Things you won’t hear Eurovision fans say:
“Aw yis more ballads”
“You can vote for your own country”
“Britain’s got a really good song this year”
“Alcohol is not free”
“Sweden are terrible hosts”
“This dance number makes total sense”
“Less gay please”
● Wilford likes to play pranks, but refuses to pull any of the worse ones on Host. He also hasn’t messed with Google ever since he made him malfunction from a prank gone wrong.(Probably dumps water on Dark just to piss him off or something.)
● Wilford is a good cook, especially when it comes to baking.
● Dark can do calligraphy.
● When not focusing on his primary and secondary objectives, Google likes to annoy the other egos with terrible puns.
● “The Host questions Darkiplier as to what he is reading.” “I’m actually reading one of your books.” “The Host smiles.”
● Wilford and Author were really good friends, and although they’ve grown a bit more distant ever since Author became Host, they will mumble inside jokes to each other and chuckle when the others look at them in confusion.
● Dark is kind of like the big brother type to Host. Helps him out with things, protects him (even if Host says that he can protect himself), etc. They’re so close that Host even allows Dark to help him replace his bandages sometimes.
● Although he doesn’t have to eat, Google likes to eat the eccentric food that Wilford cooks.
● Dark gets overly annoyed with Yandere’s recklessness, yet agrees to help him clean up his mess every once in a while.
● Host likes to challenge himself by telling his stories from memory, and when he can’t remember a part, one of the other egos (usually Dark) picks up said book and reads the parts that Host can’t remember.
(@markired Thought you might enjoy some of these. ❤)
I wrote a thing based around some headcanons from @markired and @alcordraws (and one I came up with but shhhh). It’s not my best but eh.
The Host was relaxing in Dr.
Iplier’s office, waiting on him to get home from whatever errand he was
running. It had become almost routine. Wake up, do whatever, wait on Iplier,
spend time with Iplier, repeat. Sometimes, there wouldn’t be a “wake up”
step due to no sleep. However, this day was different, except for the fact that
he was practically a noodle from the sleep deprivation and his powers were a
He was curled up on the couch, some
music channel playing at a low volume in the background. As soon as he started
getting bored, there was a knock at the door. “Coming.” He grumbled,
a little annoyed that he had to get out of the comfortable position. He opened
the door and no one was there. The egos that would be at the door were still
shuffling down the hallway, and the Host came to realize that he had only
predicted the knocking, which annoyed him to no end because of how exhausted he
felt. He closed the door and leaned up against it, waiting for the knock that
would come thirty seconds later.
The Jim twins were at the door when
he reopened it. It took a few moments for their images to flood into the Host’s
mind, but when they did, the annoyance melted away. They looked miserable.
Their hair was matted and tangled. Newscaster Jim’s glasses were askew on his
face. They were both in pajamas, but the worst part was that both of their
faces were drenched in tears.
The Host was confused. The twins
were usually two of the happiest ones in the household, so it had to be major
to make them upset. He didn’t exactly like physical contact from anyone other
than Dr. Iplier, but he knew the twins appreciated hugs, so he threw his arms
open. The twins accepted it and just collapsed into him. He then guided them to
the couch and, after grabbing blankets for them, he sat them down carefully,
then sat in between them. He allowed the younger boys to use him as a pillow,
which he thought was actually kind of adorable.
“Alright, tell me what’s
wrong. If you want to, that is.” The Host said. He decided not to pry into
their minds, instead letting them explain by their choice. The boys looked at
each other, then nodded. “We heard that you get visions of the future. We
get visions of death and catastrophe. That’s what’s happening right now. We
figured that you could help.” They said in unison. Suddenly, the Host held
them tighter. “It’ll be okay, boys,
don’t worry. You can’t stop the visions, but there is something to help calm
you down. We just have to wait for Iplier to get home. He has the key to the
cabinet that it’s in.“ The twins nodded.
It took at least five minutes for
Iplier to get home. The twins were breathing so heavily and so quickly, the
Host thought that they were going to hyperventilate. At times, one of them, or
both, would yelp or scream. Not from pain, but from fear. It isn’t easy seeing
disaster struck upon the world and not being able to do anything about it. The
Host felt terrible for the twins, and every time one of them jumped, yelped,
screamed, etc., a pang of guilt would hit him for reasons he did not know. At
one point, Weatherman Jim started writhing in his seat, and all the Host could
do was whisper to him and tell him that it would be okay. What the Host didn’t
know was that Weatherman Jim was in the middle of a forest fire, and it was
definitely not okay.
Finally, Dr. Iplier opened the door
to his office. "Baby, put the vinyl on.” The Host said urgently.
“What?” Iplier questioned, confused. This isn’t how the vision thing
usually goes. Iplier usually finds the Host trembling in a corner, so he found
it a bit weird that he was asking from the couch. However, when he heard a
yelp, he rushed over to the couch and saw the twins holding onto the Host like
their lives depended on it. “Vinyl. Right.” Iplier recognized the
signs. The sweating, shaking, wide eyes full of fear, the quick breathing. Dr.
Iplier and the Host had figured out a way to calm the Host down when he was
having a vision, and it was the sound of vinyl crackling. Why it works? They
have no idea. Dr. Iplier didn’t even know if it would work with the twins, but
it was worth a try.
Dr. Iplier pulled out a stepstool
and fished a key out of his pocket. He unlocked one of the higher cabinets
which revealed a slightly modernized record player with a blank vinyl already
on the platter. After lowering the arm, he turned the volume up to the maximum
setting and went back to the couch, carefully sitting down beside Jim2. The
crackling of the vinyl resonated in the office, mixed with soft whimpers and
yelps from the twins. Despite the images flowing through their heads, they
began to calm down. They didn’t know why, but the crackling, warm blankets, the
soft narrating from the Host, and Dr. Iplier whispering to them made the two
feel a lot better.
When the visions finally stopped,
you could almost see the boys calm down. Their muscles relaxed, their breathing
slowed, and they released their grips on the Host, apologizing quietly for
holding onto him so hard. The Host responded by running his fingers through
their hair and telling them that he barely felt it, although he did, and he didn’t
dare say that there would be bruises, even though he knew the purple marks
would be there the next day. He then grabbed Iplier’s attention by clearing his
throat. “Hmm?” The Doctor hummed in reply. The Host gestured to the twins, then
to the bedroom with his head, and Iplier nodded in understanding. They picked
up the twins slowly and gently, the Host with Jim1 and Iplier with Jim2, and
carried them to the bedroom, laying them on the bed and pulling the covers up
on top of them. The Host and Iplier started to leave, but the twins sleepily
tugged on their coats, silently demanding that they stay. The two climbed into
the bed and friend-cuddled (keyword: friend; don’t get any ideas) the twins for
the rest of the night.
And, once they all fell asleep, a
lowkey jealous Bim Trimmer showed up in the doorway, narrowing his eyes at them
all, but decided to leave them alone.
// I was very inspired by your writing and everyone’s headcanons, so I wanted to write something for you and everyone else! :D
The voice of the Host rang out, loud and clear. Everything else fell silent, no one moved, or did as much as breathe. The sheer feeling of power that came off of the Host send shivers down everyone’s spines, inflicting fear even in the ones that were his friends.
Dark was standing only a feet away from the Host, Dr Iplier laying at his feet. The man didn’t move, and didn’t breathe. There was no heartbeat anymore. And the person who had killed him stood over him, dark eyes locked with the invisible gaze of the Host.
The man no one knew what power he truly held was furious. But his anger wasn’t like Dark’s, he didn’t boil over and exploded. No, the Host’s anger was quiet, it was an iron grip around your limps, around your throat, holding you painfully tight. It was freezing cold and burning hot at the same time, letting you sweat while goosebumps cover your skin. It was the underlying sense of dread, the knowledge that with one simple sentence your life could end, and you couldn’t even scream.
No one had ever seen the Host like this. None of them had ever been controlled like this by him. Not without consent, not without knowing. Not until now, where the Host was seething with ice cold rage.
But Dark had gone too far. Killing the Doctor, just because he was trying to fix the Host. Fix the damage Dark had done to the Host. He had gotten troublesome for Dark, so he needed to go.
“The Host’s authority stands above everyone else’s. Behind him, Wilford was standing, his eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. The words the Host spoke rang in his head, echoing in his mind, even though he was standing mere feet away. He could feel the Host’s power, shaking him to his very core.”
“And then there was Dark. Standing over the dead body of the person the Host cared most about. The sheer power of the Host shocked him, leaving him frozen. The man he thought useless, the man he thought could never defend himself even in the slightest against him, was now standing above him. Their roles had changed, the Host was now the one in control. And Dark was the puppet, strings tightly wound around his very being. And there was nothing he could do to change it.”
“I endured everything you did to me. Every bruise, every hit, every cut. I let you torture me, break me, do whatever you wanted without ever raising a finger against you.”, the Host’s voice quiet, but dangerous. There was a threat in his voice, unspoken but powerful. It almost physically hurt to listen to. Seeing, and hearing the Host like this was downright terrifying. It was worse than even the Author in his rage, because he was loud. He was violent. But the Host was quiet, he was the flame approaching the trail of gasoline, which would erupt into a feet-high fire, engulfing everything in its wake.
“The Doctor did nothing to you. He suspected something was wrong, yes, but he never said anything. He knew nothing of the pure torture I went through. He never even knew about half of the damage you did to me. All he ever saw were bruises and scars. And yet, you decided he was a danger to your plans. Because he was able to take my mind out of self-loathing and self-hate. Because he made me feel cared for.”.
The Host approached Dark, his steps slow and menacing. His aura was biting cold, like needles biting into your skin. But yet Dark didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was at the mercy of the Host’s words, only able to do whatever was said he did.
That feeling of powerlessness that Dark felt was the worst he had ever felt. And it scared him. And that fear was evident. His eyes were wide, his hands shaking.
“Dark could do nothing but stare as the Host approached him. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He thought he had broken the Host long ago. He thought the Host couldn’t do anything, that he was powerless. But he was so utterly, terribly wrong. The Host is by far the most powerful of them all.”, the Host stopped walking, right in front of Dark. The man felt small under the Host’s gaze, the feeling of raw power the blind man emitted making him feel extremely vulnerable. He felt fear clawing at him, the feeling of dread clinging to his very being.
“Dark realized, standing under the gaze of the man he had tried to break for so long, that all his past’s actions would come back to him. The Host would spare him no mercy. And he knew, no matter what he said or did, the Host wouldn’t kill him. Not until Dark felt all he had felt over the past years.”.
hey could you recommend your all time favourite destiel fics?
Hey, dear anon!
Oh yes, I would love to
:D I mean, there are a lot of fics I read that are clearly
exceptional and awesome and amazing and [insert further compliments
here], so I’m just going with the ones I’ve read over and over again
because I’m addicted to them and I can’t help myself ;D
your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a
trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September
night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and
that he’s on the run …
probably recommended this fic about a thousand times before, but I’m
never gonna stop because it’s just so freaking epic ;D)
spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of
trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin
of the King, he’d rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes
abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for
Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring
Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations.
(If you don’t know
this series you should immediately change that because it’s seriously
amazing! The whole setting, the developing relationship of Dean and
Cas – it’s addicting!)
not that hard to date an angel. All Dean has to do is fight off
hordes of vampires, research gay porn, get sucked into a crappy
Narnia, endure Sam’s comments, creep out on Dr. Sexy, get harassed –
oh, and that’s right– figure out he’s into Cas. Easy, right?
(Actually one of the
first Destiel fics I read and still one of my favorites! I just
reread it yesterday. It’s just so funny and so in character :D)
The romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are
destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing
matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a
sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is
incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.
(This is honestly
the funniest thing ever :DDD I was seriously laughing tears!! And I’m
still doing after the hundredth reread :DD)
Winchester isn’t exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning
a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren’t sure whether they
should be worried or relieved. But they’re starting to get the
feeling there’s something important Dean’s not telling them about
just love outsider POV and this is so awesomely great!! It’s so much
fun to read <33)
all know that Familiars will be the closest to you. Your bond with a
Familiar will transcend family, friends, and even your future husband
or wife. A Familiar becomes a part of you, and you a part of them.”
I mention that I like witch/familiar fics? ;p Another really great
Send ⁉ to tie my muse up.
Send 🔇 to gag my muse. (I hope it’s this one two of the emojis don’t work for me, but this one fits sooo)
Oh no. Getting tied up was already a scary experience, his hands behind his back, kneeling on the ground, ankles bound together. But getting gagged was terrifying. He couldn’t speak anymore, all he could do was listen to his narration and hear what was going on around him, and it terrified him.
He was whimpering, already shaking with tears. Memories of past happenings being awakened, leaving him drowning in them, without knowing what happened to him in the real world. Not that it mattered much, because his memories were horrible. You could probably do nothing that hasn’t happened to him before.
46.8% for the poll vote. Trophy husband alec? im just tired of Magnus always being the one waiting at home for Alec to return
It was 6pm, and Magnus was running late. He was supposed to be hosting a party tonight. Well. He and Alec were supposed to be hosting. It was Luke’s birthday, so Clary had suggested they do something nice both for him and the entire group in general. They were all suffering. They’d lost so many fighting Valentine… they all needed this. It was no small party - likely to be just as busy as Max’s Rune Ceremony, if more rowdy. Downworlders weren’t nearly as rigid as Shadowhunters.
But Magnus was currently doing a terrible job of hosting, because he wasn’t there.
He’d had appointments scheduled until 4, and the plan had been to get back to his apartment and take care of the arrangements. He’d spent the morning brewing a particularly complicated potion, so all he needed to do was finish up his consultations, drop the order off and get home. But his consult had overrun by at least half an hour, and then when he went to drop off the potion there had been an emergency which demanded his attention. And then there had been another emergency.
Magnus had barely even had time to breathe, and he certainly hadn’t had time to text Alec.
One of the very first things I ever wrote for the Bram Stoker au
Influenced heavily by an early chapter of Dracula. In fact, the latter half of this is a direct homage to a scene from the book.
“Now then,” said the Count, “So that I will not sound so very much like the foreigner when I go alone to Carfax, without my friend Skywalker Luke – forgive me! I have fallen into the habit of placing the father’s name first, as we often do in my country – my friend Luke Skywalker to correct my words, tell me about your English childhood! I wish to hear how you were so easily able to rid yourself of your own accent.”
Much startled, Luke asked him what he meant. “I did have some small accent when I was still learning to speak,” he admitted, “Just as I came to live with my aunt and uncle, but no one has ever remarked upon it. How on earth did you know?”
The Count’s eyes brightened and he smiled, though that smile did not lift Luke’s spirits as he thought perhaps it might have been meant to do. “You told me there were no Skywalkers in England, yes? There have been some, in long ages past, from time to time in Germany and in Transylvania and even as far abroad as Turkey. You must have come from one or other of those bloodlines, though how you got to Exeter I am sure I cannot guess.” He then leaned forward and brought his fingers together beneath his chin. “Did it take you very long to speak after the fashion of the English children?”
“Well, no, I suppose not,” answered Luke. “I must have been young enough still that I could learn to mimic the voices of my playmates to communicate. I should think it must have taken no more than a year or two for people to forget that I had come from abroad.”
“Wouldn’t it be amusing,” said the Count, “If your family had been the Skywalkers that came from Transylvania? For then we should be countrymen, you and I, and visit more often.”
Luke must have made some polite answer or other, but a cold and creeping feeling had returned to settle in his stomach, though he could not say with any degree of certainty what it was that made him feel so ill at ease in the Count’s presence. The conversation turned to matters of the estate, to his relief, and he did what he could to deflect attention from himself and his childhood, as though there were some need for secrecy. When a rooster in some distant barnyard raised his salutations to the morning, the Count leapt up with a sound between a sigh and a guilty laugh.
“Has it come to morning again already? What a terrible host I am turning out to be, letting you stay up for so long.” With a genteel smile he said that Luke ought to make his conversations about England a touch duller so that time would not fly so. Then he bid him goodnight – “Or rather, good morning,” Luke had replied with a moment’s cheek – and left him in the study.
Luke resolved to write his dear friend, Miss Organa, who had been his companion from early childhood on the Yorkshire coast. They had always kept a bargain that whichever was able to travel must keep the other well informed of their adventures, and Luke was beginning to feel that this would turn out to be a very adventurous ordeal. With a grimace, he shut a book of rather grim fairytales sitting on the desk, and reminded himself that not all adventures were good ones.
title: Life on overload (must we make a
spectacle of love)
summary: people always said their love
would burn out too quickly; travis was delighted how wrong they were.
Honeymoon. MCD. Travlyn
a/n: I know this is a question, but I
like to answer it with a fic. So, thank you for letting me indulge in my
favorite thing!!! Writing sappy stuff for my otp. Basically, the run down is
that this takes place far in the future and I’ll keep it very very vague how
many years down the line. Inspo song is Overload by John Legend ft. Miguel