#“YOU ABSOLUTE MORON NEIL”

[nobigneil]

Neil Bow'ee blocked Asra from releasing Us, arguing that because they're a paladin they'll probably do something stupid like kill it.

... I'll let you guess what happens next.

[zarophod]

i fucking hate you Neil Gaiman

[cultpastorkevin]

Andrew Minyard propaganda

🤲🏻 short, beefy, hates you, blonde, hides knives in his clothes and likes to fuck stupid exy boys in his very expensive maserati

oh and he killed his mom so that’s neat

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Andrew Minyard- All for the game by Nora Sakavic

Ben De Backer- I Wish You All The Best by Mason Deaver

Harold Hutchins- Captain Underpants by Dav Pilkey

Alec Lightwood- The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare

[ineffablyruined]

I want to talk about THAT smile. The one from the elevator. The one that scares us (or maybe just me).

This one:

It's stayed with me since the first time I saw it. Michael Sheen is an absolute master of his face, so this sinister smile means something. I don't believe that it's a forced smile that he's pasting on before he enters Heaven. It looks absolutely malevolent.

And I just couldn't figure out WHY.

Aziraphale just left everything he loves behind: humans, food, bookshop, and Crowley. Crowley most of all. He was devastated after that kiss, devastated that Crowley wouldn't just come with him so they could be together. He was hurt, shattered, unsure of himself and his decision. So why the practically evil face?

I don't subscribe to the Coffee Theory. I think it takes too much away from the emotional and character development and everything the fandom went through in those last 10 minutes for Neil to pull the rug out from under us like that.

So if he's not drugged, then what's the face?

The Metatron just dropped a bomb on him. The Second Coming. Heaven's going to restart the apocalypse. End the Earth. The place where he'd just left the love of his life and everything he holds dear. Make everything they'd fought for absolutely meaningless.

And then I remembered this face:

See how similar they are?

I've seen a lot of people put this down to a repeat body swap theory, but I don't buy that either. I think that would be less inspired than what we've come to expect from the brilliance of Neil's and Terry's minds.

I'm going on a bit of a tangent here for a second, but I promise it will make sense in a minute. When the demons were coming for them, Nina told Aziraphale that he shouldn't wait to be saved by Crowley, that he should come up with his own plans and save himself. And he did, but it wasn't a total plan. It was the beginnings of one. He held them off, but when his plan ran out of time, it put him and the two humans (except maybe not -> looking at you, Maggie) he's come to care about at risk. Then he had to do something reckless and probably stupid, and it worked, but it was too close.

Back to the matter at hand:

These two perfectly wonderful, complete f*cking morons have spent the last 4 years together. Probably daily. And do you know what happens when you spend so much time together?

You start picking up the other person's mannerisms, mirroring speech patterns and body language.

My theory:

Aziraphale spent that elevator ride coming up with a plan. He's come up with something that he thinks will be so clever, so unexpected of him (an angel), so Crowley-esque, that the Metatron will never see it coming. And he's not about to cock it up like he did in the bookshop, show up with only a half-baked plan.

No. He's got something positively diabolical. Something inspired by Crowley. So he makes the face that he's learned from spending four years in the daily company of the original owner of that expression. The only face he could possibly make when figuring out how to save the world and get back to his demon. And thinking about how much he can't wait to tell a Crowley how clever he's been.

That face is 6000 years of togetherness in the making.

[kevindavidday]

Your favourite things about kevin or some hcs?

my favorite things about kevin (not in order):

1) unmoanable name

2) so resilient, does not give up

3) so anxious, always one second away from throwing up or having a breakdown

this is why i love to put him in situations

4) hilarious one-liners ('its not a major loss' + 'its easier if he remains heterosexual')

5) hyperobsessive nature (i understand him on a spiritual level)

6) not a sore loser in front of the press but an absolute bitch boy when the cameras are off

7) scathing diva...what a fucking name to give him i'll never be over it

8) dramatic as fuck (he self-proclaimed himself queen 10/10)

9) chronic passenger princess <3

10) the fact that he likes pineapples? i find that so cute?

d'you think the foxes have stacks of canned pineapples or like just actual fucking pineapples lying around? that one scene in victorious when beck walks in with a watermelon for robbie cuz robbie is sad? that but with matt and kevin i can see it so clearly

11) his tendency to subject the men around him to vile levels of homoeroticism and never acting on it cuz he has a girlfriend and 'its easier if he remains heterosexual'

12) lil tramp stamp on his face. perfect for a kiss tbh.

13) he sees potential in people that even they haven't realized. i love that he shares this trait with his father unconsciously because distance separated them but they were both the first ones to see that there was more to andrew than a manic grin. i love that he does it scared. everything and anything he has to do - its all new outside the nest but he will do it scared and it's wonderful.

he's literally the world's specialest boy actually (idk which one of y'all gave him that title but it fits so well)

some hc's for kevin i have loitering about:

1) 20 thousand step skin care routine

2) absolutely sleepless moron he's going to be awake like this 👁️👁️ at the worst hours because he can't always seem to beat the nest timings (this does not help his skin)

3) voyeur (i will not elaborate)

4) muscle memory in reaching out for andrew or neil when he goes pro and being devastated when he realizes they're not there yet (they get a call asking them to 'graduate faster')

5) he would take time out for his history books no matter what - best gift for him is just an ancient book he hasn't read yet

6) remember the sex toy convo with jean and cat? would be so funny if the foxes tried that with him tbh allison's like he's so stuck up we should get him a sex toy and kev's like andrew already did (pin drop silence)

lot's more where all this is coming from but this has already gotten so so long i'm sorry 😭thank you for the ask i love thinking about babygirl of all time

[callofdudes]

I truly don’t understand how people don’t separate the CA’s from the characters themselves in regard to the Alain ordeal. Like even the comments on Warrens live and what not are very yikes, don’t blame him for having a chat moderator or anything of them for that matter but — it’s no surprise some of them only do the basics of just interviews and sharing fan art rather than live streams.

— signed someone who thirsts over characters and (respectfully, unlike some others) googoly eyes the actors

I think a lot of it stems from the fact that half (or more) of this fandom now are people who haven't even played the games. Sometimes they know the backgrounds and such but people who have absolutely zero regard or respect for the characters other than sex objects are mostly to blame.

They just see the characters like Ghost or König and go, oh I don't know who you are but rail through me like a train ok?? And then they see the actors interacting with people, barely know anything, or nothing at all, just saw some hot soldier. And then they think they can have a field day. 🙄

With people who shipped Ghost and Soap, oh boy did Samuel and Neil's live stream get hectic.. and that's gross. Just because they support some fanart or Neil really leans into the fandom doesn't mean the gloves are off and you're free to speak like they're your bestie.

Because ultimately, they're not. And if you had someone sliding into your X (Twitter) dms and talking about someone sucking off someone else you'd be rightfully creeped out 💀

Doesn't make it different.

And like you pointed out, Warren's lives are crazy and I can't blame the guy, I understand that things might be tight or something going on in the moderator department.

Alain is getting simped over majority of the time. Asking him to flex constantly. Or telling him they want him to punish them or choke them 💀

And I'd bet you half of them are barely legal age or under! And the ones that are over eighteen or the age of twenty five at least- like shame on you idiots.

Shame on you!

Gotta get it all out because things like this really get my emotions going. It's not good to be treated like that, or talked to like that. And sure Alain encourages it a little but sometimes in his live you can see him getting uncomfortable and they'll still push.

These are people, not toys, not dolls. But that's how people have been treating them. Sorry for the rant, this just gets me pretty upset.

Please respect VA's and actors, they do so much, and they are human. Not your best friend, not your boyfriend/girlfriend, and you should never tear another person down for your own selfish delusions you moron.

[dayurno]

recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

//

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts. 

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it. 

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him. 

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child. 

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one. 

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

 Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken.  Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.  

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.” 

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin. 

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs. 

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks. 

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.” 

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving. 

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t. 

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.  

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt. 

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front. 

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he��ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him. 

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

 “Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her. 

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.” 

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering;  Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously. 

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get. 

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name,  “ah, do you want to come with?” 

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it? 

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.” 

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle. 

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him. 

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else. 

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin. 

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help. 

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil. 

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten. 

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can. 

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you 

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control. 

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But  I need you to come and help. 

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother. 

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort. 

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along. 

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.” 

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

 It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all. 

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

 “Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

 He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer. 

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd. 

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

[qqueenofhades]

Honestly thank goodness Neil Gaiman is already on it by saying season 3 is planned, this is NOT the ending because that's a gift in of itself with that cliffhanger. The story wasn't my absolute favorite overall, but damn I just didn't give a shit between Jon Hamm being a hilarious amnesiac plus the EVERYONE IS GAY IN THIS SHOW OBVIOUSNESS. Inject it all into my veins please and thank you.

I mean yeah; the plot wasn't my favorite (though I was honestly very glad not to have Anathema/Newt and the Precocious Kidlets); the pacing was off and the emotional beats a little skewed, and there was definitely some tonal whiplash. BUT:

Must a television show be GOOD, or WELL PLOTTED? Is it not enough to have six episodes of Amnesiac Jon Hamm and Two Gay Ineffable Morons Being Absolute In Love Weapons Grade Idiots While Making Very Poor Life Decisions? An anon last night said it felt like watching one of those AO3 fics with angsty lowercase Taylor Swift-lyric titles, and that, imho, was exactly it. It was the kind of deep-dive queer character/relationship focus you usually only get in fanfic, it set up for another arc/season with confirmed-canon Ineffable Husbands and a lot of character beats that we would all WANT to see before their happily-ever-after, and as such, I ain't mad at all.

[jester-lover]

Vyvyan with an s/o! (Headcanons)

Includes- fem terms for reader, FLUFF, canon typical violence, SLIGHT OOC, author has only watched the first 6 episodes and it shows

this is a Neil appreciation account, I am an American and attempting my best British lingo (*eagle cry*)

Wowie, an extremely niche British show from the 80s? This sounds exactly like something I’d write about!

How did he get a girlfriend? (asks Rick, aghast)

The two of you definitely met at some local pub, the smell of sweat eventually luring you both out onto the empty street

The two of you bump into one another, and he’s ready to destroy whoever just ran into him, but then he sees you

Cue the absolutely dumbfounded expression, and immediate request to walk you home

Rants on and on during the walk to your place, about everything from his flatmates to medical sciences

You don’t know if it's just the liquor talking, but your little escapade ends with your phone number written on his arm

Congratulations! You now have the world’s weirdest lover!

Your first ‘date’ is definitely somewhere secluded, walks through old forests and abandoned buildings are his favorite, because he really loves having your undivided attention

He acts like an absolute moron and you love it, dancing around, bumping into trees and making you laugh without even trying

The two of you definitely fit together, and your relationship is very sweet

Plenty of nights are spent together, snoozing on how rickety little bed, even if the both of you are still wearing your shoes 

Your family is also very happy that you’re seeing a medical student, they are less happy when he busts through the window 

His mom honestly couldn’t care less about who he dates, but she appreciates you nonetheless 

Your relationship is full of ups and downs, but nothing and nobody else will pull you apart 

Bonus- dinner with the boys!

Inevitably his housemates will get curious, and ask him to invite you over for dinner

Of course you go! You've been wanting to meet them after hearing him talk about them

When you get to the door, a sad looking man with long brown hair answers, eyes widening like he’s never seen a woman before

Two other men sit on a red couch, the man with two rat tails looks up, aghast

(Rick refused to believe you're a real person until you walked through the door)

 The shorter man in the pinstriped suit smiles at you, getting up and welcoming you in

Mike’s voice alerted Vyvyan, who immediately barreled down the squeaky stairs, picking you up in a spinning hug

Vyvyan animatedly shows you around, finally stopping at a small hamster cage

The hamster began to talk, you promptly decided to ignore it and move on

The long haired man pulls another chair to the table, beckoning you to join the group

The introductions start off well enough, until the man with the rat-tails begins to talk, opening up with his credentials within the local anarchist association, only to be promptly interrupted by Vyvyan tossing a toaster at his head

Turns out his name was Rick, and he really wasn’t having a good time 

Dinner was well, a little overkill on the lentils

The two of you ended up talking into the night, so he drove you home near midnight 

The Drabble that pairs with this is coming out once I peel myself off my bed. I will focus on giving you wonderful people more dialogue in the next Vyvyan installment, this is not the end.

[mrkapao]

“I can believe things that are true and things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not.

I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.

I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.

I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.

I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.

I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.

I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.

I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.

I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”

- Neil Gaiman ‘American Gods’

[orionsangel86]

In regards to why Men of Good Fortune was placed where it was in the show, I believe the showrunner said that he/the writers thought that both The Sounds of Her Wings and Men of Good Fortune were both trying to tell Morpheus the same thing. Which I think is sort of true, though in the comic Death fails at this (if the end of the comic is anything to go by) and Morpheus is too much of a moron to see what purpose (well, one of the purposes) Hob is supposed to serve in the story. So, yeah, it's very interesting that the show seemed to allow both characters to actually get through to him in the way that's intended.

Ultimately, a lot of changes in the show make it seem like they're going for a different ending than what the comic gave us (which I would personally like). Either that, or they're trying to lure us into an even more cruel ending where they're like, "Sorry, it doesn't matter how much you change, you'll always end up here." Which... no, thanks.

Oooh I didn't know the showrunner said that but I totally agree. The two comic stories fit perfectly together in the show in my opinion in the grander scheme of what message they are telling both Morpheus and the audience - That life is to be lived, and enjoyed, and not taken for granted, and that its the people and the way you feel about them that really makes all the difference, so FEEL for them. Love them.

I genuinely hand on heart believe the show is leaning towards the kinder ending, the kinder interpretation that does already exist in the comics if you look for it. The medium of television is going to appeal to a much wider audience and a much more mixed audience than those who would have been interested in reading a dark graphic novel series in the early 90s. Whilst we may expect grimdark tragedies with even darker central themes from an early 90s graphic novel, a general audience would absolutely NOT expect that from a high profile high budget fantasy show in the 2020s. I think Neil and the showrunners are smart enough to realise that.

[adam-brooks]

Permanentlypartial on reddit shared this on a post about Neil Gaiman's SA alligations:

"IIRC there is a link pinned at the top. r/neilgaimanuncovered which has more details.

The main allegations are 7 women. 5 have spoken directly on the record, and speak on 2 podcasts, 4 on Tortoise Media, with two other women speaking to Tortoise but not the public. 1 spoke out on Am I Broken.

The woman (Claire) who spoke to Am I Broken did so in between the 1&2nd Tortoise pods. Her account also matches another claim made after the news initially broke, but before her own statements out. They had been recorded: neither the podcast nor the other person could have copied the other.

There are also multiple accounts out now, notably including people who considered Gaiman a friend, people who are in the industry, have their real names attached, speaking up about things they witnessed and experienced (Gaiman kissing someone on the mouth, without consent, is a pattern).

Assuming I typed the subreddit above correctly, you should be able to find more there."

If you haven't heard, my absolute idol, the GOAT of literature and graphic novels, the man I looked up to since I was a young thing, as an inclusive, compassionate, dark content, weirdo creater of worlds, has been accused of sexually assaulting women.

To say I'm heart broken over it is an understatement. I feel betrayed as a nearly lifelong fan. And a huge part of me is just quietly begging the universe for it all to be untrue. But it's never untrue, is it. Not when a group of women come forward and make their allegations like this.

I'm sure my feelings come from some sort of parasocial thing I have for the guy which is absolutely stupid because parasocial relationships are moronic. But here I am. Gutted. And even more than my adoration I once had for him, my love for his worlds and characters go even deeper! How do I continue to love these creations when the creator is awful? I have a shelf full of his work. A couple thousand dollars worth that I mainly collected through high-school. I'm torn between burning it all out of some weird sense of betrayal and protecting it all with my life because the stories influenced my moral compass.

Sigh. I dunno what to do. I guess I'll wait and see what he has to say about it all. How he owns up to it. If he even does. If he doesn't do right by these women, I'm throwing every book into the firepit. I can't abide by it. Not ever.

[the-firebird69]

The person in the above picture on the right is Dr Fraser crane the person on the left is Donald Trump and they got into it on the show and it was a nightmare to watch them and they're fighting on the show the whole time during the show and yelling at each other and saying no this is not the way it is and they still are now the max are there down below and they are going into the tunnels and fighting the trumps and the Trump is going to call it all eventually the more luck he'll get it and Trump is going to get beat up very badly before they do anything and they said it too we just can't keep fighting both and the max is sending a lot of troops and they're wiping them out pretty easily and Trump won't make any deal. Here you can see you took over the character but Frasier Crane is fine he hates the s*** out of this a****** and he's running around knocking off his people and that's what he does he's a loser and he loses stuff he takes no he's got huge piles of stuff he took some people wonder about the AI now and it's not the end all as our son says and the hands of this idiot he probably would ruin it but the plan Dave had was to not use that version until he had it under control and to create things and that's what this idiot is saying but the kidnap him and to put him in suspended animation and threatened his body by walking around and things like that have you heard enough from him and bja is letting him get killed and a lot of people are they see the math they see the crowd and they don't care they have absolutely no more energy to care about this piece of s*** that took everything and then told on himself and it's going to lose it all to the max they don't care and they're going to let him go and he should go and he's not in our son's body he's in this one one of those guys bodies is gross and I worked with the other guy on the motorcycle and Trump doesn't know anything he's a useless piece of garbage those people are amazed and they said this you have ruined us and you directed him on what to do and you ruined our lives institute black guys while the the girl and the guy on this TV show with neo and yet his body is stolen and Trump and they're saying this and they got caught because of you now you're doing it and getting caught I can't watch it anymore it's so painful and then he says if you know why don't you help me so they looked around found a dime and gave it to him this is gee thanks he said don't spend it all in one place like you do everything else and everybody else because you're a weakling and our son said try and keep in mind that Dave and I are fighting and was really big stuff and we both hate you and he says oh no just run off now and tell the max whatever happened just now and he did and they put a hit on him for talking to them that way and find out he's inside Neil's body saying that it's our son they said this he's saying this f***** is doing it all the time and then he said those two are and he's going to get killed quite a bit and he's already getting hit and he's taking her son's clothes and he's wearing it around and they don't fit and he doesn't have them let out it is a moron and doesn't look good in it but I'll tell you what he is going to get hurt real bad very soon we don't want to put up with this s*** anymore.

He took over the guy's job and he made him look bad and he sucks at everything that he does Justin loses a lot of his army and Frasier crane has an idea crane and he said we're talking about these crane people it's his people dying and he's grabbing them and so someone killed him with the crane and took the lizard body and start attacking him and things went really bad for him and he's a nightmare and he's not that quick and not that strong and we have a lot of this going on and we are going to start attacking them a lot more and we need more power right now our son is working on that and now nuata and Ariana it is exactly what we needed now I have to move and we're raising the big stuff and getting big stuff out and we really need it we need controls their ships and that are too dangerous and we need them out this way too many it's way too many devices and we also don't like listening to this troglodyte talking to us we're not concerned with your threat capabilities, at all we don't think less of you is going to help you you're a moron and I guess you seem to be as stupid as you say a lot of people are laughing at you and helping you get rid of yours right now tons of you are dying and you're going up that tunnel and dying and it's going to be a war and really he plans to move almost all of them except for like half a percent and then start pulling from the island and he's retarded and he wants to kidnap her son and no that's going to happen to him or her you're going to be gone

Right now Fraser crane is getting ready and the idea with the ships is revived this old fleet cuz they suck so bad and world war II and they were nicest and they were assholes and mean to everybody in the stupid and we're not afraid of anyone and he's going to cut them loose and they can die in battle because of such cowards and they're planting wars to do that to them and it is a good idea there's some other stuff too but he's that's what he's doing now and it's nice he wants them to keep going and not to stop and get rid of each other it's bja who's going after Trump and it's okay for them to die if it's those two they say it's psychologically permitted by other people and they can get away with it and that's what they're doing and it's how they think Frasier Crane says and our son and daughter say it is but he probably has a better grasp he does a little bit and he is going to take them down and Trump is sitting there waiting for a son to go to the wrestling match he's going to have to wait a few months and Trump won't be here he will be dead imitating Jesus Christ for protection from something no it's to implicate him and he's trying to implicate our son but he's a loser so we are going to pull this kid apart and that's Trump and take care of him but really people are going after him for this kind of thing

Thor Freya an outstanding job and he came out and he is coming out swinging and you really has to and they all do and we do too

Olympus

[scumgristle]

Throughout his multi-decade career Albini always seemed to be the loudest voice in the room, and at times that voice was incendiary and provocative while at others it was repugnant. It’s very easy to use the “well it was the time” excuse, especially when you look at the punk/indie subculture being a reaction to the puritanical nature of both mainstream culture and American/Western “values” (occurring during the Reagen and Thatcher years, especially) or when you look at the age of the people involved. These are all factors to consider. But does it make it right? Albini spent the last few years answering that. 

He seemed to understand that his explanation wouldn’t satisfy everyone, but that it was vital  to approach the subject with transparency and sincerity. In the current climate where we’re drowning in Reddit/X fueled attempts to destroy people based on stupid shit they said when they were younger and many of those targets doing their best to bob and fucking weave through it, it was more important than ever for someone like Albini to publicly address his past offenses, own up to them, and attempt to make things right and to show growth in his mindset. As human beings we have an incredible capacity for fucking up but we also have that same capacity to learn from our mistakes and move forward. Does everyone use the latter to their benefit? Absolutely not, because people can be morons. Or they could try to learn and grow and subsets of people clustered on the internet will do whatever they can to become an obstacle. As overused and exhausting of an idea that “cancel culture” has become, bottom feeders on both sides of the issue continue to thrive on it and second chances are looked at in the same way adults look at the concept of Santa Claus or productive government. Albini knew the power of telling those people to fuck off and to openly work on himself.

Neil Jameson on Steve Albini

[callofdudes]

I am a Ghoaper and it was always warming my heart seeing Neil and Samuel being supportive of the fanworks. But holy shit the audacity some people have, even the said shippers and take it on another level is just yikes, like know your boundaries people c'mon. If they decided to one day never ever interact with us then i wouldn't blame them at all, but that's because some of these morons cannot control their fucking ovaries and urges and you names it.

Im 100% convinced it's the underagers and teens, no other explanation, even if someone is in their 20s to late, ya'll are absolutely disgusting. Period. I swear when you're in youre teens it, you're literally a messed up mutant of a human being, especially when you're on socials 24/7, at least that's the impression i get from these people. Glad i grew up to be different.

Sorry for a lil vent, hope it's not too much lol

Oh absolutely it's the teenagers and all the underage children with a half developed brain. Which isn't an excuse for any of this, they should know better but these kids are chronically online and think just because their parents can't see they can do whatever they want.

I love GhostSoap as well and I absolutely love seeing the two together, they're just so adorable. When I think of the characters. And I think it, I don't go asking Samuel how Neil's downstairs tastes 💀😭

Like these people are... Yeah... It's disgusting all of you who are doing those things, go touch grass, or stop being such a delusional fool who thinks you're the centre of the universe and actually try to find someone if you're that desperate. But don't expect it to be any one of these beautiful men.

[goodoldfashionedvillain]

« "I can believe things that are true and things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not.

I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.

I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.

I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.

I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.

I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.

I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.

I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.

I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." She stopped, out of breath. »

- American Gods, Neil Gaiman