Because spring is juuuust starting where I am, here's a thought I had. Is this anything??
A dryad who is helplessly allergic to their own pollen and dreads blooming time every year. They try so hard to hold back their sneezes so as to not disturb the bees and butterflies but sometimes the tickle simply becomes unbearable and when they finally sneeze (maybe because of a wisp of hair or a rustling leaf or even a butterfly who landed on their nose rather than a flower) it feels so good but then a cloud of pollen shakes loose and settles on them all over again and their nose is so sensitive already that the cycle starts all over again.
It was an irony that spring was their most detested time of year.
They would stir from their winter hibernation as soon as the buds started forming in their hair, and they would spend the next week or so dreading their final form.
The flowers were objectively pretty. Under other circumstances, they might be proud. The petals blushed a delicate baby blue, just a bit darker toward the edges. They were attractive, and the bees ad butterflies thought the same. The dryad loved those creatures. They less liked the pollen they stirred up.
It wasn't fair. You weren't supposed to be allergic to yourself.
The dryad became aware of the first flowers opening when their nose started to twitch. The pollen could become visible, at the peak of the season, but their nose would let them know well before any other sense.
"Morning," the dryad offered to the lazy bees that fluttered around them. "Hopefully this is enjoyable for you. Far more so than it is for me."
The bees didn't respond. Instead, they buried into the flowers. The dryad twitched. They couldn't feel it well, but there was a flicker of ticklishness along their scalp.
More flowers opened as the day went on. Itches fluttered along the length of their nose, even as the dryad tried to breathe carefully.
Their head was laden with bees and butterflies and wasps, all trying to pollinate. It was a pleasant feeling, or it would have been, if the insistent tickle running through the dryad's nose hadn't been disturbing things.
"Nn..." The dryad rubbed their tongue against the roof of their mouth. It helped little. "Nnhhh... hhh..." They pinched their nose. All of their breaths kept snagging and fluttering. The itch waxed and waned slowly, lazily.
One of the butterflies fluttered off. "S-sorry," the dryad murmured. "I- I'll try not to- n-not... t-tooohhh... ah..."
Their nose twitched, like a rabbit's. No amount of rubbing seeming to help. The dryad remained as still as possible. Even a slight head shake could send pollen cascading down, and that would set them sneezing helplessly for ages.
Just a couple more weeks. Of course, they were barely through the first day...
A breath snagged sideways. "Ahh-hahh-ahhhh!" The dryad's head snapped back and only a quick pinch prevented a full sneezing fit. The pollinators around them swirled and drifted. "S-sorry," they murmured.
One by one, they alighted back down. The dryad felt them settle with faint flickers of ticklishness. Of course, all those little feelings could barely compare to the itch in their nose. They were almost pleasantly distracting.
And then a butterfly, perhaps having misaimed, settled on their nose.
The dryad froze. The little itchy legs tickled on either side of their nose. They had to cross their eyes to see the creature probably. The tickle flared, crawling through their sinuses.
"D-don't-" The dryad tried, but the tickle spiked so much that they couldn't speak. The hand they'd lifted to shoo the butterfly away wavered in midair.
"Ah... hhhahhhh..." They tried to regulate their breathing as much as possible, but they couldn't stop gasping, right on the edge of a sneeze. "Huh... h-huhhhhh... ahhhhh..."
The butterfly stayed still, like it could sense the impending explosion. The dryad's eyes teared. "Ahhhh... ahhhh!"
A breeze picked up, drifting past. The butterfly, startled, kicking its wings.
That did it.
The dryad snapped forward. "HA'CHIUUEEWWW!"
The sneeze was relieving. And then grainy yellow pollen drifted down around them.
The dryad doubled over, each sneeze shaking loose more pollen and triggering another round of frantic sneezing. "NITSHOO! HASHOOO! HAHHH! EHTCHIEEUUU! Asshooo! Ashoo! Hehh... heeh! HATCHIIEEWW! SHHOOO!"
It took several tries, but the dryad managed to stumble to the nearby stream and splash water into their face. Another couple of sneeze slipped out, but the maddening itch faded to something tolerable.
Groaning, the dryad sagged next to the stream. Only thirteen more days of this.
Hello! This is a story I've had kicking around for a while with a couple of my OCs. It involves M sneezing while hiding, and holding back. I hope you enjoy!
Rummaging through old rooms in the temple-church-thing is starting to make Jinero twitchy.
Well, twitchier. He’s usually a little twitchy.
I do feel bad about him coming with me. I would usually take Mirana, but she found out we were essentially breaking into a temple and put her foot down so hard, I think people on other continents heard it. So I asked Jinero for backup, and he agreed. Though only after failing to talk me out of it.
I’m rummaging through a back room, having successfully slipped away from the rest of the worship party. I think I can convincingly lie that I got lost, if needed, but I’d still prefer not to be caught at all.
Jinero has his sleeve over the lower half of his face. It is kind of dusty in here. I keep stopping to cough. “What are we looking for?” His voice is a bit muffled and strained.
“A burned book. Should have been at the fire. If it’s here and I can find it, that means someone here took it.”
“Or someone took it and stowed it here.”
“Someone who doesn’t work here? They’d have to break in to do it.”
Jinero gives me an arch look. “As we are currently doing?”
“Well, yeah. But we’re trying to find something. There are easier places to stash a book than this if you don’t have easy access, but if you do, it makes a relatively secure location without risks of losing it.” I open another box. “You can help to, you know.”
Jinero takes one step forward, then doubles over in a near-silent sneeze.
I barely restrain myself from saying ‘bless you’ because I’m pretty sure they don’t say that here. “You good?”
He lifts his head, blinks hazily, and nods. He comes a few steps closer and crouches next to the box. One of his hands moves to lift a large candlestick out of the way—then flies back to his face as he executes another near-silent sneeze.
I stare at him. “Are you okay?”
The next sneeze is also strangled into silence. Jinero waits another moment, then nods. “Fine.”
It is dusty. I go back to rummaging around.
Two minutes later, Jinero sneezes again. Then another time in another minute. Then again the next. He rubs his nose with a handkerchief.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“F-fine,” he says, sounding moderately less confident.
“Okay,” I disbelieve. Jinero catches that and frowns at me.
“I am fine.”
“Something’s setting you off,” I say. “Are you allergic to dust?”
“Allergic?”
“Does dust usually bother you?”
Jinero frowns. “No more than anyone else, I would say.”
Yeah, that’s true. I dragged him into the basement once and there was dust there and we did sneeze, but not as much as he’s doing now. It seems to be ramping up, too. Jinero doubles over with two in a row, both tightly controlled. He looks a little winded when he comes back up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again, then add, “Be honest.”
He hesitates. “I’m not sure.” Then sneezes.
“Okay. Um.” I don’t want to come back later, not after we’ve already gotten here, but I also don’t want Jinero to slowly sneeze himself to death. I also don’t want to send him out there alone, sneezing his head off. If he stays in here too long, is that going to trigger a bad allergic reaction? Is it dangerous to leave him alone?
Fuck it. I can try to find other evidence later, or come back alone for the book. Jinero is not replaceable. “Let’s go.”
“But the book-”
“Another time. Let’s go.” I grab Jinero’s wrist and start to move toward the door. And freeze.
“Tiran?” Jinero whispers breathily, anxiously, at my shoulder.
There’s footsteps on the other side of the door. Heading this way. “People,” I whisper. “We need to hide.”
Jinero’s face goes ghost-white in the dim lighting of the room. “Wh-” Before he can get any other words out, I drag him backward into the room and look around.
Mostly boxes. A wardrobe that might be big enough for both of us, depending on what’s in it. A closet that definitely has enough space, but is only shielded from the rest of the room by a fabric barrier.
Shit. I go to the wardrobe and throw it open. Nope, also full of boxes. Unless Jinero wants to reveal some impressive contortionist skills and hide in there on his own, it’s a no-go. Either crouch behind some boxes or into the closet we go.
I scramble to the closet and duck behind the cloth. There are also boxes in here, but far fewer. I move to the back of the closet and press my back to the wall.
It’s just in time. The door to the room opens.
I also realize there’s a faint smell in the air. Not a bad one, sort of light and flowery. It must be coming from the boxes here. Actually, it’s familiar. It’s incense. Not the same one they burn in our temples back home, just a bit different.
Jinero makes a strangled noise just as I realize my mistake.
He’s not allergic to dust. He’s allergic to whatever this incense is. It’s been setting him off since we got into the room. And I just pulled him into a closet full of it.
Fuck. I’ve ruined this. If we’d stayed out in the room itself, I could have played up us being lost. Maybe even said Jinero had been sneezing and we’d ducked aside to get some privacy for him to recover. They’d have been suspicious, but I think it’d have been believable enough that could have let us go.
But hiding in a closet is way too suspicious. Now we look guilty, it’s way harder to play this off, and there’s at least one other person in the room with us while Jinero’s breathing starts to change.
I do the first thing I can think of, which is pull him into a hug so his nose is pressed to my shoulder. He nuzzles in, hopefully quelling a little of the itch.
Not enough, though, because he freezes, then starts taking in little, quick, tremulous breaths. One of my hands is on his back and I can feel him shift with every inhale.
“Hh-hiih-huh-hhhuhhh-”
He’s clearly trying his best, I’m just worried it won’t be good enough. If he sneezes, we’re fucked.
As soon as I think that, he jerks with a tiny, well-controlled sneeze. I feel it a lot more than I hear it, because his entire body shakes and his arms lock around me. The other person in the room definitely didn’t hear it over the sound of their own footsteps.
If he can keep doing that, we’re probably fine. I just don’t think he can, because as soon as he takes the next inhale, he’s gearing up for another.
“Rub your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” I breathe into his ear. The only other way that’s worked for me is humming, which is obviously not an option. Jinero’s jaw shifts, so I think he’s doing it. His breathing doesn’t stabilize, but it doesn’t get worse.
The other person is shuffling around the room like they’re looking for something. I hear the bang and shift of boxes moving. Oh, god, if they come into the closet… This was not a well-thought-out plan.
Jinero makes a quiet, desperate noise and sneezes again. It’s still nearly silent, but there’s more force behind it. My back is braced against a wall, but I’m basically holding Jinero up at this point. He’s shorter than me, but not by that much, and not that much skinnier, either. I don’t know how long I can support him, and the closet is standing-room only.
The other person is still fucking in here. What are they doing? Looking for something? Only I’m allowed to do that!
Jinero draws in a massive, gasping breath and sneezes. There’s a little sound this time, still too quiet to be heard by the other person, but it’s definitely not going to stay that way. Jinero also barely takes a break before gasping into another. He manages to stop himself going into a third, but it’s clear his entire body wants to and he’s holding it back by a desperate act of will.
I rub his back. “It’s okay. You got this. You have control.” I scratch my fingers against the back of his head. I can’t reach his nose from this angle, and I’m terrified any kind of touch there is going to make him explode, but maybe scratching somewhere else will help, psychologically?
He immediately sneezes again. Maybe not.
His nose must be too stuffed to breathe through anymore, because he’s panting against me, huffing in and out in short, desperate breaths. Which means he can’t rub his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He’s rubbing his nose against my shoulder, but I think it’s getting too damp to quell the itch anymore. Also, the other person is still in here why are they still here I want to fucking kill them arrgggh!
Jinero gasps in and sneezes. This time, there’s a distinct sound, a sharp “ChH’TCH!” into my shoulder. The other person pauses, all movement ceasing.
Oh fuck. Jinero clearly doesn’t notice, because he’s inhaling again, but if he sneezes now, any sound he makes, even a little one, is going to give us away.
So I wait until he’s at the top of the inhale, grab a fistful of his hair, and yank.
He makes a noise, but it’s a tiny, startled squeak, barely loud enough for me to hear. The sneeze is startled right out of him—it’ll be back soon, but I’m praying this bought us enough time.
The other person is still for only a few seconds longer, then they sigh. There’s another bout of walking, the shuffling of materials, and then, blessedly, mercifully, the footsteps head for the door.
“Little longer,” I whisper to Jinero. “Little longer, just a little bit longer-”
He pulls himself closer to me to muffle another sneeze against my shoulder. This time, I catch a still-quiet but absolutely desperate, “-shoo!” at the end. He’s immediately gasping into another sneeze just as the door opens, and the other person steps out.
With a final, satisfying bang, the door closes behind them and we’re alone in the room again.
Jinero does not wait for an invitation. His head snaps back with a massive inhale, then he’s burying his face against me as his entire body convulses with sneezing.
He’s trying to muffle them at first (good call, I don’t know how soundproof that door is, or how far away that person went), but it’s a losing battle. We need to get out of the closet.
The issue is that he’s sneezing so hard he’s basically gone limp and is just hanging off me to stay upright. Most of him is floppy as a doll, only his hands braced against my clothes with an iron grip.
“Jinero,” I say over his hysterical sneezing, “we need to move.”
He snuffles and chokes back a sneeze just long enough to start shuffling back out of the closet. I sweep the curtain aside and half-help, half-push him into the fresh—well, fresher air.
The instant he’s free, he all but collapses, bracing himself on his hands and knees on the ground, propelled by the force of his next sneeze.
I crouch next to him and rub his back. “Here. Handkerchief?” He takes mine, the one I usually keep stored in my sleeve. Hopefully it didn’t get any incense on it, but Jinero doesn’t seem bothered, or at least not noticeably bothered. He needs to brace himself against me, because he doesn’t have enough strength to hold himself up on three limbs whole clutching a handkerchief to his face. One of his hands grips, claw-like, at the fabric at my waist. I keep patting his back.
Geez, he really was holding back before. These sneezes are all but screamed out, his head snapping back and forth with the effort of them. I’m starting to worry he won’t recover in this room, and I don’t know about taking him out into the corridor. Stone halls make great echo chambers, and everyone in the building could hear him if he keeps going like this.
Uh, okay. New plan. I need to try something else.
“Jinero, look at me.” I need to manipulate him up off my shoulder, because he’s too boneless to move on his own. Once I have his face in front of me, I position my hands on either side of it, fingers splayed across his cheeks and thumbs on either side of his nose. His face is a little wet and sticky. I ignore that.
Instead, I brace my thumbs and massage little circles against his sinuses. They’re swollen—poor guy’s going to have the worst sinus headache when all this is over. But I think this’ll ease things, at least long enough to find a room with a window.
“Jinero? Is that better?” I keep up the massage. You need a decent amount of pressure for this. Anything light is liable to tickle more.
His nose twitches. His nostrils flare. His brows are lifted, drawn together in a near-questioning gaze, and his eyelids flutter over eyes shiny with unshed tears. His lips quiver over a half-parted mouth, which keeps drawing in unsteady breaths.
He’s a person who absolutely has to sneeze, who’s right on the edge of sneezing. But he’s not sneezing. He looks sort of hypnotized, though I’m not sure if that’s the massage or if the urge is so intense it’s taking over his brain. His hand slides to my thigh, loosely clutching at the fabric.
“We need to move,” I tell him. He doesn’t nod or speak, but he gets easily to his feet when I tug on him.
It’s a hard position to walk in. I basically have to turn sideways with my head pointed forward while Jinero stumbles along next to me. But it won’t be for long. I know the way back out. We climb the stairs (thankfully not running into anyone else) and get to the main floor. Two doors down, past another cloth barrier, there’s a writing room that, thankfully, has an open window.
I get us inside and let go of Jinero. He collapses into the nearest chair. The hand with the handkerchief hovers in front of his face. His other hand clutches at mine.
For a moment, there’s silence. I wonder if my massage actually managed to fix things, but Jinero’s breath is still shivery, that hazy look on his face still present. He takes a quavering inhale, then another. His mouth hangs open, his eyes shimmer as they focus on something distant. Then, finally, something triggers. His eyes drop shut, his mouth opens even wider, and his expression snarls as he takes three rapid inhales and sneezes.
I switch the hand Jinero is holding to I can rub his back. He seems exhausted. I guess sneezing too much is a lot of effort. I don’t really have allergies, so I wouldn’t know. I’m still concerned he’s going to have a really bad reaction, but the continued sneezing is probably a good sign, there. If he’s still sneezing, his throat isn’t closing up.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to be nice and soothing. “It’ll be over soon.”
Jinero squeezes my hand, the only method of communication available to him right now. I hope that means he likes it and doesn’t think it’s condescending as fuck.
Jinero slumps over. I don’t think he’s done, exactly, but he’s clearly winding down. He sniffs again and finally manages to blow his nose. It’s extremely gentle and still triggers a “Hhhhh! Hat’CHOO!” out of him.
“We’re going to need to bathe,” I tell him. There’s dust on our clothes and in his hair and probably, at this point, up his nose. He needs a thorough washing. We both do, probably.
“There-” he tries, and I’m immensely proud of his first word emerging since he started sneezing. “There’s… nn..” He rubs his nose and takes a quick shivery breath. “There’s a… a… ahh…”
“You can sneeze first,” I say. He shakes his head.
“A b-bath house near… near…” His eyes slide out of focus. His handkerchief half lifts in front of his face. His expression twitches, then his nose. The hand in mine tightens.
“N-near…” He’s still trying to get the word out, but it’s breathy, faint, almost an afterthought. His nose gives another twitch and he reels back.
"Nnnn- ah! Hhahhh ahhh ahh! Ahhh! AAHHHT’IHSHIEEEUUU!” This time, there’s no immediate fit, just a loud, aggressive sneeze. Jinero groans and rubs his nose.
“You seem to be sneezing less,” I encourage. “That’s good.”
“Yes,” Jinero says. “But the ihh-itch is still abominable.” He gives his nose a tentative rub.
“We’re probably going to need to pour water up your nose to clear your sinuses,” I warn him.
Immediately, his expression slackens. His nose twitches and he barely gets the cloth over it before he bursts out with a “Eht’CHIIEEUU!”
“Maybe,” he says once he’s done, “we don’t talk about anything going up my n-nose for a bit.”
“Done,” I say. “Are you almost ready to go?”
“I’m not s-sure,” he says. His expression’s still hazy. “I still feel… th-there mi-ihh-might be a few more that need to get out.”
I pull up a chair and sit next to him. “Whenever you’re ready, then.”
He gives a tight, controlled smile. Then waits.
It doesn’t take long. After only a few breaths, his nose twitches. His expression slackens again. He lifts the handkerchief, hovering it in front of his face. “Hh…Hhh! Nnn… hh? Hhh?”
He’s definitely lost steam. These breaths are soft, hesitant, like he’s not sure they’re really going to come. His head tilts back as his chest swells. “Hhhh? Hh-hh-hh?”
The next breath catches and confirms things. “HhhhHHH! Hah! Hat’choo! At’chooo! Tchiew! Tchoo!”
His last couple sneezes are squeakier, less aggressive. He pulls his face out of his handkerchief, breathes, and ducks back down for another, “Tchiew!”
“Those sneezes are kind of cute,” I tell him. He snaps his head toward me, startled, then pauses. His breathing snags. The hand holding the handkerchief doesn’t move to cover his face, just flutters loosely.
Then he doubles over into a series of tiny little sneezes. “Tch! Tchoo! T’choo, t’choo, tch, tch, tch, tchtchtchtchTCHOO!”
He rears back, expression still hazy. The hand on mine clings, like a lifeline. He inhales once, shaky. Another, just as tremulous. Then, three quick little breaths. Then, “Ahhahh! AHT’CHIEUU!”
That one had sounded particularly cleansing. Jinero slumps over, groans, and blows his nose. This time, he doesn’t sneeze.
“Better?” I ask.
“Incredibly,” he says. He sniffs. “There’s still an itch, but I think I’m done.”
“Good.” I stand up. “Then baths for both of us.”
“Yes,” Jinero agrees. “And perhaps we can find someone to wash our clothes, as well.”
We start to leave. As we approach the doorway, I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
Jinero cuts his eyes sideways at me. He doesn’t say anything.
“It’s my fault you were here, and that happened to you,” I say.
“Yes,” Jinero says. Not accusingly, more like he’s just acknowledging what I’m saying.
“I thought it would be fine, but it wasn’t, and I’m sorry,” I finish up. Man, I suck at apologizing.
“I appreciate your apology,” Jinero says. “And it is accepted. Let’s find somewhere to wash up now.”
