Basic thought that has undoubtedly been said before, but a scenario I will never tire of is one person touching another person's face (massaging away a headache, tending to an injury, just the tender caress of a lover) when suddenly the touchee grabs the toucher's wrist and urgently drags their hand away with some breathy, stammered variation on "w-wait..!" â cue a brief moment of confusion from the toucher before the touchee twists away with a desperate, emphatic sneeze, thus answering the unasked question.
I am thoroughly ashamed that this, perhaps the BEST reason for one person to touch another person's face, slipped my mind, because of COURSE that is the ideal scenario.
something about a polite "you'll excuse me", a phrase somewhere closer to a demand than a plea, followed by a sneeze so desperate that it's somewhat closer to a demand in and of itself~
I pay a lot of lip service to this without ever really dwelling on it, but something I LOVE in sickfic is like the "day 0" of an illness where a character is having experiences that COULD be signs of an illness or could just be one-off biological oddities (fatigue, headache, sore throat, colder than usual, etc). I just think it's neat
The golden moment right after someone is doused with a cloud of dust/pepper/powder, but before they sneeze. They stand there stunned, sniffling, maybe some of it's gotten into their eye. Then the nose starts flaring and the jaw quivers...ah, aaahh----
When someone is in the midst of a fit and you catch glimpses of their unchanging expression between sneezes, the irritation still etched deep into their features.
It's vanilla but I absolutely LOVE this and can't not have it on my blog, so...
Cerberus and Kia, courtesy of an amazingly talented and lovely long-time friend of mine.
Somebody coming down with a cold while caring for somebody with an injury that means they really can't/shouldn't be out of bed for long. Cue the injured party wishing they could get the sick person to go to bed and rest, the sick one doing lots of handwashing and apologising for the timing, and both of them guiltily wishing they were in a fit state to properly care for the other.
character 1 who is a bit cold bc theyâre unknowingly starting to get sick lends their jacket to character 2 who is colder bc they underdressed &/or are smaller. the former was thinking with concern about keeping them warm & well, and not thinking about how theyâd spent the past few hours muffling scattered sneezes and a budding cough into the clothing they just fit on them (nor about how making themself colder will affect their state)
I think something so wonderful about a blessing is the acknowledgement of it. The 'thank you' specifically. There's something so sexy about someone acknowledging a moment of their own vulnerability and appreciating the acknowledgement from someone else.
It can be a bit of a mindless little gesture. Common courtesy and all that jazz. But when the person receiving the bless you really takes it in and offers a proper and purposeful thank you, FUCK I get tingly.
He was trying to be romantic, running through the rain to his loverâs house. They had a fight and he thought there was no hope, but heâs had a Blinding Realization and heâs driven to find his partner and apologize right by-God now.
Unfortunately, he wasnât quite thinking straight when he rushed out into the driving downpour to make his big move, and he managed to forget his umbrella. And his coat. And that he was already getting sick.
By the time he arrives on his loverâs porch, heâs soaked through and running a fever. He had a speech prepared, something passionate and deprecatory that was sure to win them back, but he canât remember it now.
It was meant to be his Storm the Castle, his Grand Gesture, what he needed to put the pinch point behind them and get on with act three.
But he isnât a triumphant romantic hero, heâs drenched and pitiful and dreadfully, visibly ill.
His partner opens the door, at first seething that heâd come back, then concerned when he doesnât say anything. He just stands there, swaying gently as he fights to stay upright, desperately trying to remember the words âIâm sorryâ.
His partner doesnât wait for his explanation, they just wordlessly lead him to the couch. Heâs already half-asleep as they pull off his shirt and pour him into the pair of pajamas he left here in the first act, make him a cup of tea that will be cold by the time heâs awake enough to drink it, palm his forehead and murmur something soothing.
He never got to apologize. He falls asleep knowing heâs forgiven anyways.
thereâs smth really soft about the phrase âlie back downâ. like maybe they shouldnât have gotten up in the first place. the mentioning of it by someone else, clocking how absent the other is. like, go back. get cosy again. whatâre you doing out of bed? stay with me, have your tea/meds/water. good, now lie back down.
For #2 (unexpected allergies) of @moonlitkit's Snztember.
â2,500 words; Cerberus, Kia, Aera, and several problematic trees.
â
âBless you, Lord DeVille.â
The words come shyly, and without eye contact. Which one of the many attendees at the dayâs festivities has offered it this time, Cerberus isnât sure, but itâs far from the first â and judging by the ridiculous way things are going, itâs unlikely to be the last. He gives a short, curt nod in a general acknowledgement, sniffles sharply, and continues on his way. Itâs not, overall, important.
But what at first had seemed to be a mildly annoying intermittency was starting to become an actively bothersome constant. Heâs prepared for only so much unsolicited social interaction, for a start, and he certainly hasnât counted on so much ofâŚ
*snf!*
His breath catches, a staccato staggered serration, but he doesnât succumb, and exhales with slow caution.
âŚso much of it so soon.
Dear gods.
And he still hasnât managed to find Kia, somewhere in this multi-staged conglomeration of bands and spruikers, exhibits, demonstrations and games, one of the...truly worst attempts at manifested oneiromancy he could ever remember seeing, and of course this godsforsaken endless crowd. He recognises Aera in the midst of it, and it occurs to him that she may well know Kia's whereabouts, but any intended greeting is swiftly abandoned in surrender to a sudden, desperateâ
âAhhâHEHTSSHhuu!â
Its unexpected power leaves him slightly dazed, and he sniffles wetly in its wake, flicks some dishevelled hair from his eyes.
Damn it, what in all the hells is going on?
He frowns slightly and presses a firm hand against his nose with another sniffle, also firm, and barely manages to not roll his eyes at the latest scattered chorus of blessings. To top things off, the irritation hasnât been at all relieved.
Though he has managed to get Aera's attention, in any case.
She stares at Cerberus with undisguised curiosity, says some distracted farewells to the stallholder sheâs been chatting with, and wanders across to join him.
"Well, well! Wonders will never cease," she says, smiling openly. "Didn't expect to see you here." Her expression shifts into mild suspicion as he sniffles with force. "You got the plague or something?"
"Iâm fine, other than this damnâŚ" The sensation, unyielding, demanding, rises anew; he pardons himself quickly and turns away. "Ah-TSSCH-uu! *SNF!*" Cerberus sighs in brief but acute exasperation. "This damn sneezing," he concludes with bitterclear annoyance, as if the irritation itself were a personal betrayal. Indeed, heâs not sure whatâs worse: the sneezing itself, or the accompanying â and escalating, godsdamnit â excessive public attention that it continues to bring. "Pardon me."
And as much as Aera knows his tendency to deny oncoming illness, itâs true that he doesnât look sick â none of the lethargy and haziness that comes with illness, instead rather more of the irritation that marksâŚ
âSo, just hayfever, then.â
âWhat? *snf!*â Cerberus gives a dismissive scoff even as he presses the heel of his hand under his nose, blinks against the prickling behind his eyes. âI donât get hayfever.â
Aera smirks wryly. Naturally. "Well, for someone who doesn't get hayfever, you're doing a pretty great impression of someone who does." Past that, though, she's not inclined to argue the point. "Anyway, whatever," she says, and instead draws his attention to a small but richly verdant birchgrove off to their left, the branches, foliage and abundance of catkins dancing in the wind. âBut just so you know, itâs probably that.â
His revisited What? is full of the quiet horror of recognition, and he murmurs a sotto voce that can't be right â as if by saying so, he can make it a truth.
But not even the Demon kingâs formidable strength of will can do a thing to change the wind's brisk insistence, the stirred-up motes of pollen flurries flickering in the sunlight, the faint, maddening itch blooming deep in the bridge of his nose and curling down the back of his throat.
âFor fuckâs sake, Cerbie, you know that birch isââ
âYes of course Iâm well aware of that, damn it, but thatâs not the tree, not theâŚthe pollen â thatâs just the damn bark, the smoke, when you and your *snf!* superstitious Sorcery cohorts burn it in those ridiculousâŚ" The vibrant buzzsaw itch rises again, relentless, and he capitulates posthaste to an unstoppable double. "Huh-TSCHH-uu! Huh-AHSSCHuu! â
A snort of laughter. âYou know, thatâs probably why youâre allergic," Aera posits. "Itâs all the eeevil.â She wiggles her fingers at him in a deliberately over-the-top mimicry of stylised spellcasting. âYou do remember itâs used for cleansing, right?â
âAre you calling me unclean? I haâŚ" A forceful hand pressed against his nose does nothing to stave off the inevitable, his sentence wholly abandoned to rapidgasped surrender. "Ah-HEHTSHhuu!â
âOkay, Captain Pureheart.â
He gives her a withering glare through watering eyes, sniffles damply, and mutters, âYou really do get away with murder sometimes, Megaera.â
Aera folds her arms and fixes Cerberus with direct and deadpan gaze. âMe,â she states flatly. âI get away with murder.â She pauses a significant moment more, just in case her point isnât already clear, and prods him sharply in the arm. âMe.â
âFiguratively speaking,â he says, his tone roughened but edged with dry amusement, "of course."
:And donât you âMegaeraâ me just because Iâm right: she Mindsends.
He draws breath to retort, only to be overtaken by another powerful, possessing sneeze. âAh-HEHTSHhuu!â
The entirely unexpected, softvelvet :Bless you, sweetheart: that slides into his mind startles him enough that he turns abruptly, eyes scanning the crowd with suddenly focused intent.
Aera tilts her head in query. âWhat?â
âI justâŚ" He frowns in mild confusion. "Kia Sent me a blessing,â he murmurs, distracted, as he rapidly assesses the multitude of faces, finding no sign of her. âI don't see⌠She's notâŚâ Another frown as he checks a final time. "She's not here. But how would sheâŚ"
Aera chuckles. âYouâre a distinctive man, DeVille.â
He sniffles, straightens his coat, and tries to look perhaps a little less like a man being slowly undone by airborne plant matter. "Hm."
âLook, I guarantee she's on her way, alright? But anyway, listen, I gotta go." Aera places a hand on his arm â brief, casual, friendly. "Iâll see you later. Actually, in two days. Youâre overseeing the Guildâs ceremonial nonsense for me. Oh, and here.â She Creates a neatly folded handkerchief, handing it to him as she turns away, before he has any chance whatsoever to counter her assertion. âMaybe try not to breathe so much.â
âI hardly thiâŚâ He pauses, raises an eyebrow at the elegantly fine, looping embroidery of his initials in one fine cotton corner. âYou monogrammed it?â The cruelty of those consonants add unmissable insult to his injury; Aera, however, this time lets it slide.
âEh. I do what I can.â She blows him a kiss as she vanishes.
â
âBabe?â
For a moment, he can only stare, his senses overwhelmed in a new, equally unexpected way. Another determined sniffle, and Cerberus presses the handkerchief underneath his nose as he regards Kia, always so beautiful, but here today⌠here today like nothing he's remotely prepared for. Like sin dressed in silk, like seduction incarnate, heat itself. Her dress exquisitely contoured, flowing and fitted interweavings of scarlet, crimson, ruby, vermilion embodying flame and fire, cut to flatter the curve of her waist and the line of her legs, the neckline just daring enough to make his breath catch. Her hairâs swept up in a loose twist, a few strands tumbling artfully around her face, and the sunlight catches on the gloss of her lips like a promise, timestilled, glorious.
âSneezed your brains out, hon?â
It takes him another moment before he manages to respond.
âIâŚâ Cerberus sniffles again, the world narrowed to no more than his stunning bonded, the sound of her voice, the scent of her perfume. âI honestly canât be sure.â He inhales and exhales slowly, carefully, steadying himself as best he can â a tenuousness he's well aware of. "Entirely possible. Iâd not bet against it. Gods, love, youâre an absolute vision.â A small, appreciative smile tugs at his mouth. âYou should warn a man.â
Kia laughs and Mindsends a warm, genuine :Aw, thank you, sweetheart: âJust keeping some tiny powers to myself," she adds playfully, standing on tiptoe and touching an appreciative kiss to his cheek. "Anyway, I just figured youâd, you know, see me at home later. I didnât think youâd actually show up here.â
âWhy would I not?â
She laughs again, gently incredulous â she'd thought he hadn't been serious when he'd said that he'd attend, that his words had been nothing more than a distracted courtesy. After all⌠âUh, maybe because you never come to these things?â
âReally?â Cerberus frowns, muttering a quiet, mildly perplexed, âI feel like Iâm always coming to these things,â notably more to himself than to her, just seconds before his attention is rapidly, needfully redirected. "Sorry, I'm gâŚ" he almost manages, his words a blurred rush of necessity as his breath is directed to more pressing matters, hurried and desperate; he covers with hastily retrieved handkerchief, and with scimitar gasp succumbs again, absolute and all-consuming, twice over.
"Huh-TSSCHH-uu! Huh-AAHTSSCHHuu!â
"BleâŚ" Kia begins, but abandons her words as Cerberus raises an index finger in a pause of captive anticipation. A quavering moment, and another, then with sharpgasped urgency he gives over entirely. âHh-hhAAHTSSCHHUU!!"
âBless you,â she murmurs over his apology, transfixed and just a little softwantonâŚbut not without curiosity. "What's getting to you, babe?"
He clarifies the situation, not a small dose of impotent bitter fury alongside it. "âŚreceived enough blessings that it practically counts as consecration, and honestly it's an utter insult I canât burn every last one of the damn things to ash!" He sighs heavily, affronted indignance fading somewhat into resignation. "Anyway," he concludes, wiping his nose again, âit seems Iâm allergic to it." He runs the edge of the handkerchief under his nose, folds it neatly between his fingers, and adds, âIn, um⌠in general.â
âWell, yeah, babe, course you are,â Kia remarks, nonchalant, as she smiles broadly and waves to Riviera and Calico in a friendly greeting before returning her full attention to her magnificently disarrayed, apparently oblivious bonded.
âOf course I am?â Cerberus echoes, genuinely beginning to feel as if heâs in some kind of alternate reality.
Kia briefly considers saying all sorts of things â things of the kind that would make him roll his eyes, or laugh despite himself, or something leaning heavily into how is this a surprise to you? especially after the icestrike? and how there sure are a whole lot of different kinds of intelligences out there and how he's kind of being an outstanding example of that sort of thing right now â but instead lets the moment hang, her gaze lingering on him with a slow, knowing warmth.
âYou know, if you like,â she says at last, voice sultry with invitation, âwe could always get out of here, and I get to be the thing you canât resist, instead ofâŚâ She stands on tiptoe, leans in and kisses the tip of his nose.
âHuh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!"
ââŚthat,â she finishes with a wink and a flash of a teasing smile. Her finger to his lips steals any attempt at a light chastisement, and the kiss that follows steals everything else â breath, thought, the last thread of his composure.
âMmm, bless you.â Her voice is honeypurred as she runs a fingernail down the contours of his face, brushes some strands of stray ebony behind his ear, and presses nearer to him still. The faintest shift of her hips against his leaves no doubt she knows exactly what sheâs doing. âYouâre trying your best to not just rip this off me right now, huh.â
A wry chuckle of concession from Cerberus, called back to himself; he concedes entirely. âYou have no idea how difficult it is, love.â
Kia curls her arms around his neck, her fingers through his hair, and Mindsends a decadent, heat-suffused :Stop trying: â molten, inexorable, and the Demon king forgets the press of the crowd, the insistence of the pollen, the entire world beyond her. One hand trails down from the nape of his neck to rest over his heart, her thumb brushing once, slow, as if to mark the beat. Possessive. Certain. The look she gives him is all heat and intent, and she lifts her hand now to trail languidly down the line of his nose, a fingernail curling sensual, lascivious, along the elegant curve of his nostril.
He doesn't resist, allows her to trace the shape of his surrender.
