One More Sad Little Headcanon Because F*ck My Heart
The Egoplier gang talking before going in to meet with Wilford about MarkiplierTV.
“D-Dark, I don’t seem to unders-stand. Why are we-e here? What is the pri-pri-primary objective?” Googleplier asks.
“Look. I’m not letting all you out of this one. I let you sit out of that Date nonsense, but this one, just deal with it, all right?” Dark snaps back.
“Dark,” says Worst News Doctor. “I’m a doctor. Trust my expertise– Wilford isn’t sane anymore. He plays dress up, like a child!”
“Tha'there doctor’s gotta point, Darky,” Ed Edgar adds. “I mean, c'mon! A pink mustache? Really? All my sons are smarter tha’that!”
“Be quiet!” Dark yells, then he sighs one more time, the breath sitting heavy in his chest.
The Host withholds his comment.
“I’m not giving any of you a choice in this matter,” Darkiplier finishes. “I know he lost it a long time ago. I was there. But something in me… I have to do this for him. I care. For once, I care about something. Can’t we at least humor him? He’s spent a lot of time on… whatever the hell he’s been doing. It might set him off if we don’t show up.”
The rest of the Egopliers roll their eyes or let out an annoyed sigh, as if to say, fine, but only because you said so.
Meanwhile, Wilford is getting so excited to see all his friends and show them all the work he’s so proud of!
My favourite thing about Jamie’s portrayal in the extended universe is that sometimes, he’s mildly Scottish with a few Ayes thrown in there, maybe he mentions his ever present kilt pride, y'know, that sort of thing.
And then sometimes he’s just the full blown ‘wha’ s tha o'er there, Doctor, tha isnae no wee beastie, ye ken me?’ and is beating people over the head with his bagpipes while hollering the Skye Boat Song and generally being the most Scottish Scot to ever scot, and it is becoming increasingly clear there is NO MIDDLE GROUND between the two.
Maehb and 12 meet again after the events of Hell Bent. Seeing her causes strong memories about Clara to surface.
This sounds like it could be an episode of Class that would
be interesting enough to make me want to watch Class (because, hint: I have
absolutely zero interest in Class, as
the only DW spinoff that is neither mind-numbing and/or pretentious in tone is
SJA, as the last thing you do is “family show, but for an edgier and more
mature audience” because that’s rude as all get-out).
3435 words; takes place sometime vaguely s10, though how
true to canon it is can vary, especially once the Christmas special rolls
around this year (*sobs quietly*); do not read if you are looking for Nardole
love, because I am 1000% Nardole Hate and I have no regrets; ugh now I’m
feeling nostalgic for s8 this is very dangerous indeed
Prompt idea: Little Merida Mills-Locksley one day overhears that her birth mother was responsible for the death of her brother's dad and her other brother's mom and asks them if they hate her for that. Robin and Regina listen in on the heartbreaking conversation between their children. - If you are interested. I'm crying only thinking about this. Thanks
Thank you so much for this gorgeous prompt! I hope it’s fulfillment lives up to your hopes. :)
He finds her outside of Roland’s room, her ear practically
pressed to the door, her stance tense and rigid.
Regina silences him with a finger to his lips, grabbing his arm
to bring him closer to her.
“Shhhh,” she instructs without a sound, pointing to the door,
her eyes wide and concerned. It’s then he hears Henry’s muffled voice followed
by a deep cough from Roland, the timbre still too wet for his liking. The boy
has been fighting bronchitis for the past four days, and he wonders if they
should take him back to the doctor.
“Tha…not true, Merida,” Henry states, and Robin leans in
closer, suddenly distracted as he tries to make out conversation funneled
“But she…killed your dad,” Merida replies, some of her words
lost in the journey. “And…mom, Roland.”
“Oh my God,” Robin breathes, and Regina nods back at him,
her grip on his arm all the tighter.
“Doesn’t that make you two hate me?”
The girl’s words are loud enough to travel straight to his
ears and into his heart, and he clutches Regina’s waist, feeling a deep pain always
reserved for his youngest child, one conceived under the worst possible
circumstances, circumstances he’s tried to protect her from since she drew her
There’s some sort of movement, and he hears Merida crying.
His hand reaches for the door knob instinctively, but Regina pulls him back, beseeching
him to wait with her in silence.
The NBA wanted its players to be clean cut, hair short and dressed conservatively. They frowned on flash…then the ABA came along and shook things up. That Red, White and Blue ball, brutha’s with big, BIG Fro’s, The 3 point shot, offense personified and be flashy as you wanna be! That was ABA ball.
It was an upstart league making noise, but holding on by a shoestring, and the NBA was trying it’s best to crush it. That is until the Virginia Squires drafted the Doctor! Everyone including the owners of the NBA teams stopped and took notice, simply because Doc could fly.
No-you think I’m playing, but on the real, Julius Erving…that mutha fuka could fly! Let me say this slow…no one, I repeat, NO ONE in the league-played like Dr J Back in the day. Brutha changed tha game.
In his five years in the ABA Doc won three scoring titles, three Most Valuable Player Awards and not one, but TWO championships with the Nets, (That’s right the Nets were originally a ABA team). The NBA caught wise and worked out a merger and yes Doc was one of the main reasons the leagues merged.
NBA baller’s said, “they, (ABA ballers) don’t play no D so Julius won’t be able to do here what he did over there…but they were wrong. The Doctor was unstoppable. At 6’ 6” 220lb Doc was fast. He had a nice midrange jumper and could take any and every defender that faced him to the hole. Let me say it correct, Dr J took two and three ma-fuka’s to the hole. He dunked on every big man in the league, (including Kareem). But he was NOT a dunk contest dunker. His best was always during actual games. Doc needed body’s flying at him, hands and arms swinging and reaching for the ball with a misguided hope of blocking his shot. Few did, Dr J had crazy ups and hang time, he switched hands, double and triple pumped and played the angles off the backboard better then any player I’ve ever seen.
Oh! And did I mention, that brutha Julius…. could fly.
I know, young heads gonna be taking about Jordan this and Jordan that…respect to Mike. I’m not one for comparisons, what I will tell you is this, there are some kats who are so nice with there’s, they transcend time and could play in any era. Dr J was one of em.
In his 11-year NBA career Dr J was an All-Star each season, the league’s Most Valuable Player in 1981 and a five-time member of the All-NBA First Team. He scored 30,026 points in his combined ABA and NBA career; only Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Wilt Chamberlain, Karl Malone and Michael Jordan have scored more points in the history of professional basketball.
The bittersweet feeling when finishing a season of doctor who. And the fml feeling after the regeneration. And of course the “Are they ever gonna die or what?’’ feeling when you hear ‘’ Exterminate’’. Don’t forget the ‘’ THIS IS IT, THIS IS THE MOMENT WHEN HE DIES- Oh wait, I guess not- feeling when the doctor does something stupid af. The feeling when the companions leave like ‘biatch if I were you I would get yo ass back to the tardis and stay with tha doctah’.
1941. Right now, not very far from here, the German war machine is rolling up the map of Europe. Country after country, falling like dominoes. Nothing can stop it, nothing. Until one tiny, damp little island says “No. No, not here.” A mouse in front of a lion. You’re amazing, the lot of you. I don’t know what you did to Hitler, but you frighten the hell out of me, go on, do what you’ve got to do, save the world.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Rose muttered to herself, leaning against the front door of her house, as she watched Mickey and the Doctor sauntering towards her. “What’s going on?” she called out to them.
The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets and paused along the front garden path, his eyes widening innocently. “What do you mean? Nothing’s going on.”
He was definitely up to something.
Mickey shifted awkwardly beside him. “Yeah, dunno what you mean, Rose.”
“I mean, why are you two together? What have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” they said, in unison.
They resumed their walk, coming up to her with matching expressions of faux guiltlessness. “You’re so suspicious, Rose,” the Doctor complained. “Mickey and I were just having a chat, that’s all.”