#team giant douche

[0-dear-rose-0]

marjorine !!

for @galatic-gazer

@spinthetags

[sk3lly-pr1nce-xp]

Giant Douche Alert!

Team Giant Douche make an account on here and private message me your usernames, ill add all of us to a chat on there! https://web.webex.com/sign-in

@alister312 @vegetabletaxi @kylebroflvskii @thecrowthatdraws

@its-astr0philia @0-dear-rose-0 @justanartistiguess @lozislaw

@al-debaran26 @galatic-gazer @plugnuts

[allycat75]

Screaming into a void time (another long one, sorry)...

Ok, I have tolerated these shenanigans with the Boston bonehead and his merry band of clout chasers and liars, watching his soul decay while everyone (including me) debated whether he was married or not, how many ceremonies they had, how they traveled and where they lived (and was it even their ugly-ass house in MA or NY) but I have to lay down some cold hard truths for our anxiety riddled pothead.

Your decisions, forced or not, have led you to this horrid point. Your only choices may have been between a turd sandwich and a giant douche (thanks, South Park) but you made that choice. And something tells me you didn't just come to this point out of nowhere. There were probably a string of missed lessons along the way that painted you into such a corner.

I know you may be fragile right now but you need to hear this as I suspect you are not hearing it from your loser friends or listening to the ones who do have your best interest at heart.

You are teetering on the ragged edge, my friend. I just saw the first trailer for Pain Hustlers and I can see why they released it only a week and a half before it is in the theaters- because Netflix wants to bury it. Another in a long line of duds your team should have been adept at steering you clear from. You better hope the strike last long enough to where Red One has to be postponed until next year, otherwise you will pull off the hat trick of working your ass off on three movies that have showcased how little anyone cares (you or the audience). I could be wrong about Red One, but this was filmed during your fugue state where the real Chris disappeared and was replaced with a stoned automaton who had no problem selling out everything he believed in. Not conducive to the best creative energy.

Well, buddy, it is time to wake up. You are aware of what is going on in the world, right? You used to have a website that cared about this stuff. Too bad you couldn't use this time off from the strike to pour into that instead of pretending to get married to a woman you refuse to touch or even sit near, breadcrumming two weddings by leveraging the poor boundaries you have established with your family and friends and giving the worst interview to GQ, making you look like a tone deaf, moronic, pretentious asshole.

You need to separate yourself from these racist, anti-semites NOW. While some outside the fandom are starting to notice, it will catch on like a house on fire if you aren't careful. Remember how easy it was for the fandom to find out all this shit about them last year? And now look at what is going on outside. Hamas is a terrorist organization who wants nothing more than to have Jews exterminated from the planet. And here in the US, we have someone vying to be Speaker of the House (second in line for the Presidency) who describes himself as "David Duke without the baggage"; you remember David Duke, right? You used to stand up to him before you were made to look like a fucking joke).

There is no such thing as a little bit racist, or a little bit antisemetic, and for all intents and purposes, you married one, with all her "baggage". Certificate or no certificate; pictures or no pictures. This isn't one of those things that you can claim plausible deniability. You are in it. And if you think your privlege can save you, maybe it can, but I doubt it. It may not have happened yet, but the Sword of Damocles is hanging just above your head.

It comes down to the difference between intent and impact. No one really believes this has been your intent, but that matters little to those impacted by your actions. I know you have "cyclical unhappiness" when you think about the small stuff too much, but too bad. There is no way to take yourself out of the equation. You are not a used car lot balloon, who frantically moves every which way until the air is let out and deflates into nothing. You are a grown human being and like all of us, have a responsibility to understand your place in the universe. Otherwise, you are just stepping over bodies with such carelessness- the teacher in Portugal who only thought she was supporting a charity, your friends trying to promote one of your crappy movies, only to have it derailed by your drama backstage, fans getting harassed and even receiving death threats for speaking the truth we see with our own eyes. You may not be doing these things with your own hands, but that does not absolve your responsibility.

As I said before, this is your time to wake up. Coming clean with pure heart and honesty is the only solution at this point. If you wait too long or dig your heals in, like we have seen before, it will be too late. Do you think Jinx will want to partner with an antisemite loving dog dad? What studio will hire you, even for your one movie a year? Based on your crappy decision making skills, I have a feeling any pottery you sell will be break even with the amount of pot you smoke. So invest wisely and I hope your accountants are more trustworthy than the rest of the people you have surrounded yourself with.

Now, I am actually a very kind person who for some reason is still rooting for you. I still think there is a good person buried deep in there. These are rare and may be why I can't give up just yet.

You have the con this weekend. I know you can't promote Captain America, but think back to what he stood for. You even referenced him and how you aimed to be more like him in that god forsaken GQ video. So do it, you dummy! You will feel much better when your soul is unburdened. Then follow the advise I and many others have given before:

Get a good therapist and do the work

Decide if you really want to act or not; if so, take some classes to shake the cobwebs off; If not, are you going to be ok giving up the perks?

Don't use weed as a crutch

Establish clear boundaries with family and friends

Remove relationships (personal and professional) that are no longer serving you or even doing you harm

Listen to what your head and the universe is telling you

Do not get into a relationship until you have an idea of who you are and at least get to the "like" stage

To quote Florence and the Machine (Wish That You Were Here):

And now I'm reaching out with every note I sing And I hope it gets to you on some pacific wind Wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear Tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

[fluidthoughts]

König general/random headcanons

This is my first time literally ever doing this, so if it sucks I'm really sorry. This also took me freaking forever to put together cause my brains a mess, and even now I'm feeling like it isn't finished, even though it'd already SO LONG IM SORRY LOL. But it'll do for now. I'm also thinking about making a separate post for relationship and NSFW headcanons soon. I just uh. Haven't begun to really jot those thoughts down yet, eheh.

- despite his incredibly large size, if he doesn't want to be seen or noticed, he won't be. A good part of it due to his anxiety that brings a strong desire to avoid being the center of attention. Soft silent footsteps, slinking himself right into the most unnoticed parts of a place, encompassed in the shadows until by some chance, you catch a glimmer of those intense, unwavering, piercing eyes.

- those damn eyes, always scanning, observing, calculating. Staring right through your very soul. It'd be absolutely frightening if it weren't for his inability to not fidget slightly as he stared.

- not a man of many words either. Mostly made up of silent nods and gestures. Chit chat doesn't come easily to someone like him, so when he does speak, he speaks honest and direct. At times taken by others as too blunt or abrasive, contrary to his intentions.

- and of course once he's set loose on the battlefield, that quiet unnerving focus he exudes changes into something entirely different. Something *terrifying*. The embodiment of primal power, pure adrenaline, and even what may be a grotesque sense of humor and pleasure as he tears his way through the enemy

- part of it could be due to this sense of despair in his fellow man, maybe even humankind he feels. He knows too well of the evils that exist in this world, (and maybe the next he fears, for he is just as washed in blood)

- he admires his team a lot though, for their lack of judgement with him, and how they all work together so well, makes him appreciate their dynamics such as he appreciates pack animals in the wild.

- he deeply adores and respects nature and animals. And being the giant muscled athlete he is, lots of outdoor activities are very much to his liking. Hiking, rafting, climbing, etc. When in nature, he feels envy for the innocence and beauty he sees around him. As well as feeling a sense of relatability to the primal instincts and violence and death.

- because of the bullying he endured throughout his life, and because of his size, he would get into fights. A lot. To this day, it still happens actually. Usually ending up in bar fights. As much as he tries to keep himself from it, the habit is there, and he's never one to let rowdy douches in the bars get away with their nasty jabs and comments. He's also been known to get into some of these fights defending someone else. Can't stand to see bullying happen in front of him. But there's also this part of him that thinks he still goes out and gets into these fights because maybe deep down he enjoys it.

- can play the mouth harp. No I will not elaborate. Other than his deep love for music and desire to play instruments, but he always had a hard time being able to focus his hands. Often thought to himself his hands were only good for killing. Turns out he had a knack for the mouth harp though.

- I wouldn't go as far to say he's a religious or overly spiritual man, but he's very enthralled by things like old folklore, tales and stories of things in the wilderness that are best left unknown to man. Hes definitely experienced some things himself that he cant quite explain. One could say it's the cause of his respect and carefulness for the wild parts of the world around him. One could also say its just superstition. He's also very into learning about and hearing stories about such legends of other places, the countries his teammates are from, locals when he's traveling in an unfamiliar place, etc.

- if he is comfortable enough, like he is with his team, he's witty and snarky as fuck. He loves to banter and tell dry jokes and just being a little menace overall. Especially if he's enjoying some drinks and feeling loosened up.

- he has a soft side, and deep down is even a hopeless romantic, but even in his own mind, he's more monster than man. His gentleness is buried deep, except for his interactions with animals. He has always wanted a pet of his own, but knows with his way of life, it wouldn't be for the best. And something like a relationship, he doesn't even get any hopes up for.

- is also a bit of a pyromaniac.

- also a very prideful man. Which makes him competitive, and all the more reluctant to really open himself up. He hates feeling like anyone might be pitying him, and is forever in a mindset of proving himself, pushing himself, and becoming more and more stoic. The type to be most adamant about refusing help from someone.

- he's got an insanely quick wit, but also just incredibly smart and able to learn and pick up on things almost immediately. He's especially handy with things that are of the "take apart and put back together" variety. Hence why he was always fond of firearms.

- he knows women notice him, he notices them too. He knows he's attractive as well. But ever since a cruel joke played on him in his teen years, he finds it all the more difficult to trust women in any sort of romantic or intimate way. "Brawls with other men at least bring total honesty with them" he thinks. And all the better to keep him less distracted from work anyways, right?

- Roze basically forced him (and the whole squad) to learn how to braid to help her and Calisto before missions. König's actually pretty good at it too for it being a hand based task.

[pumpkinfreak]

Watching Hannibal for the first time S2E1-4

Before I recap anything I need to rant. Will is in an asylum. At his lowest point, fighting for his life. Okay, Beverly Kats a pathologist from Jack's team. Comes to him and needs his help solving a murder. They found a body downstream, and Will, with his big brain wisdom, tells her to go upstream to find the killer... I am beginning to understand how these people could drive you to serial killing. HOW IS THAT NOT YOUR FIRST INSTINCT. It's a rural area, there's not a WAWA on every corner to search.

Apparently any rat bastard can get into the FBI, they all rely upon one guy using basic laws of nature to solve crimes. Like, this was not 4D chess, it was Connect Four. Instead of connecting four, you threw up on yourself and went crying to Will to fix it.

...rant over.

First scene Episode 1. Gives me more Mads fighting in a suit (I need psychological help) always love that. Lecter and Jack are trying to kill each other and then the plot insults me by jumping back twelve weeks. When Jack and Lecter are still friends. They're both bummed about Will being a serial killer and blaming Hannibal for the murders.

During this, we got to see the inside of a sea urchin (I desire the yellow spike ball meat) and it implied the Tuna meat Hannibal was sclicing up was a person. Like I don't know what fish meat looks like.

The whole event was very upsetting.

However, back at FBI headquarters, I was pleased to see Miranda! She's the internal Investigation lady.

Granted it's not the same character, but the vibes were there, now I need a Hannibal/Sex and the City crossover. Carrie and Lecter can go shopping and then eat Big. THE PLOT WRITES ITSELF. Anyway, Miranda, wants Jack to essentially throw Will to the wolves so the FBI doesn't have to take accountability for destroying his brain.

Also, there's like a guy sewing people together, so they form a giant eye to look at GOD, so GOD can look back at them. It looked really neat. Did not like watching a victim rip his own skin apart to escape. Loved the sequence of him running from the killer. Hannibal kills the guy, steals his leg, and sews him into his own body painting.

It's made abundantly clear that Hannibal believes himself to be god in this scene, and then he goes home and eats some tasty leg meat.

Episodes two and three focus on Will's trial, and everyone has opinions. Alana thinks Will did kill those people, but he did it in an unconscious state, and would not have done so otherwise. Jack is torn and can't decide if he pushed Will too hard and broke his brain, or if he's a highly intelligent psychopath who used the FBI as a cover. Will is in the trenches, trying to prove it's Hannibal. My opinion is that the hat Freddie wore to the trial is a sin against god and man. This woman wore the hat your Southern Baptist grandma wears.

In the smack-dab middle of this trial, another ear is delivered to the court. The ear belongs to the bailiff, who is found super dead. Jack is thrilled because this means someone may have done the killings, and he can avoid any responsibility for Will's mental state. I think I want Jack to get eaten. They try to work in this new murder as proof that Will is innocent, and the judge is not having it...that judge is then artfully murdered...

...but at least Will got a mistrial

Episode 4.

While all of this is going on, Will is at the same hospital Chilten runs. Chilten is somehow alive, after being turned into a slaughterhouse gift basket. He did lose a kidney but retained his brass balls because this man just keeps on being a massive douch nozzle. His new mission in life is to prove Will is a psychopath.

Will wants Beverly to look further into Hannibal, and she begrudgingly agrees.

Jack's wife confides in Hannibal that she wants to kill herself, due to the pain from her cancer. To which he agrees, and when she comes back later on the brink of death from a morphine overdose, HE FLIPS A COIN AND REVIVES HER. First of all, I thought he was gonna feed Jack his own wife. You know, for funsies.

Then Beverly finds human kidneys in Hannibal's fridge. Wait, there is more. THERE IS ALWAYS MORE ON THIS HIKE THROUGH SATAN'S LOWER INTESTINE. Beverly discovers a bunker under Hammibal's house. That she explores alone, I'm not surprised she had to be told to go upstream. We don't see what's in the bunker, but imagine it's not a Beanie Baby collection. Hannibal finds her and then cuts to black.

Im going to throw myself into an oven. I loved almost all of this, until next time. Stay safe, and do not eat the Tuna.

[sixx-writes]

                                                                                    Walk In Visit

Richard Trager x Reader

Word Count: 2,009

cw: noncon, cunnilingus, forced orgasm, creampie, shitty doctor/patient rp, trager is a dickhead, there is no plot just enjoy it or something idk it’s something I shit out cause I couldn’t sleep

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: Reader visited the asylum on the wrong day and ends up in the tender care of a certain “doctor”.

18+ ONLY NSFW BELOW THE CUT

"I'm so sorry about the mess, babe. I wasn't expecting any female patients today. You surprised me," the man wheels you into a room that smells like an entire football team ate shit and died all at once. There's guts and blood everywhere painting the walls and pooled on the floor while this maniac is rambling like nothing is wrong. Pretty typical of your experience as a guest at the asylum so far.

Not a whole hell of a lot of anything is making sense in this endless nightmare and you would be about as surprised as the piece of beef jerky that's talking your leg off if that changed any time soon. A name from a manila folder jumps out at you, some douche that played at being a doctor, called.. what was it? Trey? Trager? That was it. Judging by his disturbingly coherent and stick up the ass way of speaking it was safe to assume he wasn't a patient.

At least not in the same way as the others were 'patients'. He must have been an employee here once upon a time.

"Alright. There we go. Are you comfortable enough?" You offer nothing more than a dead eyed stare that only reflected the numbness you were feeling. Somehow that was an affirmative to the processed meat in front of you. You catch a glimpse of how his lower lip is torn off beneath his makeshift doctor's mask when he leans over you adjusting the straps so you can't escape whatever he has in mind. "Good. That's good. Listen, I have a confession to make. Gynecology isn't exactly my ah, forte, as the French put it. This is gonna be a learning experience for the both of us."

Somehow, through that numb blanket that you've managed to wrap around yourself to shield your mind from the horrors, you feel panic surfacing. The fate of being raped was something you had avoided up until now. The same could not be said for some of the other unfortunates you had encountered during your descent into hell. Trager was already gone rattling instruments on the table next to your bed.

"Dammit, where did I put those things. Oh yeah. Wait here, babe. I'll just be a second."

For the first time you were actually well and truly fucked - trapped like a rat. You pulled desperately at the straps holding your wrists and ankles trying to free yourself in the precious few seconds you were alone. It was hard not to cry if you were being honest but if you started then you were afraid that you would break down under the weight of it all. You couldn't afford that when you were so close to being free. So you bit into the inside of your cheek hard enough that you tasted metal until the fucker returned.

When he did it was with the biggest pair of scissors you had ever seen, coated in blood, some stains fresh, and others already dried and flaking off.  "Jesus Christ," you muttered, not wanting to speak too loudly and agitate him.  Your skin crawled when he purposefully snipped the giant scissors, some type of bone shears maybe, a few times over your helpless body, the sound grating on your ears.

"Okie dokie. First is the breast exam. Hold still for me."

That was a funny thing to say when you felt the bottom blade sliding across your tucked stomach you forgot how to breathe you were concentrating so hard on not moving a muscle. You tried to keep as much skin away from the blade as you could while he cut away your top. Fuck you for not wearing a bra today and making it easier on him.

"Awh, does that hurt?" he gave some approximation of a frown, hard to tell with the gnarled gash of his mouth, upon seeing the cut over your ribs you'd gotten climbing through a broken window.

No shit.

Trager's concern is brief, already forgotten, as soon as he peels back the shorn halves of your ruined shirt exposing your breasts. Through the delusion of whatever horror he's dreaming you see a glint of lust from the disgusting little man that had worked here before he went to sleep one day and never woke up. You don't want to resist and piss him off but it's impossible once you feel the first careless squeeze of tender flesh. His skin is rough against yours and you twist trying to get away from his touch but there's nowhere to go.

"It's okay, babe," he soothed you, not at all angry, his attention never leaving your heaving chest and hardening nipples, "I understand most girls are shy on their first visit. I'll make it easy on you, okay? Try not to worry your pretty little head." His treatment is anything but easy, pinching your nipple and watching how the fat falls back into place from how he lifts it up into a barely recognizable shape, pulling it taut. He does this until you're squirming and silently pleading for the strength to make it through.

You think you're going to be sick at the first gummy drag of his tongue over your skin, telling yourself that this wasn't the worst that could be happening right now. A sob that could have been mistaken for a moan slips out and he eyes your reaction, curiously. "Any pain? Soreness? Over-sensitivity?" He simpers up at you and there are equal parts madness and lucidity that terrify you behind those eyes.

Trager doesn't seem to give a single shit that his conversation is entirely one sided and resumes his assault of your breast. He can no longer suck so he bites instead, over and over, making your toes curl from the pain. This goes on until your skin is painted with marks in the shape of his teeth and your nipples are red and raw. Each time you try to sink deeper into yourself a particularly harsh twinge brings you back out. There is no escape.

He's moving lower, his tongue dipping into your navel while he takes up those massive fuck off scissors again and slides one side up your pant leg. It doesn't take long until your pants meet the same fate as your shirt on the floor, lost forever amidst the blood and shit of the doctor's other patients.

"Oh no, " he said, "This doesn't look good at all." His fingers circle over your still covered mound, your panties the last barrier of defense before the fucker sees everything you have to offer. Unceremoniously, he pushes them to the side and in one brief instant the last of your dignity is gone.

"You have alot of discharge and swelling down here. I'm going to need a closer look under the hood, I'm afraid."

With just those words you're ready to die. It's one thing to be attacked and have no control over it and entirely something else to become aroused by it. This disgusting bald freak who looks like an eighty year old's ball sack has somehow made you wet. Deeply profound shame washes over you only amplified by how hard it is not to let out a desperate cry when he prods at your clit. The rough treatment of your already abused body and mind has finally pushed you over the edge.

Maybe you were insane too, now.

Trager isn't examining your pussy anymore, he's watching your face and clearly enjoying how hard you're fighting against showing your reactions. It's the most lucid you've seen him so far and the most sadistic. He doesn't break eye contact when he spreads you with two fingers and drools over your pussy in the most disgusting way making your stomach drop in horror. You're repulsed and let out a pitiful noise making the ragged remains of his mouth twist into a smirk moments before his tongue is buried in your inflamed pussy eager to clean up his mess.

Finally, finally, it's all too fucking much and you howl joining into the chorus of the others' screams of pain and insanity unable to hold it in anymore. It's not because you're being raped or because you're probably going to die here but because you enjoy it. This horrible place has reduced you to nothing more than an animal that wants to tangle your fingers into Trager's greasy hair and ride his face harder because you need it.

It's the scrape of his exposed teeth over nerves that feel like they're burning you alive that does you in. He's like a fucking dog eating you out, so hungry for every bit of your come that he can lap up, until pleasure turns to pain and you're sobbing for real. He stops licking you after what felt like an eternity, his pupils blown out big and black, breathing hard like he's just ran a mile.

"Well, I'm learning a lot here I don't know about you. I still need to do an-an internal examination," he's undoing the cuffs at your ankles, you realize, too tired to do anything when he spreads your legs wide, "Keep your knees up. Just like that. That's a girl." You're dragged roughly to the end of the bed, as much as your shackles would allow, and you see how the front of his apron is tented. You're a little surprised Trager has anything to work with given the mutilation you'd seen up until now.

You don't get to see his cock but feel it tapping against your pussy before he drags it up and down your slit collecting any remaining wetness and spit. The head feels wide and thick and you can tell it's going to be bad already.

"Gonna need you to relax for this part, babe. My instrument is a little big for you but I think we can work something out."

You fantasize about putting the blade of his scissors through his eye when he penetrates you stretching you to the absolute limit of what your tense, scared muscles would allow. A soundless cry is all you can manage when he brutally presses onwards not giving you any time to adjust.

"Goddamn you're tight. Shit," he said, breaking character for the first time, "Ease up a little would ya. Gonna rip all the skin off my dick here.."

You try, you really do, to relax but it's no use. When he starts to move it drags awful soreness from your stomach deep rooted and nauseating. However, like before, eventually that pain melts into sickening pleasure and you begin getting wet again turning the sound of his thrusts sloppy. Trager moans loudly, shamelessly, his rhythm turning rougher as he uses you. You're moaning too, nearing a second orgasm, the textured skin near the base of his shaft stimulates you so well each time he slams into your cervix.

"You like that, baby? Huh? No need to be shy. I can tell, you know. You're gonna come again aren't you? It's okay."

You want to tell him to kill himself. Everything certainly wasn't okay and he was a piece of shit not worth so much as looking in your direction under any other circumstances. Unfortunately, you came instead, harder than before, your eyes rolling back helplessly as the fake doctor kept fucking you through it. "Ah, God. Fuck," he whined, his pace slowing. You'd come to hate the sound of his voice so much in your brief time together. You especially despised how his moaning at the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock only heightened your orgasm even more.

It was hard to say how much longer it went on for until he finally lost it inside you, leaving you dirty and defiled by his come, your pussy tender and over-stimulated. The only thing worse was the emptiness left behind when he pulled out of you and the slow leak of fluids that dripped down your ass.

"Well," Trager panted, "I think I'm gonna need a follow-up on that."

[spinthetags]

South Park Olympics - Rules & Sign Up

The interest check for the South Park Olympics was a success, so we're moving on to sign ups! The google form for signing up can be found at the bottom of the rules list, and will be open from now until Friday, May 19th. Make sure to read the following rules and guidelines carefully before filling out the sign up form!

Before the rules are listed, here's a general guideline of how the event will go:

Before signing up, every user who intends on participating will make a post briefly introducing themselves and mentioning their interests (favorite characters, ships, headcanons, etc). There will be a space to link this post within the signup poll!

Once signups are closed, all participants will be divided randomly and evenly into two different teams. The overwhelming winner in the interest check poll was Giant Douche vs Turd Sandwich, which is what we'll be going with for team names.

Once the event starts, users from each team will view members of the other team's posts, and will begin creating things based on their interests to 'attack' them with. To attack, all you need to do is post your creation, tag the user you're attacking, and use the hashtag #sp olympics. Tagging @spinthetags is optional, but welcome; we need to see and reblog your post to give points!

Points will be given to the attacking team based on the objective point system listed in this post. Users can also earn points for their team by reblogging other people's creations, regardless of whether it's created by their own team member.

Every week, the updated point values will be posted for each team. At the end of the month-long event, the team with the most points will be declared the winner!

Throughout the course of the event, additions and changes may be made to how points from that point forward are calculated, such as enabling "friendly fire" or giving extra points for a character's birthday. However, these will all be announced in advance, and the main premise as listed above will stay the same!

Now, the actual rules! Please read these carefully before signing up; if you sign up, you acknowledge that you'll adhere to them!

All works created for the SP Olympics must be SFW! Themes such as swearing and suggestive jokes are allowed, but explicit NSFW is not. Works involving blood and mild gore are also allowed, but they must be tagged appropriately. Works with more gore than just mild will be judged at moderator discretion, so consider that in advance when creating your works!

All works must be your own! This means that your creations must not involve AI art or AI writing. If you are creating a meme/playlist/amv, in order to use other people's art, you must have explicit permission from them and be able to show it upon request.

Needless to say, no ship/headcanon hate is allowed! If you participate, you must play nice. Even if your posts aren't directly related to the SP Olympics, harassment of any sort or active bashing may lead to you being removed from the competition. Remember that plenty of people are viewing your blog to create for you, so make sure to be kind!

When creating a work for the SP Olympics, it must adhere to the interests of the person you're attacking. This means that you should produce something based on that person's interests, rather than creating a work in advance and picking someone who would enjoy it. On the same note, only create works involving ships that the person you're attacking enjoys!

For your work to be considered, make sure to use the tag #sp olympics. We'll reblog every work that we see created, so if you've tagged it properly and it hasn't been reblogged, shoot us a DM and we'll make sure to count it!

Please try and have variety in who you attack! To prevent a single person from being attacked over and over, a second attack given to a single person within 24 hours of the previous one will only count for half points.

Lastly, and most importantly; unfortunately, there's no way we can guarantee that every person will be attacked/receive a gift. During the final week of the event people who haven't been attacked yet will be promoted, but it's impossible to guarantee! If you choose to participate, make sure you do so because you want to create, not because you have the expectation of receiving a gift.

Those are the general rules! Additional rules may be added if needed, and if you need any clarification, please feel free to send an ask or a DM! The two people running this event are this account (@spinthetags) and @alister312, so either of us can be reached out to if needed.

Here is the link to the sign up form! Starting from May 5th, two weeks will be given for participants to sign up. Some further guidelines for the 'about me' post mentioned above and in the sign up form is under the cut. Consider reblogging once you've signed up to help fill out the teams! Thank you for reading, and we hope to see you in the Olympics!

Your about me post doesn't need absolutely everything listed below; these are just some examples of things you might want to mention!

Your name

Your pronouns

Favorite characters

Favorite ships

Favorite headcanons

AUs/tropes you enjoy

BROTPs/friendships you like

There's no need to mention ships or characters that you DON'T like; keep your intro post limited to the things you would want to receive! Feel free to be specific, but try and keep the things within your post manageable to increase the likelihood you'll be attacked!

There's no need to tag @spinthetags in this post since it'll be linked in the form, but you're welcome to if you want to!

[penwieldingdreamer]

Beautifully Ugly

After being a F1/Motorsports fan most of my life I finally decided to indulge in some writing of my own.

If you're interested in the songs that inspire this, here's the Series Playlist

I kept the reader and their friend as vague as possible. While writing I imagined a plus size! female! reader but you can think up whatever you want.

Happy reading! Let me know what you think.

You met Joe while on vacation in Perth, Australia and had a incredible three weeks with him. It didn't end well and while being at a F1 race weekend with your friend you find out just who the hell Joe really is.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of sexual themes, cursing(?)

Words: 2060

“Y/N!” 

You looked up as your name was called throughout the paddock. This morning you could feel excited jitters course through your body as you thought about spending your time there with your friend at a race. Never having been to one before and not really getting into all of that, you weren't sure what interested you more - the cars or all the glamor that surrounded such a weekend.

"Oh, Y/N, it's so exciting." They grinned, hooking their arms with yours. “Have you seen all these hot men strutting around? It’s like being in a candy shop, wanting to try all of it.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you made your way through the throngs of people. “You know we’re just here for the cars and the free food."

"Doesn't mean we can't take a good look at them while we're here." Giggling like high school kids you swiftly moved to the hospitality you were assigned to from the Williams F1 Team. "So, have you ever heard anything from that guy back in Australia? The one you, you know…fucked!" The last word was whispered with all the people around you already giving you odd looks.

You elbowed them lightly in the side, hoping to make them shut up as a soft red was covering your cheeks. "No, it's been nice while it lasted but I never thought there'd be more to it."

Sighing your friend pulled you closer, laying her head on your shoulder to give you the comfort you deserved. You never had a serious relationship, up until your vacation in Perth you never even had sex - not for lack of trying, mind you, but men usually wouldn't give you a second glance next to your friends - at least the douches in their midst.

Then you decided you needed a break. Taking some time off from your life and all the people at home, you traveled halfway around the world to do nothing but enjoy the sun, the beach and doing nothing for three weeks. 

That's when you bumped into him. 

Joe had that megawatt smile that even made you laugh when you wanted to cry. At first you had thought him to be a crazy stalker when he came to meet you at your hotel each day after helping you find your way back the first time, but he was the nicest guy you met in a while. He wasn't keeping you at a distance because of your looks, no, he didn't even care about anything but yourself. Joe was your tour guide, confident and for a while it seemed he was your boyfriend. You've never experienced pleasure like the one he gave you from a simple touch or kiss. 

But then your three weeks came to a close and you needed to leave your bubble. With a heavy heart and one last time with Joe, you got onto the plane with the promise of letting him know you got home safe. You did, but after that nothing more than an 'okay, good' came your way and you felt the same emptiness that you did before. Like you had been cast to the side - again.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" You looked over at your friend, who had stopped just outside the Williams hospitality building. "You've been completely out of it."

Blinking, you shook your head and tried to send a reassuring smile their way. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Oh, the Aussie?" They asked with a grin of their own, nudging their elbow into your side. "Your cheeks are flushed, so it must have been good thoughts."

Shaking your head at them, you turned back to the glass structure in front of you. It looked like a giant tent but then with all of that glass and metal around it, the hospitality building was definitely more than just a tent. "I think the people we need to meet are already waiting there for us."

"Ya think? If I'm right the cute one is the driver showing us around and the brooding one must be the manager or something." They shrugged, pulling you along to meet the two men. 

The lighter of the two gave you both a broad smile, holding his hand out in greeting. “You must be our guests for the weekend. I’m George and this is Nicholas. We’re both drivers for Williams Mercedes and we’ll be showing you around this weekend.”

You reached out, shaking his hand before moving on to his companion and introducing yourself and your friend. “Thanks for having us, I hope this isn’t too much of a hassle for you guys.”

Laughing, Nicholas shook his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll be showing you around today, tomorrow Lauren our PR person will give you the rundown. Otherwise you can do whatever you want.”

“So we’re not with you all the time?” your friend asked, a smirk playing on their lips.

Nudging them with your elbow, you shook your head at your friends' antics. “Stop it! They need to concentrate on their work, not on us.”

Shrugging, they moved closer to Nicholas and hooked their arm through his elbow. “Well, I’ll just enjoy the attention for a while.”

Shaking your head at them, you turned back to George and gave him an apologetic look. The driver just smiled and shook his head. He put his hand lightly on your back, leading you down back inside the paddock area to make your way to the garage and pit. 

“You know anything about cars?” he asked after pointing out different sections behind the scenes of the F1 circus. George knew they still had a bit before the first free practice of the weekend, so he wanted to test the waters on where their guests were standing knowledge wise.

Chuckling, you turned to the driver. “F1 wise? I have little to no idea. I’m happy I’m able to drive my own car at home, where the fuel goes and how to fill up the oil. That’s about all the knowledge I got.”

“Well, it’s a lot more than some.” He grinned, waving at his fellow drivers they passed. You were introduced to Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen. They took their time to take selfies with you and told you funny stories about past races. "Oh there's Danny Ric! Let's get over and introduce you to one of the best drivers and a friend of ours."

George pulled you along, followed by his partner and your friend as well as Lewis and Max. A merry little group huddling together in the paddock. 

Hearing his name called, the Renault driver turned around to be greeted by his friends and…you?

He was shocked, seeing you there after a year of not being able to get into contact. You had changed a bit, but still looked the same as you did when he met you in Perth that time over summer break.

"Joe?" 

"Y/N?" 

Your eyes widened as the realization finally caught up to you that Joe was in fact someone famous, a driver in the Formula 1 which would definitely explain the lack of response you had received from him after coming home. "I, sorry, I need to"

You stumbled away from the group, earning bewildered looks from the drivers, your friend hot on your heels as you made your way back to the hospitality.

“Y/N. Y/N!” Joe, no Danny called, joining in on the pursuit. You could hear your friend yelling at him, having put two and two together. A smile threatened to move over your lips as you listened to them, although it was more them yelling at Dan while he called your name making the people around you look concerned.

“Y/N! Come on, just stop, please.” 

You were thrown back to the time in Australia when you still thought him to be a stalker, running after you as you threatened to call the police on him. But something in his broad smile made your lips twitch, fighting your own smile. It was the same desperate voice that he used now. “What do you want, J-Danny? I already got the message the last time.”

“No, you didn’t.” He said once he finally reached you, your friend and the rest of your group staying back to watch. “Fuck, those three weeks, I’ve never felt so good in a long time and I wanted to call you.”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest. “But you didn’t. All I got was an okay, good. That told me all I needed to know.”

"But it's not what I wanted to send." Danny insisted, his eyes pleading with you to listen. 

"I can't do that right now. I've just kinda gotten over you after you broke my heart. I thought I finally found someone that felt I was worth it."

Reaching out, he took a hold of your hand. "But you are worth it, I was absolutely gutted when I crashed my phone and couldn't reach you. I wanted to tell you everything."

"Like how your name's not Joe but Danny."

Breathing out a heavy sigh, the driver nodded. "At first I thought you were one of my fans. I'm glad I got those but some female fans can be intense. So I gave you my middle name and then it just stuck and it was too late to tell you."

You bit your lip, trying to process what he was telling you. Being a celebrity definitely had its perks, but also the bad side to fame, you got that, but still he could have confided in you, like you did back in Australia.

It was the second week of your stay and Joe, well Danny had brought you to Wilbinga Dunes for a camping trip. You couldn't remember the last time you went camping with anyone but he was so happy and carefree about that idea you weren't about to say no. 

That night you sat in front of a small campfire, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing and some crickets chirping in the grass further back. You had started to open up to him, telling him your most personal thoughts. How you felt invisible while standing next to your friend at a bar and men usually only inviting them for a drink or even a date while you got the once over. You weren't stick-thin like some but it didn't hurt less just because you played it off and said it was fine. Danny had pulled you into his side, his face buried in your neck and laying soft kisses on your shoulder. He told you the next time a guy would act like that to just fuck him, that you were worth more than being second choice. 

It also was the first time you slept together. His hands caressing every part of your body, taking away all the fears and insecurities that had manifested themselves in your mind. For you it wasn't just sex, it felt like it meant more. So much more.

And yet, as you stood in front of him you felt that same doubt and insecurity rear its ugly head. You were young, dumb and in love back then and seeing him now you were afraid to fall into that same hole again. After that trip to Australia and your time with Danny, you had learned that all beautiful things came with edges and thorns that could hurt worse than all the ugly things could.

"I'm sorry, Danny. It's a lot to process." You told him, one hand reaching out towards his arm. "Give me time and maybe we'll see each other again."

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Danny gave you one of his mega watt smiles, it didn't reach his eyes but you saw the hopeful glint in his eyes. "Life's beautifully ugly at times, huh?"

Closing your eyes at that, you leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. Wishing him good luck for the race before you moved around the driver and joined your friend, who instantly pulled you into a tight hug. You had a feeling it wasn't the last time you saw him, but you still felt the doubt creep back into your mind. Right now just wasn't the perfect time it seemed.

next part

[ladymunson]

So I finished Britney’s memoir in just over three hours and… oof 😣

Here are some of my thoughts;

JT is a giant douche canoe

Kevin is 100% an asshat

Lynn is a massive twat

Jamie Lynn is an absolute dickhead

Jamie is evil and deserves to be set on fire

Britney deserves all the love, light and happiness in the world

Team Britney!!

[frasier-crane-style]

Transformers: Rise of the Beasts is a blockbuster so uncreative that it has two separate skybeams in it

Actually, what it really reminds me of is The Forbidden Kingdom, you remember, that movie where Jackie Chan and Jet Li finally teamed up, only it was all focused on some douchey kid? This is the same thing--the Autobots and Maximals finally team up!--only it's all about some douche. Because representation.

I'm serious. The Maximals are barely in this movie. The Autobots aren't in it much more. But we get a lot of this random dude, whose sole characterization is that he's from Brooklyn. Brooklyn! He's from Brooklyn, you guys!

Could it be? Are these characters in... GASP... Brooklyn?

There's also this chick, who delivers each line like she just bit into a sandwich. It makes you miss the days of Michael Bay. Sure, the actresses he cast couldn't act either, but at least they weren't 5/10. Let's admit it--the CGI model is hotter.

The plot makes no sense and is cobbled together from older blockbusters, which slightly made sense. Unicron--you know, Galactus for robots?--eats the Maximals' homeworld. He's trying to get today's MacGuffin, the Transwarp Key, which the Maximals hide on Earth in prehistoric times. Earth: The Transformers' junk drawer. Is there a single fucking widget those damn bots own that they haven't stashed here?

Now, Unicron wants the Transwarp Key because it will allow him to travel to other planets and eat them. The Autobots want it because it will let them go home to Cybertron (this movie is in continuity with Bumblebee, when they all left Cybertron).

This compels a few questions. How did Unicron get to the Maximals' planet if he can't already travel through space? Why can't the Autobots just return to Cybertron the same way they got to Earth? The movie says that Unicron is 'trapped in another galaxy,' presumably since the Maximals left, which I think the movie says happened a couple millennia ago. This seems like a short amount of time to devour every world in a galaxy, since Unicron says that he's starving--maybe he can only get around at sublight speeds? In which case you have to wonder why he can't travel FTL, but his minions can easily make it to Earth. Shouldn't Unicron be able to travel in the same manner his minions do?

Anyway, you know what all this means. Our heroes have to find two halves of the plot coupon*. The bad guys get the plot coupons instead and use it to summon up the worse guys with a portal, allowing for an endless stream of faceless CGI hordes. Rhinox has no lines.

*("This is some Indiana Jones shit," our Brooklyn protagonist from Brooklyn helpfully notes, since the movie is desperately trying to do MCU style meta humor--lots of characters talking about how silly it is that they are interacting with giant space robots)

The movie even rips off the scene from The Avengers where Loki astrally projected to talk to Thanos. Same exact visuals and everything.

Also, it's Representation now, so the first twenty minutes are about how our protagonists are oppressed by jerky white people who do evil, oppressive things like refuse them medical treatment unless they pay their hospital bills and not give them jobs because their references are bad. Which makes it unintentionally hilarious that Brooklyn guy is the first minority lead in a Transformers movie and the first protagonist to meet his Autobot buddy by grand theft auto instead of buying a car. Brooklyn!

The movie also really wants you to know that just because the Maximals came to Earth in prehistoric times, doesn't mean they created the Nazca Lines or anything. Which, bizarrely, is done by the archaeologist lady saying they must've created the Nazca Lines and Optimus Primal saying that humans did it. So... I guess she's racist for assuming Indigenous people couldn't create the Nazca Lines? It's one of those daft moments meant only to do numbers on Twitter.

Oh, and GI Joe shows up at the end. It's supposed to be one of those 'Samuel L. Jackson meets Tony Stark' moments, but that Snake Eyes movie flopped (and the movie is set in the 90s for no reason, so anyone they get would be retirement age if they did a movie in the present day), so they just give Brooklyn guy a business card that says GI Joe on it. That's the big surprise cameo. A business card.

[malaceinthepalace]

F1 2022 I’ve been a fan of this sport for the majority of my life. I remember when Senna died and I still have 5 years left of crying. I remember Alonso slaying the giant of Schumacher, but the most inspirational to me was the rise of now SIR Lewis Hamilton. This season was the first since he as a rookie lost the world championship by less than a handful of points to not win a single race. This year was dominated by Max Verstappen he ended the year with 14 wins setting a single season record and gaining his first world championship that wasn’t gifted to him by controversy of a inept governing body. Comparing the two champions Max is basically a douche bag and I make this statement due to his treatment of Checo. Last season you could say even with the FIA on RedBulls side Max might not have won his first of his two world championships with out checo. To repay him Max not only didn’t help him get P2 in the drivers but basically pulled his bitch card in Brazil. Max should have let Checo pass him and show what type of person he is. Well he did show what type of person he is as I said douche bag by being a bad example of teamwork and sportsmanship. With nothing on the line he would give an inch to the guy who was forced to let him by him in Spain and is key to keeping the likes of Ferrari and Mercedes from Max. This brings me back to the early rounds of 2017 the season after Lewis lost to his teammate by a handful of points and what did Lewis do with Bottas? Lewis was allowed to pass and could make ground against the driver infront. At the end of the race Lewis let Bottas back infront because he is a fair person. Granted there were other times that bottas was forced to give up wins for Lewis’ championship but for a person who has lost the world title by so little points he demonstrated the reason why he is SIR Lewis Hamilton. This is the type of champion F1 needs to grow the sport not an entitled cheating douche bag. Congrats to Max though this year he dominated. Fair well to Seb he will be missed and it will be interesting seein Danny Ricc as a reserve driver with the potential of Checo acting like Max and not following team orders. I’m looking forward to 2023 with the potential return to dominance that Mercedes showed in the 2nd half of 2022.

[0-dear-rose-0]

JUGGALO KENNY HEHE

@sk3lly-pr1nce-xp

@spinthetags

[sk3lly-pr1nce-xp]

LET'S GO TEAM GIANT DOUCHE!!!!!!

@alister312 @vegetabletaxi @kylebroflvskii @thecrowthatdraws

@its-astr0philia @0-dear-rose-0 @justanartistiguess @lozislaw

@al-debaran26 @galatic-gazer @plugnuts

Can't wait to do the South Park Olympics with this wonderful team of people, including the other team!!

[taiblogcomics]

No One’s Red Raven About Her Disappearance, I Bet

Hey there, opinionated smoke detectors. Well, we're back in the pit. We got the final six issues of Avengers Arena to get through, so we might as well get started, yes?

Here's the cover:

Okay, this is my favourite cover of the whole series. I don't need to see the next five or remember the previous 12 (most of which were movie ripoffs anyway). This one wins. If you ain't read Runaways--well, first of all, go read at least the first volume (#1-18) of Runaways, it's my favourite comic of all time and you're missing out--but also, Molly Hayes is one of Nico and Chase's fellow Runaways. The youngest of the team and a genuine sweet kid. So of course she would make this poster. And secondly, the two implications here: A) someone in the outside world has finally noticed 16 superhero kids have gone missing, and 2) enough people care to take Molly's... hashtag, I guess?

So we open with Arcade with his stringy red hair and goofy white tuxedo, which is never a good way to start a comic. He's in a good mood, which is also never a good way to start. He's strutting around, preeening and plotting about what his next way to escalate his stupid teenage death game will be. Meanwhile, his robot secretary is repeatedly trying to get his attention for something important. He's as douchey a boss as he is a supervillain, though, so he keeps ignoring her until she yells, and he asks what's so important to interrupt his being-a-douche time.

That's when Giant Man, Thor, Wolverine, Captain Britain, and the Hulk bust through his ceiling~

Alas, the comic is not about to get cool and give him a comeuppance he richly deserves. No, it's all holograms Robot Secretary has conjured up. He concedes, and listens to her, though he's still snotty about it. "I gave you every possible detail, what could you possibly have to bother me with?" And what she needs is for him to authorise a particular "trump card". See, someone's finally noticed the kids are missing (Arcade, in his infinite douchiness, is like "Already? My family didn't notice I went missing for months.") and it's the worst possible person. It's not a parent or teacher or spurned lover. It's Molly Hayes~

And indeed, our dear Molly is confronting Giant Man (Hank Pym, in case you weren't sure) at Avengers Academy over the fact that he promised they'd be safe. But she hasn't seen Nico or Chase in weeks, and that means bad guys stole them. Kid's fucking sharp, you see why she's my favourite? Karolina Dean and Julie Power (AKA Lightspeed of the former Power Pack) apologise to Hank, figuring Nico and Chase just ran off to do horny teenage things. Molly's still throwing a fit, though, and she pounds the ground hard enough to break it.

Karolina and Julie pull her off, continuing to apologise. See, Old Lace, the velociraptor Chase has a psychic bond with (seriously, read Runaways), is moping about and won't even eat. They figure if he was in actual danger, she'd be all on alert, but she clearly just misses him. Even so, Hank promises to try and look into it for the kids, and Molly gives him a kiss on the cheek as thanks, because she's a sweetie. As they're leaving, he asks when Nico and Chase went missing, and that's when the other shoe drops: it was three weeks ago, right after Christmas.

As Hank is next seen explaining to Tigra, sure, two teens running off, that wouldn't be so unusual. But the fact that they disappeared the same day several of their own Academy students (Mettle, Hazmat, Reptil, possibly X-23 and Juston as well) went off the radar, well... that's a bit suspicious, isn't it? Now, Mettle and Hazmat were 1) a couple, and B) not supported as such by Hazmat's parents, so they didn't think too much of it at the time. And they're also graduates of the Academy, not like they just left their rooms. But still, Hank wants to ask around to some of their friends.

There's a few cameos here. On the Academy grounds alone, he talks with students Finesse and White Tiger. The former, she drifted apart from both X-23 and Reptil, since she has difficulty with emotional closeness, and doesn't know where they are. White Tiger, meanwhile, also knew Reptil, but when he got focused on finding his parents, she gave him his space. She'd want the same if she got any leads on her own parents' deaths, after all. Likewise, some calls, and Wolverine reports none of his kids are missing (if anything, he wishes a few would, give him a moment's peace). He heard something from Captain Britain, though...

Indeed, the Braddock Academy also has a few students gone walkabout, but since they're the usual delinquents, he didn't think much of it. It isn't even the first time this particular group has left school grounds, they usually turn up on social media after a few days. He helpfully forwards a pic of Anachronism cupping the breasts on the Venus de Milo as an example. Captain Britain asks Hank if his campus has any security footage, and they do, of course. But Hazmat knocked it out before she left, and they haven't gotten it back yet. In fact, the only person who could get it up faster... is Juston Seyfert.

They call up Juston's father, who is now kind of incensed with them. He withdrew Juston from the academy for safety concerns (since Juston's only power was "owns a giant robot"), and doesn't want anything to do with them now. They just want to check, since several of their own students went missing, and Mr. Seyfert replies that Juston is fine, he's out playing with his brother right now. And we cut to a POV shot of Juston's brother, Chris, and it's clear that the POV is from a Life-Model Decoy. That is to say, a robot duplicate that looks human.

So Hank takes it to the top: SHIELD. He talks with Maria Hill about teleportation tech, and she shows him a map where teleportation signatures go off across the planet, including a signature from around Chase and Nico's place. However, she won't give more detailed info, because it's highly classified. She does give him one piece of info, though: a girl with Deathlok tech disappeared right around the same time. But she's accounted that one as a time travel thing, so it's not important to their investigation. ...Right?

So Hank's a bit stuck. He's got at least a dozen kids missing, no leads. (As far as he knows, Juston's accounted for, and Cammi, Red Raven, and Darkhawk aren't brought up at all.) He can't put the pieces together, there's no real connection, especially when places like the Jean Grey School and the Wakanda Academy haven't been hit. He's fretting himself sick, and Tigra and his other colleagues are beginning to get worried. And that's when Finesse comes in with a phone call for him. It's Mettle, asking to meet.

They figure obviously this might be a trap. But then Mettle pulls up at their designated meeting spot (which he picked, of course), and explains he did, in fact, elope with Hazmat (who of course didn't feel safe enough to come along) and he's lying low because her parents filed kidnapping charges. Hank runs a scan, confirming that Mettle's DNA, retinas, and voice all match, so he's not a Skrull (and Hank would know, having spent several months replaced by one back in Secret Invasion). But Mettle's iridium body is just too dense to run a deeper scan out in the open. Well, isn't that convenient~?

Mettle says he's glad they're missed, at least, and peels off again. Hank accepts that maybe he and Molly just have difficulty accepting change. And the whole time, Arcade is watching from his creepy little basement lair, gloating at how thoroughly he's tricked them. The fake Mettle was the previously discussed trump card, since his already metal skin hides the cybernetics well. And all of this means he'll prove himself a great villain and get respect, everyone will line up to suck his dick, blah blah blah. The issue ends with him being smug, and isn't that just a great way to come back to this series~?

While I do dislike this issue because it’s just more of Arcade being a smug smuggy-smug who has all the powers and is Teh Very Best Evar, I also really like it for the parts that aren’t that. Hank Pym may not be perfect or, like, anyone’s favourite hero. But here he is, moving heaven and earth to find a lead to track down these missing kids. And that, I certainly appreciate. i get the feeling that, despite being smug and douchey, Arcade didn’t cover his tracks as well as he thinks and this is all gonna come crashing back on him later. I can at least hope that’s the case~

Also, seriously, one last time: go read Runaways. Even the weaker arcs in later volumes are still better than this dreck~

[therealeagal]

RWBY - season 9

SO. A bit of a recap for you. Team RWBY et al - henceforth known as Team Good Guy - and Team Bad Guy fought in Atlas. James turned into a giant bag with which one douches. Stuff happened.

Then Team Good Guy uses the magic staff left by the gods to create a transit network to evacuate Atlas’ citizens. Then Cinder showed up and fought Team Good Guy and most of the them got knocked into an endless void. Except that instead of falling forever in an endless void, they instead ended up in the Ever After, a fairy tale inspired land somewhat analogous to Wonderland of Alice in Wonderland fame.

That was the end of season 8. Or volume 8 or whatever the fuck they call seasons.

Then Rooster Teeth sold out and put RWBY on Crunchyroll. Through uhhh...various means that are definitely legal stop asking questions I’m not on trial here this is a witch hunt! I have managed to procure viewership of the new season. Or volume. Or whatever the fuck.

So anyway, Ruby wakes up in the Ever After and meets a talk mouse named Little. Then I don’t really remember what happened next but Team RWBY is reunited and meet a talking cat called the Curious Cat who offers to guide them.

Also Neo is also in the Ever After, still after Ruby even though she has literally no good reason to be after Ruby.

Anyway, then middle middle middle, they go to the Red Palace and meet the Red Prince and play a board game with him where the rules make quite literally no sense, which is just as well because it’s just an excuse for an action scene.

Anyway, then middle middle middle and Jaune(!) shows up but he’s an old man now. Probably in his 50s or some shit. Why did Jaune get thrown into the past but all of Team RWBY were sent to the same time period?

Anyway, then Team RWBY and Jaune set out to Jaune’s village while Jaune exposits some and then they get caught in a “punderstorm”, a literal representation of their dilemma, viz a viz whether to trust Jaune or their new friend the Curious Cat.

Well, everyone except Blake and Yang, who are caught in their own punderstorm scenario representing their relationship. Any, middle middle middle, and Blake and Yang confess their love for eachother.

ZOMG! RWBY’S GONE WOKE! THESE ARE THE END TIMES! THE GAY AGENDA! WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!1!!!1!!!1!!!!!

Ha. Just kidding. Insofar as I care for any romantic entanglements at all, I have no great objection to... Bumblebee wasn’t it? Shipping. The horror.

Just so long as we keep Sun far far FAR away, because the last thing we need is a damn love triangle. At least Adam had the good graces to die after he made a point of considering Yang a romantic rival, but he had an out; villains die easier than heroes and Adam’s story had pretty much run its course anyway.

Unless Sun has a climactic duel with like, Tyrian or Cinder (although probably not Cinder because she was the one who had a climactic duel with Pyrrha and that would just be a rehash) I don’t foresee him ever dying.

So anyway, Bumblebee. I’m sure someone is happy, so I’m happy for them.

Then Team RWBY and Jaune go to a village where a bunch of paper starfish are trying to kill themselves so that they can go back to the Great Tree, which is something that the denizens of Ever After do naturally apparently, but Jaune’s gone crazy and won’t let them.

Then a bunch of monsters created by Neo show up and there’s an action scene and then Ruby has PTSD and then the fight’s over and a dam breaks and floods the village and kills all the paper starfishes (but that’s a good thing, so yay?). Then Ruby has a freakout.

Then Jaune freaks out too. Then Ruby bails and end of episode. And now we’re all caught up.

Interesting stuff. I truly hope Neo dies before this season is over, because she stopped being relevant back in like, season 3. When Roman died. Now she’s just stealing screen time from more relevant villains. I mean, maybe not Cinder, because Cinder is overexposed and kinda annoying. On the other hand, she’s overdue for her own climactic death in a mano e mano with Ruby. And there’s still Tyrian. Maybe Jaun goes down in a heroic sacrifice, taking Tyrian with him. I don’t know, just throwing out ideas.

[stareyeddistinguishment]

Crash Landing On You (But Not Into the Zombie Horde)

Thanks for the prompt, @nalivaa. This turned into a bit of a crack fic lol. Hope you enjoy!

Read on a03

.

Chuck stumbled wearily into the dimly lit, dingy apartment. Without even pausing to switch on the light — what was the point? It's not like he needed it on anyway — he made for the tiny living room, plopping down onto the gray, threadbare sofa.

God only knew Chuck was bored. (Pun intended.)

Everything was just so ... uneventful lately. Sam and Dean were stuck in solitary confinement in Rocky Mountain National Park, and the waiting for the Winchesters to escape so that they could do something interesting again — well, it was downright annoying. While his favorite characters were on extended "leave," what was Chuck supposed to do for entertainment?

Staring irritably about the living room at the off-white blinds and the faded tan side chair, the stain on the beige carpet — he couldn't remember what that stain was from; it had happened last time he'd been black-out drunk — his gaze landed on the TV. He could watch some of his other universes, he supposed. That might alleviate some of the boredom.

Shrugging, Chuck snapped his fingers, and the crappy CRT television unit flickered on. Absently, Chuck snapped his fingers a second time, and the unopened bottle of 110-proof whiskey he'd left in the kitchen appeared. (Yeah, so he was drinking straight from the bottle again. But it wasn't like the bottle was still in the paper bag he'd purchased it in from the liquor store, so this didn't count as day drinking.)

As the TV buzzed to life in front of him, Chuck raced through the available programming on TV Universe, what he referred to as his collection of universes when they appeared on his TV screen. The television channels flipped through rapidly, displaying one universe and then another.

Garbage.

Trash.

Boooooring.

Ugh.

Why did he think it was a good idea to make the Teletubby universe again?

Uninspiring- wait! Go back.

Ah, yes. The Douche-bros Inc. universe. That was a fun one. The universe featured Samuel Winchester, Deanweather Winchester, and their father Jonathon Winchester as a father-son team running a global hunting enterprise, HunterCorp. Private jets, legions of loyal hunter employees, Samuel's man-bun. It was the best mockumentary that Chuck had ever devised.

And yet, as Deanweather carefully parallel-parked his beloved "Baby" Volkswagen Beetle outside of Trader Joe's, ("Samuel, I know you prefer Whole Foods for the organic microgreens, but Trader Joe's has a fresh shipment of organic wheatgrass that is just delightful."), Chuck couldn't help but think something was missing from the show. Yes, Deanweather's yellow cardigan looked dashing against his lavender polo shirt, and yes, Samuel's lustrous locks were a walking advert for L'Oreal (of which Samuel Winchester was a contracted spokesperson because his hair was definitely "worth it"). But there was still something missing from the show. But what?

Chuck uncapped the whiskey bottle and took a hearty swig. The amber liquid burned going down his throat. He took a second drink and then a third for good measure.

"Deanweather, my older brother, don't forget to charge your Baby," Samuel tittered onscreen. Looming on the curb beside the dinky lime-green car with a frappuccino clutched in his right hand and his Glock slung against his right hip in its eco-friendly hemp holster, Samuel Winchester was a giant of a man, a yuppie-cum-hunter. Tossing his head (and artfully tousling waves of shining hair in the process), the youngest Winchester nodded indicatively at the electric charging station.

Deanweather smiled fondly at his brother and clapped Samuel affectionately on the shoulder. (Deanweather took care not to dishevel the cobolt blue cravat that Samuel had styled just so around Samuel’s neck.) "Why, I'd plum forgotten! Samuel, you are the best brother a guy could ask for," Deanweather exclaimed.

Samuel sniffled delicately. "Golly, thanks, Dean." Samuel blinked rapidly against eyes suddenly made glassy. "I love you too, brother-mine," he returned tightly.

Chuck grimaced. What was he watching??? 

"Ugh, can we say co-dependent, boys?" God sneered, regarding the television screen with disgust.

Chuck had finally figured out what was missing from the Douche-bros Inc. show. Maybe a plot? (True, Chuck had written the universe as a PWP/Crack story, but it wasn't as inspiring as Chuck remembered when he'd first drafted that story.)

Whatever. He'd watch something else.

The television channels of TV Universe raced forward.

"Suck. Sucks even more. Sucks so much, I'm ashamed to have created it. Shit, what was I thinking?" Chuck pulled back another swig from the whiskey bottle, settling deeper into the threadbare couch cushions. Three more mouthfuls and he could feel his vessel slowly responding with a low-level buzz. Good. He was God — if he couldn't get his vessel drunk not-drunk, then what was even the point of being omnipotent? (He wasn't day drinking. He wasn't.)

"Suck."

New channel.

"Suck."

New channel.

"Suck."

New channel.

"Goose!"

He stopped channel surfing. Ah, it was an oldie but goodie universe, Camp Chitaqua. (Well, Camp Chitaqua v 2.0 — Chuck had had to reboot the universe after Commander Dean suicided during the show's first run. God didn't cameo in the reboot — he'd found hoarding toilet paper to be just too ... wait for it ... wait for it ... chafing.)

Chuck scooted up higher against the couch cushions, spirits considerably lightened. Camp Chitaqua was one of his favorites.

"I wonder what Commander Dean and the reboot troops are up to?" Chuck mused aloud.

Not a whole lot, as it turned out. Commander Dean was sitting on the plain white coverlet of his rickety twin bed. He stared mindlessly at the unpainted walls of his empty cabin, a deep frown intruding upon his practiced indifference. Perched atop the crude bedside table were a glass bottle of clear liquid and a half-filled cup. It was obvious that Commander Dean was day drinking. The good-for-nothing lout! (This was vastly different than what Chuck was doing. Chuck was not-day drinking to wile away his boredom. But Commander Dean was supposed to be doing ... commandery stuff. Fighting infected Croatoans. Planning raids. Going after Lucifer-who-walked-the-Earth-as-Sam-Winchester. Not sitting in his cabin muttering defeatist bullshit to himself!)

And the rest of the camp was little better. Soldiers just standing around on guard duty or peeling potatoes. Smoking cigarettes. (Where was the action? The adventure? The drama?) Disgruntled, Chunk directed the TV Universe to pan the camera — Castiel the Fallen angel might be worth watching. Except after eight minutes of viewing that nihilistic bastard popping pills and waxing pathetically about his upcoming orgy that night, even Chuck was starting to feel depressed.

The problem was that Commander Dean and Castiel-the-Fallen were so damned despairing. Camp Chitaqua v 2.0 needed better leads! The show needed someone who wouldn't ever give up.

"Someone who'd keep going," swig, "despi- desparate- desperate? Desperate the odds." Chuck's speech was starting to slur.

"Anyways, this show is- stupid," Chuck decided. "Crappy reboot. Weak leads. I want something with a stronger lead."

Yeah, that's what he wanted to watch! A strong lead! Someone who always kept going. Kept trying. Someone heroic and inspiring.

"Someone like Michael."

The TV flipped rapidly forward until settling on — there!

"Apocalypse Now!" Chuck crowed, leaning back into the lumpy couch in satisfaction.

Except, this wasn't as satisfying as Chuck had expected. Michael never gave up, desperate the odds. Which meant, in the Apocalypse Now! universe Michael had defeated Lucifer — and then promptly gone insane as a result. (Understandable, but still.) And while Chuck liked his homicidal maniacs as much as the next viewer, from the author's standpoint, this version of Michael was a failed character. Here was the hero who'd achieved his purpose only to fall so low as to negate the heroic journey entirely. Chuck didn't want to see Michael like this, fallen so far. (It made God feel like a failure of an author.)

"But this happens in every single story Michael stars in," Chuck muttered sourly. (Yeah, he was a bit of an angry drunk, sometimes. Not that he was drunk.) "There's only one version of Michael that never goes cra- craze- insane, and that's the story where Michael doesn't win."

But it was more than that, wasn't it? It wasn't just that Michael didn't win in that universe (which just-so-happened to be the universe with Chuck's favorite Sam and Dean characters), it was that Michael had a meet-cute in Hell with that bastard-Winchester, Adam what-was-his-last-name-again? Adam was that plot device character Chuck had whipped up just to keep the story rolling after Chuck's best boy Dean had refused Michael's possession. And, unexpectedly, that version of Michael had fallen hard for Adam whatever-his-last-name-was.

It was pretty weird, come to think.

"Why did Michael's impri- impress- impressment?" Chuck winced in his not-drunken stupor. Words were hard. "Since when did being locked in a burning cage within Hell turn into a rom-com?" Chuck whined. "Hell was slotted as a horror story."

The TV responded to God's whims, and then, there was the Michael x Adam Not-a-Horror Hour.

Adam smiled brightly. "Thank you, Michael."

"You are welcomed, Adam," Michael returned. The corners of the Archangel's eyes crinkled happily. "After all, what are best friends for?"

"Best everything," Adam corrected fondly. The camera shifted to display a close-up of heartfelt blue eyes. "Best friend. Best guy I know. Best-" he paused, and the camera panned out to display both Adam and Michael in the frame "-lover," Adam offered coyly.

Michael smiled darkly, a small pulling of the lips. "Indeed," he agreed, surging forward. In a swift movement, the Archangel captured the human's lips with his own. Hands drifted beneath Adam's shirt, pulling the wayward fabric up and over the human's head, exposing a bare chest.

"Michael," Adam moaned, tugging at the Archangel's clothing and—

"NO! NO! NO! BURNING OUT MY EYES!" The television channel was wretched forward, TV Universe landing safely on the Teletubby universe. "There is no way I'm watching a porno starring MY OLDEST SON!"

The very thought of Michael doing that was just- It was- Four large gulps of the whiskey, and then Chuck's throat was burning as strongly as his poor, scarred mind.

And that was only thing that Michael x Adam seemed to do in that Hellscape after they'd completed their strangers-to-best-friends and later best-friends-to-romantic-leads arcs. Midam were those two a couple of horn dogs!

Well, after the Michael x Adam Yeah-It-Was-Actually-a-Horror Hour, Chuck really wasn't in the mood for watching more TV Universe. But he was still bored, dammit. Netflix, it seemed, would be providing the rest of his afternoon entertainment.

Chuck had already tapped out most of the programming in his Netflix account. He was now wandering through the Korean dramas — Move to Heaven and Come and Hug Me. He also had a K-drama rom-com called Crash Landing On You in his watchlist. Since he was kind of in the mood for trying something new, Chuck queued up the rom-com.

Almost five hours in and Crash Landing On You was enough to sustain his day drinking buzz. (Yeah, so he'd admitted it; he was day drinking. But he was buzzed. He wasn't drunk.) However, the K-drama rom-com just wasn't enough somehow. The premise of the show was about a South Korean businesswoman who accidentally landed in North Korea during a paragliding incident gone wrong. As the woman tried to leave the militarized country, she was apprehended by a North Korean soldier who then aided her in her escape. The pair fell in love.

The problem was that the characters were just so ... vanilla? They weren't nearly as interesting as Chuck's reoccurring troupe of characters (the Winchesters, the Campbells, the Archangels and the Heavenly Host, the demons of Hell). And although there was chemistry between the leads of the Korean drama, there weren't sparks. (Actually, it wasn't even as endearing as Midam — well, Midam before it devolved into all the steamy stuff that made Chuck want to bleach out his eyes.)

"I could-" Chuck took another draw from the whiskey bottle. (How was the bottle almost empty? Had his cat gotten into it? Wait  —  did Chuck even own a cat? Possibly?) He shook his head, dazedly. "I could do this story better," Chuck continued, observing the K-drama rom-com thoughtfully. "My characters but this premise. So much good." That wasn't right. "So much gooder," he tried again. Still off. Why were words so hard? "So much more gooder." Nailed it.

And here, at the bottom of the bottle (damned cat?), Chuck was filled with a sudden flash of inspiration. With startling speed, God The Author could see the plots and sub-plots forming inside his head, twisting and weaving into an ever more fanciful storyline of the Carver Edlund’s Supernatural-inspired version of Crash Landing On You. The scene: Camp Chitaqua on the side of the border with the infected Croatoans. The cast of characters: the camp Commander played by Michael the Archangel. (The Viceroy of Heaven was a shoo-in for the North Korean soldier role). The human who somehow crash-landed onto the infected side of the border played by Adam what-was-his-last-name?

But Chuck still needed more for the derivative storyline. In the K-drama rom-com, the North Korean soldier had a plucky team of North Korean soldiers as his supporting cast.

"Let's see supporting cast of angelic soldiers for Camp Chitaqua: Karael, Michael's second-in-command. And, of course, Samandrial because his vessel has such a cute baby-face. We'd also need Balthazar for comedic relief. And Metatron for his snark? Or would it be better to have Gadreel for his willingness to take orders?" How about Metatron could snark at Gadreel who could follow Michael's orders. Perfect. "I'll cast them both,” Chuck decided.

There was no way God was casting Castiel as an angel of Camp Chitaqua v 3.0. The only thing that smug, mercurial bastard would likely do was get the unsuspecting Samandrial hooked on opioids. No, Castiel was not welcomed in the reboot of the reboot of Camp Chitaqua. Castiel could stay locked up in Heaven.

Heaven, huh. That was something to think about.

If Michael, as the temporary Ruler of Heaven, was now grounded in Camp Chitaqua, then who was watching over Heaven? Obviously, for Camp Chitaqua and the Croatoan virus to exist, Lucifer had to be walking the Earth. And Heaven would need to be barred shut against Lucifer's advances, or the whole story would devolve. Wait, Raphael was in Heaven. Maybe Raphael could hold down the fort?

"But Raphael's no good." Chuck shook his head dismissively. Out of all God's Archangelic sons, Raphael was the most disappointing. Passive. Unimaginative. And he popped like a blister under pressure. No, Raphael could not be trusted to keep Heaven safe. "That just leaves-?" Wait, the solution was obvious! Gabriel. "Gabriel's supposed to be ruling Heaven as my proxy, anyway."

How Chuck was going to get Gabriel into Heaven didn't really matter. God was free-writing right now. Brainstorming cats and dogs! Or actually, just dogs (damned cats drinking his liquor).  And besides, all good stories had a few plot holes that were resolved by the catch-all phrase "mysterious circumstances." It was what writers did, for God's sake! (And he was God, so he should know.)

Okay, the premise of Camp Chitaqua v 3.0 was all set up, the “North Korean” side of Chuck’s story. But what about the uninfected side of the border — the "South Korean" side? Adam what-was-his-last-name needed to come from a wealthy background if Chuck's new universe was going to be inspired by Crash Landing On You.

"Looks like the co-dependent HunterCorp boys are making an appearance," Chuck sneered.

Ugh. Deanweather Winchester and Samuel Winchester, the pretentious, douche-bro sons of world-renowned hunters, Jonathon and Mary Winchester.

"Since the world was overrun with zombies, the HunterCorp expertise would be highly sought after," Chuck deliberated. "Oh, and, since Mary is the best hunter, in this case she'd be the head of the company.” It worked. “But then, gasp: Mary was killed on mission, and so the CEO title needs to be handed to one of Jonathon's sons, Deanweather or Samuel." Okay, it was all coming together now! "But Adam what-the-fuck-is-his-last-name? is Johnathon's bastard son who was trained in hunting during childhood, so he'd also be in the running for CEO."

Chuck frowned. "Okay, so thinking up Adam's backstory. So, after Adam's mom dies, Adam moves in with the Winchesters in their ritzy mansion-slash-training-compound. Mary, but especially the snooty Deanweather and peacock-vain Samuel, would despise Adam because the bastard-kid represents Jonathon's infidelity. And since everyone hates him, when Adam leaves for college and later med school, Adam has no contact with the Winchester family." Chuck paused, collecting his thoughts. "But when the world goes to Hell and the Croatoan infections start, Adam leaves med school for the safety of the Winchester estate." Chuck rubbed his hands together, sloshing the contents of the whiskey bottle. The backstory was getting really good. "Seeing Adam all grown up, a hunter and a medic, Jonathon says that Adam is the most skilled of all his sons and decides Adam should be the next CEO. Deanweather and Samuel are pisssed," Chuck hooted. (He didn’t mind seeing the hunter-bros knocked down a notch.) "And that means that when Adam gets stuck on the infected side of the border, Deanweather and Samuel want Adam to stay there. The douche-bros will do everything to stop Adam's return, just like the unctuous siblings of the Korean business woman in Crash Landing On You."

It was a perfect adaption of the K-drama, only better! Really, Chuck had outdone himself. He laughed in delight.

Now, to put it all together.

God commanded the TV, "Play me the trailer for-" Chuck pursed his lips in drunken not-drunken thought. What was he going to call this new universe? "Crash Landing On You (But Not Into the Zombie Horde)."

In response, the TV screen went dark. Then, an image of Adam appeared on the screen.

A deep voice, reminiscent of James Earl Jones (Chuck liked his voice, okay?) started a narration of the TV Universe trailer. "Adam Milligan led a simple life. He was a med student, a trained hunter, and the bastard son of Jonathon Winchester, the co-founder of the global hunter empire, HunterCorp, one of the world’s wealthiest, most influential companies."

Adam Milligan — that was the kid's last name. Milligan.

"In a world where the Croatoan virus has ravaged 78.91% of the global population, Adam remains infection-free. But then, one fateful day, Adam's parachute crash-landed him into the infected zone because of a plot hole."

"Act of God," Chuck corrected. "Adam ends up in the infected zone by an Act of God, not a plot hole!"

"But then, one fateful day, Adam's parachute crash-landed him into the infected zone because of an Act of God," the TV resumed its narration, updating per Chuck’s direction. A tornado now displayed on the CRT display, spinning across the television screen to roil Adam Milligan's parachute. "Why Adam Milligan was parachuting over the infected zone-"

"Is not important," Chuck heaved impatiently. He didn't have to cover all the loose ends right now. He was still free-writing here!

"Why Adam Milligan was parachuting over the infected zone was not important," the James Earl Jone's voice parroted back.

“That’s what I said.”

Now Michael's face appeared on the TV screen.

"Michael was the Viceroy of Heaven, an Archangel, and someone who always kept going. After Michael abandoned his post as temporary Ruler of Heaven because of plot hole-"

"Mysterious circumstances," Chuck testily supplied.

"After Michael abandoned his post as temporary Ruler of Heaven because of mysterious circumstances, the First Archangel became the angelic commander of Camp Chitaqua." The television screen flashed to display Adam Milligan's parachute crashing into Michael in a rom-com inspired catch. Surrounding Midam is a rabid zombie horde. "On that fateful day when Adam's parachute crash-landed into the infected zone because of an Act of God, Adam also crash-landed into Michael's heart. But all Adam wants is to return to his life on the uninfected side of the border." Cue Adam smiling shyly at Michael, and Michael cocking his head dopily back. "And yet, love blossoms in times of adversity." Michael was kissing Adam in the next frame.

"It'd better not blossom beyond that," Chuck noted irritably. "There's much more to do in Camp Chitaqua than in the Cage; they'd better not be having any sexcapades on this show. Not to mention that I'm sick of all the orgies in Camp Chitaqua! Didn't anyone get the memo? It’s a zombie apocalypse? You know, guns blazing? Explosions? More explosions?"

"Featuring a loveable supporting cast of characters-" a crowd scene displaying Karael, Samandrial, Balthazar, Gadreel, and Metatron. "And the dastardly duo-" Deanweather and Samuel Winchester sporting foppish pastel sweater vests and clutching tennis rackets "-intent on keeping Adam Milligan, one of the only hunters still alive in a world on the brink of total collapse, in the infected zone and out of the running as the next CEO of HunterCorp due to their plot hole motivations."

"That's not a plot hole!" Chuck argued, drunkenly belligerent. (He wasn’t drunk!) "The Winchester boys are pretentious douche-bags! They’re- They’re ... Douchesters! What other motivation do you need than that!?!"

The TV flashed forward, displaying a picture of Lucifer in his Nick-vessel. "Meanwhile, the world is menaced by Lucifer, newly risen from the lowest circle of Hell because of an Act of God."

"Try again. I don't want anyone praying for Divine Intervention in this universe."

"Lucifer, newly risen from the lowest circle of Hell because of mysterious circumstances."

"Better."

"With Heaven barred shut and now run by the Archangel Gabriel — due to mysterious circumstances — all that stands between Earth and total darkness is the Archangel Michael, Michael’s motley band of angelic soldiers, and the world’s ever-dwindling supply of hunters." The backdrop of Camp Chitaqua transitioned to a tender Midam scene. "But love conquers all." A display of the Douchesters looking conniving. "Or does it?" A scene of an infected horde rampaging across a field. "You'll only find out by watching-" guns blazing, explosions, more explosions, even more explosions. (yes, Yes, YES!) "-Crash Landing On You (But Not Into the Zombie Horde)."

And then the TV screen went dark.

Immediately Chuck was on his feet. "Yes!" He crowded triumphantly, wobbling unsteadily. "That's it! It's gold! Gold!"

As a victory salute to his genius — really, Chuck couldn't be modest where his art was concerned — he downed the last of the whiskey bottle before tossing the empty onto the ground. Maybe he was a little too victorious because the bottle shattered? 

But that didn't matter. Because the new show needed to start. Right now.

"Play the full season," God commanded the TV.

Then, Chuck felt the expenditure of Divine grace flowing out from his vessel and into the ether. The Crash Landing On You (But Not Into the Zombie Horde) universe was rapidly coming into being. It was going to be a rare thing of beauty, it was.

And then, Episode 1 was playing, and Chuck settled deeply onto the threadbare gray sofa, the shattered bottle of whiskey forgotten on the floor before him. (The cat could deal with it — if he owned a cat, that was.)

The expenditure of Divine grace to create the new universe had taken more out of Chuck than he'd expected. He was just going to close his eyes for a moment while the opening credits to the new TV Universe show were rolling. He already knew all the characters in the show, after all. Just close his eyes for a moment. And then he'd...

As Episode 1 completed and Episode 2 auto-started immediately after, God was not awake to monitor the story or to make the minor adjustments that made sure the story didn't run completely off the rails. Chuck had passed into a drunken slumber.