Chapter Text
1971
it was a beautiful crisp autumn morning, and as Neil young blinked his eyes to view the beautiful world around him his phone began to ring. he sat up and stretched his gangly limbs, before getting out of bed and putting on his nonbinary unicorn slippers—a stark reminder of the issue he had been hiding from his dear friend, David Crosby.
he was nonbinary but David didn’t support him, which had been eating away at him for quite some time now, and he had resorted to casting spells on him in order to get payback for his evil ways.
Neil quickly fell, his iron deficiency taking over. once he had caught his breath and got back up he was panicked, racing to the phone and picking it up in a flash.
“hello?” he whispered, sounding mysterious and threatening.
“hello, something might have happened!” a familiar voice called out. it was Stephen stills, having been on a trip to Los Angeles for the past week.
Neil tapped his foot, something he did whenever he was trying to open his chakra—a long lived tradition an Indian guru had taught him while he was on a buffalo Springfield tour. they had locked him in the storage area of the plane and had to communicate via sign language to an ancient Indian monk who was thought to be a mummy.
“Neil?” He called out, waiting for the other man’s answer.
“—oh, what did you do now?”
“I might have broken into your bank account and used all your money on a plinko ball… and.. well, i lost it all.” He answered sheepishly, but as quickly cut off by Neil’s high pitched yelp of disbelief.
“what the fuck!!!! You evil bitch!” he screamed, jumping up and down—but that was a short lived moment as the weak wooden floor boards broke down under him, and he was plunged into the floor beneath him, a muffled sound from Stephen’s point of view.
the floor below him was the living room of the house, quite frankly empty as Neil used it as a place to practice his Pilates and most physical activities—something he hadn’t done for quite a while.. this meant that he hadn’t fallen on anything except the hard floor.
as his back hit the ground he laid there for a moment, making sure he hadn’t gotten seriously hurt. once the pain wore off he sat up, luckily only being slightly scuffed by the rubble beneath him. earlier in the week he had been sent a protection spell by a TikTok psychic after gifting her a whale on one of her lives, and it seemed as though it had worked.
well, he was poor now—but he knew what needed to be done. he needed to make a new album, something big. something new.