignore. You imagined the way his eyes would blaze with concern, the thought of his warmth and his protective anger pulled you forward, each step a little faster than the last.

“Finally.” (Y/N) exhaled, the frosty breath momentarily clouding the air before disappearing into the night.

Billy's house stood in the distance, a dark shape against the inky canvas of the sky. The neighborhood was hauntingly still, the only sound, the faint rustling of leaves in the wind.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you hurried up the steps and along the side of the house, each step measured and quiet on the loose gravel. The stones crunched softly under your weight and you winced, hoping the sound wouldn't carry and wake anyone inside. Reaching Billy's window, you leaned cautiously, peering through the small gap in the curtains. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of his bedside lamp that again, he forgot to turn off, casting long shadows across the walls.

There he was, your boyfriend, sprawled across his bed. His golden brown locks fell gently across his forehead, partially hiding his relaxed features. A wave of affection washed over you as you watched him sleep. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Billy layed face down, his back a canvas of gentle slopes and shadowed dips. The warm tones of the light kissed his skin, turning his back and shoulder muscles into vibrant tones. The subtle, contoured definition of them peeked out, suggesting the power held within. Even in relaxation, the strength in his biceps was apparent, their forms lazily pressed against the cotton of the pillow and sheets.

You tapped lightly on the window, the sound barely detectable against the night. When there was no response, you knocked again, this time louder, your knuckles drumming against the glass.

But still, silence.

"Shit.” (Y/N) whispered, the word escaping her lips like a plume of smoke.

The frustration began to mount. Why was he asleep so early? Why tonight, of all nights?

Turning away from Billy's window, you made your way to Maxine’s instead, your footsteps quickening with anticipation. You peered through the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the redhead. But instead of finding Max lost in the pages of her favourite comics, you saw only the still form of your friend, fast asleep.

With another deep sigh, you pivoted, this time heading towards Billy's Camaro. There was no way on earth you were walking all the way back, especially with the temperature dropping faster than your hopes of Billy waking up. You hurried towards the car, goosebumps painting across your skin as the cold of the night seized you and the soles of your feet crunching against the rough, cold concrete. Before trying the door, you closed your eyes, offering a silent prayer that it would be unlocked.

Finally, you heard a soft 'click’ and your eyes snapped open, wide with relief. You scrambled as fast as you could into the back, fingers fumbling with the soft cotton of your blanket that Billy always kept on the back seats for you. You kicked off your shoes and unfolded it, spreading it wide and instantly cocooning yourself, the fuzzy fabric a small comfort against the chill. Curling into a shivering ball, you closed your eyes, attempting to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep and hoping the night would pass quickly.

——————————————————————————-

You jolted awake to a sharp thud, Billy yanked open the Camaro’s heavy door and dropped into the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He slammed it shut without a glance, it startling you as you peeled your eyes open.

“Billy.” (Y/N) called out.

His head snapped towards you, brows furrowed and eyes wide.

“Jesus! What are you doing in here? Almost gave me a heart attack.” He said, heart hammering in his chest.

You scrubbed at your eyelids with the heels of your hands, tracing lazy circles over them in hopes that it would wake you up faster and propped yourself up on your elbow.

“I… I came to your window, but you were fast asleep. I tried Maxine’s too, but she was also out, sooo, I settled for the car. Didn’t wanna walk all the way back. El and my dad aren’t home, haven’t been for a few days.” (Y/N) explained.

“How long have you been out here?” Billy questioned, voice laced with concern.

“What time is it?” (Y/N) asked.

“Almost eleven a.m.” Billy stated.

“Ummm, about seven… maybe eight hours.” (Y/N) replied hesitantly.

“You walked your ass up here at three a.m.?” Billy asked, frustration bubbling up as his chest grew heavier with each breath.

“Mhm.” (Y/N) smiled proudly.

“(Y/N), it’s not funny! Anything could’ve happened to you, and I never woulda known about it. Don’t pull that shit again. I mean i-“ Billy paused, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You were a bundle of warmth in your beloved blanket and your features were softened by sleep. Billy’s heart swelled with affection at the sight and he sighed.

“Just don’t do it again, or at least knock louder or something. Didn’t your parents ever teach you about walking the streets alone?” He scoffed, a hint of sarcasm in his words.

“Yeah, they did actually. But somehow they skipped the lesson on muscle cars and bad boys.” (Y/N) giggled, a playful tone in her voice.

Billy chuckled softly, a warm sound that vibrated through the small space and braced himself with his boots against the front of the car, pushing himself back and reaching out to you, his arms encircled you and he drew you closer. Crawling forward, carefully manoeuvring through the narrow space between the front seats of the Camaro, you parted your legs and straddled Billy. You spread the blanket wide, cocooned him in its folds and settled against him, the solid contours of his chest a comforting presence beneath you.

Enfolding you into a protective embrace, Billy’s gaze remained focused on the house, his expression unreadable. He showered your head with warm, soft kisses and the silken strands of your hair teased and tickled his lips with each press. Despite the tenderness of his touch, you couldn’t ignore the strong tension in his jaw, the muscles flexing and relaxing with a frantic rhythm. Every couple of seconds. Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench. It didn’t stop.

“You’re freezing, I’m taking you home.” Billy insisted, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to bed for a couple hours, you understand me? I’ll swing by at four, stay with you the night if you want me to.” He added.

“Okay.” (Y/N) scoffed.

Usually you’d argue, push back against his bossy tone. But the cold had seeped into your bones and exhaustion weighed you down. He was right… sleep was a necessity, not a suggestion.

You crashed your lips against Billy's, a desperate move fueled by adrenaline and a need for connection. The initial impact was electric and you opened your mouth wider, inviting him in. His tongue met yours, a heated dance of exploration, swirling and tangling with a hunger that mirrored your own. His hands, rough and warm, moved back and forth against the sides of your waist, igniting sparks beneath your skin. Your hands framed his face, fingers digging slightly into the stubble along his chiseled jawline as you deepened the kiss, pulling him closer.

You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your palms as you broke apart, breathless. Without a word, you hopped off his lap and slid into the passenger seat, the air suddenly cooler against your flushed skin. Billy watched you, his eyes now dark and unreadable. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken desires, before he finally started the engine, the roar abruptly ending the intimacy you just shared. He shifted the car into gear and the sudden acceleration pressed you back against the seat as he sped off, the world outside a blur.

The entire car ride was filled with unease. You sensed something was off with Billy, but you couldn't quite place it.

“Stev- uh, I, uh, Bil-' (Y/N) started, but Billy cut her off.

“What did you just call me?” He snapped.

It had to be the dream. There was no other explanation for almost calling your boyfriend by your best friend's name.

“I didn't mean to, I-“ Billy cut (Y/N) off for the second time.

“Didn't mean to? How do you NOT mean to?” He grit out, glaring at you.

“It's because I had a dream and I was thinking about it. I accidentally said Steve. I honestly didn't mean to, Billy, please just leave it.” (Y/N) pleaded.

“Steve, huh… King Steve.” Billy scoffed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips. “My girl dreams about Steve Harrington, can you believe that?” He mocked.

“No, it wasn't like that, Billy. You were there, yo-“

For the third and final time, Billy cut (Y/N) off, but this time, with music.

He cranked the radio to full volume and ‘wango tango’ blasted through the car.

You covered your ears, the sudden noise jarring after just waking up. The vibration made your head pound. Billy sped up, slapping the steering wheel in time with the music.

“So what you like it here now” He hissed.

“No, Billy, stop.” (Y/N) pleaded.

“No? Then why are you defending it? ‘Cause of Steve?” He asked, raising his tone.

“I’m not, just stop!” (Y/N) shouted.

He turned, head tilting lazily and giving you a heavy lidded look before turning back to the road, noticing a group of teens on bikes appearing in the distance. The same teens that you had recently became friends with.

Mike, Will, Dustin, and Lucas.

“Oh these your new hick friends?” He yelled, pressing harder on the gas.

“No, Billy, stop.” (Y/N) shouted.

“I guess you won’t care if I hit ‘em then huh, I get bonus points if I get ‘em all in one go?” He asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Stop!” (Y/N) shouted, grabbing the wheel and swerving the car away from the teens.

You weren't one hundred percent scared. You knew Billy wouldn't put you at risk, that's exactly why you swerved, you knew he'd never let YOU get hurt, but sometimes you couldn’t help but fear for the safety of others when it came to Billy and his temper.

“YEAHHH, that was a close one huh!” Billy yelled as the car sped off down the road.

You glanced through the smudged back window of Billy’s Camaro, the air was heavy with pine sap and the distant chirps of birds, but inside the car, it was quiet, too quiet.

You exhaled sharply, the breath catching slightly in your chest before you turned back to face forward. The leather of the passenger seat creaked beneath you as you shifted, the lingering scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne suffocating you in the confined space.

After a few more minutes of winding through the forest flanked road, the Camaro rolled up the leafy drive, crunching slowly to a stop outside the cabin.

Home… Or at least the closest thing to it these days.

Billy parked with a jolt of the brake, letting the engine settle for a moment. You sat in silence.

The orange glow from the porch light that you forgot to turn off, flickered softly, moths orbiting the bulb like lost souls drawn to a dying flame.

You opened your door, stepping out slowly into the humid air, the soles of your shoes sinking slightly into the mossy earth. Then you turned, leaning into the open door.

“Are you gonna come in or not?” (Y/N) asked, watching him bathed in the soft light of the morning sun. She kept her voice calm, inviting, not pushing.

Billy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Nah, princess.” He muttered, not meeting your eyes. “Got places to be. I’m sure Steve’ll come over.” He mocked.

You blinked, the name hitting like a backhand.

“Shut up, Billy.” (Y/N) snapped, voice cracking a little. “Just come in and calm down. I’ll get you a drink or something. Don’t make this a thing.” She added.

And just like that, he snapped.

His voice dropped low, edged with something crueler than anger, defensiveness dressed in spikes.

“I don’t need you to do anything for me.” He spat. “In fact, I don’t need you at all.” He finished.

The silence that followed was so loud it rang in your ears. You just stood there, chilled despite the now warm air, staring at him like maybe he’d take it back.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He’s too stubborn for that.

“Fine.” (Y/N) said quietly, trying not to tremble.

You slammed the door harder than you intended. The sound echoed into the trees.

Your boots thudded up the wooden steps, dry leaves crunching underfoot. Inside the cabin, the air was cooler, but no less smothering. The porch light continued to flicker behind you as the Camaro tore off, dirt spraying and his engine growled into the quiet of the morning, leaving nothing but leaves and regret behind.

You stood still for a beat, then moved quickly, hand trembling slightly as you reached for the phone on the wall. Your fingers knew Steve’s number by muscle memory, before you could think twice, you were already halfway through dialing.

He answered after the second ring.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice was warm, calm and steady in a way Billy never quite managed.

“Hey, uh…” (Y/N) swallowed. “Wanna come over? My dad and El haven’t been home for a few days. And me and Billy just, argued. I could really do with th-“

Steve didn’t let you finish.

“Of course.” He said firmly. “I’ll be there in ten.” He finished.

He hung up before you could respond.

You set the phone back in its cradle and exhaled slowly. The quiet of the cabin settled in around you like a blanket, one too heavy to feel comforting. You moved on autopilot to the kitchen, reaching into the freezer for a box of Eggos. Your new go to comfort food, thanks to El.

The toaster clicked. You busied yourself with syrup and sprinkles, ignoring the ache in your chest and the ghost of Billy’s words in your ears. ‘I don’t need you.’

You didn’t hear the knock at first, but the second time it was louder, almost cautious.

“Come in!” (Y/N) called out, not moving from the kitchen.

The old wooden door creaked as Steve entered. He looked like he’d slung any clothes on that he could find, button down half untucked, hair ruffled, but not messy, still very Steve.

“Heyyy- Oh, Eggos. Nice! El really got you addicted to these damn things, huh?” He said, stepping into the cabin and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I can’t stop eating them.” (Y/N) laughed weakly. “They’re like… edible therapy.”

Steve grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Come on. What happened?” He questioned.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, the posture casual, but there was a tension in his shoulders. He was listening closely.

You hesitated, then unloaded it all. The ride home. The silence. The comment. The name.

Steve blinked, then let out a laugh, a short, stunned one.

“You called Billy… me?” He asked, eyes wide.

You nodded miserably.

“Oh man. That must’ve hit him like a brick to the balls.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I’d give anything to have seen the look-“

You swiftly cut him off.

“Steve!” (Y/N) hissed, embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry, that was mean.” He said, holding up his hands. “But come on, it’s a little funny.” He added.

You gave him a look, but couldn’t hold back a small smile. Somehow, Steve always knew when to lean into humor and when to back off.

You wiped your hands on a dish towel.

“I didn’t really plan anything for us to do. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. But we could… watch a movie? Or something?” (Y/N) asked softly.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.” His answer was immediate, like there was never a question.

You both wandered to the couch, the old cushions sagging under your combined weight. The cabin’s interior was all warm wood and mismatched thrift store furniture, lit by the flicker of a single table lamp. After twenty minutes of indecision and a very heated debate about whether ‘Die Hard’ counted as a Christmas movie, you finally settled on ‘Predator’.

It was a little on the nose, but it worked. The comforting boom of action scenes filled the silence between you, until your breathing had settled and the tightness in your chest had begun to loosen.

Steve draped a blanket over both of you at some point, casual, like muscle memory. It smelled like the woods and clean laundry. It smelled like home.

You baked a cake during the second movie, something halfway between chocolate and vanilla, with uneven frosting and too many sprinkles. Steve swore it was the best damn cake he’d ever had. You talked about the madness of Hawkins, about how things had changed and how they hadn’t. About the weird void left after the supernatural dust had settled.

By the time you checked the clock, it was after 11 p.m.

You were leaning into Steve’s shoulder now, your legs stretched across the couch. The TV glowed dimly, playing trailers you’d seen a thousand times. Outside, the forest was quiet. No monsters. No chaos. Just fireflies blinking lazily between the trees.

And still, no sign of Billy.

You stared into the half finished plate of cake and whispered, “Do you think he meant it? That he didn’t need me?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He glanced at you, his expression soft.

“No.” He said finally. “I think he’s scared. I think he always has been. People like Billy… they push away the people they care about the most. Because losing them would hurt too much, you know?” He added.

“That’s not fair.” (Y/N) swallowed.

“I know.” Steve said. “But it’s true.” He added.

You nodded, tears pricking at your lashes, but you didn’t cry. Not yet. Instead, you leaned in a little closer. And Steve let you.

For now, it was enough.

——————————————————————————-

Billy’s pov-

“That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” Billy’s voice cut through the air of the crowded garden, a proud roar as he slammed his hand down on the keg.

The garden erupted with cheers, but Billy barely noticed. He was in his element, king of the night, undefeated, the name on everyone’s lips. The ‘Keg King’ crown wasn’t just a title, it was his identity, and tonight, he was ruling without contest. The party belonged to Tommy H, of course, one of the town’s notorious instigators and Billy was a regular at these wild gatherings. He moved through the crowd like he owned it, his signature look impossible to miss.

Worn denim jeans that hugged his lean frame, cinched by a scuffed black leather belt that had seen better days but carried its own rugged charm. His black leather boots scraped against the concrete floor, matching the jacket slung over his broad shoulders, no shirt underneath, just the raw confidence of a guy who knew exactly how to turn heads and push limits.

“Hey, didn’t bring your girl tonight, Billy? What’s the deal?” Tommy’s voice slithered into his ear, laced with teasing menace as he clapped a heavy arm around Billy’s shoulder.

The heat of the crowd pressed in, but it was Tommy’s words that stuck like a thorn.

Billy shrugged him off, his jaw tight.

“Nah, she’s sleeping.” He said, voice low and clipped, hoping to end the conversation there.

Tommy smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You sure about that, man? Nancy Wheeler’s over there, you see? And Steve? Still a no show. You don’t think that’s a little bit of coincidence?” He jabbed the air with a finger, clearly enjoying the reaction he was provoking.

Tommy loved stirring the pot, thriving on drama and watching the chaos unfurl. Billy felt the familiar rush of blood surge in his veins, a sharp mix of anger, jealousy and something more vulnerable he hated to admit. His temper flared, his fists clenched and without a word, he pushed Tommy’s arm away.

He stormed through the house, the noise of laughter and music fading behind him like a bad memory. His boots hit the porch hard, echoing against the wooden steps as he made his way to his sanctuary… His beloved, unmistakable Camaro. The sleek machine sat under the streetlamp’s dull glow, its blue paint gleaming faintly, waiting like a loyal beast.

Billy slipped inside, the worn leather seat molding to his frame like it was made for him. He plucked a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the dash and pressed it between the fullness of his lips, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The first drag burned sharp and fierce, a bitter comfort against the storm raging in his chest. With a slow, deliberate motion, he shifted the car into gear, the engine growling to life, powerful and restless, just like him, as he peeled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

—————————————————————————————-

(Y/N’s) pov-

You and Steve were sitting cross legged on the worn wooden floor of the living room, playing continuous rounds of Snog, Marry, Avoid. A ridiculous, childish game that somehow bubbled laughter from both of you, the kind of laughter that made the weight of the day seem lighter.

“Uh, I’d definitely avoid Tommy, at all costs.” (Y/N) said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Can you even imagine th-“

Before you could finish, the front door slammed open with a force that shattered the peaceful bubble of your moment. Your laughter cut off instantly.

Billy stood in the doorway, his presence like a sudden storm. His head tilted back as he laughed, a dark, sinister sound that sent a chill down your spine, before his eyes locked onto yours with a sharp, challenging gaze.

“Really?” His voice was low, almost mocking, as he cocked an eyebrow.

“Go away, Billy.” (Y/N) said firmly, sounding braver than you felt, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden tension.

He smirked, the cocky grin you knew too well.

“You want me to go away?” He questioned.

“Yeah. You don’t need me, remember?” (Y/N) shot back, her tone dripping with mockery.

Billy laughed, brushing it off like a challenge.

“Come on, baby, I was just pissed.” He said, his gaze flicking over to Steve and his voice suddenly hardened. “You. Out. Now.” He demanded.

Steve’s jaw clenched, but before he could reply, you stood, planting yourself between the two of them.

“No, he doesn’t need to go anywhere.” (Y/N) said firmly, the authority in her voice surprising even herself. “This is my house. I decide who stays or goes.” (Y/N) finished.

Billy’s smirk faded for a heartbeat, replaced by something sharper.

“Last time I checked, sweetheart, you’re my girlfriend. That means I have a say in whatever the hell I want.” He stated.

“Last time I checked, I didn’t need you either.” You scoffed.

Your words hit him like a tone of bricks all at once and for a brief moment, he was still.

“You don’t need me, huh?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“Uh-huh.” (Y/N) muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Steve’s eyes flicked rapidly between the two of you, caught in the storm brewing in the room.

Billy sniffed up, exhaled sharply and closed the door behind him, sealing you all inside. He leaned back against the solid wood, tilting his head until it rested on the door and looked down at you through half lidded eyes, another cocky smile playing on his lips.

“You want me to leave, huh?” His voice was low, teasing. “You don’t need me. Is that right?” He asked.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Show me.” He demanded, stepping closer.

“What?” (Y/N) looked up, meeting his eyes.

“I said, show me.” He cocked his head down. “Show me you don’t need me, baby.” He insisted.

“How?” (Y/N) whispered, heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird.

“Oh, you need me to help you find a way?” He asked, his smirk deepening.

“No.” (Y/N) replied firmly.

“Uh-huh.” He mumbled, folding his arms, eyes heavy and unreadable. “Show me, angel.” He asked again.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood and walked towards him. You glanced up briefly to meet his eyes (smiling and chewing his gum lazily) before reaching behind him and pulling the door open.

Billy shifted his weight, blocking your way as he slammed the door shut again. You frowned, trying once more, only to be met with the same immovable barrier. He wasn’t budging, not without your permission.

“Need help, angel?” He teased.

“No.” (Y/N) rubbed her tired eyes, the frustration building.

“You sure? All you gotta do is ask me to move, baby. Use your words, tell me what you need.” His voice was soft now, almost coaxing.

The shift in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. Billy noticed immediately, his smirk widening.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He chuckled, wrapping an arm possessively around your waist and guiding you towards the kitchen.

Your head hung low, shame prickling at your cheeks. You hated that you always gave in to him. You hated that you couldn’t resist his cocky grin and those deep, demanding eyes. You avoided Steve’s gaze as you followed Billy, allowing yourself to be lifted and placed gently on the counter.

Billy’s hands settled on either side of your legs, his body leaning in, narrowing the space between you. His eyes roamed over you, while he continued to chew his gum with lazy confidence.

“Who do you belong to, sweetheart?” His voice was a low rumble, filled with possession.

You looked down, fingers twisting nervously.

“Look at me, baby.” He commanded.

You obeyed, eyes locking with his.

“Who do you belong to?” He repeated, his voice softer but no less intense.

“You.” (Y/N) whispered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” His smirk deepened.

“You. Billy.” (Y/N) said louder, stealing a glance at Steve, who looked away awkwardly.

“Good.” His grin widened. “And you’re not going to pull this shit again, are you?” He questioned.

“No.” You promised.

“What was that-“ He started, but you cut him off sharply.

“No, Billy.” (Y/N) repeated.

“Good girl.” He said, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Billy pushed away from the counter, towering over Steve, who was now fiddling with his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“Beat it, Harrington.” Billy growled.

Steve raised his eyebrows, smirking.

“Gotcha.” He responded sharply.

You jumped down from the counter and stepped forward.

“Steve, I’ll call you tomorrow.” (Y/N) promised.

Billy’s laughter echoed in the room, his gaze locking with yours as if to say ‘No, you definitely won’t.’

“Yeah, I had fun hanging out with you tonight. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime?” Steve asked, heading for the door.

Billy’s jaw clenched, fists tightening once more. Steve caught the signal and slipped out, the door slamming behind him.

Billy exhaled heavily and turned back to you, but before he could fully face you, you pulled him close, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your lips found his, fierce and demanding, swallowing the tension between you.

Your tongues collided as you breathed deeply into each others mouths. His breath was heavy with smoke and booze, the remnants of Tommy H’s party clinging to him like a second skin. Your hands traced his jaw, slid down his neck and pushed his leather jacket off, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the heat radiating from his skin.

Billy pulled back slightly, smirking. He knew exactly how to get under your skin, knew how your body answered to his every word and touch. And he used it to his advantage. And as frustrating as it was, you never complained.

“I knew you didn’t want me to leave.” He chuckled, closing the gap again, your lips teasing his just before you pulled away, making him groan.

“That’s a dangerous game, baby.” His voice dropped, a low rumble. “You know that.” He added.

“Thought you didn’t need me.” (Y/N) teased, smirking.

“I always need you. I’m sorry, alright.” His eyes softened.

“Show me.” (Y/N) challenged.

Billy laughed, tilting his head back, loving that you’d flipped his own words on him.

“You want me to show you?” He asked, sweat glistening on his sun kissed skin, pooling faintly at his collarbones.

“Uh-huh.” (Y/N) murmured.

“Alright. I’ll let you think you’re in control. Just this once.” He grinned, closing the distance and kissing you deeply, then stopping abruptly with a furrowed brow, realising what you just did.

There it was. That eye roll. The one that had stolen his heart from the start.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Billy’s voice dropped, fingers tightening on the counter.

“Maybe.” (Y/N) teased back.

Billy’s body tingled with a feeling he could never describe , a feeling only you gave him and lifted you effortlessly, your legs curling around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. He laid you down gently before climbing on top, hovering over you, lips trailing hot, wet kisses along your neck.

You let out a soft moan, knowing, in that moment, Billy was about to show you exactly who you belonged to.

—————————————————————————————-

Later, tangled in the sheets, breathless and exhausted, you rested in Billy’s arms. The cigarette smoke from earlier still lingered faintly as he gently played with your hair, his skin warm against yours. You looked up at him, your heart melting at the sight of a man who adored you more than words could say.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I didn’t mean all that shit I said.” He added.

“It’s okay.” (Y/N) replied softly. “Me too. And I’m sorry for calling you Steve, but it really was an accident. We’re just friends.” She promised.

Billy looked away, shadows flickering behind his eyes as if he knew something you didn’t. But you brushed it aside, curling closer into his chest.

“I love you, baby.” He murmured.

“I love you too, Billy.” (Y/N) yawned.

“Come on, go to sleep before I ask you to run away with me or some crazy shit.” He teased, taking a drag of his cigarette and staring out the window.

You smiled inwardly. You absolutely would. You’d do anything to be with him.

“Why don’t we do something tomorrow?” (Y/N) asked.

“Like what?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe take Max to the mall, or something.” (Y/N) suggested.

Before he could answer, the door slammed open with a force that shook the entire cabin.

“THREE INCHES!!!” Your dad’s voice boomed.

“Dad! Shit, um… We were just- Billy was- I…” (Y/N) stumbled, searching for words.

“Is it okay if Billy stays the night?” (Y/N) asked, voice small.

Hopper sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Sure, kid. But for the sake of your poor old dad, leave the door open. Three inches!” He spat, glaring at your half clothed boyfriend in disgust.

“Where have you been? It’s been days!” (Y/N) pressed.

Hopper’s eyes darkened.

“There’s something going on in town. I want you as far away from it as possible. I’ll explain everything tomorrow but for now-”

He stopped suddenly, hearing the door of the cabin open and sensing a presence behind him. Pivoting sharply, his gaze landed on El.

“Where the hell have you been?!” He demanded an answer.

Hopper’s face hardened as he noticed the tears still fresh on El’s cheeks. Something was very wrong. Her eyes never left you.

“El, are you okay?” (Y/N) asked, voice laced with worry. “What’s going on?” She finished.

El’s wide, glassy eyes flicked over to Billy, just for a second, but that second was enough. It wasn’t just a look, it was a warning. A silent message, heavy with urgency and something darker… Something familiar.

Billy’s jaw tensed, his expression shifting in an instant. The air around him seemed to thicken, his posture rigid as the weight of her meaning sank in. That look, he’d seen it before. Felt it. Lived it. And now, it was back.

He sat up and his arm tightened protectively around your waist, almost instinctively, like his body remembered something his voice didn’t yet say out loud. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes, but it wasn’t for himself. It was for you. And he knew what it meant, for Hawkins, for all of them. But more than anything, he knew what it meant for you.

El took a steadying breath, her gaze sweeping the room one last time, Billy, your father, then finally landing on you. Her voice was low but firm, cracking slightly under the strain of whatever she had just faced.

“It- is not - safe.” She said. “You, are not safe. We need to leave. Now.” She demanded.

Part 5 anyone ??? :)

Click here to read all Billy fic’s :)

@m3i1sthest4r @shes-an-odd-bird @gwinamlvr @i-crav3-blo0d @nelo0wesker @unknownroooose @letmebe0k @klutzylaena @all-time-otaku @a-southern-doctors-drawl @aryannavspx @alagalaska @alexissuave @broadwaybabe18 @biasedtoncrackt @bryandechartisasmolbean @bigcampinglyricspony @bellablueb @cheezbot @coleys-a-nerd @chandlerlovesme @cnordlander @cannibalhellhound @daphnexxlovee @dilutedbanshee @dayandnighthyuck @distinguishedsaladphantom @delaney-21 @empath-bunny @everythingsgucci98 @ephimeralgirl-17 @eviebees @enmoana33 @fearlessxlaurin @fandom-princess-forevermore @flamewriterr @fatherfood @funkydino @godzillasquatch @gggtoocute @glitteryspacething @gunlikesgirl @hssweethart @hgvbnkjhdccg @hauntedhouseofhargrove @hopefultyrantbread @hunnybuncounsumers @ich-liebe-dich-mehr47 @iseefire16 @iits-ems9

[tallerthantale]

Neil and Amanda's Fake Therapist

I originally gathered information relating to Neil's fake therapist in a bit of a messy hyperfocus flurry that included some initial errors, followed by various erratic updates, so I wanted to put the main points together into one coherent place. Some of what I'm putting together here was found by others on the subreddit post.

I once again find myself skirting the edges of my typical rules for myself about analyzing public figures, so disclaimer: this is personal opinion, I'm not scientifically or clinically evaluating anyone based off public appearances / statements, I am commenting on what personal impression I am getting off things, and leaving most speculation about internal states out.

Man does this guy make it hard to stick to that though.

The person I'm talking about here is the supposed 'therapist' that Scarlett interacted with while Neil was (allegedly) pressuring her to say the allegations weren't true. His behavior there (with a paper trail according to Tortoise), and what I was able to gather from Amanda Palmer's podcast made it clear to me that he was not operating within the acceptable behaviour of a therapist, so I decided to see if I could prompt a review of his license. All indications at this time are that he does not have one. But it gets worse.

He claims to be a minister, but like the therapist claim cites no qualifications or organizations in his website's bio. This combination of therapist who isn't a therapist and minister who isn't a minister potentially creates a legal nightmare scenario. I am not a lawyer, this is not legal advice, but I'm going to give you my best estimate of the situation, which has involved looking up the law and reading some cases.

As long as he isn't claiming to be a mental health professional, he may be protected in calling himself a nonspecific 'therapist.' He can probably argue it as some kind of spiritual therapy. But because he isn't actually a mental health care provider, he is not subject to mandatory reporting. Generally therapists have a legal obligation to proactively report when someone is a danger to themselves or others. He does not have that requirement. He isn't bound by professional ethics, since he is not a member of any organizations and has no licenses. Moreover, it seems to be the case in New Mexico that if a person reasonably believes you to be a minister, that kicks in clergy-penitent privilege whether or not you actually are a minister.

The origin concept of clergy-penitent privilege is that the law cannot force a priest to reveal what was said to them in confession. The First Amendment means all religions get it equally and it doesn't have to be part of a specific Catholic ritual. In New Mexico, it covers anything that was not said publicly or intended to be passed on regardless of the surrounding context. That means anything said to or by this guy that is not said in public or explicitly intended to be forwarded cannot be used by the legal system for any purpose, no matter how documented or incriminating it is to the client or to him personally. There is no mechanism to remove that privilege form him for being misused because it is derived from his representation of himself as a minister, not his actual status.

According to his linkdin he received a Bachelors degree in creative writing from the University of Rochester, in New York. He then got a Masters degree in Divinity in Organizations from Harvard Divinity School, 1982-1985. These are the only points of education claimed anywhere we have seen. He lists no psychology or mental health qualification anywhere, and is most known as an author. His bookselling success might be due to a claimed promotional appearance on Oprah.

His personal webpage has a long 'client list' or list of 'collaborators' who have hosted speaking engagements. This list was last updated in 2012. The events on his calendar page have no year. I think I recall seeing a section of his website that was only accessible to those who were 'fully committed,' or something like that, but it doesn't seem to be there now. It's possible I'm misremembering, it's possible it got taken down when the reddit thread got popular, I don't have the right skillset to check. He won an award from the Institute of Noetic Sciences, which looks to be engaging in pseudo scientific spirituality in a manner similar to Scientology.

From what I can gather from the video's I've watched, the advice he 'preaches' is a mish mash of bits and pieces of metaphors and perspectives from a variety of religions and philosophies that he probably didn't fully understand. (My speculation.) There are pieces of genuine insight that are lifted from others and that can give the impression he knows what he is talking about to vulnerable people even if he doesn't really understand them himself. He doesn't seem to have any genuine religious beliefs or connections to any religious congregation or organizations. It is unclear if he is or is not technically ordained, but that is something anyone can just do online, and he doesn't even claim it.

Particularly noticeable in his talks are traces of Jungian psychoanalysis (which is the nonsense Jordan Peterson seems to have got caught up in, and it has antisemitic and fascist origins) some Buddhist resilience concepts that have been misused by westerners a lot, and Christian (I think) concepts about universal love and togetherness. They end up mashed together into a message that I believe will influence most victims who hear it to blame themselves and remain in toxic situations, while making perpetrators feel better about continuing to perpetrate. Not saying that was the goal, but if a person had that goal, this patchwork philosophy is what you would put together to achieve it. I'm not going to be specific because I don't want to be like, putting out a guide for people on how to do this.

Amanda says she met the guy before she had a child, but after she was married. That is somewhere between 2011 and 2015. Amanda says she met him at something resembling a TED conference, where all sorts of people got together to do various (rich people nonsense.) She had a mental breakdown in a horse paddock, and the fake therapist was the guy with the horse, teaching about horse whispering.

"And since then, he’s been my therapist, and he’s also become a true friend, to me, and to my family, and to many other people in my life that he’s taken on, and helped out, in some of their darkest hours of need, and he is my emergency phone call. And in a way, he sort of picked up where Anthony, my old mentor, left off, and I don’t find it a coincidence that Wayne walked into my life right around the time Anthony walked out. "

This is not what a therapist does, this is cult leader behaviour. This is pure speculation on my part, but I wonder if Neil might have known him first and orchestrated their meeting. He is an author with connections to an organization similar to Scientology. It might actually not be a coincidence. Again, pure speculation.

Amanda describes seeking advice from him whenever she was having trouble with Neil, and that talking to him would make her feel like everything was fine again. "Even just to have someone to talk to, to remind me what I’m struggling with, what’s going on, what is home, why does this feel so disorienting, what am I doing? And I can say right now, when I shifted my internal feeling within myself, within my relationship with Neil, around where I was, my feeling in my own house transformed. Because I went, oh, right, none of this fucking matters."

In June 2019 Amanda Palmer has the Portland, OR incident where she tells her fans they need to forgive their r@#ists.

In 2019 the fake therapist did a series of webcasts with The Santa Fe Center for Spiritual Healing over a few months. At times he is titled "Rvrd", and at times he is titled "Dr." there is no reason to believe he is either. In the first one, the host reads a bio she found online, that she says he asked her not to read (she appears to think he was being humble.) This version of the bio claims that he was a Senior Scholar at the Fetzer Institute. When he comes on after she read it, he makes odd comments about whoever might be watching the video online and appears very shaken. The Fetzer Institute has no mention of him on their website. That connection is not listed in his current bio.

In his last video for the Santa Fe Center he claims to be working on an upcoming project in D.C. with a co-facilitator who was famous for brokering a truce between the crips and bloods. He also comes across like he has been asked to stop working with the center and is being super passive aggressive about it. (My speculation.)

His appearance on Amanda Palmer's podcast is recorded in July 2019, about a month after the last Santa Fe Center webcast, in upstate New York. In the descriptor she says it was recorded after a week long retreat with him she set up for 60 of her Patrion supporters. There is a nearly two year gap between the recording and posting, which is not explained. She describes him as a minister, therapist, leadership mentor, and her personal therapist. In the episode itself, she also describes him as her and Neil's relationship therapist. In the description she promotes his books and his website, and says he is still readily contactable there, but to be patient right now because he is mid move. (The description was posted when the podcast was posted, in 2021. As mentioned earlier, there are features of his website that have not been updated since 2012.)

The fake therapist tweeted about Neil being a 'dear friend' in late 2020. He has under 100 followers, not really what you would expect for a best selling author / therapist / minister / community leader / mentor / horse whisper. While I make references to cult leader behaviour, a genuine cult leader would probably have a larger following. But somehow I don't think he lacks for money. I expect there is a market for pseudo-therapists you can freely talk to about the crimes you are actively committing. You can even involve him in the crime, and it still privileged.

The events of Scarlett's allegations date to 2022, about a year after Amanda posted the podcast episode. Sometime in March is when Neil manipulates Scarlett into saying the allegations are false with what is essentially a su!c!de threat, then asks her to repeat her assurances that it was consensual to the fake therapist. Amanda had recently received a scorching message from one of Scarlett's friends about what was done to her. It seems like Neil is doing this to win a fight with Amanda in their "relationship therapy." Scarlett gets a message from the fake therapist.

Tortoise describes it as him "saying he'd be happy to speak to her in complete confidence because he had heard that she found herself in his words 'in the midst of relationships, stories and narratives, not alas necessarily of your own making. Sadly, this is not a surprise. Two creative dynamic people can easily draw others into their orbit unaware of how powerfully the magnetic pull of their influences can have on others.'"

My perception of this message is that it plants the suggestion to Scarlett that her friends are brainwashing her to think she was r@ped by pulling her into 'narratives not of her own making.' I could see how people might interpret the later lines regarding magnetic pull as being about accidental power dynamics abuse, but I read it more as him saying Scarlett's friends are opportunistic manipulators looking to make a name for themselves by taking down a famous person.

Either way, there are a considerable number of things happening there that an actual therapist would not ever do, for a variety of very good reasons. Tortoise's attempt to call him to ask for comment was thwarted by the fact that his phone has been specifically programed not to accept voicemails. Not like, the voicemail box was full or something, he went out of his way to do that. Which means Tortoise can't quite claim that he didn't respond to requests to comment, because they couldn't leave a message. Other organizations probably run into similar difficulties establishing evidence that they have contacted him. It's not a smoking gun, but I don't like it.

A year later Amanda Palmer makes her post on the Russel Brand allegations, where she argues the solution to serial predatory behaviour is to try to get them to stop doing "stupid shit" by trying to heal their lacking and fear with love and compassion and forgiveness, because that the ONLY cause / motivation for abusive behavior. And some unarticulated hope for non-specific accountability vibes.

This post looks to me like the perspective of a person who has been continuously exploited, and manipulated into thinking it is their personal responsibility to heal people who have no interest in being healed. It reads to me like a person who has been justifying staying in a toxic situation to themself so long it has warped their entire worldview. It reads to me like the inevitable end result of this fake therapists preaching.

I don't think that absolves her of what ever her role has been in facilitating access to victims, or actively promoting these views to her audience, but it is something to keep in mind.

There is a broad rage of possibilities for what is going on with this guy. The spectrum runs from deeply misguided fool to deliberately exploitative criminal. Either way it looks like he is charging people money for the service of turning them into the "this is fine" dog. This is not fine. This is not ok. Unfortunately it probably is legal.

[luluhtk]

I truly believe that Kevin isn't straight or bisexual. I honestly think that he is gay and dating Thea only out of comphet ("it's easier to be straight" ok.....)

Yes, that could also be said by a bisexual man with internalised homophobia, but in his case I think it's just because he doesn't actually like women. Being a lesbian myself I just SEE it 👀 compulsory heterosexuality behaviour.

He doesn't seem to care about her girlfriend at all? Neil didn't even know that he had a girlfriend, he only realised when someone else told him lol. Remember that Neil was OBSESSED with Kevin for years and investigated everything about him. Remember that Kevin talks and talks and talks about the things he loves. Remember that Jean said that Kevin couldn't see anything besides the court (typical homosexual behaviour of "noo, I don't have a boyfriend yet, grandma, I'm focused on my studies😇🙏🏻 i don't have time for boys!")

Kevin has time for enjoying history, reading about it, talking about it...... But he doesn't have time to be with her girlfriend or talk about her? Not even about her athletic performance? Lmao ok..........

And he first had sex with her because Riko said so. "I can still hear him, can you?" And what if he's still dating Thea because he feels some kind of raven obligation? (I know he was dating Thea in secret because it wasn't allowed in the nest, but I think that his feelings are more complicated than that. Having a girlfriend could make him feel more "normal"? Less raven. Maybe he felt some kind of freedom or rebellion spirit about breaking one more rule, like speaking french with Jean. But of course he couldn't date another man because it would be too much, he just wanted to date someone in secret to feel more power? Idk, I'm just thinking about it.)

(But of course this is just my opinion and we'll see what happens in the next books and what Nora says. But I just want to remind everyone that dating or having sex with someone of the opposite gender doesn't mean that you like them. Lots of homosexual people come out later in life after having been married, having had children, lots of casual sex, etc.)

[cherryssodapop]

you do know that Billy is racist right...

*sighhhhhhhh* Alright, here we go…

Typically I don’t like getting into this argument because you’re not supposed to argue with a POC about what’s racist and what isn’t (I don’t actually know if you are poc or not this is a general statement I’m making), I know I don’t because it just doesn’t feel right, but here’s the thing.

When it comes to this character the one line he said that everyone’s going crazy for I’m going to have to disagree here because it’s just 1. too vague of a statement, of course you could argue that Billy talking about Lucas’ skin colour is implied in his statement and I agree, but not for the reasons you think.

And 2. there’s a reason Dacre changed this scene with the duffers regarding Billy’s potential racism because you’re creating a character who’s an antagonist who originally had no reason to be bad (until Dacre suggested the scene with his father) and then you wanna add racism into the mix? if the duffers really wanted to bring up the issue of racism during the 80s especially in small secluded areas like Hawkins, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been an actual subplot, but no they just wanted to use it as an additional reason to make Billy’s character initially unlikeable and it was so poorly written into the script and also Dacre was just straight up uncomfortable acting out that whole sequence so we can safely say the concept of Billy being a racist is scrapped from canon all together. I’m explaining this from the perspective of a film student because you can’t write an antagonist without a plausible reason and motive to be bad, so Dacre humanizing him and giving him that back story and lore is exactly what you do when it comes to character work, especially for antagonists like Billy (unless you wanna make the villain a basic villain with a basic story arc who’s sole purpose is to get in the hero’s way and die trying but in this case Billy never did that. He never really got into anyone’s way besides at the end of season 2 but it’s because he had no idea what’s going on and in HIS mind he thinks he’s saving Max from a fucked up situation. And im not even going to start with season 3 because we all know; bro was possessed, he wasn’t himself, Vecna was acting out entirely through him Billy had no say in any of it. In fact he even showed remorse and shame during the little time Vecna let him be in control of himself before abruptly taking over.) Also, yes you can be from an educated and woke society (California is a blue state and the equal opportunities act in the states already passed and Billy leaves for hawkins in fall 1984 so it’s already well established in society at that time that being racist is not acceptable) and still be a bigot, but I really just don’t believe this is the case for Billy.

What I think the issue here is his father, now hear me out, hear me out.

In the book “Runaway Max” it is brought up that Neil is a huge supporter of Reagen who at the time was a republican and attempted to abolish the equal opportunities act bill but ultimately failed of course. Max even says it herself that Neil is racist and a white supremacist. What does that tell you? His father is the whole problem. Because we all know that Billy gets beaten and blamed for everything that happens whether it’s Max’s fault or his Neil will take any excuse to physically hurt Billy. And being how Neil is so adamant on Billy watching over Max and being in charge of her, what would happen if Neil caught Max with Lucas who is black and we know Neil’s views on that demographic of people? What do you think would happen?

Of course, we could also bring up that if Billy was racist it would be a learned behaviour from his father. Though, to be honest, considering how much Billy tries to rebel against his father, I think it’s safe to say that would include Neil’s morals and beliefs, so I highly doubt it.

Going back to my first point, I think Billy did say that about Lucas not because he hates Lucas but because his father would and would take out that well known hatred out on Billy. It was more of a warning for both of their safety because of how insane Neil is. That’s why I think Billy said that and acted that way in terms of their friendship because he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of his father’s wrath.

We can also see this in season 3, when Billy is working full time, starting to take control of his life (likely saving up money so he could leave and move back to California) he doesn’t even care about what Max is doing let alone dating Lucas, he’s too busy trying to get his life together.

So no, I don’t think Billy is a racist and I’ve listed all of my reasons why from a canonical standpoint using evidence from the story, plus my own analysis on his character as an actor myself.

Now from a shifter’s standpoint; I really don’t wanna hear y’all judge my choice of S/O considering some of y’all shift for active psychopaths and murderers meanwhile I’m shifting for a dude who’s been deeply traumatized and wants to live his life in peace and find true love.

To conclude; this is entirely my opinion and my belief on the topic. If you believe the opposite you’re fully entitled to, no one’s gonna attack you or try to convince you otherwise. But the thing is with people like myself who like Billy’s character and indulge in his lore and fanfiction we’re constantly getting criticized and harassed and even as far as labeled as bad people just because we view him from a different perspective. I believe it’s time we all grow up and respect each other’s opinions because not everyone agrees with everyone and that’s the way of the world. freedom of thought freedom of speech.

(goddamn this was a long rant but i had to say my peace)

[jewishbarbies]

one of my favourite authors (Neil Gaiman) just got accused of sexual assault and while I’m reserving my thoughts for more information to come out, people are already using the “he’s a Zionist, this is typical” “typical Zionist behaviour” “he believes Israel should exist” rhetoric. Like why does his Zionism and Jewishness have to come into play

I was just looking into this and it doesn’t look like legitimate accusations to me. apparently there’s a lot of people who feel that way. the story broke from a media outlet that is far right, Boris Johnson’s sister is the main “investigative journalist” on the case, and they use the article to promote their podcast episodes about which is behind a paywall. there’s a lot of theories that this might be a smear campaign bc Gaiman is pro trans, etc., and allegedly the outlet has a history of faking things and blatantly lying in articles. until it’s confirmed and fact checked by a legitimate news source, I’m not buying it.

it doesn’t surprise me that leftists would use this as a “gotcha” for their antisemitic rants. they’ll leverage literally anything to try and make their side look better, bc that’s all it is to them. it’s just a big war of optics.

[darklinaforever]

Typical Tumblr shitbrain behaviour; convincing themselves that screaming at random bloggers for daring to say “I don’t have enough information to form an opinion on this situation yet” is going to save sexual assault victims. Sorry you got yelled at by someone who spends too much time doomscrolling as if any of the women who came forward are going to read your blog specifically.

Exactly what I was trying to explain. What difference does it make for the victims that I, an anonymous person on the Internet, do the research in my area, then wait for the whole affair to be complete before exposing the opinion that I would have formed and which will have evolved, strength of the next information that will arise ? But apparently that just means that I don't believe the victims, that I necessarily think that Neil Gaiman is innocent, that my opinion will not change and that apparently I will never speak truthfully on the subject. 🙄

[backstage-if]

Not the divorce!!! That's okay if you don't want to write this(just ignore it if you don't haha)! but can we please go with classical what if MC did this to protect RO's(and kids if they have any)? Like maybe MC has some crazy stalker(with typical stalker behaviour: silent calls, signs that someone was in their house, ect) and was getting threat's telling them to break up with RO's for a few months before divorce. And now some time after divorce stalker got caught but RO's get a call from the hospital because MC was stabbed/hurt(but they're alive)?

Might revisit this prompt someday, it could be nice to explore in a drabble 🧐

Needless to say, all the ROs would rush to the hospital instantly and want to be with MC while they have to stay there, but the afterwards would be a little different between them.

I think Joy and Spencer would simply want to forget the whole divorce/stalker situation and focus on the healing. Joy tries to distract MC and make staying at the hospital a less agonizing experience, while Spencer is the worried spouse who has a lot of questions to the nurses and doctors.

C and Neil are... conflicted. They're relieved that MC is now safe and they understand their reasons — but at the same time they thought their relationship wasn't a place for lies or omissions like that. They're a little shaken up. Both are (badly) trying to ignore the feeling for now, tho.

And A, oh, they're disappointed. Happy that nothing... worse happened, but definitely disappointed after the initial shock. I even started to write about it.

[mzannthropy]

Okay, let's go (I have a tendency for unpopular opinions, although in LMM's case, I don't think it's anything that horrible):

I have a difficult relationship with parts of the Emily trilogy. Don't get me wrong, it's good, but I just can't stand how at times LMM gets so preachy when she breaks the fourth wall to tell the reader how Emily's behaviour is inexcusable (as a reader I prefer to make up my own mind, I don't need the author to be telling me that, besides, I don't think Emily ever behaved badly). I loathe Aunts Elizabeth and Ruth, to me they are abusers and I think Emily was a fool not to take that job opportunity at the end of Climbs. Those chapters at the end are some of the worst I've ever read.

OTOH I kinda like Quest the best bc it shows the consequences of Emily's decision - if she got out of that environment, she'd be able to meet new people in the writing business and would not take so much stock in Dean's words, and thus not burn her manuscript.

I've always been disappointed in Philippa's choice of a husband. Why a minister? Bc she repeatedly says she must marry a handsome, wealthy guy, it's presented as twist that she married the opposite, but I still wish she didn't. I also think she might be a lesbian. (Actually, come to think of it, she would have been great as an unmarried rich aunt, a la Josephine Barry. The Anne with an E version, maybe?)

I don't know why the hell Anne & Gilbert had to have six kids, nobody in the whole world needs six kids...

I agree with those that say Rilla should be a separate book from the rest of the series. In fact, I think LMM wanted to write a WW1 book from the POV of women at home, which could have featured any characters and picked the youngest Blythe child bc the Anne series already had a readership. Anne and Gil appear so little anyway, there's more focus on Susan than on them. I'd like to know more about Gertrude Oliver, though!

Jane of Lantern Hill needs more attention! It's only the only book that makes no excuses for the narcissistic caregiver.

I think LMM was primarily a short fiction writer - she wrote tons of short stories and many of her books are filled with little episodes (Anne especially), but I understand that it's near impossible to discuss them bc there are so many.

I enjoyed reading Anne of Windy Poplars the most in my teens and early 20s (back when I was in home country), and now when I look back at some of those little episodes, many of them feature abuse (Little Elizabeth obvs, but also Pauline's mother and the dude who keeps his family in terror over the dinner table, although this is presented as a comedy)

Everyone probably agrees that Kilmeny of the Orchard is LMM's weakest book (I've not read the Pat series but I take it for granted it's better) but I think it's good to see how much LMM improved, and how she found that typical style of hers, instead of writing such melodrama. Also I think Neil Gordon might be her answer to Heathcliff.

So, L.M. Montgomery fans - gotta know do you have any hot or mild takes on Character's or story lines? I'm getting a renewed interest in the Fandom thanks to the #bluecastlebookclub ...

[chrisbitchtree]

The One with the Birthday Lockdown

For Harringrove Week day 2

Prompt - To be happy

2.1k - T (tw: child abuse)

***

Billy stands, pacing the short length of his bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until he’s sure he’s soon going to wear a hole in the ancient wooden floorboards. When that gets old, he sits cross legged on the bed, then lays down, taking deep breaths, trying to resist the urge to scream.

***

It’s the night of Billy’s 18th birthday. He should be out with Steve right now, having the best night ever. Steve had planned a whole evening for the two of them, although that’s all he would say, unwilling to tell Billy what his plans were. Billy had been riding the high of excitement for weeks.

That had all come crashing down when he’d talked back to his father the day before. He knew now, thinking back on it, that it had been a trap. Neil had agreed way too easily when Billy had asked to spend the nights out with friends for his birthday, forgoing the usual intense round of questioning about who he’d be out with, where they were going, and what they’d be doing, on top of stipulations about when he could leave an when he had to come back.

Instead, when Billy had mentioned going out with friends, Neil had readily agreed, slipping Billy a twenty and telling him to go have a good time. Billy should have been suspicious, but he’d been too blinded by excitement over Steve’s secret plans. Then, at 7pm the night before, while Susan and Max were out shopping, Billy’s father had called him to the kitchen, where he’d demanded to know why Billy had left dishes in the sink.

Billy had protested, which was his first mistake. He knew that he hadn’t left the dishes, but even if he had hard evidence to prove that it had been Max, his dad would still blame him, so he should have just confessed to having done it and washed the dishes. But no, he’d just had to open his big mouth and tell Neil to ask Max about it when she got home.

His dad had immediately flown into a rage, hurling a frying pan at Billy, just missing his head. There was a dent in the wall behind him, along with a trail of thick, brown sauce. Clearly unsatisfied with the results of his throw, Neil had proceeded to throw a spatula, spoon, and coffee mug at him.

The mug was thankfully another hit, shattering in almost the exact same spot as the pan had hit. Neil was yelling so loud that Billy’s ears were ringing as he started to clean up the shards of glass from the floor. After he was done sweeping, Billy scrubbed the wall and washed the unbroken dishes as his father continued to yell at him.

He told Billy that he wasn’t to leave the kitchen until it was spotless, then he was to go to his room for the remainder of the night. Billy could take all that. This was typical Neil behaviour. He started to lose his cool when his father told him that he wouldn’t be allowed to go out the next evening for his birthday, as punishment for leaving the dishes and then talking back.

Billy took a deep breath, knowing that talking back anymore than he already had wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could only hope that he could somehow get in touch with Steve, since Billy wouldn’t have access to the phone in his bedroom, and the next day was Saturday, so he couldn’t even run over to Family Video on his lunch break to let Steve know.

***

An hour later, Susan and Max returned home. After a couple minutes, Billy heard a knock on his door. Too peppy sounding to be Susan, it had to be Max. Clearly she hadn’t noticed that the lock on the outside of his door was locked.

“Go away,” he called, sounding miserable, even to his own ears. He was upset about how being able to go out, but still pretty pissed at Max for leaving those dishes.

“I just want to…” she replied.

“Go away!” Billy shouted, drowning her out.

She stayed as persistent as ever though, knocking again before Billy could hear Neil guide her away from his door, telling her in a loud enough voice that he could be sure Billy could hear that Billy needed some time to think about respect and responsibility and was to be left alone.

Not ten minutes had passed before there was a quiet knock on Billy’s window. For a  brief moment, he got his hopes up, thinking it might be Steve, and was disappointed when he opened the curtains to see Max’s face staring back at him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled, sliding the window open as slowly and quietly as possible.

“I just want to know what you did to make Neil so mad that he said you can’t go out tomorrow night. I heard him telling my mom.”

He glared at her dumb face, resisting the urge to shout as he responded. “Maybe you should ask yourself that, Maxine. You’re the one who left dishes in the sink for him to find!”

“That’s not true!” she protested. “You made breakfast this morning, and we did those dishes together, then my mom picked me up right from school! When would I have dirtied dishes?”

Neil, that fucking bastard. Billy had absently thought about the fact that the frying pan only had sauce in it, with no food besides. His dad had planted the dishes in the sink so that he had something to get Billy in trouble for.

One recent night, when Billy was up getting a glass of water late at night, he’d overheard Susan and Neil talking about Billy. Susan had told Neil that she thought Neil was being too harsh on Billy for nothing, so now he was clearly inventing reasons to get mad. Jesus Christ, Billy had to get out of there sooner rather than later.

He sighed, flopping back on his bed, leaving Max hanging through the window frame. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to sooth himself and stop the headache he could feel starting at his temples.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Max said, mournfully. “I know it doesn’t really help, but I brought you this.” She placed two cookies on a napkin on his windowsill. It wasn’t much, but chocolate chips could always make things at least a little bit better.

“Thanks, Max,” he said through a mouthful of cookie, giving her a small smile. “Could you do me one more favour and bring me your walkie?”

***

Steve was kind and empathetic throughout their entire conversation, telling Billy it was no problem at all to postpone their plans for another week, asking Billy in a worried tone if he was ok. He didn’t even complain once about not being able to hear Billy properly, as Bill whispered into the walkie under the cover of his blanket, hoping it muffled the sound from anyone trying to eavesdrop outside his bedroom door.

Eventually, the battery started to drain, Steve’s voice fading in and out, until Billy had to let him go, trying not to tear up as they said goodbye. He laid in bed, hugging his own body under the covers, willing himself to fall asleep. The faster he could fall asleep, the faster he could wake up and get through the next day.

***

Billy wakes the morning of his birthday to loud banging on his bedroom door, and his father shouting at him to get up for his birthday breakfast. He dresses quickly, scrambling to the bathroom then to the dining room table, where Susan serves pancakes, smiling weakly at Billy as she slides a couple onto his plate.

Billy’s dad gives a speech about how his son’s now a man, ready to make his own way in the world, and for a second, Billy thinks between the breakfast and the speech that Neil might actually be making an attempt to do something nice for him after punishing him so severely, but then he sees it for what it really is, an attempt for Neil to show Susan what a great father he is, even when Billy’s acting like a piece of shit. The pancake syrup suddenly tastes bitter on Billy’s tongue, and he wants nothing more than to be locked back in his room, where he can at least be alone.

***

Billy gets his wish, immediately being ushered to his room after breakfast, and told to both stay in there and stay quiet. He complies, picking up a book he has to read for school and getting lost in another world for a while.

At first, it’s not too bad, pretty much the same as every other quiet Saturday he’s forced to spend at home, except this time he’s not in charge of monitoring Max and her every movement. Susan drops off his lunch outside his door, knocking softly and scurrying away before he opens the door. He eats his bologna sandwich and apple in silence, continuing to read his book.

As late afternoon rolls around, he starts to get restless. That’s when the pacing starts. As he walks the length of his room, his anger starts to build. This was supposed to be his big night. He’s finally a man, and he finally has someone that loves him, but he’s still here, rotting away in his bedroom.

Evening falls, and as the sun starts to set, Neil knocks on Billy’s bedroom door, telling him he’d better use the washroom before Neil and Susan go out for dinner and a movie. Billy’s blood boils as he pictures his dad and Susan out at Enzo’s while he’s stuck at home, separated from Steve.

He uses the washroom, and as soon as he closes his bedroom door again, he hears the padlock click shut. Fuck Neil, he starts to think. Fuck him and his stupid rules and mind games. Fuck what he’s put Billy through. Fuck Susan for letting it happen. Fuck his mom for running away and leaving him here. Fuck everyone who isn’t Max or Steve.

He’s on the verge of tears, trying to contemplate whether sneaking out is worth the punishment he’ll receive when he almost certainly gets caught, when there’s a knock at his bedroom window. He expects it to be Max, bringing him a snack, or if he’s really lucky, a message from Steve, but when he throws open the curtains, he finds Steve himself.

Steve’s standing in the hedges, holding a box of pizza with a lobsided birthday cake balanced on top of it. He’s wearing a paper party hat on his head, and there’s another one dangling by the string from his hand. Under his arm is a wrapped gift, and there’s a soft, crooked smile on his face.

The floodgates do open at that point, Billy so overwhelmed by this turn of events that he can’t even be bothered to hide his tears like he usually does. He just lets them flow as he takes the cake and pizza box from Steve before ushering him in through the window.

“Steve, I can’t believe you…” he manages to choke out before the tears overtake his ability to speak.

Steve pulls Billy into his arms and rubs his back soothingly. “What, you thought I was going to let you spend your birthday all alone in here? You underestimate me, Hargrove.”

After a couple minutes, he pulls back and hands Billy a tissue from the box on his side table so he can wipe away his tears. Billy blushes thinking of what they usually use the tissues to wipe up, late at night, bathed in moonlight when Steve’s snuck in, telling Billy in a whisper that he couldn’t bear to be apart from him for another moment.

Billy laughs when Steve places the party hat on his head, only grumbling slightly when he snaps the elastic under Billy’s chin, and he moans in delight at the first bite of hot, cheesy pizza. When Steve goes to sing happy birthday to Billy, he realizes that he never brought a knife to cut the cake.

They call out to Max, who brings them one, running around the side of one in hand, and Steve invites her, so she stays and she and Steve sing to Billy together as he grins at them, his two favourite people in the world.

His 18th birthday isn’t exactly what Billy imagined, but it’s not often that things pan out the way he thinks they will, and honestly, it’s ok. He's choosing, in this moment, despite it all, to be happy.

One day, he’ll look back at this day, and he’ll barely remember the way Neil tried to sour it. He’ll just remember his boyfriend, his sister, and the sweet taste of chocolate cake.

[sunflowerharrington]

My Favorite Poison - Chapter One

overall synopsis: billy meets a girl. billy and said girl hit it off. but like most things in life… they don’t always have a happy end. 99% of the time they don’t, but he’s holding onto that 1% like his life depends on it. and then everything goes downhill.

content warnings: swearing, fighting, cheating, arguing, typical highschool behaviour, n*il hargrove, implied sexual content towards the second half of the book, more content warnings to be added

author’s notes: please, be kind. it costs nothing. billy’s backstory is inspired by nate jacobs’ but billy actually turns out to be the good guy unlike nate. italics are thoughts (mostly). get your popcorn and enjoy watching these idiots bicker over a school project and other things —bee.

i’m super nervous about this one, i hope at least one person likes this story…

tagging: @myobmaya @steveslittlesunflower @thisishellfire @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @hellfirehaley @corrodedhawkins @quickiesgirl @taecube @eddies-bat @wzrlds @fxllfaiiry @liviawritesthings @eddiebillysteve @fleetwood-mac-demarco if you would like to be added, please let me know!

masterlist and playlist coming soon!!

part two

please do not copy or repost to another site or on your own blog, i have spent so much time on this

chapter one: cigarettes and new faces

AUGUST 29TH 1984, HAWKINS, INDIANA

He held the flame of the lighter at the end of his second cigarette of the evening, listening to the flick of metal hitting against metal. He inhaled deeply, leaning back against the cold wall behind him, his legs tucked up to his chest as he sat on the window cill. The boy let his fragile eyelids flutter shut, images of waves, sand and the bright sunlight coursing through his mind, reminiscing about his time in California. Wishing he could go back to his home.

Nothing could kill Billy quite like being stuck in a boxing ring in his own home, where he was the punching bag. His quote unquote “home” was practically a jailhouse. Not a home, but a house. But this was just four walls, four people, four fights every night which the person who actually started them all always blamed Billy for starting them. Everything was in fours for Billy Hargrove.

Until one person disrupted those even numbers. Ruining the order in the Hargrove household, ruining everything. According to Neil; a very unreliable source, who then began taking his anger out in a heinous way.

So Billy turned to drinking alcohol and inhaling toxic fumes from the cigarettes. Smoking that amount would kill him one day. It would eventually make his pearly whites rot and fall out and his jaw would also dislocate and fall off. But he didn’t give a shit. But he would in the next hour.

He’d rather die than be in Hawkins.

And exhale, blowing the smoke back into the bathroom, watching it brush against the cloudy window panes and the cracked mirror hanging on the door at the opposite end of the room, listening to the hustle and bustle of the outside world and god-awful music from a nearby car. The hardest part about it for him was the long exhale after inhaling the death threatening substances. He hated letting go, he hated relaxing.

But it didn’t matter what he was breathing in, he hated it. He would do anything to cut off all air circulation… Letting himself exhale and let go was what led him to be thrown into this hell on Earth, Hawkins, for eternity.

Sometimes Billy thought back to the day that everything changed in his house. He was twelve years old when his dad turned on him. Neil wanted to keep everything in order and was quite obsessive, but didn’t want to do any of the work. He was the man of the house after all, and whatever he says, goes. So he forced William to start working.

When he turned thirteen he started going by Billy. Around that time he also adopted healthier habits, except he started smoking and began consuming too much alcohol. At thirteen. He also adopted a rigid diet consisting of carbs, protein and cheap cans of beer from the fridge when his mom and Neil weren’t looking. His workout schedule included surfing, swimming and running the length of the beach.

He joined the Lenora Hills basketball team as a freshman, coming out as not only the star player at the year’s end, but the team captain too. And he loved it. He loved the attention and his mom’s praise, until Neil kicked her out of the house for reasons unknown to Billy at the time, and until Susan Mayfield and her daughter, Max, showed up.

Max was a fuck-up. Billy could tell Neil didn’t like Max; didn’t think she had guts, or a brain or half a fucking clue about anything in the world except how to skateboard and be a disappointment to everyone.

He didn’t talk to Neil all that much after the switch flicked in Neil’s mind to start inflicting his anger and pain onto the child. Billy didn’t like Susan either. She was weak and a pushover. Plus, she was an alcoholic and didn’t take care of herself. What a waste. Susan could have been his saving grace.

And inhale… breathing in the smoke and letting it fill his lungs, letting it calm your senses, and then exhaling slowly. He watched with half-lidded, slightly dazed eyes as the cigarette smoke filled the small room, coating the already thick air around him.

Susan insisted on him going out for the evening, so he found himself trudging to the nearest gas station, picking an unopened box of cheap cigarettes off the ground on his way. He’d gone out to buy some, so getting free ones was a win in his book.

He kicked open one of the bathroom stall doors and locked it behind him, taking a seat on the window cill with a thin coat of chipped white paint on it that had turned a murky yellow color due to… how long it had been there, he thought.

Billy moved to Hawkins with Susan, Max and Neil after Neil kicked Billy’s mom out. Moving into a new house that was a ten minute drive from the local middle school and high school. Though he would rather work out all day and swim in the community pool, working on getting his lifeguard training certificate, than going to school. He’d rather read a fucking Shakespearean tragedy aloud than attend school. He'd rather marry somebody he hated than attend school.

And now he found himself walking down a dark alleyway, freckles of blue sky peeking out from behind the clouds full of angel tears, a street lamp flickering above him, which was surprisingly more comfortable than locking himself up (leaving the door open three inches, he wasn’t allowed to close his door) in an almost empty bedroom that might as well have been a foreign country. And exhale again.

He’d heard stories about this town; about how two young kids went missing in the same week but only one survived, about how one man was forced to look after said child and his friends because their deadbeat parents were as useful as the pythagorean theorem outside of school. But he chose to believe none of it. Max on the other hand believed everything. Her lack of brain cells allowed her to do that.

Though her IQ still wasn’t as bad as Neil’s receding hairline.

And inhale. Inhaling this shit never burned as bad the second time around… Well, not as bad as the burn he received when he tripped down the stairs in his next door neighbour slash best friend’s house, when the bare skin of his thigh dragged and scraped along the carpet. When the only person who didn’t laugh at him could barely help him because they’d both smoked one too many purple palm tree delights that day.

And so is where he was now; leaning against a damp concrete wall near a girl his age and presumably her younger sister, who looked to be around Max’s age or slightly older. As he breathed in the cool air of the autumn evening, he watched as they completed their daisy chains using the flowers from the tiny patch of grass by the flickering street lamp.

The older of the two girls noticed him out of the corner of her eye and gave him a warm smile, one that slowly began to melt his heart without him even knowing it, little creases forming around her eyes. The little girl waved at Billy, but he didn’t have it in him to wave back. He felt like he didn’t deserve it after all the shit Neil said he did; after that time at the police station when Neil accused him of abusing his own step-mother and step-sister, when in reality the real monster was Neil.

But he couldn’t help but look back at the older girl, who had wrapped her arms around the little girl’s shoulders. She had long, ash blonde hair and pretty amber eyes. Her sun kissed skin had been injected with bright, colorful ink, and the drawings covered the entirety of one of her arms. A tattoo-covered hand moved to cup the younger girl’s cheek, her thumb wiping away a stray tear.

Panic set in for Billy. Did he make her cry? Was it because he didn’t say anything to her? Should he buy her an ice cream to cheer her up? A magazine? A movie from Family Video? He flicked his lighter out of boredom and to distract himself from his thoughts, blowing smoke out into the darkness of the late summer night.

It would be better if he didn’t say anything.

His cigarettes tasted like shit but they calmed his ever growing nerves. So he kept them up. The shitty doctor he went to with his mom told him that the injections they were going to give him would fix his addiction and calm his nerves, but boy were they far from right. They just made him even worse.

They did fucking shit to help him.

“It’s the pretty boy from the pool!” He heard the younger girl, the brunette, say quietly into the blonde girl’s shoulder. Muffled, but clear and loud enough for him to hear almost crystal clearly.

The tattooed girl smiled, pressing a kiss to the little girl’s forehead. “You’re right, El! You wouldn’t know who this is, but he reminds me of James Dean, in a way.”

Her voice was sweeter than candy, and it made Billy’s skin crawl. It was the first time she’d uttered more than a word. He couldn’t tell where she was from; the sing-song tunes of a Gaelic drawl mixed perfectly in with Midwest American that warmed him more than the sun beating down on his blonde curls in a hot summer in California. And he hated it.

James Dean? Wow…

Billy grinned, smirking as he heard the little girl, El, say that she thought Billy had heard what the girl with the sweet tatties had said. The older girl hid her blushing face in her hands while the other giggled, teasing her. “Why is your face pink?”

“It’s not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not, El!”

His heart sank as the little girl ran up to him. Should he apologize now? Should he compliment her daisy chain bracelet? Should he ask her about the brown-haired girl? Should he—?

“My friend thinks you’re really pretty,” she said, bouncing up to him, now standing not even a foot away from him, practically leaning against his body. His ears perked up at the sound of her voice.

Okay. They’re not sisters.

“I know I am,” he replied plainly, flicking his cigarette again, looking down into her glassy, deep brown eyes. Eyes that made him instantly relax, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as he sighed a quiet “thank you,” to her.

El beamed, but Billy hadn’t noticed, too busy looking at the other girl. He shifted in his spot by the wall and stared, admiring how she flicked her nails together. Maybe it was a nervous thing? However, she was a stunner. Skin like soft cashmere with a sunkissed glow, gleaming amber eyes and a full plush mouth. She had her almost pin straight hair pulled into a high ponytail with her bangs falling over her forehead, her ponytail secured with a blue scrunchie; Billy’s favorite color.

She also looked strong, her arms muscled but not as much as his, with her colorful sleeve, and she had the kind of full swishy hips a boy would love to grab a hold of. And she smiled like a pageant queen.

Billy hadn’t noticed that his fingers had tangled together, kneading each other like bread dough. He hated how pretty she was. She was so out of his league, and he hated that. He hated how he wouldn’t be able to sweet talk her into a date, hated how he wouldn’t be good enough for her even though he hadn’t even spoken to her yet.

Her glossy smile wavered, and she laughed, a sound that jingled in tune with the dangling earrings she was wearing. Ones that looked almost identical to Billy’s. The sound rang in his ears louder than anything ever had before.

Is this fate?

“Come on, El,” she said, beckoning the girl back over to her, her eyes locking with Billy’s for a moment. “I’m sorry about her, she gets really excited around boys.”

Billy opened his mouth, uncharacteristically unsure of what to say. He lived by the philosophy that regrets were for another day, not today. Or, at least for a minute after he’d said something that made him sound like a fucking idiot.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I get that excited around pretty people too.”

Her smile broke, laughter bubbling in her chest. The sweetest sound in the world was worth looking like an idiot for.

“You do? I guess that means you’re not excited right now,” she said, her voice dropping, trailing off. “I mean, why would you be? El’s pretty but she’s twelve… But whatever you’re into...”

Billy shrugged. “What if I was talking about you?”

“You were?” Her pretty mouth fell open, letting out a short gasp. Billy’s brows furrowed; she was surprised he said that?

As Billy nodded, a huge smile broke on her face, pulling at the corners of her glossy lips. However, he felt his heart beginning to shatter as she tried her hardest to conceal that beautiful smile. Each time her smile broke, so did his heart.

And he fucking hated it. He hated how easily this girl had made him crack. He hated how she didn’t see herself as beautiful or worthy. He hated how she didn’t see herself the way he saw her.

She flicked her light gaze in his direction, the force of her smile so bright he almost had to physically rub his eyes to adjust; instead he just squinted them shut for a second longer than a normal blink. That was exactly how she looked to him: a vision. One so beautiful it could bring a tear to somebody’s eye. She had the beauty of Venus, the power of Aphrodite, the grace of la primavera di Botticelli and a smile with enough adoration it could power an entire twelve lifetimes of perfect, puppy love.

“Of course I was, doll,” he replied with a chuckle from the bottom of his stomach. “Have you met yourself?”

Billy smiled back at her, running his skilful tongue over his top teeth and bottom lip, which for whatever reason looked hot. Any time she tried, it looked weird and creepy. He made it look so effortless and so, so… so…—

Billy watched as a scarlet blush crept onto her cheeks, tucking a wayward strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, biting the side of her bottom lip to distract herself from… something. Anything. She could feel herself faltering under his intense gaze.

Billy also had to look away. The longer he looked, the more he felt like he was falling. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t just because she was too good looking for her own good. He’d met plenty of beautiful girls in his life, maybe a few who looked even more gorgeous than her, but nobody, in his entire 17 years of life had managed to knock him sideways like that that fast.

When he finally opened his mouth again, he was so busy trying to smooth talk her, that he may have insulted her. Fuck. Telling her she looked like somebody who would balance out his prettiness even after he called her beautiful. God, why won’t he stop fucking talking?

He was digging himself a grave 8 feet under instead of 6. Every word was more stupid and more flustered-sounding than the last.

But she laughed. She laughed at his stupidity, which was better than her running off with tears falling down her beautiful face. He’d take anything he could at that point.

He slowly walked over and sat down next to her, pulling his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the gas station bathroom. Bold move.

The swift movement only made the blush on her cheeks grow even more, and she now had no choice but to let him see that.

“What’s a sweet girl like you doing out here almost all by yourself anyway?” He asked after she failed to fully falter under his gaze. There was a party down the road

“I could ask you the same thing, Stud,” she replied, breath hitching in his throat as she scooted closer to him, his boots and her converse touching, something of a small spark igniting between the two as her right knee and his left knee briefly touched.

“You think I’m a sweet girl?”

“You know what I mean!” She laughed. Oh he liked the sound of her laugh.

But no. He hated it. No. Hate. Hate. He wasn’t allowed to like anything so why should he start now?

You don’t like her. Get that in your fucking head.

“What’s your name?” He asked, filling what might have been an awkward silence.

“What’s yours?” She challenged, her lips matching his cheeky smirk, politely deciding a cigarette from him when he offered.

He got to work attempting to roll a blunt from the back pocket of his jeans with his shaky fingers on the surface of the slightly damp ground next to him, cigarette dangling from his plush lips. He noticed her pushing her thighs together tighter than before, but never said anything, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.

“Are you gonna make me annoy the shit out of you until you tell me, Stud?” Shit. Fuck. Double and triple times fuck. He forgot about that.

“It’s Billy,” he said, exhaling, the area around them filling with a soft haze of gray smoke, clouding both of their minds even more.

“Sloane,” she replied. “Got a surname?” I wish I didn’t. “…Or are you just Billy?”

His stomach leapt at the way his name rolled off her tongue so perfectly, and he gulped, covering it up by pulling his cigarette. The sound of her saying his name… It was cheesy as fuck but it sounded better than any song he’d ever heard. “It’s Hargrove.”

“Mitchell,” she said, slipping something into the pocket of his denim jacket, patting the fabric twice. “Always nice to see new faces around here, Hargrove… Well, I think you’re new, I’d notice a pretty boy like you a mile away.”

Pretty boy, huh? Looked like Billy was off to a great start.

…Until he fucked it all up. Just like he did with everything he ever went near. He was destined to not have nice things.

[tallerthantale]

ppl don't tag random posts with neil gaiman's name, that tag should be reserved for his sexual abuse of 5+ women

As I commented on the top of the post, you might want to jump to the end note. It was not a random post. But I'll copy the end note here for more efficient visibility.

Due to a series of unfortunate events (or two), there was a considerable delay between the bulk of my "What does Aziraphale Actually Believe" series and the last instalment. While I initially felt very negatively about that, it also presented a particular opportunity, as I found myself reviewing the final draft details of The Metatron's manipulation tactics and how they messed with Aziraphale's mind at the same time as I was following the allegations against Neil Gaimen.

As things currently stand I find the allegations against Neil Gaimen very credible and very damning. Information is still coming out, but the odds of something being reviled that would change the gist of my opinion are very unlikely. I don't consider that to be cause to stop engaging with the fandom and analyzing the story. A lot of people who take that position frame it as separating the art from the artist. That is not the framing I use.

Typically I try to keep considerable distance between myself and anything that looks like psychoanalysing public figures. This because of a psychology ethics rule that I take on a broad interpretation of. The gist of it is to not form professional opinions about the psychology of specific people based on their public statements / works. Because what follows is skirting the edges of the spirit of those rules, I want to emphasise that it is my personal opinion, and I am coming at it more from literary analysis than any kind of Sherlockian attempt at deductive reasoning about the workings of a particular person's mind.

The narrative arc of Aziraphale's religious trauma, the way it plays out, the way his opinions bend and reform, the way he gaslights himself in the presence of The Metatron, the way The Metatron wields his power imbalance with a friendly disposition, the way the threats that are never framed as a threat mess with Aziraphale's mind, the way he convinces himself to be happy about what he is being forced into, the way his mind flips back and fourth based on the pressures of the people around him, the particular ways he is vulnerable to being subtly manipulated into appearing complicit in his own exploitation, the detail in how that plays out, these things were all written very well.

Or I should say, they were written very accurately.

The motivation I had to write the "What does Aziraphale Actually Believe" series was that a lot of the ways those features of exploitation were accurately depicted weren't picked up on by the general audience. Because they rang so true to life to me, but were not followed by so many, I sought to explain my understanding of Aziraphale's behaviour to people who weren't sure what to make of it. These mechanisms are often very counter intuitive, not understanding them is pretty normal, and the Final 15 stood out to me as having been written with a very unusually high level of understanding of how exploitative power dynamics operate in real life.

Which is to say…

If the author of Aziraphale's Season 2 narrative arc came to me, and told me that he just didn't realize how power disparities impact people, that he was trying his best and he just didn't understand, I would tell him to go fuck himself with a rake. I can get behind wanting more to be investigated, wanting more information to be corroborated, wanting to see the actual screenshots and emails. I have respect for people who still want more documentation. What I want to push back against is arguments from people who believe the conduct happened, but either think that it wasn't a big deal, that Gaimen could not have been expected to know better, or that he made an unfortunate mistake. Someone that oblivious would not have been able to write the story of Season 2. Someone getting called out for their abuse of power absolutely would claim they didn't know any better as an excuse, it's the most obvious excuse to make.

People who abuse power knowingly are often still able to create a pocket fantasy universe, conjuring sections of time during which they can believe their own lies. They can sit better with themselves and their own actions that way. That isn't the same as not knowing better, it is the most willful of all willful ignorance, and it can flip on and off like a switch. I haven't read Sandman, but the people who have may be able to say if it seems like the work was written by a person who understands that people can create their own pocket realities to live in, and jump into and out of.

One of the common things expressed by those coming forward is that they want people to know that they are absolutely confident Gaimen understood what he was doing. There was a moment in the "Am I Broken" podcast where the survivor made that point, and the host either didn't process what they were being told or dismissed it at the speed of light, pivoting to hoping this would be a learning opportunity for other clumsy people in power who are probably making the same mistakes. It was a very frustrating moment.

I understand it is confusing that the people who engage in serial predatory behavior can rationalize themselves into their fantasy narrative of events while simultaneously engaging in an intentional strategy. But it is what people do. Getting to believe they aren't doing the very thing they planed to do is part of the strategy, and part of how they are able to gaslight people so effectively. The answer to "do serial predators believe they are innocent or do they do it as a honed deliberate tactic?" is yes. Knowing that is key to spotting these patterns in real life.

[heartsburst]

that one aaron/neil fic in question:

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Neil Josten/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

Characters: Neil Josten, Aaron Minyard, Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick, The Foxes (All For The Game)

Additional Tags: Mentioned Drake Spear, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love, Recreational Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, aaron minyard is just a very sad boy, you can't hate him more than he hates himself, vague voyeuristic behaviour

Summary:

"Their arms brush when they reach across the sticky table at Sweetie's and Aaron feels the sensation to the roots of his hair. Neil barks out a laugh when Nicky spills ketchup down the back of Kevin's shirt and Aaron is winded by the sound."

--------

Aaron craves something he can never have. It isn't an unfamiliar feeling.

literally this is the aaron-centric fic ever and i am unwell over it. this is the best characterization of aaron i have seen. this is like canon to be. i am unwell over this forever and all of these statements are hills i am prepared to die on.

i think it's time for me to reread that one aaronneil fic and cry!!!

[nualaofthefaerie]

Hey, I love your vibes, but I haven’t read the sandman comics yet. What about nuala/dream makes you ship it so passionately? I keep getting your stuff on my tl and dash, so I’m curious.

Hello!

Very glad to have you around!

Uhm, I'm not used to being on Tumblr for a long while, but I will try my best to explain. Also, I'm sorry if the explanation is rather long and confusing, I never really had to gather my thoughts in one place.

First and foremost, my favourite Sandman character is Nuala, probably my favourite character in all of fiction. Bear with me, LET ME PAINT YOU A PICTURE.

When you read the comics, I wish not to skew anyone's perception of the sandman characters, but Nuala is one of the very few clear-cut protagonists of the story. Dream is no protagonist, he is instead a vessel or just an existing complicated entity, but Nuala? She is a protagonist. Even in her moments of utmost brattiness, which she does possess, she is consistently kind.

Despite everything, she is put through, and no little amount of that is Morpheus's inability to communicate, she remains kind and compassionate to everyone around her. I think that with the corporate influx of "girlboss" female characters, who do not understand that women do not have to turn around at any stop and make a SHOW out of their ability to be strong women, the Sandman has a plethora of great female characters. Nuala to me is extremely special because she is a character who shows that kindness isn't weakness. Usually, even in reviews of the Sandman she is treated as a weak girl, that Morpheus only ever uses, but I strongly disagree with that notion. She is extremely kind and sometimes, yes, caves to Morpheus, but I hope you will read through the comics itself and see that despite her treating him with a superior title, she responds to him and never lets him belittle her. There is a great moment between them in volume 7 "Brief Lives" where she stands up for herself in front of Morpheus in a way not many characters in the Sandman do.

I have always had a weakness for light/dark ships and I believe it was during volume 8 "World's End" where Neil, whether intentional or not juxtaposes Nuala as Morpheus's pollar opposite. There is a line of Nuala's that directly challenges everything Morpheus had been preaching about himself. In that same volume Morpheus grants Nuala a personal favour without asking for anything in return. Upon finishing the entirety of the comic, I went back in the whole series and annotated every time Morpheus and Nuala interacted and came to a rather weird conclusion: this ship that I had made in my head actually made sense to a higher degree. In reviews of the Sandman or fan conversations, people mention they don't understand how or why would even Nuala fall in love with Morpheus, but throughout the entire story Morpheus treats Nuala differently - he explicitly makes the effort of commending her on doing a good job, he does her a favour in "world's end" he had NO reason to do and tbh Morpheus is a fickle being, he only ever does whatever he wants to do. Again in "World's end" during a certain characters dream sequence Nuala appears in that characters dream and she is given a really cute fairy appearance that is not the one she usually has in the Dreaming, meaning at least to me that Morpheus has allowed her to look in people's dreams as beautiful as she wishes to look. Of course, "The Kindly Ones" is where they get into their confrontation where Morpheus rejects her DESPITE giving her a boon, something he is not famous for doing as well.

There is also a conversation between Titania and Nuala that confirms that Morpheus' behaviour towards Nuala is not typical. There are serious notes of jealousy in Titania's way of speaking to Nuala.

Overall, I think it's the fact they represent light and darkness, that they are almost exclusively opposites of each other and I think they were purposefully not made canon because Morpheus is incapable of comprehending light and dealing with it in a romantic way, hence all of his canon relationships having a note of toxicity to them.

There are a lot more instances and I think a lot more depth that my 12:00AM brain cannot fully explain right now, but that is a good reason to do a deep dive post sometimes. Because even though I do love them, Morpheus's behavious towards her is still unacceptable at times and HE DOES deserve to be slapped across the face for it.

Love,

Li

P.S. Also my biggest ship is HobxMorpheusxNuala as a thruple since i believe they can be literally the best dynamics in the universe of fictions. :D

[scumbag-monthly]

The Young Ones - Flood 💧

Original air date: 14.12.82

Reviewed by: @neil-neil-orange-peel

It’s too difficult a task for me to pick my favourite episode of The Young Ones. I honestly think it depends on my mood. As things stand, I think I’m able to break the twelve episodes into four quarters, ranking wise, and Flood is definitely in my top quarter.

As the finale to series one, we might have expected an episode more like the previous one – Interesting – to take Flood’s spot. That is, an episode with a massive cast to take the show out on a high in case a second series was never commissioned. By contrast, Flood is a far more intimate affair – with the main cast closed off from the rest of the world and any other characters they might have encountered by rapidly rising water. This forces the focus on to each of them and their interplay with one another even more so than usual, showing us how they react to being trapped in a life or death situation. So, maybe not the high of a party, but a high stakes plot… y’know, if we squint past the silliness, which of course we’re not supposed to do.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. When Flood starts, it’s only raining. I’ll just mention here that I’m in agreement with Zoe about the first series’ opening credits being superior to the second series’. I know both look dated now, but the first series’ ones give more insight into the characters’ personalities and the flavour of the show. But anyway: Flood!

The episode opens outside on a rotten, dreary, drizzly kind of day. To add to the mood, we have a cast of medieval peasants, monks, and soldiers chanting “Dominus ad nauseam”. The posh knobs who’ve had a private education and can speak Latin (plus anyone else who’s bothered to check the Wikipedia article for Flood) will know that this means: “Discussing the Lord to the point of nausea.” There’s the first joke, concealed though it may be, and I think anyone non-religious who’s been forced to sit through a church service will see the funny side.

This first scene doesn’t involve the main characters – it’s a cutaway segment. Though it’s raining hard, and their faces are partially covered, you can spot Mark Arden and Stephen Frost as the peasants. Frost’s character gets the honour of being the first this episode to be hit over the head. Leading this group is “His Holiness” – a character credited on IMDB as the Witchfinder, played by Peter Wear. I think his attire and credited name point to him being a parody of the 17th century Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins, which makes the collection of historical figures gathered here a bit anachronistic. That said, it doesn’t matter a jot. This is The Young Ones, after all.

The group are gathered in a graveyard to carry out an execution. They’ve dug a pit – “The finest pit we have dug this morrow, for it is in truth the only one.” – to cast the prisoner down into. Thanks to the weather, it’s more of a muddy bath now. The soldiers prove themselves to be a few vegetables short of an allotment when they misunderstand the Witchfinder’s instructions by casting themselves into the pit. Exasperated, the Witchfinder asks the prisoner if he knows the crime he has been found guilty of… and then, exasperation breaking into irritation, prompts him to tell us what it is. It is now, as the camera zooms in and he pulls out a microphone, that we can see clearly that the prisoner is Arnold Brown! From The Comic Strip! And his crime?

“Being Scottish and Jewish – two racial stereotypes for the price of one. Perhaps the best value in the graveyard this morning.”

After Brown gets his catchphrase in (“And why not?”), Neil (Nigel Planer) appears and hits himself in the face with a frying pan. Typical bloody hippie behaviour, tsk tsk. We discover this graveyard doubles as the lads’ back garden and that Rick (Rik Mayall) has seemingly been watching the cutaway segment from the window. Or has he? No, no, he’s just been watching Neil.

Inside the house – where the set lighting in the kitchen is stark, adding to the gloom of the day – Mike (Christopher Ryan) tells us Rick has been looking out of the window for three hours. As we TYO nerds already know the truth behind this, I’ll just point out now that Rick voluntarily standing with his face pressed against a window for three hours is kind of impressive, if also extraordinarily pointless. He’s so desperate for attention that he’d put himself through that uncomfortable tedium just in the hope of being able to crack a criminally unfunny joke. Long live the People’s Poet. Mike’s casually callous comment about making sure Rick doesn’t break the window when he tears his face off it is indicative of the house hierarchy and also demonstrates that Mike is a funny character actually. The standout line from this exchange is of course, however, Rick’s line about the superglue being a joke he made up that the others fell for like the fascists they are. His face is just so wonderfully animated as he says it.

Vyvyan (Adrian Edmondson) starts this episode sat on the sofa reading "SS Death Camp Criminal Battalion go to Monte Cassino for the Massacre", a comic of high cultural and intellectual value, I’m sure. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not but his hair looks a little messy in Flood, as if it’s been dampened by the rain. Rick and Vyvyan soon start their fighting – largely, though Rick would never admit it, to placate his own boredom. Yet more attention seeking behaviour from Rick sees him spouting some awful freeform poetry: “Marrow! Meringue! Boomerang!” The writers putting as many words with the “R” sound as they can into Rick’s lines is always amusing. That is what triggers their fighting.

This is one of my favourite scenes between Rick and Vyvyan. Not only is their conversation about the standards the youth should be expecting from their comics and what constitutes “being poofy” hilariously immature, it’s one of the longer periods the two have in the show where they speak without actively trying to kill one another. Vyvyan doesn’t even turn to violence when Rick shoves his bottom in his face – and he’s got a pretty big knife! The clash of personalities is where most of the comedy in the sitcom – in fact, most of the comedy in lots of sitcoms – comes from, so I usually think of this scene when it comes to a concentrated, verbal example of that for Rick and Vyvyan. Their positioning on the sofa makes for some good shots too.

There are a couple rule of three jokes at play in this first section of the show. The first of these we see when Neil enters the house and hits himself in the face with the frying pan (again), the second is started here when Vyvyan decides to check how hard it’s raining. When Vyvyan turns back from the window to break the fourth wall, TYO does what is does best and presents us with a glass of disgusting yellow gob. The studio audience audibly reacts to this.

“It’s only spitting,” Vyvyan says. Clever stuff.

Despite his protestations about how “reactionary” the comic is, Rick still tries to read it after Vyvyan rips it up. This leads into the next cutaway section. All I Have To Do Is Dream by The Everly Brothers playing signifies we’re taking a trip into the delusional world of Rick’s mind, where a comic strip featuring the racist policeman from Boring (Jim Barclay) plays out with Rick as the hero. Notably, Rick is wearing his Demolition getup again here, which suggests maybe this section was originally intended to be part of the pilot. Arden and Frost’s appearances would corroborate this, as we’ve already seen them this episode while they were absent from Demolition. This is also the last time Rick will treat us to some of his poetic verse, as interestingly enough series two features none.

“You gay, black bastards! We’re going to victimise you!” is such a funny line within the context.

The fantasy ends when Neil returns to the house once more and pours a pan of rainwater on Rick’s lap, before hitting himself for a final time. This startles Rick, who can’t figure out where the water came from – a similar joke to this will occur in Bambi. Neil’s near invisibility to the other three is fitting, particularly as we never do find out why he was hitting himself over the head with the frying pan. It’s another discarded plotline to add to the show’s fickle nature. So, while no one is in the slightest bit interested in Neil’s latest take on self-harm, they do want food. Of course. Neil moans that he can’t go to the shop because his hair will lose its shape, but we know this is just an excuse as he’s spent the opening of the episode outside without any kind of hood. The reoccurring question of money comes up and the reason Vyvyan has a knife suddenly becomes apparent. Cat lovers, avert your eyes!

A “kitty”, for those who don’t know, is a slang term for the money gathered by a group of people to be spent on collective amenities – such as in a student house. TYO interprets the name literally, managing to create surrealism from this new concept of a real-life cat containing money… or a, uh, working man’s club comedian puppet cat. I know the rule of comedy is not to explain it! Don’t dissect the frog! But it’s pretty obvious that incongruity in bits like this is what helps create TYO’s oddball humour.

The cat escapes – and for some reason I find it sweet that they’ve got a cat flap for it – but not before shitting out some dosh. Neil begrudgingly agrees to go to the shops and they set about making a list. Vyvyan amps up his taunting of a now blazered Rick by faux apologising for eating his sticky-labelled food. There’s a gifset somewhere on Tumblr for Rick’s rather animalistic reaction. Neil takes another opportunity to try to guilt trip everyone about how he does all the chores around here, guilt tripping which would work a whole lot better if his housemates were capable of being guilted. Upon opening the fridge, he pulls out Rick’s green globule on a saucer – “And I’ve spat on that, Vyvyan, so I wouldn’t advice you eat it!” – and the can of Coca Cola disguising Vyvyan’s utterly brilliant potion.

Let’s talk about Vyvyan and his potions for a moment. Presently, the only other example I can recall of one is from Interesting – the one that makes all his hair fall out. Vyvyan is a medical student and, if the first series’ opening credits are anything to go by, “mad scientist” was on his list of possible career paths when he picked his course. I love whacky coloured drinks in TV shows. In TYO, it’s usually Vyvyan who drinks them – see: the aforementioned blue example from Interesting, plus the bright green tea with bits floating in it from Demolition. We don’t actually see what colour this potion is, but if I had to wager I’d say a bright, hot colour like red. What else is going to turn you into an axe-wielding, homicidal maniac?

Foreshadowing is a device used in storytelling of all mediums, so naturally this show pokes a bit of fun at their employment of the trope: “You know, I just bet a bit later on somebody does drink that and turns into an axe-wielding, homicidal maniac.” Neil gets this line and Nigel delivers it so well, it really amuses me. Gee shucks, I guess it’s just inevitable. Oh well! Neil gets to wind Rick up in this scene too, though much more subtly than Vyvyan, by beginning to list mundane items like “wallpaper” when Rick snaps at him that they need “everything” from the shops.

As Neil leaves the house wearing his old lady’s waterproof bonnet, The Day the Rains Came by Jane Morgan begins to play. This is the second ‘50s tune in Flood – the episode that has no live music. We get our first shot of Codrington Road this episode now, which is used as a segue way for the next cutaway sequence. This time, we’re in a house across the road where two bespeckled men all in black are spying on the lads, who they seem to think are aliens. Understandable conclusion, to be fair. They’re played by Rik and Ade and remind me of the Dangerous Brothers in a much tamer way. I think it’s just that Rik’s character is the dominant one – refusing to let Ade’s character take the lens cap off because they’re not real “binocoliers” – and Ade’s character asks that most stupid of stupid questions: “Lip nip nip nip bip?”

In a mix-up, Rik’s character ends up lobbing the not real “binocoliers” at someone who isn’t the milkman and they end up in Vyvyan’s glass. He’s once again gone over to the window to test the rain and has returned with a pint of piss. There’s the second variant in this running joke. We saw with Neil hitting himself with the frying pan three times how they heightened the third one by having him spill water on Rick first – as we’re about to see with this rule of three, they decide to subvert our expectations of something more disgusting than spit and piss being next with something quite the opposite instead. First, though, Rick is shouting again.

RICK: Okay! That’s just about the bloody limit! I mean, I only put it in there on Wednesday – it’s not as if they grow on trees or anything like that!

MIKE: Rick, what have you lost?

RICK: I had half an apple in there!

The studio audience gives this line a big laugh, and so they should. As Rick and Vyvyan start up their squabbling again, we can see that Mike has begun pampering himself with an old-fashioned beauty mask and hand fan. When Rick asks if he stole his apple, Mike responds with one of his better-known lines: “Well, if you’re gonna sin you might as well be original.” I love this little quip and I love the fact that even Mike has no idea what he’s on about.

A vengeful Rick takes off to Mike’s bedroom to search for pips, only to be met by Bobby the lion tamer and his several angry, man-eating lions. Because why not. The lion tamer was the cabaret replacement for the live music in Flood and reminds us of how old this show is. The dodgy greenscreen effect reminds us of this too, but that kind of adds to TYO’s charm. Naturally Rick screams and runs off, and In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle by The Tokens plays over footage of the lion tamer at work. I’ll be honest, with a 21st century perspective it’s not the show’s finest moment – those lions look pissed – but the last shot of the male lion roaring does function as a good transition for the next scene, where that rule of three about the rain finally pays off as Neil arrives home with a collection of adorable kittens in his coat. I think it’s fair to say cats of all kinds are a recurring theme in Flood.

It turns out Neil’s forgotten what he went out for in the first place, much to the chagrin of Mike and Vyvyan. In a surprising twist, Rick defends Neil and tells Vyvyan he should go to the shops himself if he’s so hungry, to which we get Vyvyan’s great line about not wanting his forehead to rust. This is the point at which the episode’s title starts to bear fruit: the rain has gotten so bad that Vyvyan’s Ford Anglia is floating about outside. Poor Rick is on his last nerves after the shock of the lions in the loft and is close to tears as he berates everyone for their immaturity… and suggests a game of hide and seek to pass the time.

Talking heads have said before that they found the lads playing hide and seek sweet – not like those awful kids these days, with their phones and trendy laptop pads! Grr! The truth is that actually Rick, Mike, Vyvyan, and Neil are all just overgrown kids. That’s part of why, despite their horribleness, you like them anyway. There’s a warped innocence to their sadistic violence. Rick is the seeker in this game – presumably because he insisted on it after coming up with the idea – and while he’s (allegedly) counting to 2,500 Neil has his encounter with the lions. We see Vyvyan hastily exiting Rick’s bedroom, which we know will have consequences later on.

Mike is the first of them to be uncovered when Rick opens the kitchen cupboard. If there’s footage somewhere of Chris climbing into there, I’m sure it’s hilarious. Mike’s insecure ego won’t let him be the first caught, so he tells Rick to go away and find the others first. This is one of Rick and Mike’s funniest interactions in the show. Once again, the household dynamic is highlighted when Rick shuts the cupboard door before knocking and complimenting Mike’s hiding skills. When he turns away to find the others it’s obvious that he’s really very cross, but he won’t show that to Mike. Oh no, not to Mike. Brilliant.

Vyvyan’s found smoking at the bottom of the stairs which I’d never endorse but can’t deny he makes look very, uh, appealing. Rick never has any issues showing Vyvyan his temper but gives him an extra five seconds to hide himself anyway. There’s another good shot of the two of them glaring and yelling in each other’s faces here, with Vyvyan on the stairs and Rick on the floor. Once the five seconds are up, Vyvyan’s vanished into the wardrobe they have in their hallway. Rick screeches one of his best renditions of “BASTARD!” – topped maybe only by “THE SELFISH BASTARDS!” from Summer Holiday – and storms up the stairs. Meanwhile, the reason for the presence of lions and so many other cats in this episode becomes clear: Vyvyan is going to Narnia.

I think it’s one of TYO’s most memorable parodies, alongside The Good Life in Sick. David Rappaport returns as Shirley, joined by Justine Lord as the White Witch. The White Witch calls Vyvyan a “manchild”, which is about right. The first thing he does in this new world appears to be taking a slash in the trees. The White Witch invites Vyvyan over for some Turkish delights, mirroring her literary counterpart, but an argument soon breaks out over who’s responsible for a fart smell. Shirley takes off his beard and pipe – a funny little joke suggesting that the characters are aware they’re in a sitcom – and confronts Vyvyan.

“That’s revolting. People like you should be put in little boxes tied up with string and left in small, dark rooms without any electricity… for a month.” Very… specific…

Obviously, Vyvyan is having none of this crap and manages to intimidate Shirley into backing down. Once he finds out he’s called Shirley, he’s got even more ammo. This could be called hypocritical coming from a man named Vyvyan, but we all love it when Vyvyan’s got the upper hand, don’t we? Don’t lie to yourself!

After finding himself thoroughly unimpressed by the White Witch’s lack of kebabs, Vyvyan helpfully moves the plot along for us by getting back to the game of hide and seek. He asks the two fantasy characters not to tell Rick where he is and hurries off to hide in a tree – the tree that doubles as some sort of slide portal to the house’s cellar. It’s the unacknowledged surreal nature of the house that makes TYO that bit more exciting than it already is, for me. The rules change and no one is ever even that surprised. When Vyvyan lands in the cellar, he finds an angry Rick riled up at his inability to find anyone and the two of them finally have a physical fight.

All things considered, Flood hasn’t been an incredibly violent episode thus far. We never saw the Witchfinder’s prisoner die, Neil only targeted himself with that frying pan, and the lions haven’t killed anyone (yet). This isn’t the most violent fight Rick and Vyvyan will ever have either – that honour is probably reserved for the Virgin Fight in Time – but Rick does manage to ram his biro into Vyvyan’s skull and, if not for Neil arriving, Rick might have found himself chopped up into several pieces. Neil’s come to warn them that Rick’s bedroom is on fire – Vyvyan’s hasty retreat from there earlier did indeed have meaning. Trust this lot to start a fire in an episode entitled Flood!

Now it’s Alexei Sayle’s turn to show up. He enters the house to the sound of wailing sirens as Jerzei Balowski. Perhaps some more foreshadowing? At this point, we haven’t seen Mr Balowski in person since he hassled the lads for rent at their old house in Demolition. He says he has come for a party but he can’t find anyone. What he does find is the coke can – “Coca Cola, symbol of free West.” – containing Vyvyan’s potion. At the time, one of Alexei’s comedic signatures was random, insane noises. We could have a whole essay dedicated to ranking each of his appearances as members of the Balowski Family, but I think his scenes in Flood might just be my favourite. The blending of his calm searching for the lads and his screeches and yelps as the potion takes hold of him are just really funny. He wanders off into the wardrobe, inadvertently retracing Vyvyan’s steps.

Up on the landing, Neil tells Vyvyan it was selfish of him to set fire to Rick’s sociology file when he was hiding in Rick’s bedroom – he could have given him away! A panicking Rick rushes into his room – and we get some more quality greenscreen effects – and yanks open the window, immediately letting in a tide of water to drench the place. It doesn’t even put out all the fires. He sits next to his bed with a fish waggling in his blazer, ranting at a gleeful Vyvyan about the havoc he’s caused. Ade is sat quite close to the fire on Rick’s bed, but then we know he’s got massive balls.

Mike returns and lights up a cigarette. He’s got a suitcase with him and is here to point out the obvious: “I don’t want to be a wet blanket or anything but, if this house is a bottle, I’m the one with the message.” Rick, Neil, and Vyvyan don’t really get metaphors. “Simple: London has flooded.”

This was obvious to anyone with half a brain the moment we entered Rick’s bedroom, but then we have to remember which characters we’re dealing with here. The logic of London flooding and the entire house being buried underwater… but somehow not flooding itself, not even when Rick opens a window, is a great example of the kind of suspension of disbelief this show requires of you and is perhaps why some people think it’s too daft. I like how the physical laws of TYO’s world are slightly different to our own. It adds to the cartoonish, slapstick feel.

The lads react in different ways to the news that London has flooded and they’re trapped. There’s a note of finality in Mike’s voice and he seems to be preparing to go. Where or how, I’m not at all sure. Neil, the depressed hippie that he is, accepts the news with the degree of casualness you might of a much less dire, less life-threatening turn of events. Vyvyan doesn’t seem too bothered – but when is he? He called the “flying shark” outside the window “the most completely brilliant thing [he’s] ever seen”. His own potential demise doesn’t phase him. Rick, however? Well, stress of any kind is where the real Rick comes out to play – the right on anarchist persona is dropped in sheer terror, replaced by the little boy who wants the authorities to jump in and fix everything, no matter the cost.

RICK:  Phone the police!

NEIL:  But they’re fascists.

RICK:  Well, never mind about that now! Telephone, Vyvyan!

When the telephone is no use – pulling it off the wall will do that – the group try the radio, hoping for a public information bulletin. Instead, a music show is on, and this is where we get our last cutaway segment with real people. Featuring Ben Elton as a very punchable DJ and Cindy Shelley as a musical artist who’s been in the biz since lunchtime and has amputated her arms to fit the aesthetic of “urban alienation” chosen for her by the men with money, this is a scene that honestly feels just as relevant today as it must have done in 1982. The artist’s interview is cut short when the studio starts to flood, with the DJ shoving her aside and complaining about not being warned about this on the radio.

Back in the house, Rick turns off their radio to stop it flooding – magical logic, I love it – and projects his fear of drowning on to Vyvyan by telling him off for building a submarine. He seems to realise after he’s said it that this is actually quite sensible behaviour for Vyvyan and switches to enquiring terribly unsubtly about whether there’s any room in it for him. There isn’t, Vyvyan tells him bluntly. Vyvyan wants to see him drown. I know Vyvyan’s submarine is tiny and made of cardboard but, hey, in the TYO universe, who’s to say that wouldn’t have done the trick and saved them? Unfortunately for Vyvyan, SPG sabotages him when he realises there’s no room for him either. After a quick beating, Vyvyan opens the front door – again, the house doesn’t flood – and sends his beloved pet out to “play with the sharks”. The shark from Jaws is out there, so SPG asks for his autograph.

A couple of tiny things to note about this drawing room scene include the last appearance of the mysterious fifth housemate – we see them swimming outside the front window. Do they drown? Do they swim off to student houses anew? We shall never know. The other thing is something I only noticed myself when analysing this episode and is something that just goes to show how much more attention I should pay to Mike. Though he has no lines, he spends the scene sat in the middle of the room on the sofa, packing up his blow-up doll. The fact he’s doing this in the open, in front of the others, would suggest he thinks this is curtains. It’s the last episode of the series and they’re all going to die. Heh. That, or they knew we and the other characters wouldn’t pay enough attention to Mike to spot this. For the eagle eyed? Or the people who can just bloody see what’s in front of their faces, more like! Sorry, Mike!

Mr Balowski fully succumbs to the potion after drifting through Narnia and into the cellar. Now an axe-wielding, homicidal maniac, he finds the axe Vyvyan was going to use on Rick earlier and Flood starts its second major parody: The Shining. The violence metre is about to crank up a notch.

Neil is blowing up water wings, employing the same standard of life preservation technique we saw with his fallout shelter in Bomb. He sows the seeds (HA) for his own almost-demise by pointing out how terrible it would be if they ended up having to eat each other. Rick, just for a change, is panicking – he’s smoking like a chimney – and doesn’t appreciate the thought. He isn’t actually doing anything to ease the situation, unlike Vyvyan and Neil’s ultimately pointless efforts, but that’s Rick all over. Mike steps up to take charge: they’re going to eat Neil.

As if they’ve been cannibals all their lives, Vyvyan, Rick, and Mike pin Neil to his bed. Rick makes fun of Neil’s terror because he’s a bastard and there’s another rule of three where things keep temporarily preventing Vyvyan from slicing Neil up with a chainsaw. The noise of the chainsaw nearly obscures it, but there’s a line where Rick points at Neil’s crotch and tells Mike he’s got bagsies there. The pervy! Then, well, then Mr Balowski arrives.

“HERE’S JERZEI!”

Things have become quite chaotic, as things in TYO often do. Most of us probably already know the story about Alexei almost catching Rik on the head with the axe when he got a little too close to the door. Mike makes an attempt to hide under a bedsheet, like a ghost. The shot switches to the landing to reveal a chair and a sign for the Half-Time Report. Alexei momentarily chills the fuck out: “Well, we’re half-way through the show and it’s time for Half-Time Report.” Considering we’re in fact nearing the end of the show now makes this comment ironic as well as funny. In an episode full of parodies, this is another quick one about football commentators at half-time. The way this lets the actors break the fourth wall and take the piss out of themselves has always cemented this scene as gold in my mind. Alexei delivers it excellently.

Soon enough, the highly serious acting has resumed. The lads give Neil over to Mr Balowski as a distraction while Vyvyan cuts through the remarkably paper like bedroom wall. The four of them escape up into the loft and hide, pursued by their rabid landlord. They trap Mr Balowski in Mike’s bedroom with the man-eating lions as soon as he enters the room. There’s a scream and a roar. And thus, the young ones have killed together – a truly bonding experience if there ever was one. It’s the only way to deal with bastard landlords, right? Mr Balowski meeting the lions was also the third time someone had this episode, so there’s another running rule of three at play.

In the last scene, as they descend from the loft, Vyvyan remarks that it was lucky Bobby was here with his man-eating lions and Mike offers Rick Bobby’s hand when he says he’d like to shake it. RIP Bobby. The lads look out of the window and discover – thank Cliff – that the waters have subsided. They peer out at something on the water: it’s SPG, who swims towards the camera as the credits roll, a rainbow in the background. A cheerful end. The closing credits are still the usual theme, but with the music played faster and lighter. At the climax, they swell to a crescendo. That was The Young Ones! Did you ruddy enjoy it or what?

Personally, I think Flood is a fantastic end to this crazy show’s first series. If it had ended here it would have been a shame, knowing what we know about the brilliance to come in series two, but I think it would still have felt complete and whole. Going through the episode in detail has made me appreciate the absolute comic genius behind it even more and has been a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Happy 40th to the lads!

I know my review has really lingered on a bit too long, so I hope I haven’t put you to sleep. I’m done now. Fin. Thanks for reading!