ough. there’s something about this summer air or my weird sinuses that these days I don’t even need chhinkni to start sneezing in the middle of playing piano or most other mundane things. I may have to try a nose spray cuz my generic allergy meds don’t seem to be helping with the congestion
ough. there’s something about this summer air or my weird sinuses that these days I don’t even need chhinkni to start sneezing in the middle of playing piano or most other mundane things. I may have to try a nose spray cuz my generic allergy meds don’t seem to be helping with the congestion
Anyway you folks do you know what's hot? Hitches that catch. All sorts of marvellous hd-! and hhit...! and h'gh!! sounds. Like yes gasping and panting is choice already but just that extra extra audibly desperate edge telling you that someone is really really ready to explode.
hey, thought I’d share a bit from this thing I’ve been writing for wip wednesday. fancy wedding reception and a female guest who’s affected sneezily by alcohol. x
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Quarter to Ten-ish. The traditional dances had been danced and only a few remained up there swaying. I might’ve been up there too, but I wasn’t too familiar with the last couple of songs. Also, I was too sneezy to dance. Served me right, I guess. My glossed lips were parting again. Black and blue glitter twinkled on the edges of the gold satin napkin I’d pulled from my lap. My eyebrows wrinkled as if to express exasperation or confusion as my breaths played tug-of-war with the warm evening air. “Achoo,” my friend supplied. I exhaled, muscles relaxing. My elbow jerked in his direction. “*snnff*…” One of my nostrils was blocked, though both were hot, in a constant state of runniness. “Are you gonna sneeze?” he mused. Bored. Watching the sparse individuals on the dance floor. I reached for the stem of my third glass of white wine. I gulped down the bitterness and set down the glass. The sensation hit my nasal passages like gasoline on a flame. I let out a slow breath. On the inhale, I focused on the irritation, my eyes narrowing until they squeezed shut. “hh’it’TDSCHhh-!! hh… *snfff!*” I turned away squinting, lifting the damp corner of my napkin. “hihh? haET’CHIEWWh!! *sngk*” I sighed, starting to feel a bit heavy. A hand ran down my back, steadying me a little. “Bless you.”
The end of the thermometer hangs from their dry, flaking lips like a sucker or cigar, their posture as lax, maybe more. While you’re waiting, they stare. Gaze heavy, nearly gone, hanging on just enough for them to glare their contempt - understandable. They keep staring as they drag a viscous, mucky sniffle, the rims of their nostrils writhing with it. Raw from abuse, cavernous and glinting. Air hisses softly through their teeth. The thermometer beeps. Quickly, you take it. They snuffle and lift a wrist to scrub fiercely, audibly at their nose; a flushed irritated mess of wet skin and cartilage. The urge to nag them not to is intercepted by the number on the little screen, as it confirms your worries. They adopt a raspy soap opera voice, slouching back into the couch cushions. Sweat gleams on their smiling face as they ask in a dry husk: “Give it to be straight, doc. How bady days I got?”
hiyo. this is gonna sound fake lol so earlier I was bra shopping at the mall and I went into the fitting room. and while I’m in one of the little cubicles I heard a girl outside tell her coworker “I just got a wave of cologne”. and a couple minutes later I get the wave - it’s this fruity, sweet scent, and idk if the store even sells perfume but it was like someone was spray testing it
and I have no clue if it was related or just coincidental but when we left the store I kept sneezing. and naively I didn’t have any tissues in my pocket and doing the brave turn-away-wrist-cover thing and sniffling but we stopped to have lunch at a cafe where there were napkins. even when I got home I kept sneezing. had a nap woke up and sneezed more. I find it so weird bc I could blame the pollen and me being unmedicated but it rained a lot today so I’m rly not sure
(my friend also warned me to wear a hood going between the parking lot and the entrance so I wouldn’t catch a cold but we’re knocking on wood there)
hey sorry yeah lemme just *leans over the middle console to change the radio station* wait *opens the console and turns on the overhead light to rummage through cds* *gasps and sneezes, misting the air and getting spray all over the dashboard buttons* ‘scuse me, sorry *hacking coughs* *clacking plastic* hm. eesh. Ah! *shoves a disc into the slot and presses the cd button* yea crank it *disappears into the backseat* *honking ensues*
cold whump scenario where the caretaker has to save and quit out from a draft/project/piece of software to get their overworked sickie to get some rest. carefully finding their way through unfamiliar technology to save the work while the other protests, uncharacteristically emotional, highly symptomatic. googling how if they have to
my oc again, sick with a cold and reading a poem aloud about being sick with a cold. a bit about caretaking too.
cw: light mess | 800k words | pt III & IV on here, all parts on the forum
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~New recording 171~
The recording starts with a soft shift. A heater hums in the background. He slouches over the desk, weary and warm, his brow shining with sweat. Next to the open book is a steaming mug of ginger tea.
His gaze falls over the selected text, and he straightens a little, clearing his throat. “*ak’hrrem! grmm!* Hi.” The word comes out flat, and he chuckles dryly, weakly. “I… *grmm!* I dod’t eved kdow, *sddrFh!* if… if by voice is loud edough, *kof, KOF!*” He breaks into an itchy, phlegmy cough, turning his head away from the desk. “…Gosh,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “Sorry. I, uh… *sddrff!* I have a bit of a cold. *hsdrffh!* Oh by goodness, *sDDRFF!*”
He hastily lifts the hanky clutched in his right hand, and folds it over his dripping nose for a long, liquid blow. Afterward, he’s still left sniffling, his voice very nasal but a touch clearer.
“A’d, ub… I thought I’d read a text that has beed… requested, mbultiple tibes… a’d I’b godda- euUGH’CHIEWW!!! heihh! hAED’SSCHIEWWwh!!! Ohh… Excuse be.” He rubs his nose with the hanky, breathing through the soreness aggravated by each desperate sneeze. “Ub… It’s called ‘The Apartbedt Id The Sky,” by Ebily Caroll. *sdrff*”
The dight after your plade took off
I lay alode id the empty loft.
The city below id e’dless *sddrff*… fehhst...tivities…”
The word becomes a breathy whisper, the vibrations of his speech teasing at his sensitive nose. The centre of his face is heavy with congestion. Sniffling adds to the precarious sensation, thick mucus shifting in his itchy, swollen nasal passages.
“…hih? *s-snnrffh* h-heih?? Ehh-“
His chest swells with a huge gasp as the urge to sneeze consumes him, and a wet, bursting expulsion soaks the damp handkerchief. “yYY’AASSCHHIUHHh!!!” Another gasp, and- “AAASSCHHIEWWw!!! -’AAASSCHhiew-!!” He groans softly, snuffling and gently wiping his face. His raw, chapped nostrils twinge against the drenched cloth. With one hand, he lowers the soiled hanky, and reaches for another on the side of the desk.
He sits there for a moment. Breathing carefully, letting a dazed feeling linger and slowly recede. The cloth is soaked through already, and he lowers it, drawing thick, soupy sniffles. The sneezy feeling lingers. Sniffling seems to interrupt it a bit, but his sinuses are aching. He absolutely needs to blow his nose. “Excuse be,” he exhales.
His hand moves toward the last handkerchief. With a sigh, he drops the soiled one in the hamper and folds the fresh one. Again, he blows his swollen, aching nose, making congested honks. He gently wipes his deeply flushed nose and sucks in a few sharp sniffles.
“So sorry,” he pants, a hoarse utterance. He lifts the corner of the hanky to dry his eyes. “*sngk*…*g’hmb…grmm!~* Where was I…”
“The city below id e’dless festivity, *ahemm!*
Up here I’d brood, a’d thigk of whed you’d visit be.”
He lifts a curled index finger and pushes his knuckle against his right nostril, as they both flared wide.
“Back whed by deadlides hu’g over- hD’JSCHIEWw-!! *snnnrk!* …by head…
…iehhh… HAAAESSCHHIUHhh!!! … oh…”
The ear-splitting sneeze shreds his throat, dropping his voice by a few decibels.
"Your voice warb id by ear, *ahem!* a’d the thi’gs that you’d said.
By head ablaze, mby speech udsou’d
Each ragged breath dryi’g mby mbouth
A’d id the hours of peace we’d fou’d
I’d sdeeze so hard I’d shake the grou’d.
But eved whed the hour was late
Sat up id bed, you’d touch by face
… *sdrff!*
A’d all the while, *koF!* I shook with- ESSCHHiuh!! -with ndoise, hihh?? huH’ESSCHHIUE-!! *sddrffh*
Your steady ha’d a’d tender voice…”
The heater hums in the back. A soft pause lingers, and he lifts the damp cloth to blow his nose. He emerges, eyes drooping, his pink nostrils still flexing with thick sniffles.
“*grm!* … *snnff*
A bag of ice to soothe by crowd
A pill and drigk to lay be dowd.”
A wet, phlegmy cough rises in his throat. He winces as a more violent, barking cough does the job of clearing it.
“The apartbedt sobewhere id the sky
Above the streets, us scrapi’g by.”
His shoulders rise and fall, laboured, as if he’d been journeying uphill on foot. The edges of the wet hanky pinched between his fingers. Still visibly clammy, feeling tempted to forget the text and zone out. Lay his head down on the cool surface of the desk. But only a little bit remained. He could finish it.
“*ah-he-hem!* *sdrfh!*
A bligki’g light to grace the dark
I’d thigk of days lo’g past the spark
A voice like yours to conjure whed
I lay udwell, alode id bed.”
There’s another quiet break at the end of it. He sniffles lightly, soft on the recording. Finally, he gently clears his throat and reaches toward his phone, lying face up on the desk.
