#john whittaker x you

[rjalker]

Welp, since the OP turned off reblogs on the original post:

My original reblog:

Okay, I know RTD has fucked all of this up by using the words "male-presenting" in this way, but male-presenting is NOT a synonym for "looks like a man" or "wear's men's clothing".

Saying that butches could be considered male-presenting is just. flat out wrong. That is not what these terms mean.

You can IDENTIFY yourself as male-presenting or female-presenting. You cannot assign those terms to anyone else, which is one of the major things RTD did wring with this scene!

No one asked the Doctor how hea identifies, everyone just went "well you're played by David Tennant now so you look like a man so that means you're purposefully presenting yourself to the world as male" and that's not how this works! At all!

Trans women not being out or able to socially transition doesn't mean they're male-presenting.

"male-presenting" is not a synonym for "looks like a man" or "assigned male at birth" or "wears mens clothes".

It is not something you get to assign other people, it is strictly a self-identification term, saying that you are choosing to present yourself as male, or masculine, or whatever descriptor is being used.

And I'm not even going to bother getting into the whole "the Doctor was a woman (because Jodie Whittaker had the role) five minutes ago" because again, that's literally not how gender works. Looking like a woman because a woman is playing the character does not equal "the character is a woman now" when it's just been established in this episode that the Doctor is nonbinary.

You can, and should, point out the biological and gender essentialism in this scene. But you shouldn't be ignoring the fact that the Doctor is being misgendered by being assigned male-presenting by people who have not asked, and are literally just deciding that for themselves because they think the Doctor looks like a man.

Do not use "x-presenting" language for other people --including fictional characters, which as we can all see from the fallout from this scene makes people think they can do this to real people-- unless it's something that person self-identifies as.

Calling anyone "male-presenting" or "masculine-presenting" or "female-presenting" or "feminine-presenting" without them first telling you that's how they identify is literally just misgendering people but pretending to be progressive about it.

Which is the most fucking damaging impact of this scene. And I'm getting really tired of having to explain this over and over again when people have been talking about why these terms are not okay to assign to other people for years now. Russel T Davies just came along and fucked it all up by making people think this kind of misgendering is okay when it's not even remotely.

= = =

@daily-sloop-john-b:

Okay, I'm —ing confused.

@rjalkers-polls can you please send me where you're pulling the "presenting" definition from?

And what's the word(s) for referring to that outside shell to which onlookers ascribe a gender?

No animosity meant at all; you seem to have a very specific idea of it's usage, and I'm curious what community it comes from.

= = =

Me:

this isn't a definition you're going to find in any dictionary, because it's not an "official" thing in any way, it's what many trans and nonbinary people have been talking about over the years.

I can link some posts of people talking about it if that'll help.

in no particular order:

4 days ago

September 2023

June 2019

2 days ago

November 2021

December 2021

And there's a whole lot more on my blog but tumblr doesn't want to let me find them at the moment, mostly because I didn't think to create a tag specifically for it.

Try searching any of the variations on tumblr or google.

Before November 25th 2023 you'll find a mix of people using them as self-descriptors, people talking about how it's misgendering to be called it without permission, and a few people assigning them to other people thinking it's okay.

And now after November 25th 2023 you'll see a massive surge in people throwing these terms around willy-nilly in the most absurd and bigoted ways.

The proper way to describe people without assuming and assigning gender to them is to describe them in factual statements. Are they tall? Short? Fat? Thin? Long hair? Short hair? Big chest? medium chest? Flat chest? Light skin? Dark skin? Round face? Angular face? Eye color, ect.

And if you know someone's gender, you can call them by that. A man, a woman, a nonbinary person, an enby, ect. At no point is it necessary or okay to describe them as "x-presenting", because as I say above, that's taking your internal bias and saying it's something they're doing on purpose.

If someone calls me female-presenting because they think I look like a woman, that's misgendering. I'm not presenting myself as female, I'm literally just existing in a body that happens to have boobs, through no fault or choice of my own.

= = =

@walks-the-ages:

Here's a post I reblogged nine years ago that captures the essence of why using “x-presenting” language is misgendering; you’ll notice that the post makes no mention of x-presenting language, because that only really started popping up in the last…. hmm, maybe three or four years? It became a popular way to describe someone whose gender you didn’t know, but was thankfully shot down pretty quick when trans and nonbinary people pointed out this is just a new way of misgendering someone but trying to sound progressive, by looking at someone’s appearance and assuming that what you think they look like (aka, like a man, or like a woman, or androgynous) “must be!” what gender they are.

[ID: a text post by user Viciere, posted October 31st 2014, that reads: “if somebody wears a dress and copious amounts of makeup and has ass-length pink hair and they say they are a boy you call them a boy gender stereotypes are not an excuse for misgendering someone it doesnt matter what gender you think they “look” like. respect the gender they ARE.” End ID]

If you look at the tags and replies of many of the posts made about the “male presenting” line in the Star Beast, you will find countless, countless trans, nonbinary, and even cis people expressing how they have personally been misgendered by people referring to them as ‘x-presenting’ based purely on their clothes or their physical appearance, which is especially hurtful to trans and nonbinary people who already suffer from negative body image and body dysphoria, especially if they can’t afford or physically cannot safely get top or bottom surgery, wear a packer, or padded bra, or even safely wear a binder.

TL;DR: “X-presenting” language should only be used as a self-identifier, or exclusively for those who have given you express permission to refer to them as such. Using “x-presenting” language for someone you don’t know is the same as misgendering– if you don’t know someone’s gender, just ask :)

[savemewattpad]

Leila Whittaker

Aliases: Snow White, Sobaka, Laika Other Names: Leila Winchester (Wicked and Divine) Faceclaims: Eiza Gonzalez (default), Jenna Ortega (younger Eiza), Emeraude Toubia (untitled XMCU verse), Talia Al Ghul (comics) Previous Faceclaims: Nina Dobrev, Inbar Lavi, Medalion Rahimi, Hande Ercel, Melisa Asli Pamuk Fandoms: Marvel (various), Supernatural, Grishaverse

Verses

Mirror, Mirror: MCU. Leila's original verse. Leila is a former crimelord with the ability to copy other’s superpowers. She’s recruited to SHIELD (or rather coerced into joining), joins STRIKE team Delta, and eventually becomes an Avenger. Read Here.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Brock Rumlow, Natasha Romanoff, Aiden Hendrix, Wes Barton, Seth Lennox, Matt Murdock, Seol Hee

Beyond Seven Stars: Marvel (MCU, TASM, X-Men (XMCU inspired), various other Marvel), + National Treasure Crossover. Similar to Mirror, Mirror, but with a backstory more tied up in X-Men lore. Read Here.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Seth Lennox, possibly others

Wicked and Divine: MCU + Supernatural Crossover. Leila is Sam and Dean’s half-sister. John and Dean rescued her from a cult when she was thirteen and raised her until she joined SHIELD at nineteen. She becomes an Avenger and then helps her brothers find their father. And then her brothers help the Avengers stop Thanos, and then the Avengers help the Winchesters stop an angelic apocalypse. Read Here.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Aiden Hendrix

Gods and Monsters: Marvel + Grishaverse Crossover. Description here. Leila is the foster sibling of Grant Ward, after he was put in the system by his family and she was rescued from the cult compound.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: None

Snow on the Beach: MCU. Takes place after the snap. Steve got snapped and Leila was left a social outcast for her (nonconsensual) role in the snap. Three years later, she comes back for one last mission and is made to work with Scott Lang. Read Here.

Main Ship: Scott Lang (sequel features Scott/Leila/Steve end game) Minor Ships: Steve (past)

Unnamed (Other) Scott Murdock AU: Marvel. Leila leaves the Trust before Johnny's murder attempt, and falls in with Scott Lang's band of thieves instead.

Main Ships: Scott Lang, Steve Rogers (OT3)

Unnamed XMCU Verse: Marvel (XMCU, possibly comic elements.) Leila is part of the Brotherhood of Mutants until she joins Xavier, less out of moral conviction and more out of emotional exhaustion.

Main Ships: Pietro Maximoff, Steve Rogers (possibly)

Unnamed X-Men Evolution Verse: Marvel (X-Men Evolution.) Leila is part of the brotherhood, and enjoys flirting with Cyclops to annoy him. Likely the same universe as Jace's Evo fic.

Main Ships: None (unless I again choose to expand it and include Steve in a future-set plotline).

Untitled Comics Verse: Marvel Comics. It's comics. I can't sum it up here. Ask about it if you want.

Main Ships: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Pietro Maximoff, Scott Lang

So Close: MCU. Sex Pollen AU of Mirror, Mirror. An old Hydra bunker forces Leila and Steve to work out their issues. Read Here.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Brock Rumlow (mentioned only, unless I continue the fic with a part 2)

Call It What You Want: MCU. After her falling out with Steve, Leila is assigned by SHIELD to babysit a depowered Loki.

Main Ships: Steve Rogers, Loki (platonic)

Invisible String: MCU. Soulmate AU. Leila's soul mark was burned off as a child, but Steve Rogers' mark looks an awful lot like she remembers hers. She keeps this to herself, until she doesn't.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers

You Should See Me In A Crown: Riverdale. Leila is the leader of the ghoulies, who have to team up with the serpents against Hiram Lodge. Leila's role in this verse is largely abandoned, unless I turn it into a Marvel crossover.

Main Ship: None Minor Ships: FP Jones

Unnamed Reboot AU: Marvel AU. Leila is an ex-child actor who starred in the iconic teen sitcom The Avengers. When the network decides to reboot the series, Leila--now a music producer living a non-public life--decides to sign on, for...some reason that I'm still figuring out.

Main Ship: Steve Rogers Minor Ships: Tony Stark (past, currently platonic)

Playlist | Pinterest | Mirror, Mirror Blog | Tag | Full Navigation (Under Construction)

[bloody-cupcakes]

Masterlist~

I could be a better boyfriend than him..

Kate Bishop

Kate Bishop x yandere/dark gn reader scenario: you express your displeasure to her laughing at your love letters

~

Damon Salvatore

Damon Salvatore x yandere/dark gn reader scenario: he finds out who you really are

~

Regina Mills

Yandere/dark Regina Mills x gn reader scenario: her catching you trying to escape and punishing you for it

~

Tenth Doctor

Yandere/dark! Tenth Doctor x gn reader scenario: he helps you celebrate your birthday

Yandere/dark! Tenth Doctor x gn teen reader scenario: you ask to be taken back to earth after a few too many adventures (platonic)

Yandere/dark! Tenth Doctor x gn teen reader scenario: you discover he's purposely keeping you from leaving (platonic)

~

Eleventh Doctor

Yandere/dark! Eleventh Doctor x gn reader scenario: he scares you into a fit of hysteria by yelling at you

~

Twelfth Doctor

Yandere/dark! Twelfth Doctor x gn reader scenario: he visits you in the vault

~

Thirteenth Doctor

Yandere/dark! Thirteenth Doctor x gn reader scenario: she force-feeds you when you refuse to eat

~

Martha Jones

Martha Jones x yandere/dark! Timelord! gn reader

~

Missy/Gomez! Master

Yandere/dark! Missy/Gomez! Master x gn reader scenario: she fingers you while you're trying to sleep

~

Whittaker! Master

Yandere/dark! Whittaker! Master x gn reader scenario: you get caught trying to escape

Yandere/dark! Whittaker! Master x gn reader scenario: after trying to escape, you're forced to make it up to her to avoid punishment

~

Jason Dean

Jason Dean x yandere/dark! gn reader scenario: you stalk follow him wherever he goes

Jason Dean x yandere/dark! male reader scenario: you love further corrupting your already less-than-innocent boyfriend

Yandere! Jason Dean x gn reader x yandere! Veronica Sawyer scenario: you worry about messing up their murder plans

Jason Dean x yandere/dark! gn reader scenario: play fighting that turns into you teasing him for getting turned on

Jason Dean x yandere/dark! gn reader scenario: you're visibly crazier and more noticeable than he is

~

Veronica Sawyer

Yandere! Jason Dean x gn reader x yandere! Veronica Sawyer scenario: you worry about messing up their murder plans

Manipulative yandere! Veronica Sawyer x gn reader (headcanons)

Manipulative yandere! Veronica Sawyer x gn reader

~

John Bender

Yandere/dark! John Bender x yandere/dark! gn reader scenario: you're visibly crazier and more noticeable than he is

~

Allison Reynolds

Yandere/dark! Allison Reynolds x gn reader scenario: she grows obsessed with you after becoming your friend

I could do the shit that he never did..

[myglassesareinkansas]

About Me

Name: Call me Joy

AO3: Here or Old Account

Active Fandoms: Open Heart (Pixelberry Choices), Princess Diaries, Left Behind, Ted Lasso, Schitt's Creek

Inactive Fandoms (Could be Resurrected): MCU, Irondad, Psych, B99, Parks & Rec, Castle, Adventures in Odyssey, M*A*S*H, New Girl

Blurb: I just graduated college, and I'll be starting grad school in the fall. I'm a history student, so along with fandom, you might see me reblog or post about historical figures or major events happening in academia or in public history. If you're a history student as well and have questions about French history or public history (or oral history — my all-time favorite), please send me something in my inbox! I also love and miss writing for fun, so I will have my ask open for any requests (please be mindful of active or inactive fandom list — I won't write something I'm unfamiliar with).

Current Ships (Romantic / Familial / Platonic):

Mia Thermopolis x Nicholas Devereaux

Bryce Lahela x F!MC

Judd Thompson Jr. x Vicki Byrne

Mark Eisman x Vicki Byrne

Ted Mullins x Alexis Rose

Jason Whittaker x Connie Kendall

Henry Spencer x Maddy Spencer

Shawn Spencer x Trish Connors

Guster OC x Spencer OC

Hawkeye Pierce x Margaret Houlihan

Bryce Lahela & F!MC

[any Left Behind characters]

[any platonic Ted Lasso dynamic]

Irondad

Clint Barton & Kate Bishop

Henry Spencer & Shawn Spencer

Javier Esposito & Kevin Ryan

Jason Whittaker & Connie Kendall

John Avery Whittaker & Connie Kendall

BJ Hunnicutt & Margaret Houlihan

Hawkeye Pierce & Charles Emerson Winchester III

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Let’s Face the Music & Dance

Part One: There May be Trouble Ahead 

A/N: Alright. Here. We. Go. Got your dancin’ shoes? John is makin’ moves. (Quote in bold taken from Much Ado About Nothing) 

*read the intro here*

Warning: um... narrowly avoided vehicular manslaughter? 

Word Count: 3,492

The air rushed past his face chilling the skin of his cheeks beneath the leather trimmed goggles that he wore as he sped down the open country roads. His carefully slicked back hair had blown free only a few kilometers into the trip, loose strands trailing down and back over his ears. I can’t believe that… He tightened his grasp on the handles, pushing the limit on the speed as he pushed the thought from his mind. The truth was that he could believe, he did believe that his mother thought so little of him. She’d made it quite clear where she placed blame and where she placed expectations. And the former far outweighs the latter, so… He sniffed, his nose red from the cold air and from the way Veronica’s cold comments stung at his eyes. So this is how it has to be. 

He hadn’t planned to make the trip down to Oxford all in one go, nor had he planned to leave home that day. But I couldn’t stay, not after… Trees blurred into countryside, rolling hills and pastures full of sheep flying by as John left everything he knew behind him in hopes that he could make something new of himself; something successful and worthy of rehabilitating the Whittaker name. Worthy of showing everyone that they were wrong about me. He tucked away as much of the hurt that his mother’s words and decisions had caused him as he could, stuffing it into the emptiness that the dissolution of his marriage had left him feeling. It won’t do any good to dwell...to continue to...to wallow. 

After Larita and his father absconded from the estate in a flurry of shattered statuary and broken hearts, John hadn’t come down from his room for nearly a week. He’d quickly realized that while he did love her, and he was sure that she had loved him- at least while we were together in Monaco- the two were about as unlikely to last as ice cream on an August afternoon. There were too many differences, too many areas of their lives that were complete and utter mismatches. But still, the fact that he’d taken her hand and taken the leap only to end up on the ground alone was… lonely, I felt...I felt alone. He’d thought that being married, having a wife, being her husband, would mean that he’d never have to feel that way, and certainly not so soon after taking that leap did he expect to crash. It wasn’t that he missed Larita. It was that he felt as though he had failed himself by grabbing the wrong hand. 

But shortly after he’d realized that it wasn’t her absence that was causing the ache in his chest but the connotations of that absence, John started to come back to himself. His mother, it seemed, had already gotten past the pain of her own crash, likely before she’d even hit the ground, and he was hurt all over again by the fact that he was alone in feeling alone. The truth, as he’d learned, was that not only had Veronica made peace with the fact that her marriage hadn’t been what it once was for a very long time, she’d also made peace with selling even more of their property to a banker named Harold Roberts, and marrying Hilda off to his son Walter. It was an attempt to keep what little they had left, but it was an attempt that excluded John completely. While Marion seemed content to be overlooked, believing, as Veronica had always said, that marriage would never be the route that she went down, John on the other hand, felt as though the rug had been pulled from beneath him. 

It was no use fighting with his mother once she made her calculating mind up, though, and so he chose to go on with his plan regardless of the other that was hatching. Phillip Hurst, in his own attempt to try to make something meaningful of his life, had decided to attend Oxford University, and John had decided to join him. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d study, or where it might take him, but he knew that it was a much better plan than waiting around to make another dangerous leap. He spent the rest of the trip from Nottinghamshire ruminating on what courses he might take, on what knowledge he might gain. Phillip had chosen to study Literature, which to John made sense, as his friend had always had a flair for the dramatics, but sitting still and reading for hours on end was not something that John could see for himself. Still, Phillip had been supportive of John’s choice to enroll in University, quoting Shakespeare in a telegram that John supposed was meant to be comforting. “Everyone can master grief but he that has it… so leave it behind and join me!” 

Four hours since leaving the home he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to call his again, John Whittaker arrived in Oxford, England. He pushed the goggles up onto his forehead to get a better view of the city and of the buildings that constituted the University. Feeling better, if only for the moment, he took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel hope for the first time since he watched his wife and father exit his life. This is… I’m really… 

But before he could fully enjoy the feeling or the moment, a young woman was shouting as she leapt out of the way of his bike. Taking his eyes off the road to appreciate his new situation had caused him to veer slightly off course, sending him careening towards the walkways. Oh! Quickly turning the handles, he narrowly avoided crashing into the woman, though he hadn’t avoided the bush right beside her, ending up halfway into the greenery before he could stop. Right. Well. I’m here. 

“Would you watch where you are going? You nearly knocked me over there with your carelessness! Who even…” You’d dropped your books when you’d had to jump from his path, your skirt twisting around and your top askew. 

What? I...Oh, I… “I’m sorry, I’m so…” He pulled the motorbike out of the bush and bent down to pick up one of your dropped texts, handing it back to you as a page fluttered out onto the ground. “Are you alri-” You snatched it back from him with one hand, the other pulling at your clothing to fix it back into place. 

“No, I am not alright! As I said, sir-” 

“It’s John, actually, John Whittaker, and I’m very-” 

“As I said, John, you nearly knocked me over with your,” you gestured at his motorbike with the book, “your ridiculous cycle here, and I-” 

“But you aren’t hurt, are you?” He asked as he stepped towards you, the sincerity in his eyes clearer than the embarrassment. He looked you over quickly scanning your elbows, your face, the small amount of skin that was visible beneath the hem of your skirt. She’s not bleeding, I don’t see any-

You blew out a breath in a huff and shook your head. “No, I’m not hurt, but you should… You need to be more cautious.” 

Nodding profusely, he agreed. “You’re right, I should be more careful, it was foolish of me not to pay more attention.” You seemed to be expecting him to disagree and were caught off guard by the lack of fight he put up, your sharp eyes softening the smallest amount. “Can I… do you need any help or… can I walk you to wherever it is you were going?” The soft look vanished as one eyebrow shot up, but before you could open your mouth to protest his forwardness, he continued. “I don’t mean to be forward, I only want to make sure that you’re truly not hurt. It seems the least that I can do after, well after,” he tilted his head towards the motorbike, a broken branch of leaves sticking in the spokes of the front wheel. “After I almost ran you down, Miss..?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him as you tried to decide what his intentions might be. I only want to make sure that I don’t leave my mark on your life like I do everywhere I go. Blowing out another breath through your nose as you fixed your sleeve, you told him your name, which he repeated in his mind immediately, not ignoring the fact that he liked the way it sounded. No, don’t start that now, that’s not why you’re here. “Um… no, I, er…” you nodded curtly. “I’m alright, John, and I need to be going now or I’ll be late to my study group. Just...just be more careful, and keep your tires on the road, will you?” With that, you turned and kept walking down the path you’d been on before he’d disrupted your day. 

“Excellent first impression on Oxford, Whittaker!” Phillip’s voice called from across the street, and John turned to see his friend ambling towards him with a laugh lifting his cheeks and lighting his face. “If you’re done running down students, why don’t you pull that heap of rubbish out of that bush and follow me, I’ll show you to the dormitories. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

A few days after moving into the dormitory hall, John decided to use the last remaining days before formal instruction began to familiarize himself with his new surroundings, striding out into the early autumn sunshine and strolling the paths. Not two minutes into his walk, he found you, walking the same path he’d run his vehicle up onto the day before. What are the odds? Wanting to ensure that you were still alright after what had happened, he crossed the road, waving one arm as he called your name. 

You turned, an unsure look on your face as your name hit your ear that vanished the second you saw him, replaced with a slightly exasperated expression. “Oh, it’s you, the motorbike man.” 

The motorbike man? He shook his head. Not important. “H-how are you? Are you still...are you alright?” He blinked as he looked you over, suddenly aware of the way that you were looking at him. Oh, she’s… 

“Yes, I’m alright.” You raised one hand towards the road. “No one has tried to run me down yet today, and since you’re here and your cycle is not, I presume that I’m safe. For now.” You nodded. “Now, If you’ll excuse me, I do have an appointment with my advisor and so-”

Oh! She’s a student? She- “So you… you study here then? You’re a student?” John’s eyes flicked from your face to the imposing structure that you were walking towards, its chimneys looming above the brick building. 

“Well aren’t you brilliant?” Your teasing answer came from the corner of your lips as you continued to walk along as though John wasn’t trying to have a conversation with you. 

Brilliant? That’s the last- “Brilliant? Oh, no, I think that-”  

“No?” Turning to face him, you brushed your hair back behind your ear, and John couldn’t help but notice the way that the skin at the corner of your eye scrunched as you looked over at him.  “You aren’t brilliant then?” 

Not if you ask- “Well, not if you ask-”   

Cutting him off, you adjusted the small stack of books that you were carrying. “I’m asking you, Jack, is it?” 

“It’s,” he gestured to himself. “It’s John, actually.” 

“Yes,” you winked at him. “That’s right. John. John Whittaker.” Yes, that’s me, she remem- “John Whittaker, the man who nearly knocked me off my feet with his motorbike just the other day.” You’d stopped walking, pausing at the corner to wait for a baker’s delivery truck to trundle slowly through the intersection. 

The smell of still warm, freshly baked loaves wafted through the air, reminding John that it had been nearly a full day since he’d eaten anything. His empty stomach rumbled loudly to confirm that, par for the course, nothing since he’d left home the previous day had gone as he had hoped it might. The echo of his mother’s words tumbled in his ear, but he shook his head to empty it, returning his attention to you. “That was...well it was…” The truck passed through the intersection, turning a corner, and you promptly began crossing the road. He stepped off of the curb, crossing just behind you. A cool breeze swept some leaves about your feet and ruffled the hem of your skirt, adding to the clipped click of your heels on the hard road. The image of you sprawled across the street, books strewn about and your elbows scraped flashed quickly through his mind, but he blinked it away. That’s not what happened, only what could have happened. A small frown pulled his lips downward as he thought about the trouble he’d almost caused with his carelessness. Catching up to you, he stepped onto the sidewalk at the same instant that you did, speaking your name with such earnest apology in his tone that you actually faced him with a hint of sympathy in your eyes. “I’m sorry. What happened yesterday was boorish of me and, well, well I only wanted to say that I’m glad that you weren’t hurt. And if there’s anything that-” 

“John.” You pressed your rouged lips together before letting them slide into a slight smile. It wasn’t a joyous expression, or one of surprised excitement, but it changed the light in your eyes, softened the hard outer shell that he suspected was necessary as a female student at Oxford. He wasn’t prepared, though, for the way that it felt to hear you speak his name and know that after it had left your lips, they curved into that small smile. A small breath escaped his lungs, and suddenly he felt much warmer than the autumn temperature should allow. “I was only teasing you. I know you didn’t mean to barrel through that crosswalk on that...thing of yours.” A short burst of air from your nose served as an amused little laugh and you shook your head, John watching as your lips curved upwards a little more. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You held up one finger, shifting your books in your arms. “Yet.” The smile turned smirkish as you turned and continued walking.

Instantly, the phantom guilt from what almost happened dissipated, and where he first felt uncertainty about where he stood with you, he was invigorated with new hope. For what? I’m not… I didn’t come all this way just to… It was even hard to think it, but he forced himself to, if for no other reason than that he deserved to give himself a fair chance at this endeavor, and not allow himself to fall quickly into something that would derail that chance. I didn’t come all this way just to replace Lari. Having passed, the thought that seemed difficult proved itself to be unnecessary as he realized that even though he’d not known you more than a collective twenty minutes, you were nothing like his ex-wife. “Well, I hope to continue that streak of having no need for apologies then.” 

“Is that so?” He nodded. “To what end?” 

“To what..? To what end? Well, to the end of…” Think, Whittaker, and fast. “Well perhaps to the end of studying together some time.” It sounded like a suggestion or a line and he knew it thought it truly wasn’t, but luckily your temporary suspension of teasing remained in place. 

“You want to study with me, John?” You raised an eyebrow as you began walking again. 

“Well, yes. I mean, that is to say, if you don’t-” 

“Do you even have any idea what courses I am here to study?” The smirk still hadn’t left your face and he was beginning to forget the way your tight frown looked in favor of this more relaxed demeanor. “Do you even have any idea of what courses you’re here to study?” 

“Well, of course I know what I’m here to study,” he answered quickly without actually answering. He confidently imagined you seated at a piano, and could almost hear the comments you would make on The Mona Lisa. Yes, Arts & Music, I’m almost certain. “And if I were to guess, I’d say that you are enrolled in the-”   

“Philosophy, actually,” you tossed your correction of his assumption over your shoulder, where it bounced with your curls and hit him smack in the face. His eyes grew even wider, mouth dropping open as yours scrunched to the side in a failed attempt to contain your burst of laughter. “Not at all what you were expecting, I presume.”  

John quickly shook his head, closing his gaping mouth and hurrying toward the sign post, grabbing onto it and swinging himself around so that he was next to you once more. “Not, not what I was expecting.” He pushed the loose strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face back over the crown of his head. “It's only that,” letting go of the sign post, he stuck both hands in his pockets and focused on keeping stride with you down the sidewalk. Since I can’t seem to keep stride with the conversation. 

You turned, raising one eyebrow and tilting your chin. “It’s only that?” Pausing long enough to make him sweat but not long enough to let him answer, you continued. “It’s only that women don’t-”  What? No, I… “It’s only that we should only be allowed to study certain-“ 

Once again, John scrambled ahead of you, his head shaking furiously from side to side. “No.” He gestured with his hands, crossing them in front of his body before sweeping them out to his sides, and while you had let out an exasperated breath, your eyes rolling as you did, he was glad to see the hint of a smile pulling at your lips again. That’s a relief. Come now, don’t mess it all up, John. “It’s only that Philosophy… well it sounds so,” Your smile turned slightly more amused as it climbed up into your cheeks as you started walking again. John followed closely at your heels. “Well It’s only that Philosophy sounds so dull.” He could tell that it was the wrong thing to say, yet nonetheless there the words hung in the crisp air.  

But before he could worry that he’d offended you yet again, you laughed, the sound light and clear. “Dull?” You asked, “tell me, sir,” it’s John, you know my name is J- “What is dull about learning how to think intelligently about the world in which we live?” 

I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I only meant-“ that you aren’t dull...you aren’t dull at all and-

“You only meant that-“ 

“I only meant,” John stepped around in front of you again, standing directly in your path. “That you don’t seem to be the type of person who likes to be told how to think.” 

You regarded him for a few seconds longer than you had yet to, and he could feel your eyes weighing his. “That is the first correct assumption that you’ve made about me so far, John Whittaker, and it is precisely why I choose to study the classics, the great thinkers.” John cocked his head to the side, brow wrinkling questioningly, not quite following your reasoning. “I want to know how others have looked at the world, so that I can look and form my own opinions. I want to…” You blew out a breath, shaking your head and finally breaking eye contact to stare at the buckle of your shoe as you scuffed the sole across the cobbled walkway. 

“You want to...what?” He dipped his chin to find your eyes again, bringing them back up with his own. 

“I,” But the rest of your sentence was drowned out by the tolling of enormous bells, announcing the hour. You gave a startled gasp, eyes widening. “I have to go, John or I’ll be late to meet with my advisor.” Chewing your lip, you hesitated before spinning away from him. “If you…” If I? You inhaled quickly and finished the rest with that breath. “If you’d really like to study together, meet me in the library tomorrow at two o’clock.” John felt his whole face lift as he nodded. “And John?” You started walking backwards, still looking at him but heading towards the building that he presumed your meeting was in. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t be late.” With that, you shook your head and laughed quietly, turning and picking up your pace, steps widening and quickening almost into a run. He stood on the cobbled pathway, students and other pedestrians milling about that he hadn’t noticed before, and watched as you disappeared through the brick archway. I won’t be. 

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.

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist for this story, and as always, THANK YOU for reading! 

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @malionnes​ @gollyderek​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @fific7​ @alraedesigns​ @pheedraws​ @valkblue​ @commanderlola​ @thesumofmychoices​

[something-tofightfor]

Love Letters #13

From: @the-blind-assassin-12​ and John Whittaker

To: @something-tofightfor​ 

(This one is a little different because it felt strange to write myself a love letter)

Full text: 

Darling - 

This is technically two letters in one, but I thought that you needed to see the first, too. I found it in the attic, from when Mother had my old things packed and stored. You may still doubt me and the way that I feel sometimes, but I hope this puts those feelings to rest. Come find me when you finish reading this - I’ll be in the greenhouse. 

All my love,

John

A trade? A trade as friends? If you only knew… I’ve half a mind to come back to your property and tell you exactly what I think… but I won’t. Instead, I’ll write it here as if I’m Hilda or Marion writing in their diary. I can’t deny you a trade - you know that, and took advantage of it, even though…even though I know damn well you didn’t do it on purpose, why did it have to be THAT? A kiss - your first and mine - and then nothing more, neither of us ever speaking of it again. 

We’ve been friends for years now, and things have changed - I feel it and I’m sure you do too, but your mother’s plans and my mother’s plans leave little room for us to stray, don’t they? But… friends? Is that what we are? What we’ll stay? Apparently. You’ll go and meet that cad, and I’ll… You’ll charm him, as you’ve charmed everyone you’ve met, and while any marriage wouldn’t happen for a while, our friendship will wane as you ease into your new life. We always thought it would be me that left you behind, but it’s the opposite.

What about me? What about us? As far as first kisses go, the only redeeming thing about that was that it was with you. I apologize for running, and it doesn’t matter because you won’t ever see this, but you need to know that it wasn’t because I was angry with you. I’m angry at myself for those two miserable excuses for… I could have done better. I should have done better. 

I will do better, next time, with you. It won’t be our first kiss, but the next? I’ll make sure it counts. 

[lostcosmos]

Doctor Who Flux | The Vanquishers

[kinglivv]

WWTDD?

13th Doctor x Reader

Summary: A brief moment at the British Hotel, the night between the last battle and the next.

Warnings: None

A/N: This is a short one, but I wasn't in the mood for anything action packed. This just felt like a nice moment in the midst of the chaos :)

When you finally catch her alone, it's outside the British Hotel. It's raining slightly, the kind of rain where you can't tell if you'll need an umbrella or not, and the moon's peaking through the clouds, casting a sad glow over the land. The wind is cool, but not cold, and her coat flaps around her legs, the only part of her in motion. She's leaning against the wooden hut, arms hugging herself, eyes closed against the moonlight. She's thinking.

"Hey."

"Hey." She replies quietly.

It's completely silent, which is surprising for a war zone. You kept expecting Sontarans to come ploughing over the hill at any moment.

"How are you?" You ask. It wasn't a question you asked normally, but it felt like the only thing to say.

"Dandy," she says, eyes opening, accent unusually thick. "There's a universe ending Flux just outside Earth's atmosphere, Sontaran's rewriting history, an army general who won't listen to me and Yaz and Dan are gone."

You sigh and come to stand next to her, shoulder to shoulder and head thunking against the wood.

"I've tried texting Yaz. Not hearing anything," you hope it offers something useful.

"Unsurprisingly."

"She'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"She literally has "What would the Doctor do?" written on her hand."

"What would the Doctor do?"

"Not whatever this is," you snort and step in front of her, hands coming to her arms and easing them away from her tense body. You wrap them around your waist and push a hand into her wavy hair.

"She'd take one day at a time." You tell her, "She'd deal with what's happening now, in this moment, just like she always has. Trust in the universe."

"The universe that's currently being eaten?"

She's gazing up at you, and even in the dark you can see her eyes sparkling.

"Travel hopefully - the universe will surprise you. You've said it yourself."

She leans in to capture your lips. A soft, deep kiss, the type you haven't had time for lately. She drags you in, clinging to you like you might disappear too, a desperate whine building in her throat. She's needed this, you realise - this contact, this grounding, after probably the most stressful two days of your lives. Or was it one day? You couldn't tell.

"We're going to be fine," you afirm breathlessly, before going in for another kiss. You can feel the tension leaking off her shoulders and being used like fuel for the spark between you. "There's always a way out."

There's a trickle of doubt in the Doctor's mind as she hears your words, but she pulls you closer and carries on kissing you anyway.

Taglist:@truthbehindthemysteries @queerconfusionthings @xenteaart @actuallyanita @ateliefloresdaprimavera @persephonehemingway @fabulous-jj-style @anteroom-of-death @thewinterpoet2

[aenslem]

take me with you take me with you

[incorrect-who]

Thirteen: We've been living together for so long I've forgotten who's the bad influence

Yaz: You

Ryan: You

Graham: You

Jack: You

Thirteen: Jack you don't even live here get out with your judgemental attitude

[casmybelovedass]

Me: The Doctor should have called the Master "Koschei" to distract him and escape... Cuz that's his real name... right?

Am I- no, I'm right, that's- is it? Am I- hold on

Me: *searches Master's real name to be sure*

... what

LORD VOLDEMORT WAS THE MASTER ALL ALONG????!!!!!

[its-my-little-dumpster-fire]

Also, how do you think John would react to a pregnancy scare? Is he ready for kids? Does he ever catch baby fever or is he like nah -_-

Ok. I was going to write something for this but we’re just gonna go HC style because it’s 8:30 and I am already in bed.

A pregnancy scare would be just that for John Townshend Whittaker. A SCARE.

Picture if you will: John is perched up at the round and clothed table where the Whittaker family takes their breakfast and their tea.

He’s smearing apricot jam over a moist crumpet and minding his own business when Veronica asks where his wife is.

“She’s unwell,” he states as sympathetically as he can, given the fact that he is still harboring a playful bitterness that his wife wouldn’t let him observe her condition closer -without that ridiculous and unnecessary nightgown in his way. (Ifyouknowwhatimean)

“That’s the third time this week,” Marion would point out, nose somehow inexplicably and simultaneously in a book and where it does not belong.

John would miss the subtle rise in her tone, because honestly, the girl is cursed with a monotonous tone and is the embodiment of a woman that should be seen, not heard.

Veronica wouldn’t. And her wheels would turn fast enough to nauseate anyone, with or without a womb.

“John...Have you done it?”

“It’s very likely, mother,” he’d respond, without a clue what his quip has meant to the self-presumed grandmother to be. “But for the sake of conversation, perhaps you could be specific.” A bite. A sip of tea. It’s just a normal day in John Whittaker’s little world, but across the table.

“Finally!” Veronica sighs, the subtlety sweet dusting of a grin pulling sourness from the corners of her mouth. “Surely, this one won’t be as homely as Hilda’s.”

“What one?”

“Poor thing takes after Geoffrey,” Marion would agree, glossing over John’s question.

“Who is so poor?”

“You were such a handsome little thing, John, there is no cause for concern,” Veronica would flag down Ferber, still ignoring her son and his increasingly confused expression. “Would you have some ginger sweets sent up to the new Mrs. Whittaker? And we’ll need to stock up on a few things-“

“What things?”

“Don’t worry, John. I’ll remind you that I survived carrying three Whittaker children. Your wife will have everything she needs.”

“She..?”

“For the pregnancy, John,” Veronica would blurt out with an eyeroll. “Please refrain from this odd little game of yours. Your wife will not appreciate it.”

And when I say HE GONE, I mean, zip zip zoom- John is using every inch of leg the good lord blessed him with until he is skidding into your bedroom with his hair a mess and his face white as the sheets you’re still curled up in.

“Darling?” He sounds terrified. This wasn’t the plan. He’s avoided the topic successfully and has taken solace in the fact that you’ve yet to bring it up to him. The wedding was rushed, the start of the relationship rocky. When would he have casually mentioned that fatherhood terrifies him to no end?? When you were all sorts of tangled up in him in Italy? When you were cursing him for making decisions about where you’d live without consulting you? When you were nearly bare before a crowd of strangers on that beach in France? THERE SIMPLY WAS NOT A GOOD TIME. Not when John could be kissing you instead.

You sound miserable in response and it only worries him more. Surely his mother would know better than he the early signs of a woman fallen pregnant, but still there is a spark of hope. He only has you now because of a misunderstanding. Perhaps this is another fortuitous mistake - not that your marriage was a mistake! Or his child! Potential child! Not a mistake! He hates this. Hates every thought running rampant through his body.

He asks so gingerly, unable to wait another moment in this agonizing state of confusion. John is instantly soothed at your indignant shriek.

“COME AGAIN?!?!”

Without clarifying, John would dive back into bed with you. With considerable effort, he’d coax you back down so that he could lay against you, holding you close without another living thing between you, just you and him, the way it was meant to be.

So finally, after you’ve had enough of his coddling to ask where the hell he got that idea, John would explain and you would laugh. How could you not?

“John...” you’d sigh and his nose would just burrow deeper into the crook of your neck, while your hands carded through the hair at the back of his head. “I don’t possess the time or energy to give another Whittaker the attention you require.”

Some part of him that doesn’t want to be compared to a child is protesting the statement. But a much larger part of John Whittaker feels nothing, but relief. He is absolutely content to hoard your affections all for himself. With his kisses reserved only for you. Perhaps he is simply too young and selfish to think of anything else, but lying with his head on your chest and your lips against his brow, John is resigned to a life of selfishly loving you and only you.

“If you stay like this, you’ll be bed ridden by tomorrow,” you’d warn him.

John would rise slowly and just when you think you’ve convinced him to leave, to save himself, he’d collapse again. This time, trapping you with his elbows on your pillow, keeping you beneath him as warm kisses are dropped all over your cheeks, chin, nose, eyelids, until finally square on the lips. He wouldn’t relent even with your squirming, lips parting to chuckle before going in for more.

“Keep me here with you,” he’d entreat, uncaring if he fell ill. “Even green, you are my favorite company,” he’d smile, tweaking your nose before another kiss and removing himself from bed to strip and slide back under the covers with you.

Admittedly, you felt better than you had in days and having John’s arms wrapped around you was one of the most soothing remedies. However, John’s kisses persisted and while it was impossible to deny him, your mind drifted back to a weekend with Hilda, wherein John lay prone and weeping for you in one of her guest beds. No more Whittakers, you resolved... you already had your hands quite full.

[something-tofightfor]

I am so in on this one. All the way in.

Slow dancing with him? Drinking with him? Friends for years? Those eyes? That smile? His sister disapproving? Sarah who?

Moremoremoremoremoremoremore

‘Deed I Do

as @something-tofightfor pointed out….it’s later in the week. technically, as last as I could get it before missing my promised deadline. SO. Intro time.

WC: 983

The music was loud and the room spun with you, as crisp gin and an early summer evening inspired more dancing than you’d done in months. Hilda Whittaker would soon be married and while she lamented the distance between her and her lover, scorned her father for being absent from the celebrations, and hysterically cried against Marion’s shoulder, you’d found entertainment of a different sort. What was once a respectable dinner banquet hosted in Hilda’s honor had dissolved in the late hour to a few of her school friends lingering on heirloom couches in the Whittaker family sitting room, two or three young gentlemen attempting to swindle each other at the Billiard’s table, while elder couples were tucked away in cars headed home or in one of the Whittaker’s guest rooms. It seemed the evening was being swallowed up little by little as another goodnight and goodbye was whispered. However your energy was only matched by John Whittaker’s, who’d yet to turn you down for a dance.

Keep reading

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Let’s Face the Music & Dance - intro

A/N: Oh. Hi friends. Don’t mind me just sliding in here a day late with this debut because I was in a beer and taco induced slumber celebrating my birthday like an old person last night. But! Here we are! And here comes my latest train wreck! I have been working on this one for a long time now, and I am super excited about it. At this point I have a fair amount written, and I plan on it being 8 parts, with a new part posting every Friday. The title for this one, as well as the titles for each chapter come from the song of the same name, of which there have been MANY versions. (I happen to like the Jeff Goldblum and the Mildred Snitzer Orchestra version the best) And like with Oblivion, the chapters will each be based around a Shakespeare quote from the play Much Ado About Nothing. Anyway, I’m super nervous about writing John so I’ll shut up now. Here it is: 

Word Count: 1,573

“So that’s…” the outrage that quickly flared up having burned away, his tone sounded more deflated than he’d wanted it to, but closer to how he felt. “That’s it then, it’s…” I don’t have a say. I never did. “It’s decided.” 

“Yes.” An incredulous scoff followed the single shrill syllable. His mother gestured with the hand that she had just clapped to her forehead in a display of dramatics, splaying her fingers and dropping her whole arm to her side.  “Of course it’s decided, it’s the best option- no, the only option- that we have left now, thanks to you.” 

John winced at the unbridled venom in Veronica’s voice. Mild disappointment was something that he’d gotten quite used to hearing from her over the years, exasperation, too. In fact, for a time it had become a form of entertainment to him, and even Hilda, to try to see how many of their mother’s buttons they could push before she lost her composure completely. She was impossible to please entirely, that much had been made clear to the two younger Whittaker children at an early age. Marion was far too close a copy of her mother to find John and Hilda’s games to be anything but a childish nuisance. When she received her share of motherly criticism, she didn’t casually laugh it off or slink away to sulk, but immediately internalized the complaint and set to work on beating the offending habit out of herself like dust from a rug. Either Marion was too stubborn to quit, or too simple minded to see that she was exhausting herself over a losing race, but John knew the truth- Veronica Whittaker- that won’t be her name soon- was happiest when she was unhappily expressing her displeasure. And she isn’t pulling punches...at all. Sinking slowly into the cushions of the settee that he’d hopped, flopped, crashed and bounded into for most of his life, John realized that for the first time, he was truly hurt by the things that she was saying. 

Veronica let out another scoff as she spun away from her only son to grip the window frame, looking forlornly out over the estate as men worked to move fence posts to delineate new property lines. “Oh, come now John, you must know that you are the reason that we are in this particular circle of disgrace.”

What? Though she’d never laid a hand on her children, Veronica’s words packed all the sting of a slap, and John felt it square across the face. The Whittaker name had certainly taken several hits of late, that was no secret. When the patriarch of the family takes a few years too long to return home from war, people take notice. When a once illustrious estate has dwindled to a sparse staff and an entire unused wing to cut down on heating costs, well, of course people notice. And when the prodigal son returns from his frivolous travels with an American wife… Larita’s picture perfect smile as she broke his heart and walked out of his life filled his mind then, and though he’d come a long way from the wallowing misery of the first few weeks without her, he still felt a sharp pain twisting in his chest at the reminder of his marriage’s failure. 

“You brought divorce,” she whispered the scandalous word despite the fact that it was just the two of them, her thin eyebrows jumping high into her carefully pinned hair, face pinching as though the word tasted sour, “into this house, not once, but twice!” Twice. So I’m to blame for- 

“Twice?!” He felt the words spilling out of his mouth as soon as his mind manufactured them. “So I’m to blame for your divorce as well then?” Oh. I didn’t mean to say… Veronica gasped and John’s lips twitched into an even deeper frown. Can I ever keep my foot out of my mouth? Though she’d hurt him with her accusation, it had never been part of his game to trade barbs and he immediately felt remorse for stirring an already rapidly boiling pot. 

“You brought that, that...that harlot into our lives, John!” She clutched her shawl more tightly around herself with her newly ringless left hand. Harlot? Surely Lari’s reputation wasn’t that bad. “You let your...your galavanting get in the way of what was best for this family when you married that woman.” Galavanting? I wasn’t- “She tried to poison your sweet sisters’ minds with her...her treachery.” Oh... now she’s really on a tear. “She ruined you, John, ruined your credibility and your status, and she destroyed me when she took your father aw-”

“She didn’t take him away.” His voice wavered and his upper lip curled slightly as he stood. He could feel the prickling of tears gathering in his eyes and he inwardly cursed how easily any strong emotion caused that reaction in him. Swallowing them before they could flow, he continued, looking straight into his mother’s still appalled expression. “He left this family long before Larita set foot on these grounds and I-” and I what? He sniffed, dragging the cuff of his sweater under one eye. “That wasn’t on her.” 

That twisting in his chest tightened another notch as he realized that it wasn’t his mother’s comments about his ex-wife that bothered him the most, but that she seemed incapable of seeing that he’d never had anything but the best intentions for the family. And now I’ll never get to prove it...never get to show her that I can...I can help get us back to...or at least… He sighed, running one hand back through his hair to ruffle it. Instinctively, Veronica clicked her tongue as an unruly strand fell down over his eye. Yes, because it’s important that everything is always in its place… and I guess I know mine now.  

“John.” She bit his name with a little whispered shuffle stomp of her foot. “This is not open for discussion. Hilda and her new husband will inherit the estate. You will not. It doesn’t matter whatever ridiculous plan you’ve come up with this time.” It isn’t ridiculous, I’ve- 

He stepped forward, as though someone else was in charge of his movements. “It isn’t ridiculous, I’ve decided to go to University to-”  

“University!” She topped the shrillness she’d used at the onset of the conversation like an audible bookend. “John. Where are you going to get the money to- No! No.” She shut her eyes and blew out a long breath before blinking them open again. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear it. Hilda and Walter will inherit what is left of the estate after their wedding, and I won’t hear another word from you about it. And if you cannot keep from finding a way to foil this chance that we were so fortunate to fall into, then I will have no choice but to keep you from attending any and all wedding related events.” But! “But nothing! Do I make myself clear, John?” 

Crystal. “Yes…” he cleared his throat to bolster the volume of his voice. “Yes. Very clear. I’ll… be on my best behavior.” His teeth clenched tightly around the last two words before turning on his heel and heading for the drawing room door. “I’ll see you at the engagement party.” 

He could still hear her sputtering as she called his name, but he didn’t turn back, walking out into the hallway, where his sisters’ head poked out of another door, Marions brunette curls stacked atop Hilda’s blonde ones. “John?” Her round eyes grew even wider as she hurried towards him, but Marion stayed put, watching with one eyebrow raised. “John, wait, just-” Hilda reached out and grasped his elbow, her fingernail catching on the knit of his sweater. With a sigh, he stopped and faced her, and she looked even younger and more impressionable than normal. “John, I’m...I’m sorry, I didn’t want this to...don’t want you to-” 

Though he was still shell shocked and hurt from the news and the way that it had been delivered, he shoved that away and softened immediately, leaning in to leave a quick peck on his sister’s cheek. “I know, Hilda. It’s alright. If you’re happy with Walter then I am thrilled for you. Don’t worry, little blister.” He winked and she nodded with a smile at the use of the nickname that used to send her running and squealing to tattle on him to their father. “I’ll be here for every part of your wedding, I promise.” 

“Well...good. But,” she shook her head, her curls bouncing around her red cheeks. “Where are you going? Where will you-” 

He winked again. “Father never did come back for his motorbike, did he?” Hilda’s eyes widened once more, but this time she smiled conspiratorially the same way she used to when they were children and they’d team up to bother Marion or their mother or both of them. “I’ll see you next month, Hilda.” 

With that, she dropped her hand from his arm and he continued out the front door and towards the barn. Can’t say he didn’t leave me a way out, too. 

But John wasn’t planning on running off to America or Monaco or anywhere else. I’ll show her that she’s wrong. About me, about the estate… I’ll show myself I was right, too. 

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i have no clue who wants in on this one so i’m guessing. if you would like to be added or removed please let me know! thank you for reading! 

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @malionnes​ @gollyderek​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @fific7​ @alraedesigns​ @pheedraws​ @valkblue​ @russobill​ @commanderlola​ @thesumofmychoices​

[something-tofightfor]

November Drabble Event

Current as of 12/15/2019

A collection of all of the drabbles that were requested and written based on this list of Five Word Prompts

This will be updated as I finish the ones that I have already received. 

Ben Barnes:

Call me now, it’s urgent

Just make sure you’ve eaten / Rise and shine [sweetheart]

Benjamin Greene 

I said I love you

Billy Russo:

Time passes slower without you

 Actually, I just miss you / You can’t be here now 

Kick his ass for me / Zero fucks given, next please / I said I love you

You know who to call 

I said I love you

John Whittaker: 

You’re just so, so stupid

King Caspian: 

And then everything just disappears

Please don’t leave me alone

Logan Delos: 

You know who to call / Actually, I just miss you

You can’t be here now

People lie all the time

Just don’t fuck it up / So, did you miss me?

Fight me, you attractive stranger / The fuck? Who are you? 

Ryan Brenner: 

It’s just a cut, really 

So what, you did it?

Samuel Adams: 

For once, I was wrong

[just-here-for-the-moment]

7 x 7 - List 7 of your comfort movies and tag 7 people

This is where I copy and paste my answers and start a new thread, because reblogging a list of text 3 miles long gives me a headache.

I got tagged by @quica-quica-quica AND @pintsizemama AND @dihra-vesa for this one! I'm gonna be sore tomorrow...

The Thing (1982) Love it, love it, love it. Watch it every Halloween and again earlier in the year.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) When I don't know what I feel like watching I always turn this on. It's just actiony and I don't have to use my brain and I get to watch Chris Evans being all beefy and charming.

Rebecca (1940) Super creepy film adaptation of the novel by Daphne du Maurier, and it was Alfred Hitchcock's first American film. Gothic and creepy and just... ugh, I get shivers just thinking about it. So great!

The Muppets Take Manhattan (1984) Because, you know, child of the 80s. And this one has the imaginary flashback to the Muppet Babies that spawned the cartoon, which was also awesome. (And I'm going to sneak an extra in here and tell you to also go watch The Great Muppet Caper from 1981, too! Because it's the perfect double-feature for a day when you're stuck in bed with the flu.)

Clue (1985) Because it's Clue. Just go watch it again. You probably already have it memorized. "One plus two plus one plus one, not one plus one plus two plus one..."

Hard Boiled (1992) An early John Woo feature when he was making his name in Hong Kong cinema. Cheesy, early 90s, so many bullets and explosions and coreographed fights and just so, so, so good. I love it. And c'mon, Chow Yun-Fat? So cute in this movie!

Valley Girl (1983) I hate Nicolas Cage SO MUCH and this is one of only 2 movies of his I will watch, because he's a baby here, he's not the annoying "Nicolas Cage" of today yet. A slumber party staple of the 80s/90s, from the dinosaur days when you would have to go rent VHS tapes. Fun fact: the French Maid from Clue is the same actress as the hippie mom in Valley Girl, Colleen Camp! She's a fucking chameleon. You wouldn't ever guess it's the same lady. (I'm going to sneak another one in here and tell you to watch it in a double feature with Fast Times at Ridgemont High from 1982 to get the full 80s high school experience. And in that movie Nicolas Cage shows up in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it role as a nameless punk antagonizing Forrest Whittaker the football player.)

No pressure tags: @1800-fight-me @honestly-shite @oberynmfmartellman @the-ginger-hedge-witch @writeforfandoms @anxiousandboujee @babiiface95