“What are you doing up?” He wondered aloud, after taking a sip of coffee. “You got something planned with Sam for Valentine's Day?” He guessed.
“It’s Valentine's Day?” Bucky asked, then paused and looked up, genuine confusion showing on his face. “Wait — why would Wilson and I be doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”
Or: Steve and Natasha point Bucky in the right direction.
It’s Just a Little Crush (2.9k)
“Torres?” Bucky finally said, his nose scrunched up. “How do you know this stuff is coming from Torres?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Who else could it be?”
Bucky blinked; he didn’t really have an answer for that. Well, an answer he felt like giving right then, when his head was spinning from watching his plan crash and burn so spectacularly right before his eyes.
Or: Sam needs to deal with his secret admirer, and Bucky just needs to be honest.
Love is Here, Standing By (4.7k)
Bucky just about choked on his drink when he looked up into the mirror behind the bar and saw his crush walking through the entrance. Even though he’d come out to drown his sorrows, he wasn’t drunk… yet, not even close, but he felt like he must be experiencing some sort of alcohol induced delusion. What else could explain the fact that Sam Wilson was in the same bar as him, at the same time as him, alone, instead of celebrating the holiday with his flake of a boyfriend?
Or: Sam’s trying to be a good boyfriend. Bucky’s trying to be a good friend. And Riley’s just trying to save his own neck.
Jealous Guy (11.4k)
“Sam and Steve having one of their many ‘bro moments,’ while you stare at Wilson from the shadows like you can’t decide whether you want to take his head off or take him to bed,” she observed with a snort, then nudged his shoulder playfully with her own. “It’s all very nostalgic really.”
“Then again,” she added thoughtfully, after a few seconds. “Is ‘nostalgic’ the right word if the staring never really went away in the first place?”
Or: Are Sam and Steve too close? Well, Bucky certainly thinks so.
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Devil wears Prada pt2 where Nicky or Matt or Alison or smth give Neil a makeover and Andrew is Too Gay For This Shit
mmMMmmmMMMmMmM
*
“He hates me,” Neil insisted, leaning his hip against Kevin’s focus board. The man was busy sorting out different approaches to the spring release, of which Nicky had been nagging on about all week.
Kevin hummed, ignoring Neil completely.
“I don’t want his validation,” Neil continued. “I just - we all work hard here. Harder than he does! And he gets all the credit?”
“You’re being melodramatic.”
Neil just huffed. “Well, what do I do?”
Kevin shrugged. “Andrew chooses who he listens to. You need to prove that your ideas are worth his time.” The man glanced up, giving Neil’s outfit a derogatory once-over. “And you’re going to get nowhere, looking like that.”
Neil looked down at himself. “I look fine.”
“You’re the secretary for the forerunner of the most lucrative fashion editorial that’s ever graced the planet, wearing Goodwill jeans and shoes that have superglue seeping out from the soles. Fix it.”
Neil just flipped him off, storming out of Kevin’s office. The man went back to his concept arrangements with little more than a roll of his eyes.
*
Before Neil could reach his desk the next morning, a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him sideways.
A blonde woman stood head and shoulders taller than him, grinning fiendishly. “Hello, Neil.”
“Hello,” Neil allowed, taking a step back. “Do I know you?”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Kevin gave me full reign over the sample closets with an order to teach you how to look less...like that.”
“You just gestured to all of me?”
“Well, yeah.” She pinched his cheek. “My name’s Allison. Model, entrepreneur, fabulous bitch and your saviour. Now, shall we?”
“Minyard will be arriving soon -” Neli argued as she towed him down the corridor.
“Kevin excused you for the morning,” she winked. “Appreciate it, I think. Now, where do we start? Underwear, presumably. Wait! Let’s tackle that mop of hair on your head.”
Neil just gulped.
*
Andrew was mildly pissed off. Kevin had excused the haggerty brat of a secretary from work for the morning and refused to disclose why: even Nicky had kept his mouth shut, typing away quietly at his desk. It meant Andrrew’s coffee was late and his scheduling wasn’t printed out in the format that he liked. He hadn’t even realised that Josten had picked up on that detail, which only served to piss him off even more. He was deathly busy: he had no time to be thinking about the likes of Neil Josten, his train-wreck of a secretary.
“I expect you to catch up on all this,” Andrew heard Kevin say.
“Do you take me for an amateur? I’ve already sorted out everything on this list,” Neil Josten retorted, shoving the clipboard back into Kevin’s chest. Kevin stayed by Nicky’s desk as Neil waltzed through into Andrew’s office without knocking.
Andrew couldn’t help but stare.
“I know you would’ve suffered through one of those bitter, watery espresso shots this morning,” his assistant said, placing down Andrew’s favourite coffee order on a coaster than Aaron had bought him. He then dropped down two books. “Here’s the manuscripts that you ordered for your niece and nephew, the most recent copy of the Palmetto edition unedited, and your correspondences. I’ll have you know that a Kengo Moriyama has asked you to an event, so I retorted with a scathingly professional rebuke. I’ve printed out the response for you to peruse, since I know you actually think it’s amusing -”
“Who dressed you?” Andrew demanded.
Neil looked down at himself. He was wearing black slacks that clung to his legs and glossy Dolce dress shoes. A midnight-blue velvet blazer was kept open over a white blouse that had a lace overlay, tucked into his trousers and extenuating an incredibly slim waist.
His hair was clipped and artfully curled. Worst of all were the smudges of eyeliner at the corners of his eyes, the blue irises outshining every Cerulean jewel.
“Allison toyed with me slightly,” he admitted.
Of course. Allison.
Andrew hummed, ignoring the poignant thrashing of his heart against his ribcage. “Out.”
Neil, inexplicably, grinned. With a two fingered salute, he left Andrew’s office, shutting the glass doors behind him.
Andrew tugged his cigarettes out from the bottom drawer of his desk, staring out at the landscape of New York City as the hour chugged by, ignoring every call and knock on his door.
Posting this for a second time, cause I deleted the first one oops! I'm an idiot who messed up the first time.
This is Jamilmads! Just some pure fluffy Jamilmads for Halloween. There is nothing scary, just BAD puns
1225 words
Reblogs > Likes
Full fic under the cut!
Jefferson hates Halloween. He despises it. He hates the stupid costumes, the dumb obsession with horror movies, the kids that ring his doorbell all evening and into the night begging for sweets.
But most importantly, he absolutely despises how jumpy he is. How easily scared he is. How simple it is to get a ridiculously girly scream out of him, just someone jumping out on him rips a terrified shout from him.
Even more than that, perhaps the most, he hates how the office takes advantage of that.
He knows it's Halloween, not based on the calendar, nor the sudden influx of party-sized bags of Snickers in every Walmart store, but by the dumb fucking 'scary' decorations littering every square inch of his office.
Goddamn it, everyone in the building is above thirty! How are they all so damn childish-? He'll never know.
Thomas physically winces at all the horrendous puns hanging in the office.
"Resting witch face" actually made him groan with dismay as he passed it, the puns got worse every damn year.
There was a shiny, orange plastic banner hung in almost every room, made to look like pumpkins. They were often accompanied by black streamers, and when he stopped off in the break room, he found the coffee machine covered in fake cobwebs and plastic spiders.
Thomas sighs as he pushes the decorations off to pour himself a coffee, "that must be some sort of safety hazard," he mutters, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He watches his coffee pour, the air around him cool and quiet. His humming, usually silenced by the buzzing atmosphere, is a clear tune for once. It doesn't hit him until he's sipping from his mug while walking down the hall towards his office how… quiet it is.
It's so impossibly eerie…
Thomas takes a louder sip, hoping to alert the bat-eared Alexander. The man's biggest pet peeve was always people slurping their drinks, could always seem to hear it from offices away and would come storming in to insist they stop.
But one of his boyfriend’s does not come. Not even a whip of the man's emerald green coat tails fly down the hall. It's beginning to- not scare him. No, he's not scared, he's… apprehensive. Worried. On edge. It unnerves him, even as he pushes into his office. Still silent. Madison doesn’t appear with Alexander, the both of them are nowhere to be found. Neither of them.
Thomas takes another drink from his mug, slurping again and burning his tongue. "Ouch," he hisses through his teeth and places the mug down on his desk, leans on it and peers around.
Were the lights always off in the hallway?
It feels ridiculous, a horror movie move, but he narrows his eyes. It's so quiet. Like the office has been deserted. Is it a day off and he merely hasn't been alerted? Surely Washington would've sent an email, and Thomas would've seen it! He reads his emails religiously every morning, an hour after he wakes as he scrolls through the news reported on through the night.
"Hello-?" He finally calls, suspicious. "Is- is anyone there?" He swallows thickly. A slow creeping eerie feeling grows in his chest, a little swelling bubble of anxiety. His office door is ajar, showing off the dark hallways.
There's nothing.
Thomas sticks his head out the doorway and suddenly there's something and it's jumping at him and he stumbles backwards with a yelp until he loses his footing as the thing screams.
Then the lights flicker on.
Thomas groans, rubbing his forehead. He had landed on the ground, thankfully his office was carpeted. There's laughter, and a hand on his shoulder.
"Gotcha," the voice is smug as Thomas opens his eyes. Fucking Hamilton. Of course it's Hamilton dammit. "We tried to scare you in the break room but you moved-!"
"We-?" Thomas stares back at the doorway and of course- James is standing there, laughing to himself. He has a wide grin, eyes clustering with tears in the corners that occasionally drip down his cheeks. He wipes under his eyes with his thumbs. “I should’ve guessed-” Thomas scowled, getting ready to push himself to his feet, but Alexander sets a hand on his shoulder, sitting down on the floor beside him, crossing his legs to sit criss-cross (apple sauce).
“You moved out of the break room, so we had to rethink our entire plan! We had to convince everyone to come in late just to pull this off! You know the things we have to do?” Alexander keeps speaking, as James collects himself in the background. Thomas can practically hear the cogs whizzing in his mind, clunking together to think up his next words very carefully. With whatever James is about to say next, no one can tell. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that it’ll be something either - gorgeously philosophical or a blatant, awful awful attempt at a ‘dad joke.’ A bad pun, a terrible hilarity. Whatever you may call it, when it comes to James Madison, truth be told no one knows what he’ll say next.
“I have to do Angelica’s paperwork for the next month and Jem agreed to sign Lee’s next vacation leave for him!” Alex finally finishes his ramble, huffing and crossing his arms. “Your reaction was so worth it though-” he snickers, hand over his mouth as he laughs through his fingers.
James clears his throat, and suddenly the attention is on him. Alexander expects a poetic comment, a silk thread of words, sewn together by an expert hand. However - Thomas knows better. He knows fine well that the next comment is going to be some awful, cringeworthy pun. He waits. And then James’ smiles, eyes devilishly focused on Thomas. “Oh, yeah. You tried to run away,” he laughs before he even says the next thing, clearly pleased with himself. “You could be Jekyll but you still couldn’t Hyde.”
Thomas groans at him and finally reaches into his pocket, tossing a pen in James’s general direction. It hits him in the stomach, but James casts it aside and keeps laughing, not bothering to hold it back. “That was scarier than you jumping out on me.”
“You love us really!” Alex cuts in, nudging Thomas on the side with a snide looking smirk. James still bares his beaming smile, and Jefferson can’t help but melt a little. His frown fades into a sheepish smile, a little sliver of teeth until he’s spouting small giggles. Alexander joins in until all three of them are laughing together in Thomas’ office.
“You’re damn lucky I do,” Thomas ruffles Alex’s hair until he scowls and bats at his hands. “C’mere, James.” He gestures, beckoning him over until they’re all huddled on the floor together, crossed-legged and occasionally falling into little fits of laughter.
It’s silent for a long moment, just smiling as they scramble to collect their trains of thought until James’ lights up again.
“Let’s creep it real,” James starts and Thomas’ smile almost automatically falls. “We’re three gourd-geous men,” he snickers, as does Alexander.
“Who’re all Hallow-queens,” Alexander snorts, listening to Thomas’ noise of complete and utter dismay.
“Shut up,” he drawls, placing his hands over his ears with a screwed up face. James and Alexander laugh, cackling like witches.
“Don’t be a jerk-o-lantern!”
“James, I’m going to kill you.”
-
Yayy! Hope yall liked it 👉👈
PLEASE leave feedback I THRIVE on comments. I read the tags on every single reblog, it means a lot to me!!
Me? Writing and posting fanfic for the first time since like 2017? Only for @daylightisviolent
Happy Birthday Natasja! Thanx for being the Jesper to my Will <3 I hope you have the most awesome birthday everr
Have a Spralmer soulmate!AU which was supposed to be like 1k but ended up being 3.6k, whoops?
AO3
~~~
Elmer wasn’t scared to go to sleep, he wasn’t. Okay maybe he was a little scared, but it wasn’t his fault! Tomorrow he would turn 21 which meant that he would wake up tomorrow with a symbol on his body that hadn’t been there before. A symbol that tied him to his soulmate.
Everyone got their Mark on their twenty first birthday, which was tomorrow for Elmer. Your own soulmark is over your heart and the soulmark of your soulmate is somewhere else on your body, it depended on the person where it would show up. If your soulmate was younger than you, you’d have to wait until they came of age for you to know you were soulmates. No one knew for certain why you didn’t get your Mark until your twenty first birthday but it was generally assumed it was so people got the chance to develop their own personality before finding the person you’re destined to be with.
So yeah, Elmer was a bit scared to go to sleep. Tomorrow he would find out who his soulmate was. He laid in bed, tossing and turning and both waiting for sleep to come and hoping it wouldn’t.
11.27PM. A little more than thirty minutes before it was midnight, when his Mark would appear. When he would know what it looked like. He wondered if he had met his soulmate already, if he knew who they were. He didn’t know if he’d rather know them or not, he just hoped they would get along. After all, they were destined to be together.
Realising there was no way he’d fall asleep before midnight, he decided to see if Spot was still awake. Spot had been his closest friend for the past nine years, they’d met in middle school on the first day of the year. Elmer still wondered how they’d become friends. Spot seemed angry at the world and everyone in it, but when they had been paired up for an assignment Elmer had managed to see through the mask Spot put on and Elmer had stuck with him until Spot accepted his friendship. That assignment had been the beginning of their friendship and the origins of their nicknames. Spot’s face was covered in freckles so of course Elmer called him Spot. Elmer may or may not have accidentally let a bottle of Elmer’s Glue explode.
[11.29PM] Elmer: Spottie, you awake?
[11.29PM] Elmer: I can’t sleep
[11.30PM] Spot: yeah i’m awake, what’s up?
[11.30PM] Elmer: Did it hurt? Getting your Mark?
[11.30PM] Spot: nah getting my Marks didn’t hurt
[11.30PM] Spot: tingled a little, sure, but it didn’t hurt
[11.31PM] Elmer: Wait you have multiple Marks?? Spot wtf why didn’t you tell me?
[11.31PM] Spot: you don’t think it’s weird?
Elmer sat staring at his phone when he got Spot’s response, did he think it was weird? No. Polyamorous soulmates were rare, sure, but Elmer thought it was beautiful. Getting to spend the rest of your life sharing your love with more than one person and they were all destined for you? That was amazing. Elmer really didn’t understand why Spot thought he would think it was weird.
He was pulled out of his train of thought by the sound of his phone, glancing down he saw that it was Spot calling and he answered.
“Hey Spottie,”
“Do you think it’s weird? Sorry if I made things weird in our friendship,” Elmer chuckled at that, Spot might seem scary and emotionless but once you get through to him he’s actually a big softie. Not that Elmer would tell him that, they might be best friends but Spot had his limits.
“No! I don’t think it’s weird at all, polyam soulmates are wonderful. You’re really lucky Spottie.” Elmer laid down on his bed and stared at the ceiling while chatting to Spot.
“Okay good,” Spot sighed, “my parents weren’t thrilled unfortunately. Just wait until I tell them I’m gay, that’ll be a laugh,”
“I’ve told you before, if you decide to come out to them there’s a bed here for you,” Elmer smiled softly, “there will always be a bed here for you, you know that.”
“Thanks El,”
“Of course, Spottie. Not that you’d use that bed seeing as you always fall asleep in mine,” Elmer chuckled. There had been many movie nights where Spot had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, leaning against Elmer with his head on Elmer’s shoulder. After the first time it happened neither had mentioned it the next morning and after that they always slept in the same bed if Spot slept over.
“Oh shuttup you,” Spot replied, no venom in his tone.
“Fine, if you distract me from the fact that it’s…” Elmer trailed off to check the time, 11.43PM, “seventeen minutes until midnight and midnight means it’s my twenty first birthday and honestly I’m kinda scared. What if I don’t like them? What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t find them until I’m old and grey and I’m doomed to spend my life alone? What if-”
“Okay I’m stopping you there, El. I’m sure everything will be fine. You’re amazing, you will find your soulmate and if I know one thing for certain it’s that your soulmate will be nice too. The universe wouldn’t dare pair you of all people with someone unlikable.”
Elmer smiled, Spot always knew what to say somehow.
“But I guess I’ll tell you a story to pass the time. Once upon a time…”
As Spot told his story, Elmer listened to his voice. The hand that wasn’t holding his phone was held up towards the ceiling and Elmer looked at it thoughtfully, would things be different tomorrow? Would he feel different? He wondered about Spot’s soulmarks as well. He’d never seen any soulmarks on Spot, which meant they were all in a place that was usually covered by clothes. No Marks on his arms or face. What would they look like? Elmer shook his head, if Spot wanted to show him his soulmarks then he would.
Still staring at his hand, he turned it around from his palm to the back of his hand. Which definitely hadn’t been covered in lines when he had looked at it less than a minute ago.
Elmer gasped as he scrambled off his bed to turn on the light. Looking at the back of his hand again he could now see his soulmark clearly.
“..mer? El? Are you okay?” Shit. Spot. He was still on the phone with Spot. taking a deep breath, Elmer replied.
“Yeah, Spottie, I’m fine.” Emer was still staring at the back of his hand, which now had a beautifully detailed Brooklyn Bridge on it. “My mark appeared!”
“That’s amazing, El! What does it look like?” suddenly panicking, Elmer decided he needed to be alone with his thoughts.
“You’ll see in the morning okay? I gotta go.” quickly saying goodbye, Elmer hung up the phone.
Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he wasn’t sure hanging up the phone was the best decision.
Looking down at the back of his hand again, Elmer confirmed that it was in fact covered by the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot was from Brooklyn originally. Could it be? No, it wouldn’t be. That was too good to be true. Spot had his own soulmates, plural, and Elmer had this Mark on the back of his hand. That was the only one. Right? If they all appeared at the same time it would make sense that he didn’t notice multiple tingles.
Elmer walked into the bathroom and took off his shirt. There was his own mark, over his heart, two spoons with the backs to each other, the way someone would hold them when playing the spoons. A hobby he himself had taken up on a bored afternoon and enjoyed so much he never stopped. and the Brooklyn Bridge on his hand. Wait, what was the dot on the side of his waist? He turned slightly so he could see the picture on his waist. A cigar with a wisp of smoke coming from it. This mark, too, was very detailed. Elmer could see the swirls in the smoke and read the lettering on the cigar. After staring at the marks for way longer than he intended, Elmer put his shirt back on and went to bed.
As he laid in bed he considered all the questions that had plagued him all day. His mind was still running a thousand miles per hour when he fell asleep.
The next morning Elmer woke up because someone unceremoniously fell on his bed. With him in it.
“Spot what are you doing here? It’s like crazy early in the morning.” Elmer half heartedly shoved at Spot to get off of him.
“El, it’s 10AM, most people wouldn’t consider that early. Your family is nice and all but it’s your birthday and I wanna know why you hung up on me yesterday.” Spot took pity on Elmer and laid down next to him instead of on top of him. “What’s this? Do I see the edge of a soulmark on your hand? Can I see?”
Elmer laughed nervously, what if it was Spot’s soulmark? What if it wasn’t Spot’s soulmark? He really hoped it was Spot’s Mark.
“Yeah, ‘course,” he pulled up his hand until it was hovering in front of both their faces.
“El,” Spot whispered, “oh my god,”
Then he was standing next to the bed and Elmer looked at him with surprise, was something wrong? Then he was taking off his shirt.
“Spot what the fuck are you doing?” Elmer asked his friend, looking away.
“Just look!” Spot sounded excited and scared at the same time. “El?”
Elmer looked up at Spot, looked him in the eyes and then looked down at where he knew Spot’s soulmark was. It was the bridge. The same Brooklyn Bridge that was on the back of his hand.
“It’s you! It’s really you!” Elmer jumped up and hugged Spot, his soulmate. “I hoped it would be! Spottie I love you so much!”
Elmer felt Spot’s arms around his waist as he hugged him back.
“I hoped it would be you too. I mean it almost had to be, I can’t think of anyone else as obsessed with spoons as you are.” Spot laughed and pulled away from the hug. He turned so his side was turned to Elmer and showed him the same spoons as Elmer had over his heart on the right side of his waist.
“Do you…” Spot trailed off, thinking about his next words. “Do you have the cigar too? With the wisp of smoke?”
Elmer nodded excitedly. They shared their other soulmate as well!
“Yeah I do!” He pulled up his shirt to show the mark on his waist. Spot traced the smoke with his hand.
“I wonder who he is? Do you think we know him?” Spot looked at Elmer with curious eyes.
“I don’t know, honestly… But I know that whether we do know him or don’t, if they’re half as amazing as you I will love them.” Elmer grabbed Spot’s hand and squeezed it gently.
~~~
Things for Elmer and Spot were amazing. They had moved in together a few weeks after Elmer’s birthday and they were happy. Of course, they knew their relationship was incomplete, they were still waiting for their third soulmate, but they knew they would find each other when the time was right.
“Spottie, I’m on my way home! I’m also desperately craving a latte and this new coffee shop opened on my route so I’m getting a coffee, do you want anything?” Elmer walked through the door of the new cafe.
“Black coffee? I have to stay up late tonight to finish my assignment.”
“One boring black coffee coming right up! I-” Elmer saw the boy behind the counter. He was absolutely gorgeous. The barista had blond hair and a big grin on his face. And- was that? No, it couldn’t be. Then he saw that the barista was looking right back at him. Or more specifically his… hand?
The barista turned to his colleague and after a hushed conversation he stepped away from the counter and walked right up to Elmer.
“El? You still there?” Spot’s confusion was clear in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go, see you at home.” Elmer hung up the phone and put it in his pocket while the stranger was making his way over to where Elmer was standing.
“Eh, hi?” Elmer tried, smiling nervously at the man now standing in front of him.
“My name is Racetrack,” Race said, “But everyone calls me Race. Technically my name is Antonio but no one ever calls me that so please don’t call me that. Unless you want me to associate you with my mother.”
“Hi Race, I’m Elmer. Well, technically Evan but everyone calls me Elmer.”
“Is that the Brooklyn Bridge on your hand?” Race asked, his tone almost desperate. Elmer showed him the back of his hand, the Brooklyn Bridge clear on it.
“Yeah, why?”
“Oh my gosh, you’re spoons?”
“What?” this was weird, right? Definitely weird. Race seemed to realise this as well as he quickly added, “your soulmark? Two spoons back to back? That is your soulmark, right? It has to be, I’d recognize that bridge anywhere. I know it like the back of my hand.” he giggled, “well, not like you would know the back of your hand. It is, literally, on the back of your hand after all.”
Elmer laughed. Race was obviously nervous.
“Relax, relax. Let’s sit down?” Elmer gestured towards an empty table closeby. “Yes, my soulmark is two spoons. You’re the cigar?” Elmer looked at Race expectantly. “Oh Spot is going to be so happy that I found you!”
“Yeah I’m the cigar!” Race smiled at him. “Is Spot your other soulmate? You have three soulmarks t-”
“Three?” Elmer frowned, “No, we have two…”
“What? No, that can’t be.” Race was frowning too, “What do I tell Albert? I’m not leaving him… but if you’re not his soulmates then how does that work?”
“Albert?” Elmer asked softly.
“My third soulmate? You’re the spoons, your Spot is the Brooklyn Bridge and Albert is the wisp of smoke…”
“Wait…” Elmer stood up and pulled his shirt up slightly, revealing the soulmark, soulmarks?, on his waist. Race’s eyes went wide.
“That’s Al’s Mark! And mine! Wow I’ve never seen two Marks so close together.” Race looked at Elmer again, “does that mean Albert is your soulmate as well?”
“I think so? Oh my gosh what the fuck.” Elmer grimaced, he didn’t usually swear. “Sorry. Spot and I always assumed it was one Mark. Wow.”
“I can see why,” Race laughed nervously and grabbed his phone. “I have to call Albert. I have to let him know I found you. Both of you! I never thought I’d find both of you at the same time!”
Elmer looked at Race closer while the other was waiting for Albert to pick up the phone. Race had very light freckles on his nose which looked absolutely adorable.
“Al? Oh my god, Al, you have no idea what just happened! I found them!” … “Yeah! Well, no, I’ve only seen one of them, he’s called Elmer and he knows Brooklyn!” … “No I don’t know how I haven’t asked yet, I wanted to call you first!” … “Yes! Now can you come to my work? Elmer wants to meet you and I want to meet Brooklyn!”
“Spot, he’s called Spot.” Elmer helpfully supplied, still smiling.
“Spot!” Race said to the phone. “I want to meet Spot!” … “Yes of course, see you soon, babe.”
Race hung up the phone and looked at Elmer again.
“Albert’s on his way, are you going to call Spot?”
“I thought we could head over to our apartment together? It’s only a block from here.” Elmer replied. Then he remembered that he came here for coffee.
“Actually, while we wait for Albert I’m going to get Spot the coffee I promised him, do you want anything?”
“Nah, but I’ll queue with you, I’ll get you that sweet sweet employee discount of 20%.” Race smirked and they both stood.
Coffees acquired, they stood outside the coffee shop waiting for Alber. Elmer was going to pay for the coffee’s but Race’s colleague and boss, as it turned out, insisted they just take them (“Anything for young love, go enjoy your newfound soulmates. I’ll see you back at work tomorrow, Race.”).
“That was really nice of your boss,” Elmer said as he took a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah, Darcy is the best,” Race responded and waved at a man across the street. “That’s Albert! Al! Over here!”
Elmer stood next to Race as Albert crossed the street towards them, smiling. All of a sudden he was nervous. This was his soulmate! What would he think of Elmer? What would he think of Spot? Elmer was sure he wouldn’t like anyone who didn’t like Spot. Gosh he hoped Race and Albert liked Spot.
“Hi,” Albert said as he approached the two of them, he stuck out his hand for Elmer to shake “I’m Albert.”
“I’m Elmer,” Elmer replied as he shook Albert’s hand, “technically my name is Evan but everyone calls me Elmer!”
“Nice to meet ya, Elmer!”
“Hey babe,” Race kissed Albert’s cheek and handed him the cup of coffee. “Elmer suggested we go to his and Spot’s apartment cus it’s nearby and it’s a bit more private than a cafe.”
Albert nodded his agreement and Race smiled.
“Lead the way, Elmer!”
The walk to his and Spot’s apartment was filled with easy conversation. Elmer was surprised how easy it was to talk to Albert and Race, but then again they were soulmates, maybe it had something to do with that.
As Elmer unlocked the door he called out for Spot.
“Spot? I brought you something! I think you’ll like it!”
“Is it the coffee you promised me before you so rudely hung up on me without explanation?” Spot walked out of the spare room-slash-office rubbing a hand over his face. “Because yes I do like that and I need it to stay alive.”
“Nope! Well, yes that too,” Elmer grinned, unable to keep his amusement from his voice, “I also brought some people I think you might want to meet. Seeing as they’re our soulmates after all.”
That stopped Spot right in his tracks.
“Soulmates? As in plural? More than one?”
“Yeah!” Elmer gestured to Race and Albert, who had matching smirks on their faces and waved.
“Hi I’m Racetrack! Call me Race,” he walked over to Spot and hugged him, a hug Elmer was surprised to see Spot return.
“I’m Albert,” Albert walked up to Spot as well, a bit calmer than Race, and stuck out his hand for Spot to shake just like he had for Elmer.
“I’m Sean.” Spot said and grimaced, “don’t tell anyone that name. My name’s Spot and that’s all I ever want to hear people say.”
Spot walked over to the couch to sit down, stopping halfway to accept his coffee from Elmer and give him a quick kiss.
“Now someone please explain how I have two more soulmates instead of one like both Elmer and I thought.”
Race and Albert shared one look and then both took off their shirts. Elmer’s mouth fell open. On Albert’s chest he saw the detailed as ever wisp of smoke and on Race’s chest, above two thin scars on either side of his chest, was the cigar that Elmer had become so familiar with in the past couple of months.
“Wow,” Spot whispered, “so you’re both our soulmates? Mine and Elmer’s? And each other’s?”
Race and Albert nodded and Spot looked at Elmer. He looked truly happy, Elmer noticed, thank goodness.
“I guess we were wrong, weren’t we, Spottie?” Elmer chuckled as he sat down next to Spot on the couch. Spot only nodded.
“Cuddle pile!” Elmer had about half a second to see it was Race who had spoken, before he felt a weight on top of him. Race had pulled Albert along and they were now piled on top of the other two on the small couch.
“I’m sorry about Race,” Albert said, pulling himself away slightly to sit down on the couch next to Spot instead of on him.
“Don’t worry, it’s about time Spot feels what it’s like to all of a sudden have the weight of another person on top of you,”
“Hey!” Spot at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed.
“I like you already,” Race murmured.
“I like you too, now I won’t have to bug El on my own,” Spot said, sticking out his tongue at Elmer’s affronted look.
“Go bug each other or something,” Elmer replied. Spot and Race looked at each other and seemed to come to a conclusion, Elmer breached himself and he felt Spot weight on top of him not a second later. He laughed and pushed both Race and Spot off of him and they landed on the rug on the floor, both laughing.
Elmer looked at his two soulmates on the floor and his soulmate sat next to him on the couch and he held out his hand for Albert to hold. They would work well together, he thought as Albert took his hand. Yeah, they would be okay.
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A really stupid thing I wrote to distract myself from my cold. Which totally backfired, as you can see.
Tentoo x Rose | 1,782 Words | All Ages | sick!Doctor
The Doctor had never experienced cold symptoms as a Time Lord. Now that he’s human, he’s more than susceptible, due to his new body’s untested immune system. (Just a silly, fluffy one-shot.)
Before becoming human, the Doctor never imagined just how horrible it really felt to have a cold. Of course, some colds could be worse than others. But he hadn't spent the better part of his life building up his immune system against all these relatively innocuous viruses the way most humans did.
So when his first cold hit him, it really hit him.
On the first morning, when he woke up from a somewhat fitful night's sleep, he thought maybe he'd breathed a bit too much smoke from that alien spaceship crash the night before. His throat felt a bit scratchy and thick, and he found himself wanting to swallow more than normal. He was also very thirsty. All that smoke and heat must have dried him out a little, that was all.
But then he tried to sit up, and the entire room began to spin.
“Whoa...” he rasped, grabbing the edge of the bed to stabilize himself, taken aback by how hoarse his voice was. He reflexively cleared his throat, but it didn't help, and seemed only to make the soreness worse.
Rose half rolled over to look at him groggily. “What, what is it?”
“Blimey...” he said, closing his eyes, but still feeling lighter than air, and completely disoriented. “I feel... I feel...” he flopped back down onto the pillow. “Weird.”
Rose rolled the rest of the way and felt his shoulder briefly, then his forehead. “God, you're burning up,” she said, voice pitched with concern. “How do you feel?”
“I told you. Weird.” He draped an arm over his eyes. For whatever reason, the light coming through the window was giving him a headache.
“You sound awful. You must have caught Tony’s cold.” Rose rolled out of bed and threw a dressing gown on, briefly disappearing from the room before returning with a thermometer. “Here, stick this under your tongue,” she said.
“I can't be sick,” the Doctor whinged. “I have an excellent immune system. I never get sick.”
“Doctor, that was your old body. You're human now, and as susceptible as the rest of us. Now do as I say.”
The Doctor mumbled darkly under his breath, but allowed her to take his temperature.
The thermometer beeped after a few minutes, and Rose read the digital window. “Yep, definitely a fever. I'll call Pete and let him know you're staying home.”
“Nonsense!” His voice cracked raggedly. “You work when your sick, I can do the same.”
Rose guffawed. “Doctor, you've never had a cold before. Your immune system has never been exposed to a cold virus, ever. You might be at higher risk for pneumonia because of it, and I'm not about to let that happen.”
“But Rose...” It would have been a whine under ordinary circumstances, but as it was, his voice sounded more like chains being dragged through gravel.
“Be sensible, Doctor.” She patted his arm. “I'll go make some tea. You stay here.”
As soon as she'd gone, the Doctor tried to sit up again, concentrating on keeping himself more stable. After a moment, the room settled down, but sitting up made his headache a thousand times worse. The pressure behind his eyes was monstrous, and he couldn't breathe through his nose. Still, breathing through his mouth set his throat on fire. He tried to swallow, but that made his throat feel worse. Everything inside felt sticky and full of bugs, crawling around under his skin and in his throat. “This is disgusting,” he grumbled under his breath.
Still, if ordinary humans could go to work with a cold, surely a part Time Lord human could manage. He just needed to get moving, maybe have a bit of breakfast, though his legs felt like concrete, and he didn't feel much like eating. Still. He could do this. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up off the mattress...
And immediately sat back down, the room spinning again. He felt like his head was floating and his legs were stuck in quicksand. “This is ridiculous!” he muttered, face pinched and frowning. Hearing his ragged voice just added to his irritation.
After two more attempts, and using the wall to stabilize himself, he finally felt like he could walk across the room and put on his dressing gown. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and was shivering by the time he tied his robe closed. He grabbed a pair of socks out of the dresser and stumbled down the hall towards the kitchen, running his hand along the wall to ground himself.
He came around the corner just as Rose was setting the teapot on a tray laden with a simple breakfast. She looked up. “Doctor! I told you to wait there!”
“This is silliness, Rose, I'll be fine. I just need some ibuprofen and a little breakfast, probably. I'm sure it's nothing.” He gingerly made his way to the nearest dining chair and eased himself into it with an involuntary sigh of relief.
Rose's brow creased as she frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “You're not being reasonable.”
He responded with a sudden attack of forceful sneezes—four right in a row—then lowered his head to the table with a groan. Rose sighed and came closer, massaging his head gently. “I'm sorry you're not feeling well,” she said.
“This is rubbish,” he whinged.
By day four, the Doctor found himself flat on the couch with tissues hanging out his nose in between coughing fits, which of course sent them flying. The room smelt of menthol, and the air was made thick and muggy by the vapor wafting out of the humidifier, leaving his clammy, flushed skin even more unpleasantly shiny. It was an immensely humbling experience for a former Time Lord. Rose had piled on blankets and made him as comfortable as she could, keeping tissues and juice handy, and making sure his little sick bay stayed tidy and sanitized.
“Roooose...” the Doctor crooned as she set another cup of tea on the table beside him. “You're ad adgel. What would I do without you?”
“Die, probably,” she replied with a smirk as she sat on the foot of the couch and took up her knitting.
“Blibey, I have a whole dew respegt for you hubads, whed your sick, goi'g about your busidess like dothi'g's wro'g, while all the tibe you feel like this.”
She bit back a smile. “We have our moments.”
“Oh, loads. So bany bobedts. You hubads... you abaze be.” His voice cracked as it rose in pitch.
“What's this you humans stuff, anyway? You're one of us now, remember?”
“Right! Right... guess I have sobe tougheding up to do.”
“Don't worry, Doctor. Your next cold won't be so bad.”
By the middle of week three, when he wasn't feeling much better, the Doctor went to see Martha for an exam.
“It's not pneumonia,” Martha said. “You do have bronchitis though, and a sinus infection. Bad luck.” She frowned sympathetically. “I'll write up a couple of prescriptions, but mostly you just need lots of rest and fluids. It should clear up in a few weeks.”
The Doctor's face fell. “A few weeks!?”
“Sorry. Not brilliant, I know, but it's just the way of it. It's viral, you just have to wait for your body to fight it off. The inhaler will make breathing easier, and the antibiotics will help your sinus infection.”
He groaned and slumped in his chair, thoroughly deflated. “I've dever knowd adyone this rubbish at getti'g over a bloody cold.”
Martha smiled wryly and shrugged. “It's usually worse for little ones, or for really elderly people who already have health problems.”
“Well, as Rose cleverly poidted out, I have the ibbude systeb of a six bonth old, so I guess I fall idto that category.”
A week or so later, Doctor was happy that his sinuses were finally clearing up, though his cough still lingered. But Martha had said it could take a while for the swelling in his bronchial tubes to go down. Something else was occupying his attention, however, as he stood half dressed in the loo after brushing his teeth.
“Rose, there's something wrong with by tongue,” he called, then flapped his tongue out to examine it in the mirror a fifth time. “It's all... disgusting.”
“Let me see,” Rose said, entering the loo.
“No! Don't look at it!” He slapped his hands over his mouth.
Rose made a scoffing sound. “Doctor, seriously?” She crossed her arms and frowned.
He sighed. “Fine.” He stuck out his tongue reluctantly, which was patchy and white, and... well... disgusting seemed pretty accurate.
Rose recoiled slightly. “Eugh... er, I mean... I think it's... it looks like oral thrush.”
The Doctor's brow drooped. “Oral thrush.”
“Yes, it's... erm... it's basically a yeast infection of the mouth.”
His face crumpled in distaste. “Yeast?!”
“Yeah, I think sometimes you can get it after taking antibiotics.”
“Bloody hell!”
Rose cringed. “Sorry, Doctor...” She gave him a little hug. He leaned in for a kiss and she pushed him back, cringing. “Er, rain check on that, please?”
The Doctor groaned and plopped down on the toilet lid dejectedly.
She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I'll get the apple cider vinegar.”
Two weeks later, after swishing faithfully with apple cider vinegar, making careful dietary choices that promoted a healthy oral PH, and continuing to rest as much as he could without going bonkers, his bronchitis and thrush had finally cleared up, and he felt the bounce returning to his step.
Rose stood at the kitchen stove babysitting some chops, and he came up behind her, enveloping her in a cozy hug. “My Rose.”
She smiled and turned to face him. “My doctor. I'm so glad you're feeling better.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Me too.”
“How about that kiss, then?” she giggled as his breath tickled her skin.
“Ooooh, I have quite a bit more in mind than a mere kiss,” he purred. “But it's a good start.” He leaned in for a passionate snog, their lips meeting tenderly at first, then more hungrily. He'd missed this. He'd really missed this. The kiss deepened as he hummed into her mouth, pulling her warm body closer. Her very warm body. Her hot, hot... wait...
Rose suddenly pushed him back and sneezed several times into her sleeve.
“Rose?” The Doctor felt her forehead. “Oh no, you're roasting!”
you are the cigarette butt of every community you might seek solace in, and considered disposable even by other mentally ill people -- usually people who have it less severe and judge you for not being able to keep it together and feign normalcy like they do.
the worst part is knowing that people are judging you and don't respect you and don't hold space for you, but not knowing how to fix it. not knowing how to stop being psychologically broken.
not knowing how to be less autistic, less ADHD, less bipolar, less BPD, less psychotic, less paranoid, less hyperfocused, less inattentive, less hysterical, less traumatized, less sensitive, less. less of who you are neurologically.
you can't be. so you hate yourself, because you can't be. your brain doesn't do it, and you hate it, because why is it doing this to you? what god did you enrage?
they call you stupid. maybe not explicitly, but they're thinking it when you don't understand the argument, when you don't respond in the right tone. when you have a meltdown because you hate yourself and you hate your brain and you hate hate hate hate hate YOURSELF why are you LIKE this? you go away.
then you come back, and find they're no longer calling you stupid. they're calling you crazy.
you cannot be chained down by their neurotypical standards. you wish you could, earnestly. you hate your intimate chemistry for doing this to you; you hate them for making it worse. (but you don't, not really. you just want them to accept you. please.) you will never be the way they expect you to be, but that doesn't mean you aren't worth something. they curl their lips behind backs, behind screens, because they don't want to confront the part of them that disagrees. they want their normalcy unchallenged.
when you point this out, you're derailing. when you point this out, you're gaslighting. when you point this out you're making excuses to justify your bad behaviour, you intellectually dishonest insert-slur-here. you are violent, and you are not welcome.
it's okay, you tell yourself, fighting the urge to relapse, going back to the place where you are bloody and starving. it's okay that you're no longer (were never) welcome. you didn't really believe this space would be different, anyway.
