The Astrology of finding Soul Mates

In mythology, Zeus desired to vanquish humanity in some form, and he split them to destroy the power of unity. The result was that two pieces of the soul lost each other, and forever wander in search of reunion and oneness. The spirits that inhabit these two bodies can seem coincidentally similar, like their souls play the same music. How can astrology help find this person, the place where the counterpart of your divided soul rests? Probably not through synestry charts, compatibility factors, or consciously searching for the sign that magazines tell you that you have most potential with. These satiate the needs of the ego, and not the soul, that which reflects something greater.

Astrology refreshes consciousness with divine spiritual agreements. It points to potential brilliance, talents, obstacles, and resilience qualities. This is a personal journey. It requires looking into the self through a lense that society never revealed to you. It writes a manual for the personality and the deeper needs of the spirit. Astrology radiates the individual’s most pure Truth. When they are walking the map of the natal chart, whether this be by astrological knowledge or trusting intuition, bliss overrides the spirit and soul, the co-creator is creating with God, as God. The soul is vibrating to it’s highest frequency, exuding the cosmic talents that comprise the individual’s spiritual heart.

This frequency becomes like a radio signal. One that is true, pure, and genuine. At this point, the constant referral to astrology does not even have to be present. You are the Solar and Lunar, shining the way you have for centuries. This radio signal plays a song of its own. It has played this beautiful song since the very beginning, through many galaxies and lifetimes. This is a secret signal, a channel that can only be tuned by the other half of the soul. When the music is being played, the other soul can hear, it receives the signal. Through the noise, the chaos, the pain of the world, they will find each other, where two oceans meet.


not just friends ♡ tom holland head canon

summary: there’s always strings attached 

featuring: requested writing prompts from this list  

  • #1 : “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it” 
  • #28: “Make me” 

wc: 1,007

warnings: language, fluff, some angst 

author’s note: I really liked the prompts given for this one and had an idea for a head canon so here we go

  • You and Tom had met through a few mutual friends at a club opening one night and took an interest in each other immediately
  • Flash forward past numerous days of texting and hopes of seeing each other again 
  • After many dates here and there and you were already gaining a strong liking for the English boy
  • He definitely felt the chemistry too, but he was hesitant about diving in head first 
  • He didn’t want to start a relationship under pretenses where he’d be having to leave you at long periods at a time
  • He didn’t think this was any way to start a relationship
  • His exact words to you were, “If this is going to be a successful relationship I don’t want to start it this way with you”
  • Even though it devastated you, you put a smile on your face and agreed to stay friends and wait till the time was right in order to make him happy
  • It hurt him like hell too but he’d never tell you that
  • Tom convinced himself it was for the best 
  • Although he did mention it to Harrison, who still gives him shit for it
  • You two kept in touch and it really only made it harder on the both of you, yet neither one of you wanted to bring up the sore subject that was the giant elephant in the room 
  • There were lots of facetime calls and so many snapchats that you replaced Harrison as his number one best friend
  • When Tom came back into town one day he texted you asking to hang out
  • Of course you said yes, jumping at any opportunity to see him 
  • Meeting up at his apartment ASAP because let’s face it you both missed each other

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| The Snow Apple | Sehun X Reader AU | Oneshot |

Originally posted by oh-no-sehunnie


Sehun X Reader

Synopsis: You were called upon to become a despicable man’s mistress. But after running away, he continued to pursue you. You ran, expecting to find asylum. You ran, not expecting to find your knight in shining armor.

Word Count: 5,288

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mild language, sexual situations

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JADE!! (@pebble-xo

Disclaimer: This plot of this story is based upon the anime Snow White With The Red Hair. In no way do I claim the central idea/theme of this story as my own. That being said, it’s one of the best shows ever go watch it asdghfjk

“Lord Jongin wants me to be his what?”

“His concubine, madame.” The royal guard retorted apathetically. “In other words, his mistress.”

Your jaw was agape. You brought your hands to your arms, rubbing them in an attempt to combat the shivers than ran down your spine. You leaned against the doorpost of your shop, refusing to lessen your confidence.

“No, no, no,” You shook your head and held out your hands in protest. “There must be some kind of mistake, I’m sure of it. I’m just the town’s local herbalist!”

“Lord Kim Jongin has made no mistake, madame,” The guard’s eyes hardened. “He has taken a particular interest in the townsfolk’s rumors concerning your… Distinct appearance.”

He was referring to you alright. Ever since you arrived in town and set up shop, the townspeople quickly spread tale of your divergent physique.

Stark, snow-white hair that fell past your shoulders. Oftentimes a shade of shimmering silver in the sunlight.

You never knew how you came to look so different from the masses; you were orphaned at a young age and brought up by an old, travelling herbalist. That’s how you came to learn the trade yourself. The intricate mixing and application of every plant you could properly classify and diagnose. You loved helping people, which is why your heart became set on this profession. You came to this village because it neighbored the walls of the great kingdom, but was far enough off the beaten path to avoid unwanted attention.

Unwanted attention, however, is what you were faced with.

“That- That’s absurd.” You sputtered, trying to regain your composure. “That can’t be right. He… He can’t be interested in someone as common as me just because of my hair.”

“As you know, his highness is a gallant collector of exquisite rarities.” The royal guard before you remained emotionless. “Your unique, white hair has him innately intrigued.”

You scoffed.

What a joke.

You, along with everyone else in the town, knew that Kim Jongin was nothing but a spoiled member of the hierarchy. One who often dealt in shady dealings, and could most easily be compared to a weasel in likeness.

“And as such, you have been chosen.” The guard continued, his face stern. “As a resident of this town, it is non-negotiable.”

Your knuckles turned white at the proposition.

“Tomorrow, you are to appear before his highness and accept his offer.”

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A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Pumpkin Spice

Word Count: 1138

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ‘s Seasons of Love - Colors of Fall Challenge. My prompt was pumpkin spice latte. 

Feedback and Constructive Criticism Always Appreciated

“Jens.” You nudged your boyfriend who had fallen asleep on your shoulder, waiting to film a scene. You’d both been sitting outside in the pouring rain all day and night waiting to film. You were cold, miserable, exhausted, but you’d had the foresight have coffee delivered. Jensen on the other hand, did not. “Jensen.” You nudged him again when he grunted in response the first time, unwilling to wake up. “We gotta finish this scene babe, get up.”

“Gimme.” Jensen reached out, grabbing your extra large cup from your hands and downing a huge gulp of your coffee before you could stop him. He choked, swallowing it down and glaring at you like you’d just kicked a puppy. “That’s not coffee!” He glared harder at you, his lips forming an angry purse and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It is absolutely coffee.” You giggled. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte.”

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[from mtmte 13, signal to noise]

  • rodimus listens to ultra magnus practice his jokes!!
  • magnus feels comfortable enough around rodimus to practice his jokes!! like, the list of people ultra magnus feels comfortable around is
  1. no one rodimus
  • that’s it that’s the list
  • rodimus tries to help ultra magnus practice with his jokes!! yeah he does it in a really rodimus way but like
  • given that rung describes listening to ultra magnus practice a joke as “the universe succumbing to its inevitable heat death” and considers confessing to a class a crime to escape the moment
  • he’s trying! rodimus is trying! for magnus!!

(also they just. casually mention each other in conversations with other people?? i love)

Simple minds

REQUEST: hi !! could u write a really fluffy henry x female reader fic where he kinda confesses to her all blushy and flustered and they go out on their cute first date and she’s really sweet and he’s flustered the whole time but makes a move at the end sorry if that’s too much lol but thank you !!! I really like your blog ! <3

A/N: I am a giant slut for fluff prompts but Henry Bowers is a bitch to write in character for these things. So it might not be as fluffy as you want it. This is part one of two. The second one will have cuter scenes, I promise. [Part 2]

Closely linked by history and similar interests, Vic and Belch have been with Henry through every crush the boy has experienced. With many of them being superficial and almost always fleeting, they’re unsure if they’ve ever seen him genuinely like someone before. If he ever did, he hid it well behind a callous persona; a good chance why his romantic relationships never blossomed into anything more than one-sided disdain.

“The arcade got a new game.”

“I don’t get paid till Friday.”

“Take some kid’s lunch money.”

It’s a scripted conversation. One that varied depending on the news but never progressed past anything that could hold Henry’s interest when you were present. The introduction to Careless Whisper plays stagnant in his mind as watchful eyes follow your every step with a friend by your side. Just looking at you makes his stomach turn and he can’t pinpoint if it due to disgust or infatuation.

“Bowers.” Patrick hits the daze’s blonde in the arm, causing him to be abruptly jarred and defensively jaded.


“We’re skipping next period for the arcade. Let’s go.”

Henry waves off the offer, watching you say your goodbyes to you friend then detouring through the door nearest to where his gang stood. Without much of an explanation, besides a brisk “Go without me.” He ditches them, ducking into the class the two of you shared for that period.

He takes the desk right behind yours and sets the trap. “Shit.”

On cue you turn your body towards him and quip a smile. “Lemme guess, you forgot your homework?”

He smirks. “How didja know?”

“You have a bad habit of ‘forgetting’ it every day you deign to show up.” Strategically placing your purse on his desk, you shuffle through a folder labeled MATH in crazy curly type handwriting and hand him your finish homework.  You find it remarkable how fast he can copy your notes without leaving chicken scratch in his wake. It’s the kind of ability that comes from years of experience in cheating off other students. Not that you were one to judge. Your whole middle school social life was anchored around those who would let you copy their homework. It was only fair you pay you debt to society.

He finishes in record speed and you half expect him to walk out like he’s done so many times in the past that it doesn’t occur to you that you’re staring.

“See somethin’ you like?”

Your eyes widen, slightly embarrassed of being caught, but to answer his question, yeah. Your lips part ever so slightly when you tilt your head a calculated degree. “Did you always that silver earring?” Extending your hand towards the metal jewel, the pads of your fingertips marking their path with goosebumps as they brush against his cheek and neck.

He almost wants to lean into your touch. He almost does, but you pull away too quickly at the sound of heavy footsteps entering the classroom. The telltale steps settles down the class noise signaling that class will begin shortly.

Your teacher, Mr. Allen, opens class with a vague threat about his cheating policies, though he doesn’t mention any names, Henry catches an intended glare behind the rim of his glasses directed at the two of you. He can only assume you see it too as you slouch in your sit, making yourself as small as possible. It doesn’t stop him from handing in his plagiarism, practically daring Mr. Allen to do something about it.

And he does.

The next day you find yourself in detention, accompanied by seven other students, three of them belonging to the Bowers gang, the leader himself included. You take a seat next towards the window, a good two rows away from where the boys sat.

Whispers, too low to be registered by the supervising staff’s hearing aids, come from the gang’s vicinity as Henry laments his girl problems with the only two people that have been by his side from the beginning. Unfortunately, it was very much a blind leading the blind scenario since not a single one of them have had an actual relationship with a girl since elementary.

While your ear drums were far superior to that of your authority, you still can’t quite make out what their saying and though you don’t fault Henry for getting you in this mess, you knew the risks, it irks you that he gets a social club and you’re stuck bored for an hour. Pondering what to do, you find satisfaction in making a paper football with the words ‘whatcha doin’?’ scribbled on the front. You flick it, shielding a soft giggle behind your hand when it bounces off Henry’s head.

Eyebrows raise and he glances back at you, the sun casting a halo glow over your body so much so it hurts to look at you directly. Reading over the note, he writes back on loose leaf notebook paper, crumpling it up and tossing it back at you.

None of your business

Can I make it my business?


Must be some real embarrassing shit

You watch him struggle with his reply; Belch and Victor tussling over the paper with him in a vain attempt to ‘help’ him with a witty come back. It was only a joke but with each passing second it becomes clear that you’ve hit a nerve.

When you receive his note you’re convince they’re joking. Flustered but convince. There was an attempt to scratch out the words FUCK YOU written in his handwriting, not that it surprised you, Henry was never much of a wordsmith. Underneath it however was a more blockish handwriting , one you’ve never seen before.

Wanna go out?

There were two boxes beneath it, one labeled YES and the other FUCK YES. You look over to see Belch and Victor snickering  and pointing with both their hands at their fearless leader who was now nose to the desk and arm curled tightly around his face flushed red from anger and embarrassment. You answer back with a box of your own.

Only if you pay


Henry doesn’t talk much on your date. Whether because of nerves or lack of interest you can’t tell, but he nods at all the right moments in your stories, asking follow up questions that are never too in-depth but prods you to keep the conversation alive.

He takes you to a movie theater that—of no surprise to you, his friends also happen to be at. Belch hands you and Henry tickets he already bought. The quizzically look you gave Belch was enough for Henry to answer on the teen’s behalf, “Don’t worry, he has a job.” His hand moves to the small of your back and guides you into the theater, not allowing you time to overthink it.

The two of you share a large popcorn, Victor having the ingenious idea for Henry to use that as an excuse for you two to touch like in those cliché romantic movies. Not counting on Henry to be so engrossed with the movie he doesn’t even try to make a pass at you. During the second lull in the film, he stretches his arms above his head and you take it as a signal, leaning in ready for the classic sneak-an-arm-around-the-date maneuver, only to feel like an idiot when his arms come back down, crossing over his chest.

This motherfucker.

There was a murder in that theater that day. Your confidence had been shot and Henry Bowers was the culprit to pull the trigger. Not once has he tried anything on you. No cat calls or suggestive remarks or a forceful kiss against your consent—Not that you wanted that but—. You know what he’s like, you’ve seen him at school, on the streets, shouting lewd comments at other women. You know for a fact that he ate out Beverly Marsh in public behind an alleyway the first time they talked. So what’s wrong with you? Where you not pretty enough or was your gut right the first time and all of this was just a horrible joke that’s been taken one step too far?

For the rest of the date you mourn over the blow; talking softer, becoming more aloof and over all distant. And Henry, being the man he is, doesn’t pick up on any of it.

To be fair, he was facing down his own demons. His mind kept drifting off to that moment in class, when you so boldly reached out to touch him. You had only grazed him but he always figured your hands were soft. No amount of moisturizer could ever turn his farm labored hands into what yours were and he was constantly reminded that late at nights under the privy of his sheets.

It takes an astounding amount of self control not to get a hard on just standing next to you, the way you sway your hips or how your low-cut dress exposed the curves of your cleavage. He wanted so badly to fuck you in the alley between the theater and Aladdin’s but you weren’t like the other girls he’s been with. And not in that pseudo better than other girls bullshit way. He’s sure if he actually took the time to know those one time flings and whores he’d find you shared similar traits with all of them. In some bizarre way maybe that’s what attracted him to you, that you were a collection of traits and personalities that made his heart skip a beat with a simple smile.

“Well… this is my house.” You crack a half smile.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I had a good time, we should do it again sometime.”


There is a beat of silence, giving him plenty time to make a move on you.


He looks at you with a weird look on his face. Like he isn’t sure how these dates are supposed to end. Did he expect you to invite him in while your parents were staring from the windows?

“Ok…”  You swallow down you pride and fear and anything else holding you back and using his arm as a balance, place a soft kiss on Henry’s cheek. Then you make a dash for the door, face flush and burning up, you can feel a mist of sweat cover your forehead, yelling out in a broken pitch “Bye!”

The kiss, no matter how chaste, was enough to push him over the edge. A bulge swelling in his pants on the way back home, pressing against the seams, and he reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans. He knew it. Even your lips were soft. Henry could only imagine what other parts of you felt like.

Next time, he thinks. Next time he won’t have to imagine, he’ll know.

Plans for the [September 14, 1989] Wall Street demonstration against the price of [important early AIDS drug] AZT were advancing, and were not undermined by the pending release of ddI, a direct competitor. On the contrary, it was more important to the activists to keep pressure on [AZT’s manufacturer] Burroughs Wellcome so that Bristol-Myers would not feel encouraged to price its own drug out of reach. Activists formed into affinity groups and made independent plans for actions within the demonstration. Peter Staley and [ACT UP affinity group] the Power Tools wanted to make a spectacular impact on Burroughs Wellcome. The idea to infiltrate the New York Stock Exchange was Staley’s, and once details were worked out it included a plan for a small group in “executive drag” to enter the Exchange on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway and chain themselves inside.

In the weeks leading up to the event, Staley scouted the building with two other men, both of them HIV negative—Charlie Franchino, a chiropractor, and Robert Hilferty, a writer and filmmaker. They posed as tourists with a video camera. Back home they studied Hilferty’s footage. Each of the traders they encountered wore a pocket badge, which the guard at the door scrutinized only glancingly. Hilferty zoomed in on several badges. They were plastic-coated white tags, about three-by-five inches, and contained the name of the firm along with a series of large, bold numbers. Franchino knew a place that would copy them exactly. They decided to masquerade as traders from Bear Stearns, because that firm seemed to have the greatest representation on the floor.


On the morning of the Wall Street demonstration, the guards were jittery. Leaflets and news accounts predicted the noontime arrival of a thousand ACT UP protesters. Staley and his affinity group members slipped inside the Exchange with the morning crowds. The opening bell was set to sound at 9:30 am. At 9:20, five of them climbed to the balcony, locked a chain to the balustrade, and handcuffed themselves to the chain: Staley, McGrath, and Arsenault from the Power Tools, and filmmakers Scott Robbe and Gregg Bordowitz. No one had yet noticed them up there. When Staley saw the electronic clock read 9:29:45, he signaled to the others to unfurl their banner. It said, “Sell Wellcome,” using the Wall Street shorthand. Then they pulled portable marine foghorns from their pockets and pointed them in the air. For Staley this action had deep personal meaning—payback after having endured the homophobia of the trading desk for so many years. He gave the signal.

The noise was deafening. At the same time, they pulled big stacks of fake money from their pockets—in homage to Abbie Hoffman, who had protested the Vietnam War inside this building years earlier—and threw them into the air. The slogan printed on the bills bypassed diplomacy: “We die while you make money. Fuck your profiteering.”

Once the traders realized what was happening and why, they exploded in outrage. They surged angrily toward the balcony’s staircase. Pens and other projectiles sailed through the air accompanied by cries of “mace the faggots” and worse. In the confusion, nobody realized the opening bell had sounded, and trading was delayed by many minutes, the first time in the 197-year history of the Exchange.

Down below, the two remaining protesters—Hilferty and Richard Elovich, a former IV-drug user—snapped a few photographs and hastily retreated toward the door, sprinting the last several yards after someone bellowed, “Who the fuck are you!” and twisted-faced traders lit out after them. When they were blocks away, the photographers passed their film to designated runners who headed straight for the AP offices to have the images developed and copied for the wire. Police took their time extracting the five from their chains. They dragged them out of the Exchange and into the thunderous applause of fellow activists. As Staley stepped onto the running board of the police department van, he allowed his eyes to turn toward the windows of the old J. P. Morgan trading floor. He pictured his former colleagues pressed against the glass, and smiled.

When lunchtime came, nearly 1,500 other ACT UP protesters descended on Wall Street, likewise armed with air horns and placards and banners decrying the cost of AZT. Their angry voices echoed through the narrow canyons into repetitive, blurred cries: “How many more must die? How many more must die?”

That same day, ACT UP chapters staged satellite demonstrations in London, where Burroughs Wellcome’s parent company was based, and in San Francisco, where the company’s major U.S. warehouse was located. Papers throughout the world carried news of their feat, following The Wall Street Journal, which played the story above the fold. Only the Times, continuing its aggressive stance against covering gay news, let the historic event go unmentioned in the morning papers. The following Monday, admitting to being pinioned by protesters, Burroughs Wellcome slashed the price of AZT for a second time, finally reaching the price range demanded by ACT UP. It took another seven months for the criminal trespass case to come to a head. A judge, ruling that the defendants had acted “in the interests of justice,” dismissed all charges.

—  David France, How to Survive a Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS (2016), Pt. 3, Ch. 6.
This Is Us -Chapter 20 Jealous Jamie

To catch up on earlier chapters- Chapter 19 here, Chapter 18 here, Master Fan Fiction Page Click Here

“I ken I’m the one who green-lighted the idea but, still, I miss you already and it’s not even the weekend yet, Sassenach.” Jamie rumbled into the phone.

Slainte was sponsoring a rugby match in Inverness Saturday afternoon. The advance team left town Thursday for the planned promo stops leading up to the match. The game was a good one and with so many from Slainte coming in for the event, Jamie rented out a sky box at the stadium.

“Concentrate on the company, Jamie. Have fun with your friends. Do what you need to do. We’ll see you in just a few days.” Claire hesitated. “I  miss you, too.” She whispered as she crossed from her office to the hallway heading into her afternoon surgery.  

“See you Sunday for dinner.” Jamie rang off.

Claire did sincerely miss him. He was like a force of nature and she felt his absence. But, a part of her was looking forward to a little time to herself. She felt a twinge admitting that but she wasn’t used to the constant presence of a lover. Frank was not a fair comparison. During her marriage, most of her time was occupied by school and work. Frank’s was largely occupied with…well, best not to think of that.

She’d only realized now, having Jamie as a point of comparison how different a relationship could be. 

Jamie’s general default in spending time with Faith in her home had seemed like a great thing before she and Jamie started dating. It helped keep Faith’s routine consistent and neither parent had to navigate through transition issues that could knock a kid for a loop – especially a tired toddler at the end of a long day. But now that they were a couple it presented all sorts of complications neither one of them had been prepared for, let alone discussed.

It still caught her up short when she saw his toothbrush in the cup next to hers, when his dry cleaning appeared in her closet, when her hand touched his book on the nightstand. At the moment the only coffee she could find in the kitchen consisted of the exorbitantly expensive Kona beans he loved rather than her medium roasted store brand ones. Well, that part was nice, she admitted.

When the mildly sweetened cereal she bought for herself but pretended was for Faith was replaced by some God awful healthy oat bran grossness that Faith actually ate, Claire decided to fight fire with fire. After they finished the last box of Jamie’s Oaties she kept the box, bought what she really wanted – Rainbow Sugar Flakes– then took the bag the cereal came in and placed it in the empty box of Oaties, throwing away the incriminating cartoon themed box hers had come in.  Then she bought two more boxes of Oaties, put those in the front of the cabinet and hid hers behind them. There– she felt better.  

When her cable TV package was upgraded to roughly 1,000 channels she didn’t need or want, she reprogrammed a special remote for herself and Faith with the ten channels they watched.

Bit by bit a Jamie make-over was taking over. Normally she didn’t pay that much attention so the fact that she’d noticed at all made her wonder what else she wasn’t picking up on.  They’d need to have a discussion about it– about a lot of things– soon.

There were compensations, though. An inner glow lit her as she thought about she and Jamie waking up together over the last weekend to find Faith’s foot lodged firmly against her sternum, the rest of her sprawled over Jamie’s chest.

It took her breath away, how they looked together. Faith’s cheek, red from the heat of the internal furnace that was Jamie, resting against his bare chest, inexplicably tender. 

Compelled, Claire snapped a picture but hadn’t realized how loud it would sound in the quiet stillness of the morning. Faith’s body jerked in response, still asleep but as she moved her head, her long curls tickled Jamie’s exposed skin.

His arm came up instinctively around Faith.  She watched as his fingers registered the form and shape of her. Claire knew the exact moment his subconscious recognized who it was. The smile on his face melted her heart.

Eyes still closed, he kissed the top of her head. Then his arm loosened and came to find her. She had been sitting up against the pillows and his hand landed on her thigh. Not the body part he had expected. He patted it in affection nonetheless.

She picked up and kissed his hand. He cupped her cheek and urged her down to the pillows as he opened his eyes. She arched over Faith and kissed him quietly, murmuring a “Good Morning” as she did so.

“Aye, it is.” He tried to speak quietly but the deep register of his voice boomed out anyway.

Faith jumped awake this time, “What’s it?” disoriented she moved her small hand up and over her curls to get them out of the way and squeaked at seeing Jamie.


“Mo nighean.” He pulled her to a hug while tickling her as she shrieked. “Why are ye no’ safe and sound in your own bed? “ He teased, “ye stole all the covers and yer poor Mama woke up cold!”

“Noooo!” Faith huffed out between laugher. Though Jamie stopped tickling her – such things best in small doses.

“Where is your bed, Da?” She asked looking around in confusion.

Claire raised her eyebrows, letting him know since he started it this one was all his to handle. She lay back against the headboard and settled in for the show.

“My bed? Oh, well Mama and I share this one.” He said trying for a move on folks, nothing to see here tone of voice.

“Tonight you share mine.” Faith declared. Claire bit her lip trying not to laugh.

“I would like that, of course, but your bed is too small for me and you, lass.”

“Mmphm.” Faith considered, “Then you take it and I’ll share with Mama.”

“Absolutely not! And before you get any more ideas, the answer is no, I will not sleep in yours and let you and Da in here. We’ve had this talk before– you picked out your big girl bed and I picked out mine.” Claire said jumping in before this got out of hand.

Faith tried to stare her down, but to no avail.

“Lass, if you go and brush your teeth and get dressed in the next five minutes you can come with me to the coffee shop. We’ll grab fresh rolls and stop by the newsstand for the paper. Do you think Mr. Gordon brought his dog to work today?” Jamie got Faith redirected and out of the room.

As soon as she cleared the threshold of their door, he pulled Claire back down in the bed with him and kissed her breathless.

“Sassenach, that has to be the best way in the world to wake up.” He nuzzled her neck as his arms started roaming, “and last night was the best way to go to sleep. Thank you, leannan.”  They lost track of time.

“Da!” Faith’s voice right in his ear shocked the hell out of him.

His lips broke contact with Claire’s and he turned his face to Faith’s standing at the side of the bed. The rest of his body was still engaged in prior activities, however.

“You’re fingers are touching Mama’s butt!” Faith observed.

Jamies mouth opened then closed. He had no idea where to go from here.

Claire’s head shot up and she made an exaggerated stretch of the neck behind her.

Feigning surprise she said, “Oh goodness me, so they are. I wonder if that is the kind of thing Handsy and Pawsy were talking about when they said we needed to respect other people’s personal space?”

“Handsy and Pawsy?” The smile was evident in Jamie’s voice.

“Ah hum.” Faith confirmed. “My libary book. R-E-S-P-C!”

Library book and the title is R-E-S-P-E-C-T” Claire corrected.

“Yer joking?” Jamie said in a very quiet undertone.

“I’m not clever enough to make that up!” Claire assured him.  

Handsy and Pawsy had made a couple more appearances since then. Faith appeared to consider herself the new sheriff in town.  Claire thought Jamie had tolerated it reasonably well but all in all, Jamie’s self-created break was fairly well timed.

She’d been on her own with Faith and being one of a duo with her was familiar. What were the implications of becoming a trio? She hadn’t considered this aspect of it. The analogy to introducing your toddler to your new boyfriend just didn’t cut it. Jamie was her father. If they were not together in the future, he was still going to be parenting Faith with her. That gave her both comfort and concern.

They had definitely missed a step, she and Jamie. So focused on getting things between themselves in order, they hadn’t thought about whether they needed to prepare Faith for a change in their relationship.  She sighed.

This was yet another chapter in her imaginary alternative reproductive technology parenting book, tentatively called, What to Expect When You Were Expecting Something Else Entirely.

Every place her eyes rested, something of Jamie’s was in view. Unable to recall the last time she’d spent the night alone another startling thought popped into her head. Good God, had they accidentally ended up living together? 

Completely disconcerted, Claire hoped this weekend would help her think things through a little better.


Thursday passed, as usual, in a blur, but Friday evening she and Faith had a girls movie marathon, Tangled and Frozen. They did their nails with purple sparkly polish and sent Jamie mani-pedi pictures. He sent them back miss you kisses and funny photos of the team in Inverness.

The Insta page for Slainte was fun to follow. The shots of crowds at every place they went stood as irrefutable testimony to their growing popularity. The OLH series of ads was running on TV and in print materials and Angus and Rupert had a twitter feed offering uniquely Scottish advice or insults, depending on their mood. The effect was exactly what Jamie had wanted.

Jamie let them run it entirely on their own. If he had to manage the messaging, make it too corporate controlled, it would cease being interesting. He didn’t fear noise and signal.  Though, they definitely wandered into a few hot zones by not being completely scrubbed and tone neutral. But even that worked perfectly, as far as Jamie was concerned.

On this outreach trip, Jamie was fielding just as many questions about them and their ad campaign as himself. For once there was a completely different slant to these interviews– less focused on his personal life, his family and past and more on the expansion of the brand and several of the wittier posts from Angus and Rupert.

Jamie was more than capable of handling all of it like a pro. He deflected all personal questions while he conveyed Slainte’s support of their no BS duo – character, he reminded reporters, was what made Scotland the best place in the world– it’s people and it’s products it’s world outlook all uniquely their own.

The next evening, Claire was going out with Joe. It was a long standing date, a year in the making.

Joe had been more than a friend to Claire during her time in Scotland. They learned the ropes of the medical system together and he’d been her rock as things fell apart with Frank.

She had suppressed her feeling of relief when Jamie first mentioned he’d be away that weekend. It had saved her having to say a word.   It wasn’t that Claire didn’t have a guilty conscious about it, she did, a bit.

Yet, why should she have told Jamie about it? It wasn’t any of his business, was it? And anyway he wasn’t even here, he was hours away. She didn’t owe him any explanations.

Having married Frank before she turned twenty, Claire’s life had been upended by the divorce. It hadn’t been easy. For most of her adult life, Frank had been the primary decision maker, unquestionably the one in charge.

That first year, Joe had set goals for her, small, attainable steps along her route toward getting her life under her own control. This year Claire set her own goals, mostly focused on managing single motherhood. Cheering her on as she spread her wings, embraced motherhood and learned to trust her own instincts were the Abernathy family in general and Joe in particular.

This marked the second anniversary of Frank’s desertion. So this evening Joe would take her out and get her blind stinking drunk and tell her how great she was doing.


“So, LJ, tell me how you really are?” Joe asked. Claire tried to read the look in his eye.

“Do you mean how are the terrible twos treating me or how has it been to take my first lover since my husband walked out on me?”

Yeah, so the margaritas were a little strong.

“Both.” He invited and squeezed her hand.

She smiled but he was relieved to see it was a genuine smile.

When Claire told him that the long absent Jamie Fraser had finally decided to check in on his daughter, Joe had been concerned. What kind of man ignored his child for months then suddenly dropped in out of the blue?

Once the full story emerged, though, he felt mollified. For weeks now, Claire had been Jamie-thising and Jamie-thating him. Very soon he would have to engineer a meeting and check out this paragon for himself.

Claire acted like the guy was the king of men or something. If it sounded too good to be true….Though for Claire, he hoped Jamie really was everything she thought he was.

“Well, Faith is two going on twenty-two, as you know, so I have high hopes she’ll raise me well.” Claire joked. Her eyes softened a bit. “He’s very good with her and for her.” She said quietly.

“And for you, too?”

She nodded, her eyes misting a little. Joe was a bit alarmed.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He demanded.

Claire knocked back the dregs of drink four and took a breath.

“Do you remember how I had no idea how to balance a checkbook after Frank?” Joe nodded. “How I couldn’t stop ordering pizza on Friday nights because that was what we always had even though I hate pizza?”

“Is he very much like him then?”

At that Claire laughed as she shook her empty glass, catching the server’s attention for a refill.

“Good lord, no. In so many ways they are complete opposites.”

Joe cut a bite of his burrito and force fed her, trying to give her something in her stomach to sponge up the alcohol.

“Mmm, is there anything better than melted cheese and spice?” Claire said as Joe added another bite.

“But in some ways…in retrospect Frank wasn’t domineering in general. He only had such a strong presence because of me. Because I ceded any power I might have had in our relationship to him almost from the start. Jamie, on the other hand, is a very forceful  personality.”

“He hasn’t been rough with you?” Joe asked concerned.

“No,” Claire drew the word out thoughtfully as she took a large gulp of her fresh drink. “Not in any way I haven’t enjoyed.” She blushed. Joe laughed.

“Good for you, LJ, you deserve a little something something.” He told her.

Claire smiled but then sighed.

“He’s intense. Jamie’s like a giant moon pulling everything around him into his orbit. You know I was hesitant to start anything with him. Very cautious as a matter of fact. Yet, Joe I am not sure I could have avoided it even if I had wanted to.”

Joe raised his brows. It was an interesting observation.  

“Forget for a moment that he is who he is to Faith. If I had met him on a…blind date say, I think the attraction would still have been there. When I am with him, there is just….the most powerful connection. I’ve never felt anything quite like it. When you add in Faith it’s….overwhelming and I can’t figure out if that is because of him or because of Faith.” 

At this Claire made a large wave, “I think he could swallow me whole and yet when I am with him he makes me feel like I could conquer anything.” Claire gave a self conscious laugh. “Oh, listen to me, quite the deep thinker. Am I even making sense anymore? After Frank, well, you know how hard things were, how much I had to learn, how I needed to become different….to become me.”

Joe bit his tongue caught in an age old debate over marriage. At war between wanting to tell her that the sense of connection she felt that pulled two people together was the best glue in the universe when you were with the right person– the person who helped you become the strongest version of you in the world and wanting to tell her that she was perfect as she was, that the control and independence she had worked so hard to obtain was a noble and worthy goal all it’s own.  Both statements were true; but he wasn’t sure she would value his confirmation of the latter nor believe in the truth of the former.

In the OR the woman was fearless, in charge and confident. Outside the OR? Frank put her in the shade and she was slowly emerging. He wanted Claire as certain and as sure of herself in every other part of her life as she was in the surgery.

Joe’s impression from the beginning was that Frank was one of those guys that didn’t really “get” women, thought all would be right with the world if women were only more like men, which always in that context meant “less difficult.” Which was a shame, especially with a woman as intricate as Claire.

Joe himself loved women, loved particularly the strength of them, the complexity, the very things that made them different from men. His wife was at the top of the list but Claire a close second. As Gail reminded him often enough, a woman was a whole universe of opportunity.

A man had the world at his fingertips with the right woman by his side. All she needed from her man was a little nurturing, a bit of warm sunshine, a quenching drink of water.  Too much or too little, like any living thing, she would wither on the vine or choke on the weeds. Frank was a terrible gardener. He never figured out what he had growing under his nose the whole time he had her.

“You scared?” Joe tried for humor, five drinks in was not the time for a serious  conversation on something so essential.

“Terrified but like a roller coaster, thrilled all the same.”

After they finished their meals, they grabbed after dinner coffees in the small, cozy bar located at the street front of the building. They people watched for a bit. Claire rested her head on his shoulder.

It was nice to have some time with him. It had been a long time since they’d met up for a coze. She had sobered  up enough  to walk home by that point. He took her by the hand and walked her through the park, forgetting about the detour, though by the time he had dropped her by the door, she was a bit more sober than last year. That had to be an improvement.

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anonymous asked:

Could you write some married eggsy and reader pretty please?

[MARRIED EGGSY AND READER!!!! Oh man this is gonna be so much fun. I feel like… I want to make a bunch of these little shorter ones for this. Cause I always go SOOO fucking ham with my Eggsy x Readers for some reason and CREATE SO MUCH EXTRA LIKE WHY AM I LIKE THIS hahahah. This one is much shorter by comparison, and super fluffy with some smut as well because I couldn’t help myself. Hope you like!<3]

Pairing: Eggsy X Reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing, some smut? Yeah some smut!

Read on Ao3!]

If there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you did not want to get married. Ever. Getting married, having a family that whole… thing. Let’s just say it was a lot. Just, not really your cup of tea so to say.

It wasn’t that you disliked children or dating. It was that you could never imagine finding another human you loved so much you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them. It was hard enough for you to share your bed and living space with someone else… How could you actually be expected to share your entire life with another person?

The truth is you couldn’t. You never thought that would change either… But there were a lot of things you used to ‘know’ about yourself before you met Eggsy.

Before you met that cheeky son of a bitch, you’d have said you would live your life out with 20 cats and be completely content with that– more than content even. That you’d spend your youth galavanting and breaking hearts. Or maybe you’d live in France and learn how to make wine while writing a book or something just as dramatic and starving artist like.

You had a lot of ideas about what your life would be like, where you’d end up… the things you’d do. And you can honestly say that this was the last thing you expected.

But here you were… married and very much enjoying it.

To Eggsy fucking Unwin of all people and if there was one thing you could say about being married to a man like that?

It’s that it was fucking amazing.

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Hubble Catches Asteroids Photobombing Ultra-Distant Galaxies

“There are a total of 20 objects seen in these fields, corresponding to 7 unique asteroids, most of which are imaged multiple times. Only 2 of them were previously known; the remainder were serendipitously discovered by Hubble. Approximately 10-to-20 hours of observing time leads to the discovery of a new asteroid, telling us something interesting about the density of asteroids at the level that Hubble’s imaging capabilities are sensitive to. As long as you’re observing a target close to the plane of the Solar System’s ecliptic, you’re bound to be polluted by these interlopers.”

There’s an old saying among astronomers: one astronomer’s noise is another astronomer’s data. If you’re trying to view the galactic center, then the interstellar medium is “noise,” but if you’re studying the interstellar medium, then that’s exactly the data you want! Well, a team studying the massive galaxy cluster Abell 370 got to do a very long, deep-exposure image of both that cluster and its parallel field, accumulating a total of nearly 100 hours of observing time. As it so happens, this cluster happens to lie very close to the Solar System’s ecliptic plane, meaning that objects in the asteroid belt occasionally cross through Hubble’s field-of-view. Although it would take tens of millions of Hubble images to cover the entire sky, there are millions of asteroids bright enough for Hubble to see, and a few of them “photobombed” both the galaxy cluster and its parallel field.

We can produce cleaned images without them in the end, but the extragalactic astronomer’s noise is the asteroid hunter’s data! Come get the story, and see the remarkable photos, today!

With You (G.D)


Warnings: just fluff

Originally posted by lovershub

Your limbs were tangled together as your head rested on Grayson’s chest. His hand caressing your bare back lovingly, earning a soft moan. Your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of the sun’s rays peaking through Grayson’s bedroom window and you yawned softly. You shut your eyes briefly and opened them back up again to get used to the light. You hummed and lifted up your hand to draw circles onto Grayson’s chest and stomach. “You’re awake?” His raspy voice made you smile, you looked up to meet his gaze, “Morning handsome.” You continued to draw shapes onto his warm chest as he flashed you a sleepy smile. “Morning beautiful.”
You lifted up your leg and draped it over his, angling your head so that you could admire Grayson’s bright hazel eyes. He shut his eyes and you frowned. “Baby?” You murmured softly, your hand lifting up to trace his jawline gently. Your dainty fingers grazing over the light stubble growing on your boyfriends chin. “Hmm?” He raised his eyebrows, eyes still closed as you continued to outline the features of his face. “Open your eyes.”


“Just do it.”

But why?-“

You sat up and straddled his waist, just as your predicted, Grayson’s eyes shot open. You smiled down at him as he lifted up a hand to cup your face. He brought your head down and tilted his head to give you a soft, sweet kiss. You felt him smile against your lips and you returned the favor. You brought a hand up to cup the hand Grayson used to hold your face, your eyes falling shut as Grayson watched you intently. Grayson used his other hand to trace your face, his rough fingers brushing against your bottom lip. You opened your eyes and playfully nipped at his finger, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. You laced both your hands with his and leaned down to press your lips against his for what felt like the billionth time. As your lips parted you heard Grayson mutter a soft “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You replied and rolled off of his waist. He pouted as he watched you crawl off the bed.

You stood up and walked over to your suitcase to grab a few of your belongings. Currently, you and Grayson were staying in Jersey, his sister Cameron, a good friend of yours was about to give birth any minute now so you had to be ready.
“I’m really enjoying this view.” Grayson grinned at you, licking his lips while raising an eyebrow as you bent down to pick up something. “Shut up.” Your cheeks turned a shade of crimson since all you were wearing was his navy blue, deep V-neck shirt and nothing under. He propped himself up on his elbows and continued starring with no shame whatsoever. “Are you done yet?” You giggled as you turned to face him. He frowned since his so called, view was gone and you rolled your eyes playfully. “Your mother would not approve.” You teased and wagged a finger in his direction as he stood up and walked towards you. His boxers hanging low on his waist so his v-line was prominent.
“Yeah, she wouldn’t approve of a lot of stuff I do.” Grayson smirked before leaning down to kiss you. You hummed into the kiss as he pulled away. “Like what?” You asked biting your lip slightly as you trailed your hands down his chest.
Grayson’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Like this.”
And with that, he lifted you up by your thighs, walking you both over to his bed. He set you down gently and right when he was about to kiss you his phone began to blare. The classic apple ringtone causing Grayson’s head to droop, a groan escaping his lips.

“We’re finishing this later.” He gave you a chaste kiss before rolling off of you to grab his phone. You just giggled and sat up as he answered the call. You began to dress yourself in clothes as Grayson remained silent besides you. Once you were done getting ready for the day, you turned to look at him. Eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as Grayson’s haw fell slack. “Uh- okay mom! We’ll be there.” He stammered and hung up the phone. Grayson quickly rose up from the bed and darted towards his dresser, shuffling through for a t-shirt. “What’s going on?” You asked while tying your hair up into a messy bun. “Cameron’s having the baby! We have to go.” Grayson ran into his closet while you stood there dumbfounded. When reality sunk in, you grabbed the closet pair of shoes you could find which was your white Adidas.

“Gray, hurry!” You whined from the passengers seat of his bronco. “I’m coming!” He exclaimed and hopped in the front seat. “That’s what she said.” You giggled and turned up the radio as Grayson playfully glared at you through his sunglasses.
Grayson was shaking the whole ride there, it was understandable. His sister was giving birth, he was going to be an uncle, You’d be doing the same.
Dashing into the hospital you immediately heard the yells of profanity and shrieks of pain coming from none other than Cameron. Grayson grabbed your hand and led you to the lady at the reception desk. “Hey, I’m here to see my sister, Cameron Dolan?” Grayson asked while tapping his fingers onto the desk impatiently. You soothingly ran a hand up and down his arm as the lady got to typing onto the computer. “Cameron Dolan..” She muttered, you could see the vain in Grayson’s neck enlarge as he grew more and more annoyed. “Hmm..says she’s in room 4b.” Before she could even look back up for a reaction Grayson had already dragged you away. “Gray- calm down!” You sighed as he pressed the button onto the elevator. “I’m just really scared, Y/N. Anything could happen.” Grayson looked down at your intertwined hands and brought your hand up, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I don’t know what I would do if my sister lost the baby. The little boy means everything to her, and I’d hate to see that happen.”
“I know Grayson. But being rude to the lady at the desk isn’t going to stop that from happening. It’s like you always say, everything happens for a reason.” You said and pressed a kiss to his knuckle as well. Grayson inhaled a deep breath and nodded, the elevator made a ding noise, signaling that you had arrived to the floor Cameron was on.

The wailing grew louder and you both entered the room. There Cameron was laying on the hospital bed, both hands clutching her husbands and her mothers as she screamed in pain. Lisa looked over at you, silently asking if you could take over. You nodded, released Grayson’s hand and walked over to Cameron. You took her hand in yours and she squeezed it hard in response. “I’m here for you Cam.” You said and peppered her hand in small little kisses for reassurance. “Y/N.” Cameron whined and looked over at you. You weakly smiled at her and leaned over to brush the strands of hair out of her face. “Almost there! I can see it’s head.” The doctor exclaimed. Cameron squeezed your hand once again and began to push. You looked back at Grayson who was watching you intently. Not Cameron, just you. You gave him a small smile before directing your attention back to Cameron.

Newborn cries soon filled the room and Cameron’s husband bursted into tears of relief and joy. Tears filled your eyes and you choked out a sob as you watched Cameron rock her new born baby. She cried and through her exhaustion she smiled at the fragile baby. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to look at Grayson. He looked down at you with glossy eyes and laughed softly, bringing you in for a hug. Even if it wasn’t you two having a baby together it still felt like a moment that needed to be cherished forever.
“Do you want to hold him?” Cameron extended her arms out, the baby boy known as Alex began to coo and kick out his legs. Grayson shook his head and backed away. “I don’t want to drop him.” You laughed softly at Grayson before Cameron extended her arms out in your direction. You smiled and took Alex from her grasp. You mentally aww’d at how tiny and frail the baby was. Her newborn baby’s smile was as sweet as sugar and filled you with a feeling you never knew existed in the world. You wanted to protect this baby as if it was your own, and love it like it was your own.

Tiny fingers curled around your pinky as you watched the newborn peer through its brand new hazel eyes at what must be such a strange world after life in the womb. A tear escaped your eye as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, rocking him in your arms. Grayson lifted up a hand to trace Alex’s face lovingly, admiring the baby boy’s features that resembled his own due to the fact Cameron was his sister. He smiled down the the baby and he began to fuss, you gave him your hand again which he squeezed softly and cooed at. Grayson wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you both admired the child together, “hold him.” You whispered. “He’s so perfect, I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Grayson Bailey Dolan. You’re going to hold your nephew right now.” You heard Cameron’s voice from her hospital bed. You laughed and extended out your arms. “Fine, jesus you’re sounding like a mom already.” Grayson took the baby from your arms and his legs kicked in a tiny jagged motion, looking for that resistance they are used to from being in the womb for so long.
Grayson held the newborn to his shoulder and chuckled at the tiny toes that peeked out from his blanket, dangling in the air as he rocked him. He couldn’t believe how tiny new humans were, how vulnerable, how awe inspiring. He couldn’t believe he found himself wanting this. He wanted to hold his own child like this and rock them to sleep, he wanted to experience it all but most of all, he wanted it with you. So as you found yourself shutting the door to the passengers side of Grayson’s car, Grayson awkwardly shuffled in his seat.
“Gray?” You questioned as he stared out the window. “Yeah babe?” He replied, not bothering to spare a glance in your direction. “Are you okay? You’re acting a bit weird.” You pointed out as he shoved the key into the ignition, the engines of his car blasting. “Yeah I’m fine.” He forced a smile and began to back up out of his parking spot. Deciding not to question him further, you sat back in your seat and grabbed the aux cord, playing the playlist of songs you and Grayson jammed out to whenever in the car.

You grabbed Grayson’s hand after a few minutes and began to pepper it in soft, memorable kisses. “I love you.” You murmured against it, Grayson took a quick glance at you and smiled. He took your hand in his and brought it up to is lips, leaving soft kisses there as well. “I. Love. You.” He said with each kiss, you smiled and leaned forward to turn down the radio.
“So, how about when we get home we make a baby, but without the baby part?” You teased and inched your hand up his thigh jokingly. You felt Grayson stiffen and you retracted your hand. “Gray, what’s wrong?” You asked as he parked the car in front of your shared home. “Nothing’s wrong Y/N. it’s just that..I’ve been thinking a lot and..I want it. I want the joy of bringing a new form of life into the world. I want to feel what that’s like, to hold something you created in your arms. I want to watch it’s eyes open as it adjusts to the new world. I want it all.” Grayson sighed and slumped in his seat. “And I want it with you.”

By now you were in tears, you sat up in your seat and turned your whole body so you were facing Grayson. “ want kids? With me?” You smiled through your teary eyes as Grayson nodded. “Of course I do.” He smiled at you, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted that or not though.” He explained which made you gasp. “Yes! I want kids so bad! I just never knew how to bring it up to you. I want one, and I want you to share the joy of creating life with me. I want you to be the father.” You got up and out of your seat to crawl over onto Grayson’s lap. You cupped his face in your hands and stared deep into his glossy eyes with a smile. “In time Y/N.” Grayson said and you nodded. “We’re so young. But once I make you my wife, I can guarantee you we’ll be already discussing baby names” he joked and you laughed while playfully slapping his chest. “I’m just so glad you feel the same way.” You grinned and pecked his lips. “I am too. Now what were you saying earlier about making a baby?” He muttered against your lips. You smiled against his lips and he began to trail his hands up your shirt. “The house is literally right there Gray, you cant wait a couple more minutes?” You giggled as he tore open your blouse. “No, I mean the backseat does look pretty roomy.” He said as he began to trail his kisses down your jaw and neck. Your mouth fell agape as he sucked and licked a hickey onto your sweet spot. “You have a condom right?” You asked breathlessly. Grayson stuffed a hand into the hidden compartment of his car and fished out a condom, flashing it in your face. “I always have a condom babe.”

Kiss It Better

Sitting in the hospital lobby, you caught Dr. Hiddleston’s attention on his way to work. Blissfully unaware of your condition, you turned down his help in the first place. When push came to shove, the British intensivist did not leave your bedside.

Rating: R18+
Fandom: Tom Hiddleston
Prompt: Imagine Tom Hiddleston is you doctor and you are in critical condition and he has an overwhelming desire to cure you. He checks up on you every 2 hours to see if you’re doing alright. And sometimes you pretend you’re asleep and he bends down and kisses you on the forehead and lips. [x]
Pairing: Doctor!Tom Hiddleston x Reader
Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff, angst, sic fic, hurt/comfort
Date: 27th March, 2017
Words: 4673
Warnings: [TW: graphic description of medical conditions and procedures, detailed description of the reader’s critical condition, needles, panic attack] The rating and the warnings are due to the reader developing a diabetic ketoacidosis, a potentially life-threatening complication of diabetes mellitus type one. A huge part of the story plays at an Intensive Care Unit.
A/N: That imagine by @clairelouiseisawesome has been nibbling at my brain for a long time. The GIF by @satanslifecoach got the ball rolling.
Beta’d: @outside-the-government

Originally posted by satanslifecoach

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Listen, I know it’s hard to swallow this right now, but you are so good at what you do. No really, don’t let that asshole take that away from you. He’s a parasite, you create. You make something out of nothing, and I have always been in awe of that. And not to ruin the moment, but I really gotta piss.

Halt and Catch Fire || Signal to Noise