university bent

Hell Bent AU? What if an echo of Clara Oswald was a Time Lady on Gallifrey trying her best to save her Doctor?

This is obviously my attempt at a photo manipulation. I saw Town and Country’s beautiful picture of Jenna in red and thought she looked just like a Time Lord (er…Time Lady). So, I imagined the “impossible girl” in a standoff on Gallifrey. The photo may be a bit rough around the edges, but I think it came out alright.

I wish I had the talent to write fan fiction. Maybe some creative types could write an exciting story using this scenario.

| Silent | Bakugou Katsuki

A/N: Uh….shut up.

*Soulmate Au - the first words your soulmate speaks to you written on your body

You hated him.

Alright, maybe that was a bit of a misunderstanding. You didn’t hate him.

You despised him.

You’d never even had a proper conversation with the angry blonde, but what you saw from far off dismissed the possibility of that ever happening anyway. Prideful, hot headed, did you need to go further? Not to mention the way he treated one of your most trusted friends - the one who was currently tugging hard at your sleeve.

“Y/N,” Narrowed eyes peeked at you from underneath the mass of stray curls. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry, Midoriya,” You sighed, angrily stuffing a mouthful of rice between your lips. “He just…he just pisses me off, that’s all.”

“Who?” Midoriya blinked, only to be interrupted by the snicker coming from Uraraka.

“Why Bakugou of course,” She waved her chopsticks at you teasingly. “He’s all Y/N ever has eyes for anyway.”

What?” You echoed along with Midoriya, though the latter looked like he was going to vomit at the thought, shaking. 

“I do not!” You continued, gritting your teeth. At the innocent look she gave you your control wavered, the chopsticks in your hand snapping in two. Iida ducked so as to not get his eye gouged out. 

“Ah, here he comes,” Midoriya laughed nervously, already blocking you with one hand so that you would not attack the brunette. You paused your growling at Uraraka and stopped pushing, turning your head to see what he was talking about.

“Oh,” You groaned. “Speak of the devil.”

Bakugou had apparently just come out of the line, and you were perplexed with the lack of spiky red hair that was usually around him. It was by sheer chance that the two of you made eye contact as he made his way past the table.

He scowled heavily, an expression you returned with twice the force. He seemed to be taken by surprise at your brashness but recovered in less than a second, cold crimson eyes narrowing. As he approached you steeled your nerves, ready to make a comeback for whatever he threw your way. 

A hand slammed onto the table, a smirk growing sharp and wide on his face. You made to ris-

“You wanna fight, little girl?!” 

Everything froze.

Anything that you had planned to say fell on a dry tongue, and you found yourself unable to breathe, staring back at those tunneling red eyes.


No no no. Not him. It couldn’t be.

And yet the burning sensation on your hip suggested otherwise.

Bakugou frowned at your lack of response before deciding you weren’t worth his time, leaning back.

“Whatever,” He said gruffly. You could only watch as he walked away.

There was a beat of silence, and then your friends were upon you.

“What the hell was that?” “Why didn’t you say anything?!” “Are you ok-?”

But they were all blurred out, the only thought blaring in your skull making you sit down abruptly, digging your fingers into your head. 

Out of everyone, that bastard is my soulmate.

After that revelation, you had had ample time to calm down.

It was fine. All was okay. Sure, he had spoken, but you hadn’t replied. Which meant that while you knew he was your soulmate - the words written on your skin from your birth scalding hot the rest of the day, your fingers inching towards them instinctively - he certainly had no idea.

And by hell you would never let him know.


This was proving to be… harder than you thought. 

It was as if now that you knew, the universe was bent on drawing the two of you together. Awkwardly exiting the changing rooms at the same time, being picked as partners in training, seeing him more often around the campus than you regularly would have - need you provide any more examples? You had now lost count of how many times your eyes had met his.

Thankfully nothing came out of those meetings. You would look away, refuse to utter a single word to him, abscond if you even sensed the mere presence of the student. It was hard, almost impossible even, but you were sure you could do it, keep up the act. 

Although…how long could you? Until when? Until you graduated? That was both impractical and even more off-putting. Nevertheless, one thing was for certain. If you had the drive to become a hero, you could do this. This was easy. You could do this.

Or at least, you would have been able to, if a certain blonde hadn’t seen your act a mile away.


You jerked as your conversation was interrupted by a shadow in-front of your desk. Your mouth shut on instinct as you let your eyes climb up and up the form, all the way to the spiky tips of that sand-coloured hair.

“Courtyard. Ten minutes.”  That was all he said before a ‘tsk’ exited him and he sauntered off. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, looking away to avoid the incredulous stare of your friend. 

When the bell rung for the end of the day you sprung up as if your shoes were on fire, grabbing your bag. The question was, of course, if you were going .

Oh hell no.

Were you crazy? You were trying to avoid the guy, not talk about the freaking weather with him after school. The thought of what he could possibly want to talk about with you anyway pricked at your curiousity but you brushed it off. Not even slightly worth it. You had a sense of self-preservation thank you very much.

You followed the crowd out of the door, walking quickly to the exit. He would likely give you a heck of a hard time the next day but you could handle-

A hand on your shoulder.

You barely had the time to react before you were being pulled, so sudden that you tripped over your feet as the world sped past you. The breath was painfully forced out of your lungs as you were slammed against a wall. Adrenaline kicked into your system, and all that hero training ingrained into your very DNA made you jam your elbow up into your assailant’s stomach. A gasp was heard and you took advantage of the loosened grip to take in very much needed air yourself, fist rearing to ram into their jaw-


You were stopped in a second, a hand - bigger than yours, uncomfortably warm - catching your fist, pinning your arm to the wall harshly. You struggled, mouth opening to scream-

A palm slapped over your lips.

“Calm down,” The tone, dripping with anger, made you want to do anything but. The palm pushed harder and you hesitated, logic weaving through the chaotic fog in your mind as you recognized the voice. When you finally stopped wriggling around, the crushing hold on your wrist managed to lessen to the point that you didn’t feel like it was going to break bone.

Bakugou stared down at you, eyebrows furrowed into a - quite honestly - terrifying glare, his upper lip curled and showing teeth. His entire body was rigid, tense, like he was ready to snap at any given moment.

“Glad to know you were planning to run away,” His lips turned up at the edges into a mocking smirk. Your breath hitched, a heat flushing up your neck at his proximity. “Promise you won’t scream?” He asked with clearly fake sympathy, and your only response was to harden your eyes. He removed his hand from over your mouth anyway. 

You swept your gaze over your surroundings. Tile. Mirror. Sinks. He had pulled you into the bathroom. 

“Now I think we need to have a talk, you and I,” He drawled, and you pressed further back into the wall to make more space in between the two of you. He chuckled at the attempt, a low, sardonic sound that sent shivers down your spine. 

You refused to let a single sound leave you, dropping your attention to the floor. When it was clear you weren’t going to answer, he growled, losing whatever composure he had gathered.

“That. Exactly that. You’re wearing my patience thin,” He twitched. “Avoiding me I could take. Like I could care less about a brat like you. But then, I noticed. Did you think I wouldn’t? Wouldn’t see that you didn’t let out a single word when you were with me?”

You swallowed, becoming increasingly aware of the body pressing yours into the wall as he leaned closer. “Why? Do you think you’re that above me to not even speak? What gives you the right?

You were walking a thin line. You were walking a thin line and you knew it but you continued to only look at him defiantly, even going as far as to raise your eyebrows. 

The shadows of his bangs blocked his eyes for a moment and he laughed, the hand next to your head on the wall digging fingers in, making you stiffen. You knew what that hand was capable of.

“I could hurt you,” Bakugou shook physically, and it was times like this you really wondered about the sanity of the young hero. Tension rolled in the air and underneath your bones, your heart pounding hard at your chest. “I could really hurt you.”

Time ticked by, precious time, each second seeming to go with the beat of your heart, until he finally let you go, stepping back. “Go.” 

You wasted no time, making your way around him to the doorway. You winced at the soreness in your wrists, pursing your lips together in frustration. That would definitely bruise later.

“Brat,” You heard him mutter from behind you.

And. You. Snapped.

It wasn’t anything major. Surely not as bad as his previous comments had been. But you supposed the phrase ‘the stick that broke the camel’s back’ was more true than you’d ever thought it was, because you absolutely cracked.

“Do me a favour and get over yourself, you piece of crap,” You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, voice echoing in the silent room. By this time any commotion outside had faded, most, if not all, the students having already exited the building.

You weren’t aware of what you’d done, still simmering, but it was only when Bakugou stopped dead, eyes wide, that you realized your mistake.


“You,” He breathed, strangely unguarded, the most shocked you’d ever seen him. It was quiet, almost a whisper. “What did you just say?”


“Nothing,” You said quickly, backing up. The awe shifted on his face, turning into something you couldn’t read. “I uh, I have to go-”

You blinked and he was walking towards you, steps so daunting you couldn’t move if you tried. Where had all your confidence gone? You tried desperately to regain it, lifting your hand in an attempt to stop him.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I just-” You babbled.

“’Sorry’?” He asked, brows crinkling together in confusion. “Why are you..?” Realization slowly crawled across his expression, and you wished you had never said anything, god why had you said anything. His realization melted into rage.

“You knew?” He said, and it was more of a statement then a question. “You knew.”

“I can explain-”

“How long?” He asked. You didn’t reply, and then you were against the wall again, and he was gripping your collar. “How long?!”

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to stop trembling. “…Since the cafeteria.”

“The cafeteria?” He asked, and it was a bit hysterical. “Three weeks. That was three weeks ago. That’s three whole weeks you knew?!”

“I-” Your tongue was lead, sticking to the bottom of your jaw, an invisible ball in your throat. Literal steam was coming off of him, his teeth gritted and scraping.

“Show me.”

“Huh?” He couldn’t be asking that. He couldn’t be, please don’t be-

“I said. Show. Me.”

You were like a leaf in his hands. “O-Only if you show me yours.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “This isn’t a negotiation. Do it now or so help me.”

A bead of sweat slipped down your neck. Bastard. You slowly let your hand drift to your shirt, pulling up the edge slightly to just barely reveal the words imprinted on your hip. Bakugou followed your movement before becoming impatient, grabbing your hand and wrenching it from the spot.


“Shut up,” He growled, the vibration running straight through you. He lifted the fabric of your shirt himself, higher than you had, exposing more. His thumb, coarse, weathered from years of explosions and fire, slowly ran across the skin. It traced the letters, his letters, drawing goosebumps.

He was so close now. Too close. You could feel his breath on your neck, see a blurred piece of his cheek in your centered vision. 

“So its true,” He muttered, as if confirming to himself. His thumb dipped dangerously close to the lining of your skirt, tugging it down just barely to see the last curling letter of the sentence in your flesh. Every touch burnt and stirred unwanted feelings in your gut and oh god.

Yes,” You hissed, teeth biting your lip so hard the taste of iron blossomed on your tongue. “Now back off.”

“Why?” He asked, and red flags were raising as his nose nuzzled into your neck. His question was laced with sadistic humor, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “When I finally found you?”

You couldn’t reply, too caught up in the jagged teeth grazing along your collarbone. He used the hand on your hip to tug you closer, so that there was virtually no space between your bodies. 

“Say it again.”

“What?” You managed to get out, your senses reeling, your thoughts jumbled as his fingers traced sinful patterns on your skin.

“I said,” He raised his head, pinning you in place with that gaze. “Say it again. Tell me to back off.”

You opened your mouth but nothing came through, only a ragged breath. 

“S-show me,” You finally said. It wasn’t what you should have said, it wasn’t even close, but you were itching to see it, see your words branded on him, a physical need that had you in a frenzy. Your voice strengthened, and you swore you almost sounded animalistic. “Show me your mark.”

Bakugou scoffed, unoccupied hand finding its way to the back of your head. “So persistent.” He buried his hand into your hair, ignoring your shock.

“We’ll have time for that later.”

And with that he slanted his lips against yours roughly, unraveling you at the seams. 


Piece by Piece #1

There was a certain mourning throughout the castle of lions after a huge battle on the planet XER-167. They had all landed and there was a silence over the comms as all of the paladins made their way to the clearing in the centre of the lions. All but one, Lance was gone. They had searched for him for hours, hunk stayed in the blue lion in case he came back, but the others went and searched. It wasn’t until the 3 moons were high in the sky did coran call them back to the castle with an urgent message.

“Greetings paladins.” Coran welcomed them all into the meeting but wore a look of distress. “We’ve received a video message from the galra.” He looked away from them all.

“It’s lance, they’ve captured him.”

A wave of gasps fell over the group. And Shiro stepped forward. “Let us see the video.”

“Shiro, perhaps you’d like to view this on your own before with everyone.” Allura cautioned, stepping up to the black paladin.

“We’re a team, more importantly we’re a family and one of our family members is gone, we all have equal rights to know what happened.” He said, calmly. Everyone nodded in agreement and Coran and Allura shared a glance. The princess nodded and Coran pulled up a holo-screen. Lance was sitting on a chair, blind folded. There was a loud crash and he looked up, glancing around, trying desperately to see. He scowled.

“Who’s there?” There was a sense of demand in his voice and Shiro felt slightly proud of the mans bravery. “Show yourself.”

“Shut it.” A cool voice rang through the speakers.

“Lotor!” The blue paladin hissed. “I’m far from surprised, I thought it smelled like rat!”

The lanky galran stepped onto camera, it shifted from Lance so the paladin was no longer on screen. “It’s a new cologne, I’m touched that you noticed.” He spat, turning to the camera. “Greetings, paladins.” He smiled at the screen.

“Are they here? Go away! Don’t trust him!” Lances voice tried desperately to warn his friends, who he thought were in the room. “Get out while you can!”

Lotor rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers and there was the sound of electrical currents and Lance shrieking in pain followed by heavy breaths. Everyone in the room watching the video gasped and Hunk and Allura covered their mouths. Keith’s mouth hung open in surprise.

“As I was saying, my salutations.” He pushed a stray hair behind his ear and continued. “As you can see, I have your Comrade here with me, what was it? Lance?” He turned to the blue paladin who remained off screen and there was the sound of someone spitting and a visible drop of saliva shot at Lotors face. He sighed and wiped his face, snapping his fingers again and again there was an electrical shock to the blue paladin, and again a shriek of agony. “Lance.” He confirmed and paused, looking back at the camera. “You can have him back when you bring me voltron, all 5 lions, for one defender of the universe.” He bent over slightly to pick up something, it was revealed to be a sharp piece of metal. “For every day that passes, he will be put through excruciating torture.” He clicked his tongue and tested the dullness of the knife. “a shame really, he is quite pretty.”

“Don’t… don’t give him the lions!” Lance was breathless, trying to plead with his family, lotor let it slide.

“Tick tock paladins,” he smiled at the camera, looking directly into it, his hand raised above his head and flew down into something off screen, thunking into what sounded like flesh. Lance screamed loud enough to make someone go deaf and lotor just let himself smile bigger. “The countdown is on.”

The screen died and all of the paladins had crowded closer to the screen, hunk had ended up with Keith brushing shoulders with him, pidge was hugging Shiro and Allura was right next to all of them. The black paladins face was pale and he looked as if we’d seen a ghost. “We need to give him the lions.”

“Shiro are you crazy?” Allura’s voice was sharp and she turned to him. “We can’t just-”

“They’ll kill him.” He turned to her and his eyes were sharp. “I know what they do to people, Allura, Lance won’t survive, I barely did. It’s… it’s sick, the things they do for answers.” He closed his eyes tight and let himself hug pidge tighter. “They’ll kill him.” His voice cracked and all paladins looked to him, Shiro was always so certain and strong, this was new, the crack in his tone made them all uneasy, even Shiro wasn’t sure if they’d get their friend back.

And that was terrifying.

…to be continued…


closed starter | @zukocrownprinceofthefirenation

“You transferred to my school this year and I have been showing you around for the past few weeks. We get along really well and my friends think you and I are dating… and I’m not against the idea.”

Katara Sulik was new in town— a point everyone at Western Pacific University was bent on remembering. The New Girl. The Hawaiin Girl. The Super Smart Girl. At every nickname, she’d turn around and snap, “Hawaii isn’t a foreign country and I have a name, Katara.

No one seemed to care about her reminders; the dorms were filled with whispers no matter what she said. 

‘I heard her mom was murdered.’ 
‘I heard she’s an orphan.’ 
‘I heard her brother went to jail.’ 
‘I heard…’

Fact would have it that her mother died in a hit and run. Her father was very much alive, but very much absent— two year tours in Iraq, six months home, a trip to Europe— grief did that a person. Her brother had never been to jail, not yet, but he was arrested last year for protesting at Pearl Harbor. That’d been the reason Katara moved. She couldn’t take it anymore. 

At only nineteen, she was the parent. She’d saved Sokka’s ass more times than she could count, carried the burdens of her friends for so long she’d forgotten her own needs, she’d been her mother. She was tired. She was bitter. She was being selfish. 

But on they went, I heard. I heard. I heard. 

Katara rolled her eyes for the thousandth time that day, dodging looks in the hall as she followed her companion to his single room.

Zuko Hiroku. She hardly knew him. He didn’t talk much. He blushed a lot, especially around her. Yet, she liked him. He’d been the only one to forget any assumptions about her and just let her be…. her. She could appreciate that. 

So, his statement made her cringe a little— rumors were the last reason she’d want to jump in a relationship with anyone, considering her last boyfriend and how long that’d drug on simply because everyone else thought they were meant for each other. 

“Who, exactly, are these friends of yours?” Katara tried to hide her annoyance, but she was likely failing. “And how stupid are they to just assume you’re dating ‘The New Girl’ when said girl has only been around for six weeks?”

Quiet; Prologue

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy Thirst Party Saturday, everyone! Been working on this prologue for a little bit. Tagging our usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, @hardcorewwetrash and @writergrrrl29. Enjoy!

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Just let me appreciate Moffat’s book ends for a little longer

Still can’t get over how well Clara Oswald’s book ends were set up in Hell Bent. It could be tied back to all these:

  • 11th/Clara era’s:Run you clever boy and remember me.” (Asylum of the Daleks, The Snowman, The Bells of Saint John, The Name of the Doctor, Hell Bent)
  • 11th/Clara/12th era’s: “Be a Doctor.” (The Name of the Doctor, The Day of the Doctor, The Whole Series 8, Face the Raven, Heaven Sent, Hell Bent)
  • 12th/Clara era’s: “Just see me” / ”If I met her again, I would absolutely know.” (Deep Breath, Hell Bent)
  • 12th/Clara era’s: “Do you happen to know how to fly this thing? / Clara gets her own TARDIS and flies it like she is born to it. (The Time of the Doctor, Hell Bent)
  • 12th/Clara era’s: “I’m not your boyfriend.” / “I have a duty of care.” (Deep Breath, Hell Bent)
  • Clara Oswald: Short cut! / “Gallifrey, the long way round.” (The Snowman, Hell Bent)
  • Clara Oswald: “I don’t believe in ghosts.” / “Time isn’t healing. I am still frozen.” (The Bells of Saint John, Hell Bent)
  • Clara’s portraits (The Bells of Saint John, Face the Raven, Heaven Sent, Hell Bent)
  • Songs: Carmen, Clara’s theme. (Asylum of the Daleks, Hell Bent)
  • The Doctor is finding Clara: (The Snowman, The Bells of Saint John, Hell Bent)
  • The Doctor/Clara, the ultimate mirror-self: Stealing a TARDIS and running away.
Gender bender au

@madd-catter it’s always gonna feel like the artist is doing all the work when it comes to anything because damn art is hard and artists are basically gods descended to earth but I wanted to do something for this thing that popped out of me being lazy with my knitting. What I contribute will never be equal to the cool art you put out but I thought I’d come up with some ideas and make an outline of sorts.

Check out the drawings she did by the way:

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anonymous asked:

What do you think Jem's first thoughts were when he realised he wasn't a silent brother anymore?

It was pain at first. His nerves ached like every one had been set alight and left to burn down to blackened candle wicks. He lay in the dark and he hurt. He hadn’t hurt like this in a very long time. He shouldn’t hurt like this. His body couldn’t hurt like this. There had been heat or fire or light but a Silent Brother’s body wasn’t capable of this kind of pain. He shifted in the bed and the muscles shrieked. 

It was impossible. 

And yet, he ached and burned and hurt. 

He reached out in the dark for the flow of time and events that he had spent his first decades as a Silent Brother learning to understand. He had never been as good at it as the others but it had always been there: a river of things that had been, would be, were, all mixed up with intentions and questions of maybe, might be, could be. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read it. It existed. 

It wasn’t there. 

There was nothing in his head but his own thoughts. 

He reached out again. Listening this time for the sparks of consciousness, the places where the fabric of the universe bent around the will of a living person full of ideas and thoughts and wants and needs. He couldn’t find anyone. No sparks. No river. He couldn’t find the pattern of the fabric itself. 

There was nothing there. 

Then he opened his eyes. 

Bright light shone through an open window and he shut his eyes against the glare on instinct then opened them again. 

Light. Sunlight. 

He ignored the pain, pushed it to the side and sat up. 

“Brother Zachariah, can you appraise us of your condition?” a voice whispered in his head. He couldn’t say who it was. Without the flow and fabric, without those extra senses, he couldn’t tell which of the Silent Brothers was sitting beside his bed, speaking to him the way they spoke to mortals with words and intention. His first instinct was to think the words back, to answer in the silent language of a silent order. 

That language was gone. 

He opened his mouth. He hummed a note. Just one. And he heard it. He hummed another and heard that one too, a little lower than the first. His fingers slid along the fabric of the blanket. For so long his senses had provided information but not sensation. He could feel the pull of a needle and know that he was performing a suture properly but it had been knowledge not sensation. How long ago had he lost the ability to truly feel things? How long had it been since Tessa’s touch had become a thing he understood but not a sensation? 


He reached for the flow of time and intention again not to scan his surroundings but to do what he wasn’t supposed to, what he pretended he did not do, what no one had ever accused him of doing though they must have known. He reached out to find the echo of her in that river just to remind himself that she was out there. 

There was nothing there. 

“Brother Zachariah, you have suffered an unusual injury, I would recommend you lie down,” the Silent Brother at his side said. 

He looked over at the man. At the parchment robes, at the scarred face and knew. He knew that what this person was, was not what he was. His skin hurt, his eyes watered in the bright light, he was confused and lost and more alone than he could find the words to express. Alone. So alone. He pushed that aside to sit with the pain until he could think on it, meditate on it, understand it. 


“I am-” he said in a voice that sounded cracked and worn but familiar. A long ago memory of when he had been someone else. He tried again, “I am alive.” 

“You have always been alive.” 

“Not like this, not for a very long time,” his voice was getting clearer. 

“Brother Zachariah-” the Silent Brother was whispering in his head again but he wasn’t paying attention. He was categorization aches and pains, empty chasms of emotions that he couldn’t name, not yet, they were there, calling out to him but he was out of practice. Was that anger or fear or love or grief that wanted to swallow him whole? He pushed it to the side. 


“Jem,” he said. 

That is who he had been. 

Before. That is who he was to Tessa, to Will, to Charlotte, to Jamie, to Lucie, to his mother, his father, people who had lived and loved and moved on without him. Tessa. He practiced saying her name inside his thoughts. He didn’t say the other names again. He didn’t say her name aloud. The emotion was there, the chasm of feeling that even a 130 years as a Silent Brother hadn’t been able to destroy. 

His heart was still there. His heart still beat. His heart still loved. 

Before. Before he was Brother Zachariah, before the river of things that were, would be, could be, might be, before the distance between the feeling and the sensation, before the sparks of living things moving in the darkness around him. 

Before all of that, he had been Jem Carstairs. 

He had been alive. Truly and completely alive. 

And he was alive again. 


Gender Bent Adrien magazine cover - Adriana


I seriously had to do this. xD Actually I would share it after I finish my AU (female Adrien with Ladybug powers and male Marinette with Chat Noir powers) but I needed to share earlier.
I’m so uncomfortable with her hairs. I drew them wrong and then I couldn’t correct it. Just like I couldn’t finish her trousers…
I’m planning to share the speed painting of it on my YT channel soon: alexiross
There will be more drawings from my AU xD

You Again Part 5

Originally posted by yourpinkpill

pairing: jungkook x reader x jimin

genre: fluff/angst + college au

word count: 1016

part one two three four five six seven eight nine ten 

Jimin had been the first to notice.

The way you looked at Jungkook like he was an entire galaxy of stars. The way Jungkook’s cheeks always became a deep scarlet whenever you hugged him. Jimin’s eyes always lingered on you for a little too long so it was almost instantaneous that he realised that whenever he was looking at you, you were always looking at someone else. He had just begun to fall for you but quickly realised that you had already become head over heels for his best friend.

He told himself to ignore his own emotions and to give up because Jimin was a lot of things but he was never one to be selfish. It just isn’t in his nature. Especially when it came to love. He had always been the person that gave more than he received and this often caused his heart to become more weary than he would like to admit, just because not everyone reciprocated the love and sincerity that encapsulated Park Jimin. Whenever it came to liking someone, he always believed that he would never stand a chance and quickly pulled himself out of the equation. The universe was bent on working against him and this time Jungkook just happened to be the tool that the universe had decided to use

Jeon Jungkook. 5’ 10. Athletic. Talented. Who wouldn’t fall for him? Jimin had reasoned but it didn’t help with the pit in his stomach every time he witnessed you and Jungkook slowly falling into the depths of each other. It pained him, but both Jungkook and you were his friends and he wasn’t about to let his own emotions ruin this.

Because he loved you, he decided to give up. Because he loved you, he wanted you to feel the love that he was never able to receive from you and most importantly, he wanted you to be happy. Even if that meant you being together with someone other than him. So, he decided that he would take matters into his own hands and make sure you were happy with Jungkook. If not, he knew he would be too tempted to make you his.

“Y/N, you like Jungkook don’t you?” Jimin’s words had hit home for you. It was an issue that always came up in your mind but not without you constantly avoiding it and pushing the thoughts away. You were happy living in denial if it meant you could avoid rejection. You were far too afraid to do anything about your feelings even though Jungkook seemed to be appearing in your dreams more often than what would be considered normal.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” you replied sheepishly. If you were going to convince yourself that you didn’t like Jungkook, then you had to convince others too but Jimin wasn’t buying it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Why can’t you just admit that you like him Y/N?” He wanted to make sure that you were going to face your feelings but he also had to completely shut down his own feelings for you and in order for that to happen, he needed to hear you say that you liked Jungkook to entirely fuse out all the hope he had, even if it wasn’t much to begin with.

You knew. He knew. But you just didn’t want to let yourself say it out loud because if you did, it would all feel too real and that would mean that your feelings were true. You didn’t want to risk your friendship with Jungkook but you also didn’t want to get hurt. After all, why would someone like him even fall for someone like me? 

Unrequited love had been something that you became quite familiar with over the years. Having a crush on someone always made you over analyse little thing that he did and in the end, you were the one that added things together and thought nothing to be something.

The first guy you had liked was your best friend high school. The two of you were inseparable and naturally told each other everything. He didn’t exactly lead you on but the thought of maybe, he likes me too always lingered in the back of your head. It had been unhealthy the way he consumed your thoughts and the way you still acted as though there was nothing in fear of destroying a friendship that had lasted so long.

Then, senior year came along and with it heart breaks from your end and the revelation of his true feelings that he had towards you. He thought of you as nothing but a sister. A lump had formed in your throat and you struggled to hold your tears back as you quickly ran away because you didn’t want him to be there when you could no longer control the waterfall that came from your eyes. That day, on the lonely walk back home, you had cried your heart out. He would usually accompany you on your way back since his house was only a five minutes walk on your own but as you were making your way back by yourself that day, you felt completely and utterly hollow as the hoped that you had held on for so long smithereens that had been crushed by the hurricane of his words. 

After that, you didn’t dare hope again. You built up your walls and told yourself that you weren’t going to fall in love but then Jungkook came along. Damn Jeon Jungkook and his smile. You suddenly became hyper aware of every interaction that you had with him and you didn’t want history to repeat itself because there is no way Jungkook would fall for you. He was only a freshman, like you, but he was already the talk of the school. Most girls would kill for a chance to be with him so why of all people would he want you. He’s out of my league. You had to guard your heart, and quickly before things became a mess. 

author’s note: sorry for the kinda short chapter but i think this part shows a little more background and gives more insight to y/n’s history with love and her own feelings towards jimin and jungkook… anws thanks for reading!

next part

stlgeekgirl  asked:

Drabble challange, Sherlolly. Could I trouble you for # 109?

List is here. So far I’ve received asks for 1, 19, 23, 28, 30, 38, 51, 77, 93, 102, 109, 122, 146 & 148

“Have you seen my contacts?”

Molly gave Sherlock an odd look, and not just because he’d simply popped up next to her at the crowded farmer’s market when she’d thought he was still asleep at the hotel. “Sherlock, you don’t wear contacts.”

He frowned without taking his eyes away from the crowds of people at the outdoor music festival. “How could I wear my contacts? I’m looking for them.”

Molly had been involved in her fair share of odd conversations with Sherlock, but this one was right up there with the one involving mashed potatoes and the tensile strength of her sturdiest cotton bra. Shrugging both mentally and physically, she just decided to go along with it, casting her eyes groundward. “They’ll be awfully hard to spot in this crowd - where did you lose them?”

“Right here,” he replied gesturing outward with one hand while simultaneously raking frustrated fingers through his hair. “One minute they were right there, the next…gone.”

“Got it,” she replied, although she really didn’t get it. At all. “And how did you lose them, exactly?”

“Like you said, the crowd,” he replied, his feet shifting restlessly. She tapped him on the leg to remind him to stand still, lest he trample them underfoot. “Someone jostled me, I lost my balance and…Molly? What exactly are you doing?”

She’d crouched down to begin the search, and looked up at him with a confused frown that matched his own. “Looking for your contacts?”

He tugged at her arm, pulling her back up. “There’s no point in looking for their tracks, Molly, unless you happen to think we’re in an old American western? Remember, the crowd? Too many footprints and…”

The penny finally dropped. Molly felt her cheeks reddening in mortification as she said, “Ohhhh, your contacts, not your contacts.”

The look Sherlock gave her was decidedly odd, certainly one she’d never seen before. His brow crinkled as if in confusion (or, more likely, irritation); his head tilted to one side; his lips compressed into a thin line before opening and shutting a few times…and then he laughed.

Oh how he laughed. He laughed like a man who’d been told the funniest joke in the known universe. He bent over, he slapped his knees, he held his stomach, he wiped tears from his eyes - and he wrapped her into a warm hug before kissing the top of her head. 

“Molly Hooper,” he proclaimed as he released her, holding her at arm’s length with a grin, “thank you. You have no idea how much I needed that.”

Then he kissed her forehead again and strode off, still chuckling to himself.

Molly never did find out why he thought she might know who his missing contacts were.

It was all for Clara Oswald

In case it wasn’t clear enough before, we know now for a fact. 

Four and a half billion years of living in his own hell, punching a wall, burning himself up so he could live to do it again. And he didn’t do it to protect the secret of the hybrid. He didn’t do it to get to Gallifrey. He didn’t even do it for revenge. He fought against his own nightmare and a diamond wall just to get to the only place he knew could help him save her. And he did it willingly over and over. For Clara. 

That was his motivation for 4.5 billion years. Saving Clara Oswald. 

Laws of time and space crumble in comparison to how much he loves her.