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A Brief Introduction: [Link]
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The MasterList includes each story for my characters organized in chronological order.
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The Weather Turns
Giving Perry a break for a bit, and introducing a new OC! Crawford Seaver is a weather wizard with an unfortunate cold, and an even more unfortunate quirk that comes along with his sneezing.
Part of the Perryverse, but stands on its own for now. Just a simple, soggy, sneezy wizard for your reading pleasure! Enjoy!
“Looks like bad weather at the lighthouse.”
Ruby, polishing glasses behind the bar, rolled her eyes as a fisherman, dripping wet from the rain outside, approached her Aunt Hortense with this grim warning. Two weeks working at the Dropped Anchor, banished to the tiny fishing town of White Water for “unbecoming behaviour” with the attractive son of a prominent cleric in the city, had done little to curb her impatience, or tendency towards sarcasm.
“It’s bad weather everywhere. Look outside!”
The fisherman looked to Ruby with disbelief, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“Aye… But it’s bad weather at the lighthouse.”
Aunt Hortense gave a disapproving tut, looking up from polishing the bar and meeting the fisherman’s eyes.
“Ignore Ruth. She…”
“Ruby!”
“Ignore Ruth. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care, and won’t be staying. Does it look bad? Poor Mister Seaver, out there all alone…”
Ruby snorted.
“Does he expect a social life, living in a lighthouse?”
Her elders ignored her completely, with the fisherman going on in grim tones.
“We’ll see how bad soon enough. His supply run day, isn’t it? And if he’s got what half the town’s had…”
Aunt Hortense’s brow creased with worry.
“If he’s got what half the town’s had, he’ll be sneezing up a storm. I’ll see that there’s something on the stove in case he wants to stop by for a meal, and we’ll just have to hope he has matters under control.”
As Aunt Hortense retreated to the kitchen, Ruby turned to the fisherman with interest, no longer even pretending to polish the glass in her hands, instead leaning in for a chat.
“So, what’s the big deal about this Seaver? Someone important? How come I never see him around town, if that’s the case?”
The fisherman shook his head disapprovingly.
“He’s a wizard, is our Mister Seaver. A weather wizard, and a good one, too! So mind you show him proper respect, and leave him be, he likes his space.”
Ruby rolled her eyes, turning back to her glasses and making a half-hearted effort at polishing one.
“Who ever heard of wizards these days? I thought they all live off in towers somewhere, all high and mighty and above it all. And if he’s so good with weather, can’t he warm things up a little? It’s been miserable for days!”
The fisherman opened his mouth, no doubt to chastise her, only to be cut off by a gust of bitter wind as the door opened, and a stranger entered. A tall figure, clad in an oilskin coat dripping with rainwater, his face largely obscured by a blue woolen scarf, and his hair wild and damp from the weather. Ruby caught a glimpse of hazel eyes over his scarf, looking watery from the chill wind.
A terrier trotted in ahead of the stranger. A scrappy-looking little creature, with one ragged ear, and a tail held proudly in the air like a banner. He looked up at the stranger, all attentiveness, and Ruby heard a soft, hoarse voice from behind the scarf.
“Go and sit, Neptune.”
The terrier, Neptune, plainly familiar with the place, trotted over to an isolated table in the corner, while his master approached the bar, hanging back a little as if unsure if the fisherman sitting there was being attended to first. The fisherman nodded respectfully and gestured for him to approach, and shot Ruby a warning glance, as if silently urging her to show respect as well. Evidently this was Mister Seaver, the local wizard.
Never one to blindly bow to those deemed respectable, Ruby had a quip ready along with an empty glass, when the stranger stepped forward, carefully unwinding his scarf. Ruby’s cheeky remark died in her throat.
The term ‘wizard’ had conjured up a mental image of an old man with long white hair and an equally long white beard, with flowing robes and perhaps a pointed hat. A somewhat ridiculous creature from a storybook. Instead, the man revealed as the scarf peeled away was strong-jawed with a hint of stubble, his age hard to determine. Handsome, in a weathered and weary sort of way. Jaw-length brown hair peppered with grey, gentle, intelligent eyes, and a prominent nose, the bridge of which was a touch irregular, as if broken sometime in the past.
Said nose was absolutely ravaged with a seemingly brutal cold. Rubbed red and raw, decidedly damp about the nostrils, it sounded dreadfully congested as the wizard wrinkled it and gave a marshy snuffle.
Ruby felt her cheeks flush. Something about a handsome man with a cold always made something inside of her squirm. It was no coincidence that the cleric’s son who had been her undoing had constantly been catching the sniffles. She broke into a catlike grin, leaning forward on the bar a little, displaying herself to best advantage.
“You must be Mister Seaver. I’ve heard all about you.”
The wizard only briefly met her eyes, and then lowered his gaze. Not to where Ruby wanted it, annoyingly, but rather looking at a corner of the bar, as if embarrassed to look her in the eye. He sniffled again, his nostrils arching with the effort of it, and he rubbed a knuckle beneath his leaking nose.
“I am. Crawford Seaver. At your service. You… erm… You’re new…”
He turned away slightly to cough into his fist, and Ruby took the opportunity to tug the neckline of her blouse a little further down. The fisherman, watching her disapprovingly, tutted and shook his head.
“I am indeed. Ruby. A pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you? You look as if you need warming up…”
Her attempt at a sultry manner was ruined by Aunt Hortense returning and taking her shoulder, pulling her back and directing her towards the kitchen, scowling all the while.
“If you’re not going to make yourself useful out here, you can go back there and start washing dishes. Now, Mister Seaver. You look wretched, I imagine you’ll want something warm in your belly. We’ve a mutton stew, if that suits?”
The wizard, Crawford, nodded, fishing a frayed old bandana from his pocket and roughly pinching at his nose. For a moment, his eyes took on a distinctly absent look, and his breath caught. Ruby, lingering in the kitchen door, watched unashamedly, and tried not to feel too disappointed when the vaguely sneezy expression faded, and Crawford breathed a sigh of relief.
As did the fisherman, who, Ruby noted, had been watching Crawford nervously.
Odd.
Crawford spoke up again, his quiet voice muddled with congestion.
“Thank you, Mrs. Platt. And if I might have some tea? My throat…”
“Sounds like you’ve gargled gravel, and no doubt you could use some steam to clear you up. Go and sit down, the girl and I will take care of it. Ruth, kettle. Now!”
Ruby shot a sulky look at her aunt, and, before retreating into the kitchen, looked back over her shoulder at the ailing wizard. As she watched, he took his bandana again and mopped at his streaming nose, before rubbing it none too gently. His breath caught, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, Ruby noted both Aunt Hortense and the fisherman tensing up, the fisherman edging away a little. Both only relaxed when Crawford let out the breath as a soft moan, rubbing his nose once more.
Aunt Hortense spoke up.
“You have those sneezes under control?”
Crawford’s cheeks coloured a touch, and he nodded, avoiding her eyes. Stranger and stranger, Ruby mused, before retreating into the kitchen as Aunt Hortense turned and glared. Grumbling under her breath, she set about filling the kettle and hanging it over the fire, while Aunt Hortense came to fill a bowl with steaming mutton stew, and slicing bread to go with it.
“Why’s everyone so nervous of him sneezing? It’s just a cold, and we’ve had half the town hacking and spluttering all over the bar these last couple of weeks. No more risk of catching it from him than any of them.”
Aunt Hortense shot her an irritable scowl, placing the bowl and bread on a tray and passing it to her.
“Don’t you go meddling in our Mister Seaver’s business. It’s none of your concern. Now, take that out, and then leave him be. The poor man’s ill, he doesn’t need any of your nonsense!”
“Oh, I don’t know. He looks rather miserable. A little nonsense might cheer him up!”
“Ruth, I swear to whatever god happens to be listening, if you keep talking back…”
“Alright, alright, I’m going!”
Tray balanced on one hand, Ruby made her way back out to the bar, spotting Crawford now seated at the corner table, his dripping oilskin removed to reveal the same sort of cable-knit woolen jumper the local fishermen wore. He rested his head on one hand, and with the other, kept his bandana pressed to his nose, alternately pinching and rubbing. Evidently the swollen appendage was troubling him immensely.
The little dog, Neptune, sat obediently at his feet, and alerted him to Ruby’s arrival with a sudden “Wuff!”. Crawford sat up a little straighter, and lowered his bandana, avoiding her eyes once more. Up close, she could hear him giving soft little sniffles with every other breath. Offering her most charming smile, Ruby set down his food, and lingered, holding onto the tray.
“That ought to put some colour back in your cheeks.”
“Thank you. Very much appreciated.”
Crawford hesitated, seemingly unsure whether to begin eating in her company. No doubt unused to the charms of city girls, Ruby mused, toying flirtatiously with her braid. She offered a teasing smile.
“Everyone says you’re a wizard. You don’t look like one.”
Crawford blinked up at her. There was a hint of feverish haze to his eyes that melted something inside of her, and when he replied, soft and hesitant, his voice was so heavy with congestion, he struggled to make himself understood.
“Erm… Then I must resort to the old cliché, Miss Ruby, regarding appearances being deceptive.”
“I suppose they must be. Your appearance says you should be in bed. Yet here you are, up and about!”
Crawford flushed a little deeper, and looked down at his bowl as if it might hold the answer to escaping this conversation. Unwilling to let him get away just yet, Ruby grinned, leaning her hip on the table.
“So, if you’re really a weather wizard, can you conjure us up a ray of sunshine? Gods know we could use it around here!”
Crawford continued to stare down into his food, stirring it idly and addressing the bowl.
“That would be inadvisable for a number of reasons. Natural conditions shouldn’t be… Hehhh… Shouldn’t be tampered with. Too much… Huhhh…. Uhh… Sndfff!... potential for… for unforeseen… consequences… I’m so sorry, I beg your pardon, I…”
Shaking his head as if he might somehow deny the inevitable, Crawford lurched forward into his much-abused bandana, though, having struggled to talk his way through the build-up to his sneeze, he buried his nose in the damp folds too late, failing to entirely cover an impressive plume of spray.
“HhhhHHRUFFFSSSHOO!”
It was as if someone had suddenly pulled out a weapon. The various tavern patrons, who had been shooting Crawford the occasional worried glance, suddenly pulled abruptly away. One or two leapt to their feet. One dived under his table.
Silence hung in the air for a moment, broken only by Crawford’s unsteady breathing and pitifully damp snuffling. At length, cheeks and ears flushed red, looking as if he wished to disappear, Crawford emerged from behind his bandana at last, and chanced a brief look around the tavern, raising a hand apologetically.
“… Sorry… Under control…”
The patrons returned to their drinks, though wary glances continued to be sent in Crawford’s direction.
Ruby, mouth dry, face warm, struggled to find her words. Gods, the man sneezed like a thunderstorm. Loud, and wet. She swallowed hard, and struggled not to giggle as she spoke.
“Well, I’ll bless you, even if no one else here has manners. It’s alright. No need to be shy. Sneeze as much as you like.”
Crawford shrank into himself a little more, and dabbed at his long-suffering nose.
“I’d very much prefer not to. Apologies. I… You ought to keep your distance.”
Almost as if he meant to chase her off, Crawford buried his nose in his bandana once more, and, thin chest expanding with a slightly wheezy inhale, let loose with a blow that rivaled a foghorn, giving his nostrils a vigorous rub afterwards. Three times, he repeated this process, and at last tucked his bandana away once more, drooping over the table, somehow still looking heavy with congestion.
Far from being deterred, Ruby clucked her tongue sympathetically, and tried not to squirm. If ever a man needed to be held…
“Oh, you needn’t worry about me. I never catch anything. Except when I decide to chase something.”
Once again, her flirtation fell on deaf ears. Crawford merely shrank in on himself further, and shivered. Ruby fought back a sigh.
“Alright. I’ll leave you to eat, and get that tea ready for you.”
As she passed the bar, the fisherman, now being poured a glass of ale by Aunt Hortense, let out a low chuckle.
“You’re barking up the wrong wizard there, my girl!”
Ruby’s cheeks flushed with annoyance as she stormed back into the kitchen, and poured hot water into the teapot to prepare it for the leaves.
“Honestly, does anyone in this washed-up wreck of a town have taste?”
Waiting for the pot to warm, Ruby went to listen by the door, and struggled not to squirm as she heard another sneeze from Crawford’s table. Once again, it sounded loud, soaking, laden with cold… And was once again it was accompanied by the scraping of chairs and sound of movement as patrons drew away, followed by a hoarse, miserable apology, and assurance that all was under control.
“Honestly, they can sail through a storm but can’t handle a man with the sniffles…”
As Ruby emerged from the kitchen with a large, steaming mug of tea, her attraction to the ailing wizard merged with sympathy. Looking to his table, she saw him shivering hopelessly, having pulled his oilskin back over his narrow shoulders, poking miserably at his food. And, as if to further compound his misery, all those who had been anywhere remotely near his table had relocated to the other side of the tavern.
“Honestly, it’s just a cold…”
Ruby glanced at Aunt Hortense, and found her at a table at the other side of the room, laying down the law regarding a patron’s unpaid tab. Taking her chance, Ruby ducked beneath the bar, seizing a bottle of whiskey and adding a generous shot to the mug of tea. That ought to chase away the chills!
Crawford, feeding Neptune a piece of mutton from his stew, looked up at Ruby with bleary eyes as she approached his table, setting down the mug with a smile.
“There. That’ll have you nice and warmed up in no time.”
Worn and weary and wretchedly full of cold as he looked, this time, Crawford managed a slight, shy smile in return.
“Thank you. Very much appreciated.”
Crawford wrapped his hands around the mug, sighing in relief at the warmth, and raised it to his lips, attempting to inhale some of the steam through his stuffy nose. Failing this, he took a deep sip instead.
His eyes, closed in relief at the warmth, suddenly opened in horror.
“Is… Huhh… Is there… Snff-SNF! Huhhh… HaAHhh… whiskey in this?”
“Just a nip! I thought it might warm you up?”
Crawford gave a flustered snort, setting the mug down and pushing it away, and grabbing urgently for his bandana. His reddened nostrils flared wide, and he shook his head, as if he might somehow refuse the oncoming sneeze, even as his eyelids fluttered closed and his chest and shoulders jerked with violent hitches.
“I… I can’t… Ihh… I’m sorry… I… Ehh… HehEHhh… HhhHRFFFSHHHOO!”
Crawford did his best to smother the explosion in his bandana, but to no avail. It was torn from him, throat-scraping and violent, and already he was gasping in air for another. Neptune gave a sharp yap, and retreated under the table between Crawford’s feet. The patrons at the other side of the table rose to their feet, and Ruby heard one of them cry out.
“Best clear out, here he goes!”
“HhiieeffsssSSHOO!”
The second sneeze left Crawford panting and teary-eyed, bracing himself against the table, coughing weakly, but already drawing in air for a third effort. Several patrons hurried out the door. Others ducked under their tables. Aunt Hortense, spying Ruby, came storming over and seized her by the arm.
“Get away, you silly girl, before…”
“HhhHHRAAASSSSHOO!”
The sound of the sneeze itself was nearly drowned out by a crack of thunder, and a blinding brightness as lightning flashed just outside the window. Wind shrieked through the tavern, blowing an abandoned newspaper about the room. Ruby gave a shriek of alarm, clutching Aunt Hortense as the sudden violent gust tore at her hair.
Crawford, rubbing furiously at his swollen, leaking nose, attempted to stammer out an apology.
“I’m so sorry… The whiskey… I… Iihhhh… AhhHAAaahh… AHHhhHASHOO!”
Aunt Hortense swore, shoving Ruby aside and taking Crawford by the arm, trying to haul him to his feet.
“What whiskey? Who… Alright, time for you to step outside!”
“I… Hhhehhh…”
“Oh, no you don’t! You keep that nose of yours under control!”
Crawford struggled to get to his feet, but, seemingly clumsy from illness, stumbled back into his seat with the sheer force of the next sneeze.
“HhhhHHYAAASSSSHH!”
Aunt Hortense took Crawford by the arm once more, snapping at Ruby as she did so.
“Help me get him out, girl! Before…”
“EhhhHESSSHOO!”
Another violent wind ripped through the tavern, and this time, fat, heavy raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, then thick and fast. Ruby gasped as they splashed against her skin, rapidly cooling her flushed cheeks. Seeing the urgency of the situation now, she took Crawford’s other arm, and between them, the two women helped him to the door, the poor wizard already shuddering with urgent hitches, fueling the next sneeze.
“I… I’m really so… Huh! UhhHuhh… sorry, I… HhHRUFFFFSSSHOO!”
The force of it nearly sent Crawford stumbling, and Ruby put an arm around him to steady him as they stepped out into the street, where wild winds tore at their hair and clothes, and sleet stung their skin. The chill, Ruby noted, made the feverish heat radiating from Crawford all the more pronounced. With her arm around him, she could feel his chest heaving, readying for the next effort. The little dog, Neptune, yapped urgently, getting underfoot in his attempts to herd them onwards.
“HhhHRASSCHOO!”
Ruby felt the spray of that one on her cheek, and the shiver that ran through her wasn’t entirely from the cold.
As Crawford, teary-eyed, nose streaming, looking exhausted, stumbled to a halt as the next sneeze began to overwhelm him, Aunt Hortense took Ruby by the arm and tugged her back, looking grim. Still reeling from all that had unfolded, Ruby watched with wide eyes as Crawford leaned back in readiness, and was flung forward by the force of one final, exhausting sneeze.
“Ehh… Hehh… Huhhh... HhhhHHUUURUSSSSHOOO!”
One last burst of howling wind swirled outwards from the unfortunate wizard, followed by an eerie silence, broken only by his soft moaning and snuffling, as the pattering rain turned to a thick, heavy fall of snow.
Crawford, shivering as snowflakes settled over his hair and clothes, raised his now all but useless bandana to his nose and gave an exhausted, careful blow, and looked to Aunt Hortense with rheumy eyes, looking thoroughly miserable.
“I… I’m really so terribly sorry. I could have sworn I had it under control, only…”
Aunt Hortense folded her arms across her chest, shooting Ruby a look that promised dire consequences to come.
“Only this one slipped you a shot of whiskey, it seems. That’ll be coming out of your pay, girl! And as for the mess…”
Crawford held up a hand apologetically, wrinkling his nose and snuffling terribly.
“You mustn’t blame her, she didn’t know. And if you’ll let me catch my breath, I can clear all this up…”
“She knows better than to slip people drinks they haven’t asked for! And by the time you’ve collected yourself enough for that, you’ll have sneezed us up a proper storm!”
Unable to argue with that, Crawford visibly slumped, hanging his head, mopping at his nose once more. Aunt Hortense strode briskly back inside the tavern, and returned with Crawford’s scarf, which she briskly wrapped around his neck, before pulling his oilskin coat around him tighter.
“Go home, Mister Seaver. I’ll speak to the grocer and have your supplies sent to the lighthouse.”
“I… You mustn’t go to any trouble…”
“Did it sound like I was asking?”
“… Thank you. Good day, Mrs Platt.”
The wizard and his little dog turned to walk away, Neptune with his tail still carried high, Crawford with his metaphorical tail between his legs, sniffling and coughing all the while. Ruby watched them go, vaguely aware of Aunt Hortense scolding her.
“And you, my girl, can spend the rest of the day with a mop for company!”
“Mh-hm… Of course… So… Whereabouts is this lighthouse..?”
At last I return from the depths with a gift, snzblr. I swear at some point I'll get back to allergy fics but I've been on a cold kick lately.
So here's 4k words of a pyromancer trying to hide a horrible cold from his necromancer wife until she gets fed up and teases his nose with a feather to get him to admit it. A lot of sneezing but has some strong mushy, romantic caretake-y elements mixed in with it if you like that sort of thing. So if you're more interested in a man sneezing his head off while laid in someone's lap that's in there too. Please enjoy it!
Please DNI if a minor or non-kink blog. Thanks!
*** “You’ll not sit here with that wet head of yours,” Morgan scolded, curling her forearms protectively over the open book in her lap. Adrian rolled his eyes but obeyed, drifting to the empty end of the lounge and sitting on the arm of it, his back turned to her.
They sat in the comfortable silence of each other’s company, Morgan lazily poring over the text in front of her. He breathed deeply, and she listened to the soft, warm hiss of pyromancy coming to life as Adrian dealt with his hair.
“What are you reading that you’re so protective of?”
“Sestinas,” she supplied.
“You’re reading poems? For pleasure, or?”
He already had some idea of the answer, he just wanted her reasoning. The necromancer looked at the repeating words, tapping her finger to the rhythm of their lines. She could not possibly explain the connection, but her mind continued circling back to one thing: a banshee’s song, the sound through which they cast their necromancy. A taste of old, forbidden music that unmade the divine breaths holding all life together.
“They feel like a banshee’s wail.”
He hummed a sound of intrigued acknowledgement, accepting her explanation but not having anything to add, sniffing. They had long discussed the difference between how the two of them perceived magic, and she found his ability to differentiate forces of magic through smell as perplexing as he found her ability to hear it. As she finished her page the noise of pyromancy stuttered. Confused, she stopped reading.
“Ihhkgxt–uhh!”
“Bless you,” she said reflexively. The man across from her murmured a thanks.
She accepted the sneeze as explanation for his pause but her mind didn’t quite let go of it. He’d sneezed a bit over dinner, and she’d chalked it up to the tower being in need of dusting. But now, he’d just washed, and yet he was still going.
He started a conversation before she could interrogate the thought further.
“I’d kill for a tournament or something to open up, just to break up the monotony,” He said, one hand hovering over his wet hair. He took in another slow, deliberate inhale through his mouth, then a faint whooshing noise and a glow of heat radiated from his palm once more.
“Do you hear yourself?” Morgan asked him, flipping to another page in her book but not really reading it anymore. “All the time you’re running around, and then the moment it’s calm you complain?”
Adrian paused drying his hair to look over his shoulder at her, bringing the same hand he’d been casting pyromancy with to brush a knuckle under his nose for a moment. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It’s less the monotony and more that once it’s monotonous everyone else has their own end in mind for me.” He straightened to stare forward again, one half of the smoking jacket he was robed in falling loose, hastily corrected.
Ah. So that’s what this was really about.
“Whose end are you concerned about?”
For a few moments only his breath and the sound of pyromancy answered her, then fell silent when his breathing stuttered. Nothing came of it.
“I think Vesta is grooming me to be her assistant,” he said at last, thumbing a piece of his hair to check if it was dry. Satisfied it was, he pulled the smoking jacket tighter over his shoulders as he slid off the arm of the lounge to the cushion and scooched, sitting beside her.
“A council seat’s assistant?” She paused as she saw his face falter, a fist coming up to his nose.
“EhhkGXxt–eeuhh! Ugh, yes.” He sniffed, his hand not quite falling away as he continued. “She keeps throwing tasks at me. Though they do pay well.”
When she didn’t respond he looked at her to see if she was still listening. She arched her brows, very pointedly flicking her eyes to the fist at his septum.
“Sorry,” he chuckled, moving his fist, rubbing the side of one nostril with a knuckle. “You know I can’t stop once I—IhhkhGXT–eeuh! Snf. Once I start.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow.
“And what made you start, dare I wonder?”
His knuckle moved to the tip of his nose, grinding there, like the sensation was moving and he was being forced to follow it.
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
Morgan shut the book in her lap with finality, looking down her nose at him. His breath trembled, the knuckle at the tip of his nose darted to his septum and pressed harder.
“If there’s no apparent cause,” she began, stopping when she realized she couldn’t finish the sentence before he—
“HihkGXT’SHhiew!”
He put himself back together a little too quickly, reluctantly bringing his hand away from his face, letting it dangle over his knee. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to finish.
“You were saying?” No, he was daring her.
Morgan looked at the feather poking out of her book where she’d closed it. It had been a quill once before the writing end broke off, and rather than throw it away she’d started using it as a bookmark. She reached toward it with a finger, testing the fibrous ends, then looked back at the man sitting across from her.
“Did assisting Vesta somehow include herding dogs?”
Adrian laughed, smoothing his hair back.
“No, combing through petitions maybe,” he answered, feigning ignorance to her interrogation.
“Then I can’t imagine why, Adrian,” her fingers pinched decisively onto the feather and withdrew it from the book, “it would be so difficult to figure out.”
“And you’ve figured it out, have you?” He leaned back against the couch, his cheek resting on top of it as he looked at her, smiling.
Morgan set the book of sestinas on the nightstand by her arm of the couch, starting to crawl across the cushions to him with the quill clasped in her fingers. The pyromancer’s smile twitched wider as she came to his side, their knees touching.
“You seem very determined to negotiate with reality as if this is a mystery.”
She stroked one feathery side of the quill along a patch of red scales crawling up his throat, testing the border where dragonskin turned human in fascination. He squirmed a bit, peering at her with a curious indignation but not stopping her.
“It’s a successful,” he paused as she brought the quill to his cheek, “negotiation.”
He went half crosseyed to look at the feather she was twirling against his face, then turned his eyes back to her. His nose twitched, nostrils pulsing, as if the mere anticipation of what she was considering was intolerable.
“Oh,” she purred. “That looks like it tickles.”
He tried to say something but it melted into a small, jerking breath as she pressed the tip of the quill to the rim of one nostril.
“Here, let me help you.” She teased the soft fibers back and forth, and his nostrils flared wide, the afflicted one quivering.
She was curious to see not how much she could force out, but rather how little it would take to provoke it. The latter was far more interesting with a creature like him.
“Morgannh—Hhh!” It was half warning, half question. She pushed the tip of the quill the slightest bit deeper, testing. The soft strands burrowed inward and barely, delicately, brushed the inner wall of his nose.
“Hhih!” His nostrils arched upwards, as if flexing themselves away from the irritant intruding on them. His eyes narrowed with a misty sheen. She tilted the quill, one tiny angle of adjustment, the fibers flicking along the inner rim.
That did it.
He wrenched his head to the side, a little shiver going through him as the tip of the quill pulled free.
“Eeehh–yiih’SSHiewww!” From the stuttered hitch between its inception and release she guessed he’d tried to make it more refined than it ultimately became.
“Bless you,” she offered, smiling coyly, twirling the pinion of the quill in her fingers.
“You say that as if the result surprised you.” He sniffed, swiveling his head back, threading one arm across her side of the couch and lounging there. He was easing himself toward her in tiny, calculated movements, as if he thought she wouldn’t notice him closing in on her.
“Oh? And so sensitive are you now, that you expected it?” She watched the quill spinning between her fingers as if disinterested, in reality anything but.
He smirked, the expression almost a little sheepish. He didn’t answer her right away, blinking water off of his lashes, his hand coming up to push his curled fingers against his septum.
“IghkxXTT–uhh!”
She clicked her tongue, tutting at him. His throat wasn’t going to be intact for very long if he kept stifling that way, but he was still insisting on it.
“Now,” she brandished the quill against his chin the way an instructor wielded a ruler. “How am I to help you if you keep holding it like that?”
His eyes flicked down to the quill tickling his chin, and his nose squirmed for a moment.
“There’s nothing wrong with holding it.”
“But of course there is,” she insisted, petting the tip of his nose with the feathery strands. “How will you get the tickle out?”
His eyelids started to hover a little lower. His nostrils flared open agitatedly at the teasing, as if the tickle was radiating from the tip of his nose to them. He blinked owlishly, eyebrows arched, staring at her in disbelief.
“I might get it out if you would quit provokkhh–Hh!” She dragged the feather down his septum, circling the nostril she hadn’t teased yet.
“Provokinnggh–Hheh!” His lips parted, eyes watery slivers, his nostrils pulsing rapidly.
“I’ve barely touched you,” she breathed, watching the nostril she was stimulating flinch as she moved the quill. “Is this side more sensitive?”
His bleary eyes flicked to her, his face too contorted with the urge to make any expression. He made a small, frustrated sound in his throat. Trying to help it along, she increased the pressure on the quill, letting it just barely poke inside—
“Eiih’sSHh–Ahh!” He sneezed before either of them could react, gasping as his head snapping forward forced the feathery end of the quill deep inside his nose.
Oh. That was entirely too much.
He shuddered, lungs heaving in air. Realizing what was happening she tried to withdraw the quill quickly.
“Ehh–haAH!” His voice inflected strongly, desperately through the hitch as the quill dragged out of his nose, intensifying the sensation.
“HeaAH’SSHHIEW!” He lurched with the violence of it.
Spray misted her arm as she hadn’t moved fast enough, and she quietly decided to spare him the embarrassment of mentioning it. The pyromancer straightened himself, his eyes beading with tears as he glowered at her.
“How long are you going to toy with me?” he asked, his voice breathy. He batted her hand away in annoyance, twisting to move away from her.
“At least until you stop—”
“HiihkGHIXXT–eeuhhh!”
“—doing that.” She cringed at the sound of it ripping through his throat.
He couldn’t answer her, already breathing in for another. The quill had set off some sort of chain reaction with the cold brewing in his nose.
“Yeehgh’sSSHieewww!”
A strong chain reaction.
“Are you alright?” She wanted to move closer to soothe him but he’d already fled from her. At the question he turned to peer at her through watery eyes.
“Give me aa–aaahh!” His shoulders rose as he took in a deep, shivering breath. “Aiih’sSHHieeww! Snf! A minute!”
The necromancer’s lips thinned and she pinched her fingers tightly over the pinion of the quill still in her fingers. She had only meant to coax him into admitting what was wrong and perhaps play with him a bit in the process, but she was rather regretting her choice of tactics.
“I think it’s turneddh! Dhiih! Iiiehh’sSHHieww! Turned into a fit.” His fist came up to his face and he pushed the back of it against the tip of his nose enduringly, trying to quell the itch.
Morgan looked down at the quill in her fingers and frowned, the fibers damp and ruined. “You’ve gone and sneezed all over it.”
“I can’t imaginnnh—Yihh’sSHHieww!” He sneezed against the back of his hand, scrubbing at his nose with it. “I can’t imagine whose fault that is.”
At least he was listening to her and had stopped stifling.
“Yours, obviously.” She set the quill down on the nearby end table beside her book, wondering if it was even worth bothering wiping it down.
“Right,” he chuckled, a little bitter from his stinging pride. “Because you don’t enjoy torturing me at all.”
His eyes darted up and down, piercing, knowing. Her cheeks flushed.
“In small doses,” she admitted.
The knuckles raking themselves across his nose stilled, a satisfied expression briefly flickering over his face. His fist moved and he kept it pressed against his septum, as if he didn’t trust it was safe to remove it. His sleeve slipped down his arm and Morgan looked at the scales peeking from under it, and the ones she’d teased earlier along his throat. For a brief moment, seeing him grapple with a problem as mundane as the common cold, she felt oddly certain of his humanity.
He snuffled a little too loudly, groaned in disgust for a moment, and then his breath started to catch again.
“Bleeding roots, onn—Nhhuh! One more!” He cursed, his lungs filling.
His humanity was an oddly endearing thing.
“Hyeeggh’sSHHhieww! Ugh!” He drooped forward, planting his chin in his hands, eyelids starting to flutter lower. He rarely got enough sleep, but normally you couldn’t tell except for the dark circles under his eyes and the ability to nap through the world’s most turbulent carriage rides.
His spine was going to be screaming at him if he kept hunching over like a grendelkin.
“Adrian.”
“Hmm?”
“Come here.” She crooked a finger at him and pressed her thighs together, smoothing her nightwear over them.
He didn’t even look up, sniffling, an awkward little smile tugged the corners of his mouth.
“I’m congested.”
Like she couldn’t hear it? The necromancer rolled her eyes.
“You’ve contaminated me already, you might as well come closer.” Morgan patted her thighs insistently. He looked suspiciously at her lap like he expected it to lunge at him.
“I’ll not tease you anymore,” she promised.
Slowly, a little grudgingly as if his desire for it offended him, he lowered himself down to lay his head in her lap. He started to sniffle from the shifting congestion, and she brushed his hair out of his face, affectionately playing with a few strands of it. He began to relax under the touch, the tension in his neck slackened and he let his head droop fully into the pillow of her thighs. She felt something warm and wet start on her skin, hearing him sniffle around it, and she refused to call attention to it. As he fidgeted trying to get comfortable he found it anyway.
“Oh, damn it,” he muttered, noticing the wet spot on her thighs.
Morgan bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted badly, very badly, to tease him about using her as a human tissue, but she had promised not to. She also wasn’t sure his ego would survive it without breaking the delicate equilibrium required to let her comfort him.
“I don’t mind,” she said, brushing her fingernails over his scalp to soothe him. He pushed one side of his nose shut with a knuckle and snuffled, trying to keep it from dripping on her.
For a while they sat that way, she alternated between stroking his hair and massaging his scalp, the tension slowly bleeding out of him with each pass of her fingers. His shoulders wiggled as he brought himself closer, little by little threading his arms across her legs until he lay completely languid in her lap.
When his breathing evened aside from the occasional sniffle, Morgan decided he looked relaxed enough she could keep him from weaseling out of questions.
“How long have you felt poorly?”
The pyromancer sighed, the breath snagging partway and dragging a small, irritated cough out of him.
“I was fine before this afternoon,” he insisted.
Morgan raised both eyebrows but bit the tip of her tongue to keep from saying anything. His concept of ‘fine’ ranged anywhere from a bloodied nose to a flight in dragonshape through a hailstorm. Luckily he didn’t wait for her to pry before continuing.
“The little… fits I do, I kept having them on and off all day but they were short.”
“Short.” She laid the back of her hand against his cheek, testing the warmth but finding it inconclusive. “Until?”
He nuzzled his head into her lap, an attempt to discreetly hide his forehead against her thigh. Damn him.
“Until I stepped into Vesta’s officc–Hhh! Office!”
The nuzzling turned into him rubbing his cold-sensitive nose into one of her thighs, back and forth. After a moment he lifted his head to direct the sneeze away from her, gasping.
“Hhyiih’SSHhieww!”
Morgan considered that as she waited for him to get comfortable again, politely ignoring the little wet streaks he was leaving on her legs as he rubbed his dripping, twitching nose on her. A pyromancer’s office with warm, dry air teasing his sinuses, maybe a bit of smoke. She couldn’t imagine it going well with how explosive the response to the quill had been. After a few moments his head stilled, an exasperated little breath coming out of him before he spoke.
“At one point I had to ask her to repeat herself at least twice.”
“Because you were distracted?”
“Because I sneezed o-ohh! Snnf! Once and then keptt–hhh!” He brought a fist up to his nose and pushed into his septum, lip curling, lashes fluttering rapidly. “Kept sne–eeh! Sneezing when she talkeddh–ihh!”
“Hiih–ghhhih!” He twisted so that the back of his head was laid against her legs, the angle letting her watch as his nostrils flared wide against his knuckles.
“Go on. Get it out.” Morgan encouraged, her hands hovering to wait until he was done.
Whether to obey her or not his eyes clamped shut and he lurched upwards.
“HhyeEGH’SHHhieewww! Hihh! Yiieeh’sSHHieeww! Hh’sSHhieww! Ughh, that itched!” He groaned, collapsing back into her lap.
The necromancer waited patiently for him to settle, his cheek rubbing into the fabric of her nightgown as he got comfortable again. His knees bent and drew up as if he were trying to curl more of himself up into her lap. With him distracted she combed her fingers into his bangs and was able to briefly, strategically brush them across his forehead. Warm. Uncomfortably so. And he would’ve hid it from her the rest of the night.
“Hold still for me,” Morgan told him softly, her hand tenderly cupping his heated temple.
Surprisingly he didn’t protest, murmuring irritably under his breath but doing as she asked.
The fae at the Court of The Long Table were fond of cryomancy, not out of heritage, but because it proved useful to keep their prey from bleeding to death beneath the savagery of golden forks and carving knives. Under her former mistress’ orders, Morgan too had learned this unsavory talent.
For once she could use it to ease suffering rather than prolong it.
Morgan twitched her pinkie and popped the knuckle. A small, glasslike tinkling sound filled her ears as she willed the burst of cryomancy against his temple. Cool wisps of fog curled up around her fingers, the outer edges of her palm, chilling the flesh. His eyes fluttered shut and his neck twisted to bring his forehead under the cooling touch.
“Better?” she asked him, rubbing her thumb in idle circles above his eyebrow.
“Yes,” he breathed, a bit of tension crinkling the corners of his eyes as he sniffled. “But I can smell it.”
“You smell all magic.”
“Yes, but itt–tiihh!”
Oh. Her fingers lifted up away from him, thin white coils of fog following the motion.
“It ticklesss! Hhih!” He instinctively turned his head away into her legs, glistening nostrils flaring.
“Yeegh’mMFSHhh! Hh’mMFSSHHh!”
Her knees jerked at the burst of warm moisture, surprising enough cryomancy fled from her focus entirely, the summoned mist dissipating from her palm.
He froze and didn’t so much as sniffle, mortified by what he had just done. Her immediate impulse was to search for something to clean her thighs with, instead she was quick to splay her fingers over his back, stroking up and down his spine.
“It’s alright,” she affectionately squeezed one of his shoulders and fought very hard not to smile. “I’d rather you got it out.”
She did not quite manage to hide her amusement at the absurdity of soothing a man who could vaporize the room before he had an aneurysm over a simple bodily function. Unfortunately, he detected it. He thrashed a bit under her hold on him, but the fight was half-hearted.
“The longer this goes on the more I want to throw myself out the window,” the pyromancer growled. He shifted his head away from the part of her lap he’d just sneezed into, the back of his skull pressing into her stomach.
“You are being ridiculous.” Morgan quietly hoped he wouldn’t sneeze into such an intimate area.
“Not one spell. Not one spell I can get through!” he continued, his voice crackling as it raised. He sputtered, curling inward with a quick, clipped trio of coughs.
The necromancer blinked, forgetting about rubbing his back for a moment. Without having any concept of sensing magic through smell she hadn’t considered it, but if the cold had made him sensitive enough…
“Is that why you had so much trouble in Vesta’s office?”
His jaw tightened and his cheeks flushed, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the fever.
“Adrian,” she called softly, but he still wouldn’t answer her. Morgan sighed, leaning forward until tresses of silver hair draped curtains around him. “I sincerely doubt a cold has in any way wounded your reputation.”
She watched his face. Slit pupils sat dully behind their glassy frames, watching where a lock of her hair was brushing the back of his hand.
“Long term, maybe not.” He lifted a pointer finger to twirl it through a silver ribbon of her hair, the muscles of his face softening as he did so. “Only humiliated me while the councilwoman holding the Pyromancy Seat made it clear what trajectory she was ready to offer.”
The necromancer felt her throat tighten with tension.
“This is what you were talking about earlier? About other people having their own ends in mind for you?”
The pyromancer nodded limply in her lap. The motion disturbed the fluid in his sinuses and he snuffled against dripping congestion, starting to rub the side of his nose against her nightgown. She barely registered the fact he was about to sneeze again as her mind whirled.
“Hihh-yiISHheuhh!” His head rocked and he misted her leg, too tired to do anything else but succumb to the reflex.
Council seats did not summon any acquaintance they shared a discipline with to assist with their duties to the Concordat. They had secretaries. They had trusted agents. They had relationships and favors with spirits, fae, any number of creatures.
And it was entirely possible the Pyromancy Seat had decided Adrian was good for more than an occasional draconic favor in her back pocket.
“If Vesta is grooming you, testing you,” she felt him tense underneath her fingers, “then the trajectory she ultimately has in mind for you is—”
“Her replacement,” Adrian finished grimly.
A mixture of pride and concern prickled in Morgan’s chest. It seemed entirely right to her that the man she had chosen would move up in the world, but she had no idea where moving up would place either of them.
Or if it would make him happy.
“And would you, if she nominated you?”
He didn’t answer, the finger he’d been twirling through her hair on and off went slack. They both flinched at the ominous clanging of a grandfather clock striking the hour.
“I don’t know.”
His eyelids were starting to droop, he pressed the tip of his nose into her thigh, lazily rubbing it.
“Shall we go to bed?”
Okay Snzblr, I have wanted to ask this question for at least a decade and I need the opinions of respectable degenerates.
If you're inside someone, or they're inside you, and they sneeze, does it do anything? Does it squeeze/jump?
Have been in a relationship for years now and sadly have never found the opportunity to answer the question myself.
Monumental - A Sneezefic
To take a break from a more emotionally intense project I ended up writing this. I've never actually been one of the caretaking/cold people, but I gave a thorough shot at it.
Theatrical male actor drunk and suffering from an awful headcold in his apartment desperately tries to preserve his self-image, and is continuously losing a battle against his own respiratory system. The officer he's involved with intervenes and tries to get him into bed. He's also a bit of a flirty drunk which doesn't help.
cw: alcohol use, flirting but nothing vulgar or overt
It was the dead of night and Adira was standing in front of the door to Ezra’s apartment, fumbling through her pockets for the spare key he’d given her. The street behind her was devoid of life and light, and being in a neighborhood without vapor lights lining the road made her uneasy. Instead she held her Department-issued carbide lamp to the door to see by, her eyes drifting periodically over her shoulder. Her fingers felt the serrated edge of the key’s tongue and seized it, drawing it out of her pocket to plunge it into the lock. There was a click as she turned it, and the moment she opened the door she was buffeted by the air from inside Ezra’s apartment, smelling like incense and spilled liquor. She scowled, blinking to let her eyes adjust to the transition into a lit room.
She did not have to go far to find him. A standing lamp by the chaise lounge in his living room cast light over a disheveled figure sprawled belly-down onto it, head lolling off of one armrest, arm dangling as he loosely clutched the top of a half empty glass. A few more glasses were scattered around, one in a different spot on the floor, another with just a disc of liquid sitting in the bottom by the sink in the kitchen. Tiny wisps of smoke billowed from an incense stick choking in a pile of ashes.
His half-lidded eyes snapped awake as he saw her, his head rotating to get a better look.
“You’re here,” he slurred softly, surprised.
His voice didn’t sound right, there was a raw, nasal quality to it. Her eyes scanned him, there was a pink tinge around the base of his nose and his philtrum glistened with moisture.
“You’re sick,” she said. She adjusted the water-lever at the top of her lamp with a thumb, then blew out the dimming flame.
He giggled, not his usual sharp punctuation, floaty and loopy.
“I gathered that when my brain started fighting its way out of my head.” He drew the glass on the floor to himself, calculating the minimum amount of movement to drink from it. “Why are you here?”
Her arm tensed as she restrained the urge to toss the lamp in her hand and spill gas across the apartment. She heard him sip from the glass and then cough, sputtering.
“You called me,” she said finally, hanging the handle of her lamp off one of the branches of a coathanger by the doorway.
He glanced at the brass handset of the phone dangling from the wall, then down at the drink he was holding by the rim of the glass.
“Oh,” he muttered, staring accusingly at the drink like it had puppeteered him into his own destruction.
Adira felt every vein in her forehead straining to contain her blood pressure. She strode over to him and plucked the drink from his hand before he could think to sip from it again.
“That’s enough.”
“But I’m dying beautifully.” He sounded genuinely offended.
“Dying?” She set his drink down a little too hard on the kitchen counter. “You have a headcold.”
“I have sufferinggh,” he drawled, breath warbling on the last syllable. His eyelids fluttered, nostrils flaring.
“Hiih! Hhh!”
His head snapped forward over the edge of the lounge for a violent sneeze.
“Ahh’pTSCHheeuh!”
One of his forearms raised to scrub absentmindedly at his nose with a lavender sleeve, and Adira guessed she’d be forced to listen to him mourning the imperfections on the shirt once he was sober. Her eyes flicked to the end table at one arm of the lounge, where a handkerchief lay crumpled next to a bottle of whiskey a third of the way empty.
“Sweet lord,” she grumbled, making her way to the end table. “How much of this did you drink in one night?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?” she snapped.
Instead of bristling under her anger he tittered, smiling loopily.
“Enough to medi—” his breath caught, hitching, and he fought with it. “Medicate—” he managed to complete the word before his lungs filled and he sneezed again.
“HeaAAH’TSSHhue!”
Twice, as if to punish him for resisting.
“Aaghh’pTSSHHeeuuh!”
He sniffled, dabbing at his nose with his sleeve again.
“Medicating?” she asked, her voice sharp with doubt. “With whiskey?” She tossed the crumpled handkerchief in his direction.
“With enthusiasm,” he corrected, plucking the handkerchief where it had landed on his hip and taking it into one hand. With the other he groped for the top of the chaise lounge and pulled himself upright.
She stared at him, contemplating the mess she was to deal with after work tomorrow. The whiskey might have him in an agreeable mood now, but it would fade quickly once he discovered every cough or sneeze aggravated the headache from a monstrous hangover.
After work tomorrow. Sleep deprived. On a Friday. She clenched her fists, holding them shut for a few seconds, then released them and sighed.
“Does the playhouse know?”
“They sent me home,” he informed her, like he was describing a personal slight. “I can hardly talk without it itching,” he paused briefly, estimating whether finishing the sentence was worth the potential aftermath. “It’s the m’s and n’s.” The last consonant had him blinking hard, nose twitching.
She watched him cup the handkerchief over his face and blow his nose, cough, and then blow again. The events started to piece together in her head. He went to work, thinking he could work around it. Once committed, it was made clear in rehearsal, before the entire cast, he couldn’t. Then the humiliation of his bruised ego sent him crawling for the bottle.
“Would you like to know the word, Adira, I could not get past in my lines?”
She didn’t respond, making her way to the swaying man, hoping to pull him up to standing before he collapsed back onto the lounge. He provided the answer anyway.
“Monu—” his breath shook, eyes glazing, “—mental!” Not a second after the last syllable he inhaled deeply, spine curling as the second consonant dragged against his sinuses like a matchstrike.
“Ahh–hahh!”
He pitched forward, muffling a sneeze into the handkerchief.
“HaAGH’SCCHmmpfh!”
“Oh,” he coughed, tears pricking his eyes. “I finished it.” He sounded equal parts surprised and pleased with himself.
The frustration smoldering in her chest warbled the slightest bit.
“You idiot.”
She reached for him, and he anchored himself to her arm as she pulled him to his feet, handkerchief clasped loosely in his fingers. For a moment she was amazed at the difference liquor made in how cooperative he was. He had to shuffle back and forth a bit to keep balanced, and she drew his arm across her back and planted her shoulder into his side.
“Walk,” she said, softer than the order she meant it to be.
“Yes, Officer.” He chuckled at his own words.
His weight shifted unevenly as he took a step forward, but her support was enough to keep him from falling. A bit of tension melted out of her spine. He was not a small man, and she didn’t believe she had it in her to carry him so much as drag him across the floor. They eked forward down the hall in a gangling tango of limbs.
“Where are you taking me?”
She didn’t answer him, only dragged them both around the corner. His liquor-dulled eyes lit up as he spotted the door to the bedroom.
“Am I to be locked away for my crimess–aah!” His head tilted back, mouth parted, nose twitching. His tongue dragged irritably along his tickling palate.
“Against medicine?” It was a few too many m’s and he paused mid step, inhaling. Adira braced an arm across the small of his back, clasping his waist to her a second before he bent with a set of harsh sneezes. She felt every jolt of his body, each contraction of his abdomen traveling through him into her.
“Stop chattering. You’re making it worse.”
“I’ll chatter if it pleases me.”
His nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing. His wrist came up to press under his nostrils, a wettened mark forming on the cuff of his sleeve. She rolled her eyes as his empty hand told her he’d dropped the handkerchief.
“Can you do it without sneezing on me?”
The arm drawn across her back stiffened, then gripped her shoulder tightly in a wave of quiet, petulant anger. She brought up a knee to push up on the door handle to the bedroom. When it didn’t work she brought her foot back down, adjusted his weight, and the second time managed to get it to unlatch, kicking it open.
They shambled forward toward the bed, knocking a lamp over as they came to the bedside.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
He stared at the bed like he was contemplating an elaborate philosophical proposition.
“Mm.” His weight sagged against her. She had to take hold of the band of his belt and heave him back up by the waist to stop him from sliding down to the floor.
“Ezra.”
“I’m con—” he gasped, squirming to direct a fittish, tired sneeze away from her. “Hiih’tTSHHuue! Snnf. I’m considering it.”
The hand at his belt moved to the small of his back and guided him forward. He stumbled toward the bed, falling toward it.
“Careful.” She pulled him back by his belt. Her momentum slowed him. He had just enough time to slip a forearm between his face and the mattress, bracing himself.
“You’re enjoying this,” he breathed, bent over in front of her and drawing his knees up onto the bed.
“I’m not enjoying anything.”
He flopped onto his side into the pillows, his eyes rolling sluggishly over to her.
“There it is.” He mumbled.
“What?”
“Cruelty.” He rolled over onto his back, one arm collapsing gracelessly across the top of his chest.
She glanced down at his feet and breathed a sigh of thanks he was in socks and not dress shoes. Ezra’s uncoordinated fingers started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, fingernails picking at pearled button rounds. He got three buttons down, and then gravity’s effect on his congested, inflamed sinuses became audibly apparent.
“Hhheh!”
The pursuivant stepped to the mattress and loomed over him, reaching for the last of the buttons still secured. His head thrashed into the mattress, finding nowhere to turn away from her. His knuckles flew to his septum and pressed.
“Hh'kxxTCH! Ah!” He cut it off with clenched teeth. The little cringing gasp that followed it nipped vengefully at her chest.
“Don’t. If it happens, it happens,” she corrected even as she wrestled with the buttons on his shirt.
He nodded but wouldn’t look at her, curls of black hair rubbing into the mattress. The hand that had pressed to his nose moved to massage his throat. Her jaw tightened with the regret of grumbling at him in the hall.
As the last button snapped open he wriggled, trying to drag his sleeves down his arms. One awkward limb got tangled partway, and after two or three tries at freeing it he groaned and rolled his head into the pillows.
Adira reached for the flap of the shirt and pulled it back down over his shoulders, straightening it with a quick tug. Next she reached for his thighs and patted up toward his hips, feeling for anything in his pockets. His crackling breathing caught on something in his throat and he started to cough. She looked up to check him, watching until the subdued hacking subsided, but didn’t say anything. His face twitched with a split second of agitation as she started to look away.
It would take a miracle to get his clothes off, but she didn’t want him rolling over onto his belt buckle. Her hand fidgeted in the middle of pulling the end of the belt free from the buckle. She expected him to point out the fact she was disrobing him, and waited for him to jab or flirt with her as she started to feed his belt loose in a ring around his waist.
“You have the bedside manner of a prison w—” he trailed off and then fell silent.
The end of his belt got caught on one of the loops of his trousers, she pulled but it didn’t budge. Instead she had to squeeze her fingers between his back and the mattress, probing for it and then threading it through.
An odd noise rattled from him and she looked up. His eyes were closed and the lids fluttered delicately like butterfly wings. His head had fallen sideways, his cheek resting serenely on top of the bedsheets. The rattling sound came again as he inhaled. He was asleep, the sound a soft, congested snoring that would have mortified him if he were awake to hear it.
I feel like I'm a character trapped in a sneezefic today, holy shit. I have an event where I need to present a research project I've been working on, but I'm sleep deprived, cannot stop coughing/sneezing, and am slowly losing my voice. I don't present until the very last panel at the end of the day, so frankly I'm terrified my voice will be completely shot by the time I have to step up to bat.
I spent all week prepping for this, will someone please tell the author of this fic I'm in to throw me a friggin' bone here? 😭
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Let's help find each other!
I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
re-reblogging and thinking about when i have another collection agency calling that i can just do this
Yo this is such good info to have
Cheers Americans, have fun with this one
Being recently disabled this is going to relieve a FUCK TON of weight holy SHIT
"Indulgence" Sneezefic (18+)
This technically isn't in order, but I've had to accept that insisting on not posting anything for characters unless in order or until I've finished one thing before another only seems to lead to me not finishing anything for those characters.
This is probably the raunchiest, most NSFW thing I've ever tried my hand at. I've never done this in the past, but I've had to figure out a lot and part of that 'a lot' affected my ability to approach my own sexuality.
The fun part. This fic assumes Bella and Safir both being on the same page on the fetish and, subsequently, experimenting with it. Playing/inducing with perfume and ordered holdbacks/needing permission to sneeze. Some powerbottom themes but the dom/sub play is fairly casual.
Please DNI if under 18 or not a sneezekink blog. Thanks.
*********************************************************************
"Isn't it counterproductive to have me on top of you for this?" Safir asked, shed of his clothes and looming as she laid back. Bowing forward from where he knelt between her knees to press a trio of kisses to her forehead, her temple.
"Mm, maybe a little." She answered, humming at the contact of his lips. His head lifted to regard her, and she let her gaze roam over the half lidded eyes, the rise and fall of his chest and sculpture of his body. She remembered why she'd wanted him there.
"But I can look at you this way." She flushed deeply, turning to hide her face, still unaccustomed to admitting to this strange side of her sexuality to him. "And I want to see it."
"See what?" Her face burned, heart pounding harder. A coy smile tugged at his mouth. She muttered dismissively, frustrated with herself and how unlike her it was to feel so shy.
"I have to understand to give you what you want." More genuine, sincere. Gently pleading, prying. She took a breath in, made herself talk.
"To see what it does to… your body. How you move." An explorative hand stroked down her flank in just the right way to make her skin prickle, a reward and comfort. The small current it put into her blood momentarily made her forget her embarrassment.
He leaned forward again, a loose strand of hair dragging on her collarbone. The searing touches on her skin and pressing lips below her shoulder lanced down her spine. Heat warmed her rapidly, compelled by it she reached toward his face. Fingers glanced his cheekbone, stroked.
"Hhih–hh!" At once a surprised, uneven inhale shook him, a sound that made her stomach flip. The smallest dab of perfume able to draw an immediate response.
He caught her wrist, pinned it as he rose and fought with his lungs. The tips of his teeth flashed, his eyelids pinched shut. She could see his shoulders jerk and his chest shudder. Scars pulling skin tight as his nose wrinkled and nostrils flared.
Relaxed.
Flared.
His head tipped the slightest bit. But he controlled it, to her disappointment. Slumping back from the upraised position with a sigh as he let go of the held breath. Sniffing and shaking his head back and forth, before peering down at her.
"Not yet." He requested. "I want to savor this first." He pinned her other hand as he hovered over her again.
Savor. Her excitement grew.
He crushed their mouths together for an open kiss. Half in rebellion, and half in search of a way to touch him, she wrapped her legs around his body, anchoring herself until her heels tapped against his thighs. It pulled him forward, closer, brushed him against her. He made an animal sound, parted his lips from hers.
“You are going to make this difficult for me.” He muttered, voice dropped an octave, breath tickling her cheek.
“As always.” She smirked widely, twisting her hands in his grip seditiously. Making a game of the fact he was holding her.
Teeth and tongue punished her sweetly. Made her keen and squirm. But what made her anxious and excited most of all was she could hear the effect the lilac scent was having on him, slowly seeping into his senses. The pauses for an unassuming catch of breath, hearing him sniffle and feeling his nose crinkle and twitch when he buried himself in the crook of her neck.
On her neck, her chest, the teasing lilac. There to torture him in its own way as he tortured her. Reserved for each wrist, however, the potent one, that encompassed and could overtake him in an instant. An arsenal for her to wield.
"Hhhih!" The first full hitch and first of many. He drew away, lashes fluttering as again the perfume teased him. She forgot her awkwardness in the headrush it gave her.
"Does it tickle already?" She asked him, far too innocently.
"Only a little." He managed through uneasy breaths and a deliberate, sharp sniffle. She felt a sense of deja vu.
"But I hardly used any. Is that really all it takes to get a sneeze out of you?" She cocked her head and grinned feral, having far too much fun taunting him even with the anxiousness of unfamiliarity coiling in her stomach.
"You know by now it doesn't take much." Another thick sniffle, too frequent to be natural. He faltered with a sheepish chuckle, despite how abundantly clear it was that he was as eager as she, with the view and access to his body she was afforded. Deliciously visible.
She would not allow that eagerness to falter long, however, curving her spine to lift herself. An archer's back still remained, and her legs were strong from hunts and treks to forage herbs. So these feats of strength made it easy to seat herself precisely where he would respond most quickly.
He did respond, baring his neck and groaning. Pride rose in her chest at the control she held from this prone position, how easy it was to drive him mad. The grip on one wrist released to grab at her hip and pull, whether he was in that moment aware of the consequences of the action or not. She caught an inkling of how great an effort it must have been not to rock, seek friction, when heady eyes burned into her. A desire that mirrored her own.
"Would it please you if I sneezed now?" Her free hand twitched, then wrapped her fingers into the sheets instead, an act of self restraint.
"Very much."
His only answer was a sound of unmistakable hunger as his head dove forward, nearly disrupting her leg lock on him in the process of such vigorous, unexpected motion.
He latched onto her neck as though intending to devour her, inhaling deeply, shuddering and sucking in another hitched breath. Inhaled again, groped her flesh in his hands, moving up as he was seemingly unable to go past the precipice of a sneeze. He caught her ear, kissed, lapped.
"I'm aaahh-hhHH! Almost!" He whispered, hitching, breath chilling against her wet earlobe. The sound sparking in her ear and tingling in the rest of her, the places his lips had touched. She made a sound of her own, yanked the sheets, tossed her head and heard him gasp intensely. He reared up, mouth parted, his head tilting back as his body prepared to relieve the stuck itch.
"IhhkSHHT! Hihhkshhh! Hkkshhiew! Ihh-hah!" It snapped his body forward, unintentionally grinding himself into her as he held her down. A hitch turned into a half moan. Her turn to gasp, though the motion and surprise of it forced her to dislodge her legs.
"H-Hhah-hhhhh! Hair t-tiihhhyy-YyiihksSHieww! Hhksshhieew! Khhshht!" His abs tensed to become visible when his diaphragm flexed to push out the accumulated air. Chest expanding and jumping erratically as he gasped, fought with the buildup to speak. He let go of her hip and scraped his nostrils over the back of his hand ferociously.
"Hair tickled my nose." He explained, cheeks flushing but unable to express much behind a fist and with an allergic response contorting his face. Eyes watering, short of breath.
She would have giggled, both at the embarrassment she'd been able to infer and at the prospect in general. But her head was swimming, drowning in a soup of visual and auditory stimulus. At the thought of her hair tickling him, which only further spurred her excitement. From the way she writhed, the noise that came from her throat without permission, he had to realize it.
And he did, gaze trained on her and taking in the details as he recovered, both curious and enjoying watching her too. Knowing what it was doing to her.
"I hope this is worth it, with how much it itches." He teased, sniffling.
Oh, he absolutely knew what it was doing to her.
She hissed his name, writhing, rolled her one wrist in his grip restlessly. He was quick to offer the comfort of his touch. She had a thought, a need, to hear him talk some more. One she hoped he would indulge her in.
"Describe it to me." The nervousness in her belly burned in her cheeks as she made the request.
His brows furrowed, caught off guard, thinking. When the silence was on the cusp of making her anxious he spoke, "I will try."
He closed his eyes for a long moment, his face and body seemed more relaxed, controlled. Something she'd seen him and the monks do before. He blinked a few times as the tension left him, looking at her. Shifted his knees, then dipped down to kiss and nip at her chest. He paused with his lips on her sternum, breathed in through his nose. For a fraction of a second the inhale snagged, though he kept his breathing at a controlled rhythm.
"It starts around my nostrils, but when I breathe in more of the smell," He did so again, repeating the inhale he'd done before. She felt him suppress a shiver.
"I feel it creep up, a deep tickle that goes to my head and I can feel thiiih!" He nearly lost control, lifting away from her chest for a second to keep talking. "This pressure, as the inside of my nose swells up."
Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest, she could hardly stand it. Both out of nervousness and sheer arousal.
"Keep going." She asked, voice low. He offered half a nod, breathing getting faster.
"I feel it in the scars, a throb. More so when I s-ssaahh! Hah! Ohh." He moved to rub his nose into her shoulder. She could feel how damp it was, leaving streaks of moisture as he tried to rub the tickle away into her skin.
"I need to sneeze. Even through the trance I can feel it." He begged. She shivered with a moan, goosebumps prickled on her arms.
"Go ahead." She told him, felt him waste no time burying his face into her neck and breathing in, to tease himself into a fit. When his voice trembled in a way she'd grown familiar with he straightened himself, shoulders raising shakily with the strength of that dramatic inhale.
"AahhghkSHHieww! Hahhkshhieww! Ksshht! HhIHH! Ihhkshhht! Hkshhh! Ehkshieew!" They tore through him beautifully, flexing and commanding his nude body in wonderful ways. His expression, the tears spilling unbidden down his cheeks at the strength of the irritation.
Both his hands now held onto her, her waist, her thigh. Seeking something solid to reinforce himself while his body jerked and swayed, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. At her sudden freedom she was tempted, sorely, to break the rules. Dishonor his request and use her hands to pull him into her, let him sneeze desperately there trapped against her breast. But he was doing so good for her, and she'd never found her patience go unrewarded. So she watched, and relished the sight of him.
"Ihiihkshht! Iihhksssh! Ah, I think h-hoooh! Huuh! Hkkshhhieww!" He sniffled repeatedly, eyes wet, nose pinkening already as he worried his head back and forth. "Holding it makes it worse." That gave her several ideas, hopefully at least one of them agreeable to him.
"I see." Her voice was husky.
He glanced at her hands, waiting obediently twisted in the bedsheets. Pink, agitated nostrils flared, as though the thought of her hands coming near was enough to make the allergic itch crawl through them. She took in his muscled torso, a spark of hedonistic creativity as she remembered how powerfully his midsection had tensed and tightened.
"You can touch me now." But she did not move just yet. Now hellbent on putting her idea into motion.
Her lips split with a smile that he appeared to recognize, and anticipate. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The interruption the sneezing created for his physiological responses remedied quickly, something she confirmed with a coquettish downward glance. He liked her toying with him, as much as he liked seeing her enjoy doing so.
"Would it make you sneeze now, if I brought my hands close to you?" She was using that voice. Dark, syrupy with false sweetness and perverse promise. The voice that demanded his attention and made his hair stand on end.
"Yes." He spoke like his mouth was suddenly dry.
She brought a playful, conniving finger to draw circles on his chest. The small gust of air from the motion had carried a hint of the scent on her wrists to him, from how his nose suddenly crinkled, nostrils pulsing rapidly.
"But that's no good, Safir." She chided falsely.
He was only able to peer at her through watery, squinting eyes. A tremendously shaky breath. She waited.
"Wh-hh! Why? Hhh!" He extended a curled finger to rub at the side of his nose, crushing the itch into obeisance.
"Because I want you to hold it for me." She purred, sweet enough as to be poisonous.
His eyes widened at the request. Mouth twitched into an almost smile as he understood. But coy as ever in his own way, he acted excellently for her.
"But I'm so - hhhH! So allergic. I can't!" He sniffled pointedly, pathetically.
"Surely you can hold it just a little while." She said, blushing and smirking wider at the game they'd created. She propped herself up on one elbow, preparatory.
"There's hardly any, but my nose already tickles so much. Any more and it'll make me – hhhiiIIH!? Make meeehh!" She'd reached up to bring her wrist to hover a foot from his chin.
"Make you sneeze?" She wondered, voice drenched with feigned innocence.
The man was rendered utterly incapable of answering, coyly or otherwise. His eyes clenched and he pinched his wildly twitching nose between his thumb and forefinger, anything and everything needed to endure the proximity.
"Hhhihh! Aghh-hahh-hh-hh!" His spine curled as he tried to move away, turning his cheek to her, anything to control himself under the torture of her most effective tool.
Was he forcing himself into a trance, his only viable means of adhering to her request? Or had that option been taken away from him already, leaving him completely open to every physical signal his body was throwing at him? Both possibilities thrilled her. The challenge of seeing if she could bring the control of that trance to break, or being pitted against only the simple defenses he could come up with to quell the itch. To combat the invasive perfume.
"Hhh-hh-hh-hh! Hih! IhhHH-Hhh-hh!" Rapid, hopelessly desperate breaths. She frowned at the twinge of concern that crept in for a moment, pulling her wrist back to give him space, fresh air.
Regardless of whether he was in a trance or not, he could hardly be expected to hold back for long on his own, with the object of his torment held indefinitely in his face, and she didn't want him to hurt himself. It would be pointless to set him up only to fail what she'd asked of him.
Well, pointless so soon that is.
"Hhh! Huhh! Uhhn." He made a soft, anguishing sound, eyes opening a sliver, though his chest still rose and fell to the rhythm of frantic breaths. On the cusp of a sneeze with merely his willpower to say otherwise. She bore her weight on both forearms, lifted herself like before to wrap herself tight around his midsection. He grunted as the anchor of her body weight pulled him down, shifted him. His hitches were less rapid, he'd regained some control. She reached up again.
"Hhh-hh! Hiihnkh–! Ahh!" He nearly failed when her wrist returned to its original place, barely turning the lunge of his head into a false start. It flexed his torso, the ridges of his abdominals a welcome surface for stimulation. Her throat vibrated in delight.
"So close." She pretended to be haughtily amused, but the rasp in her voice betrayed how hopelessly, madly aroused she was. It was doubtful he could hear her, no room in his head for any thought beyond the unbearable urge from how he was retreated from her wrist, into the shield of his hand.
"Huhh-hhheh! Hhhh! Hihh-hhh! C-ca-c-can't! Caahh-hhHHH!" He started, barely intelligible from the hitching and how his nose was held tightly shut.
"Can't hold it?" She purred, breathless, letting her body move against him in the instinctive way.
"Hhh-hhh-hhHEhhk-!" Another false start rocked them both, to her pleasure.
"That's okay." She cooed, sickeningly sugary as she pulled her wrist away. Knowing it wasn't what he asked.
"N-Nhuuh! Huh-hhh-hh-hh!" He grimaced at the effort to catch his breath, forced his eyes open to look at her blearily, pleading. "No! N-need toooh! HhhHH!"
"You really need to sneeze already? Even if I keep my hands away?" It was too much fun to make him wait, and the way the desperate build up ground his body on hers felt too good not to.
"Ghh-gonnaaahh! AhhKKGh-!" He visibly pinched harder to stop it this time, muscles flexed like a bed of slate, as the reaction grew more insistent despite the source of irritation being removed.
"Alright. You can sneeze." He let go of his nose at once, rearing up as his lungs filled. Sadistically, in one swift motion, she replaced his hand with her own.
"IiihkXXt! GxXT-KxxT!" The stifles bent him forward into her palm and provided wonderfully violent friction as she was squeezed against his torching abdomen. She let go after that first set, gripping the sheets to hold on.
"HiiehKSHHT-KssSHH! KHxxSHH! HhUH!" But his body had already registered her presence. The fact he'd sneezed almost directly into the allergy causing substance contaminating her skin.
"HhkXXt-Kshht-HkSHhUH! Hihhkxxieww! Hkshhtt!" They couldn't spill out fast enough, tumbling over each other back to back.
Connected now by her vice grip, both had no choice but to ride it out. Though for her, the ride proved literal. She loved every second and made no secret of it, whether he could hear her or not.
"Iihhkshht-KXshh-Kxxt-HksSHHT! Ahh-Huhhh!" A particularly rapid volley that paused only for a deep, full-bodied gasp for air. One that made his frame shudder as his head tipped far, far back. Nostrils wide, quivering. Her stomach wound tighter from the mere anticipation.
"HUHKXSHHIEWW!" It threw him forward from the waist up, forceful enough she felt her back drag along the bed as he shoved her forward in the process. Spray misted her stomach, her leg. The fact a sneeze could demand so much out of him physically felt just as good as the next jump of his abdomen as he inhaled again.
"Hhhihh! Ihhkxxshh! Kshh-Kxshhiew! IhkXXSHhieww!" He was rubbing and scraping at his nose desperately now, even as he hitched for another.
"I-ihh! I can't staahh! Hahhkshhht! Ihkshht-Kshh-Ihkkshht! Hhkshhhiew! Ohh!" He gained a moment to suck in a breath, but appeared to forget what he'd been saying, panting.
"It just keeps -hhh! Keeps goingggghIIH!" But the message he managed to convey meant the same thing. She braced herself, stiffened in anticipation of the next. Even with only the blunt surface of his midsection, she still felt like she was going insane with how much she wanted him. How the heat in her blood raged and made her ludicrously sensitive.
"Ihhkshhht! Khxxsht! Iiehhkshiewww!" She could finish from this, she realized, after the bout of sneezes drove him into her again. Rapidly approaching a cliffedge as she climbed toward her limit.
"Ihhkshhiew! Hihhkxshh! Hihh! Kxshhhieew!" Yet the fit was slowing down, at least a little. No longer the rapid back to back sets that tripped over each other. She hoped she could fall headfirst over that cliff before he stopped.
Though he did look a mess already, she admitted to herself. Cheeks puffy and shining from his eyes overflowing. The skin around his scars flushed, and Hel, his nose. The appendage gone from pink to a bright red at the base, creeping around his nostrils and up the bridge. Skin around his scars bordered by a pink line, inflamed with a deep irritation he was trying desperately to sneeze out.
"Ihhkshhht! Hehhkshht! Iihkshh! Hhh! Huh! Ihhkshht! Hkkshhht! Hhehh-ihhkshhiew!" But what a beautiful mess he was.
A few more sets as the fit burned out, each hitching breath, every twitch and contortion of his features, the jittering jumps of his abs sweetly pushing into her, until finally he had her just right there. Trembling, dripping, waiting for that final volley to throw her over the edge.
"Hhhih!" He blinked, sniffling, as the hitch died without bearing results. She groaned, need screaming in her head as she slipped away from that border she desperately sought.
"One more! Please one more time!" She keened, her turn to beg him. Even through the haze of exhaustion he understood. Graciously, a finger reached up to pass over the wing of one facial scar. Followed it until his fingertip found that particular, sensitive spot where the bridge of his nose went crooked.
"HhhHH! Ihhkshhht! Khshht! Hehkshhhtt!" She writhed, clenching her legs harder, and he was doing it again, another flick of his finger as he lowered his full weight into her, to loom over her chest.
"Hhh-Hiihkshhieww!" That final jerk of his abdomen as he sneezed onto her exposed breasts sent her howling as the coil in her stomach snapped, bucking her hips aimlessly, vaguely aware of the two sneezes that followed the first. Completely out of her own head as she came harder than she had in her life.
The world faded to a distant plane, her muscles adopting a mind of their own, the intense rush of pleasure conducting her movements instead of her. At her peak the slightest touch was so sharp to her senses as to be painful. Gradually, she came down, still not fully processing everything. Lowering herself back onto the bed with shaking limbs, arms and legs adopting the structural integrity of jam. They ached, she noticed, from holding herself up and grinding her hips for so long.
Through the fog in her head she remembered her lover, felt him shift and withdraw. He had the back of one hand acting as a dam for his flooding nose, snuffling incessantly.
"Are you alright?" She asked, still out of breath. His eyes flicked to regard her. She suspected he might have blushed at the question from the way he stiffened, but it was impossible to tell with how red in the face he was now.
"Somewhat." His voice rasped past an undoubtedly sore throat, horribly congested, reaching urgently for the cloth that had been left on the nightstand. Pressed it quickly to his face and turned his back to blow. She giggled a little.
"What?" He looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, cloth still covering half his face.
"It's funny that you can still be shy about blowing in front of me, after what we just did." He coughed what seemed to be meant as a chuckle of agreement, turning away to continue the process of clearing his sinuses.
She rose to do her own self-care, legs still precariously unstable. Wet another cloth in the wash basin to scrub the perfume from her skin, with only a little regret. He had endured enough already on behalf of her pleasure.
Though she would hardly complain, were there a few more sneezes left in him.
The thought ran down her spine, a tiny spark of warmth igniting again as she looked at him. Down, specifically, at the destination she had in mind. Observing with delight that his own lust had apparently not been entirely extinguished. Interrupted, momentarily suppressed, but that was solved easily enough.
She'd just finished, and already she wanted him again. For him, she was easy.
"I'll need a rest first." He broke the silence and her train of thought, fixing her with a knowing expression. Folded cloth hanging from his fingers as he sat on the side of the bed.
"A rest before what?" She feigned ignorance, smirking, scrubbing at her neck.
"You aren't subtle." He reminded her of this fact, bringing a corner of the square piece of cloth up to his nose again.
She watched him rub with the cloth, let the desire the image spurred show plain on her face, in her body language. It affected him too, hunger tugging on his facial features. She made a show of looking down again, very obviously, and despite himself that part of his anatomy visibly acknowledged her appreciation.
"Neither are you." Her voice was smug with victory and giddiness. Immeasurably pleased at how she could stoke the fire in him quite literally with a glance.
She set the wet cloth back where she'd retrieved it. Dried her hands and pressed her wrists to her own face to ensure she had gotten everything off, before approaching him. Swung her legs over either side of him, nestled comfortably in his lap as she reached up to play with his hair. Massaged her fingers over his scalp. He leaned gratefully into the affectionate touch.
"Not too grueling, I hope?" He hummed in thought for a moment, enjoying her idle fingers a few seconds longer before he answered.
"No. Exhausting, and the perfume always makes my head hurt." Her fingers pressed to his temples at that admittance, rubbing in small circles. A tender, apologetic kiss to his forehead.
"But as an occasional indulgence, I don't mind it." She felt a tension leave that she hadn't realized was there. It went quiet a short while, aside from the errant sniffle.
"You might not have much control over the occasion, once spring comes." She voiced the thought with a blush, an excited tingle in her stomach. He chuckled hoarsely, planting kisses on her fingertips.
"Or rather it would stop being occasional." He admitted, though his eyes sparkled slyly as he then added, "But if it makes you this wild every time…" He weaponized a well placed sniffle for good measure.
She turned away bashfully, unbecoming, as she remembered a few minutes ago. The sounds she'd made, the begging, not to mention what she'd said to him.
"I won't promise anything." She squeezed the words out. Another hoarse laugh. Would she ever get over feeling shy about this, outside the heat of the moment? It wasn't as if she was shy about any other aspect of their sex life. Far from it.
"I find it very healthy for my ego, to make you cum with so little effort." At this she gawked at him, brows raised and lips parted with disbelief, cheeks blazing crimson. He moved his head away before she could rebuke him, gingerly rubbing at his swollen nose. It put a hiccup in her heartbeat, reminded her that she was very much sitting on him, in his lap.
"Still?" She shifted on top of him, anticipating.
"No. Just itches." He wriggled his nose, ran a finger over a facial scar and cringed a bit. At the moment not appearing to intend the actions to tease her. "The talking, I think."
Right, the scars. Talking likely pulled at them, agitating the tissue there. Or maybe the vibration was what did it? Both prospects excited her again. She felt his body notice, stirring.
"Disappointed?" The hoarseness in his voice had increased, but for a different reason.
"A bit. I had other ideas." She confessed, a bombardment of dirty little fantasies and thoughts running through her head of how she could put another fit to use. Eagerly pulling his head in so his lips could attend to her rapidly heating flesh.
"You are coming up with far more ideas than I can entertain in one evening." He murmured into her skin. The feeling of him rolling his hips upward succeeded in obliterating any further thought, for several seconds. She shuddered, a soft gasp and exhale as she collected herself.
"Speaking of which– Ah!" His fingers darted between her thighs, toying more than seeking any real pleasure. "I happen to know a convenient remedy for headaches."
"Do you? I suppose you are my doctor."
She coiled a hand behind herself, lifting to make room and wrapping a palm around the part of him pinned beneath her. Already slippery with both their secretions, twitching eagerly at the contact.
"I just have to make you forget about one head." She snorted, despite herself, at how terrible it sounded. The movement of his fingers stilled, he balanced his chin on her shoulder with a hoarse chuckle.
"That was awful."
"But it is true."
She kept her hand moving, half to please him, half to shut him up. He didn't fare any better than she had under his fingers, with how long he'd waited. His hips responded on reflex, air hissing past his teeth.
"If you do too much of that…"
"You? Impatient to cum?"
She aimed him against her, able to feel his appetence for it with the rapid pulse of his heartbeat. His hand repositioned, making room for himself, cunning fingertips dragging over one sensitive point of interest instead.
"Very."
He pushed upward with his hips, enough for steady pressure. The air in her lungs evacuated in one shuddering, ecstatic heave as he began to breach her.
Speech was a near inconceivable chore as she couldn't help pushing herself down now, drawing him in a little at a time. She felt a rush of hot breath on her neck as he groaned, arching upward instinctively to bury himself. Her fingernails pinched into his shoulderblades, finally resting on his lap with everything he had to offer.
"I had hoped to see what it felt like, if you sneezed while inside me." She whispered, panting, before she could think not to. She was so full of him now, there was nowhere else for the thought to go.
"You may still find out." The suggestion made her whine desperately, needy.
She did have to reward his efforts, and would take great satisfaction in doing so.
I don't know if anyone on snzblr is into M/onster H/unter but I've legitimately never found fic for it, and driven mad by this years long drought am on the cusp of making it myself.
There's untapped potential in this series. A long list of herbs and botanical items hunters have to regularly gather either for crafting or research. How unfortunate it would be to be working for the W/ycademy and need to collect samples of a plant that produces a lot of pollen. Or a newbie hunter in desperate need of funds and the only quest posted for their ranking is for a plant they're allergic to. Or maybe they hunt a monster for the very first time only to discover the hair, dandruff, or other irritant of its production absolutely sets them off, but God, the stats on its armor...
Into colds? Maybe a hunter finishes an underwater hunt, only to end up exhausted on shore and shivering and sniffling, waking up with the cold from hell the next day. In "New Gen" games there's a quest that implies humans can catch colds and flu from the mucus of A/njanath, and if you're tracking or fighting an A/njanath you're probably going to come into contact with said mucus at some point.
In fact A/njanath alone should be a no brainer he literally sneezes fire.
I swear all I see is cold and illness stuff.
Even on the forum, it's mostly illness
Where are the allergy folks? Where are the perfume, dust, pollen, dander, feathers folks
Where are the people that like inducing, or the accidental stuff.
I keep writing my own scenarios, but it's never the same when it's self written.
YouTube is my only saving grace with allergy stuff. I'm always thankful for YouTube.
I need more people to follow who like allergies, so more allergy stuff ends up on my feed
Thisss
Undisciplined
B//G//3, very very mild spoilers but genuinely nothing you probably haven’t already encountered. male sneezing, allergies
wrote this one straight off the cuff no plans just vibes. Hot alien woman being very interested and mean to this poor half elf
The thicket they were traversing was difficult to navigate, even as Bramble had plenty of experience navigating through such terrain. Sun beams filtered in through the canopy leaving pillars of midday light dotted across the grass.
This wasn’t at all like the Fey Wild, Bramble decided, it felt different on his skin, different animals. The air smelled different too, as the half-elf took a sniff, trying to get his bearings. He crinkled his nose up, it was an odd scent, something thick with perfume that didn’t agree with his senses. He scrubbed his nose against his shoulder, pushing past another branch.
As he continued walking, the itch that had sparked hadn’t gone away. This time, he stopped in his tracks and gave his nose a firm rub to chase the feeling away. There, better already.
“Why are we resting?” Lae’zel questioned, her arms folded.
“This is hardly a rest,” Shadowheart complained, shooting her a look.
“Can’t a man stop for five seconds?” Wyll asked, amusement in his voice.
Bramble sniffled, placing a knuckle against the side of his nose, “Ugh, sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, “M’fine, let’s keep going.”
He was able to hold up for a while, quietly sniffled as they pushed on through the forest, unable to keep his hand away from his nose. Lae’zel came up on his right, a frown creasing her brow.
“What is that incessant sound you are making?” She asked, a long ear twitching.
“I—what?” He asked, blinking owlishly, before sniffing again. She pointed.
“That sound.”
“Oh! Um,” he laughed nervously, moving aside another branch, “Sorry, is it annoying?”
“Many of the things you do are annoying. I tolerate it,” she told him, “But this vexes me, how are you making it and what is it’s purpose?”
“No one gets the sniffles where you’re from?” Wyll called from the back.
“Tch, I do not know what you mean.”
“I’ve just got a bit of a—“ Bramble’s cheeks flushed hot as he gestured to his face.
“Problem with your face?” She asked, eyes narrowed.
“Just a tickle,” he finally admitted, pressing a knuckle to the side of his nose again. Gods even talking about it was somehow making it worse.
“A tickle,” she repeated, “In your face?”
“In my n-nose,” he didn’t know why this was so embarrassing to spell it out, especially when he gaze was now solely focused on it. He ducked his head.
She huffed, “This is another reason why the githyanki are superior. We need not deal with such trivial matters, and such undisciplined manner. I told you your nose was too large.”
Bramble sputtered, “It’s the right size for my face!” “It’s pink,” she pointed out, “And moving on its own.”
“Well no, I’m doing that, it t-tickles so I’m trying to…Nng…” he pinched his nose shut for a moment.
“Can you please just sneeze already?” demanded Shadowheart, “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Hm, and here I thought you didn’t mind a bit of suffering,” Wyll’s lip ticked up, “But truly, go on lad. Get it out of your system, there’s something in the air around here, it’s no good to keep fighting it.”
As if the permission was all he needed, the tickle surged even as Bramble shook his head, trying to fight it off all the way, “B-but I…Hahh…oh…Hehh-!” His head tilted back, one hand fanning his face as his breath caught, teasingly on the edge of the release, his long eye lashes fluttering as he struggled with it the whole way.
“Hahh…ahhh…hahh’shhiieww!” He snapped forward, the sneeze finally released and projected downwards across the moss and the grass, “I…an-anothehhhh…Hehhshhieww!”
Finally satiated, he sniffled and straightened, tugging a cloth from his sleeve and carefully blowing into it.
“Mm, bless you,” Wyll told him, and raised a brow, “…Bit ironic coming from me, huh?” Lae’zel had been quiet, just watching the scene unfold, watching him with a look in her eyes Bramble could not quite place. Gods, he was half tempted to reach into her mind through their connection and see but—maybe he didn’t want to know just yet.
“I will not bless you,” she told him, “That is a curious habit of yours.”
“What, sneezing? I don’t want to make a habit of it.”
“It is strange, but…perhaps I should see another demonstration of this. Some other time.”
“Well, you might get your wish if we ever come across whatever I’m allergic to around here,” he gave one last swipe against his shoulder and shook himself off, still a little flustered from the exchange and hoping that those sneezes were enough to clear the tickle out.
Thinking about how people talk through a sneeze. I mean I can see their nostrils flaring and their nose twitching...they rush to finish their sentence.
Better yet, towards the end they can't help it breath catches and they struggle through those final words before their sneeze rips loose! Or equally good, they sneeze mid word!
I can't believe people are innocently being THAT sexy.
Just figured out some of the links in my masterlist busted so those should be fixed now. Figured if I was going to spend the time I may as well add tags for some OCs so those are in the notes if you want them.
“Electrical Hazards” Sneezefic
This one turned out pretty long at about 7.5k words and took longer partially because I ended up trying to flesh out a more detailed magic system for these two spellcaster characters. I struggled a lot with trying to describe the magic with any clarity through the lens of the system I created but let’s be serious everyone’s here specifically for the snz content.
Same characters as the ones I used here. An electromancer and chloromancer both conducting a sparring exercise in an old, dusty structure so that the latter can practice controlling their magic freehand (without the use of a wand or similar tool). The former is too irritable about his dust allergy to admit it’s a problem, goes from blowing it off to struggling to function between fits. Eventually he just can’t stifle anymore and has a terrible habit of reflexively casting lightning magic when he doesn’t stifle.
I incorporated this post from someone else’s blog into this fic and they were kind enough to not only allow my use of it but encourage it.
CW/Content Warning for descriptions of electrocution.
Kestrel bared his teeth, face red from exertion and frustration, fingers numb and wrists aching, having had mana pushed through and tethered to them nonstop. By comparison, his study partner and relentless drill sergeant for the afternoon had barely begun to break a sweat, forehead shining, hands in his pockets. Valan stared down his nose with an unimpressed but no less expectant expression.
“Need a moment?” The question was not playful, more contemptuous than it was amused.
“Just fine.” The chloromancer hissed, pulled on his reserve of mana, the energy climbing from his chest, up his arm in a vein-like web.
Another roll of his wrist, another glowing spark sputtered from his fingers and raced toward its target. The other mage raised one hand from his pocket, and the ball of force swerved.
He pulled on his connection to it, visualized the string that connected him and the energy, trying to wrestle control of its course back. Yanking the string taut, he managed to guide it to ricochet off the edge of a wooden beam, sailing straight for his opponent's head. It curved unnaturally at the motion of one thumb hooked over the other man's pocket. Whipped just past his chin, almost grazing.
Being so close to a hit only to miss infuriated the attacking mage. The string thinned in his visualization, his hold on it suddenly tenuous.
It hit the wall of the old building and rolled up, suddenly gaseous in form. It was no longer obeying the caster's perception of it, the energy moving under its own rules and its own whim. He panicked, the ball of gas flickered. Before it could do anything hazardous, a tongue of foreign mana, like a broiling cloud, lashed out and swallowed it up. He watched as it fell, carried by the muddled cloud into the other’s calmly outstretched palm to flow back in easily, any residual power dissipating off his fingers as heat. He clenched his fist, opened his palm, letting the warmth escape from it and distort the air around it.
“It’s useless when you can’t control it. If you’re tired already, say so.” The exhausted mage rolled his eyes.
“Is it that hard to imagine I’m tired? When we go at this until my hands feel like they’ll fall off?” Always, he made a point of how quickly he reached his limit. Complained and jabbed relentlessly. Breaks were a waste of time to Valan.
“No. But it's why your hands feel like they’re falling off now instead of immediately. You’ve improved your endurance and nothing else.” The last part needled him. The electromancer had a tongue like a hornet and was just as quick to sting him with it.
"What is this else I'm supposed to be improving at? Is your idea of tutoring to just have me throw bolts around and guess the rest?" The green-clothed mage stepped away to sit on the old, neglected wooden floor and glower.
"Believe me, I'd love anything else but to spend the afternoon doing this." The red-haired one met his glare and complaint readily.
"But it's pointless to teach you more at this stage." Valan sniffed disdainfully as he shoved his cooling hand back in his pocket.
The staring contest ended when Kestrel brought his head down to wipe sweat off his brow with a green sleeve. Angry at himself, that the string of mana slipped through his grasp over and over and he couldn't fathom why.
His mind darkened with a thought that sickened him. No, he could fathom a reason why it was so difficult. His origin. Though he hated to consider that something beyond his control, beyond his choosing, would define so much of his life.
His study partner walked leisurely across the room, stopping underneath a hole in the roof. A ray of sunlight peeking through past the leaves of creeping plants, warming his back. He let his muscles move and soaked in the tiny electrical pulses they gave off.
"You're lucky. You can recharge whenever you want just by moving, electromancer." The green mage commented sourly. Fingered a splinter in one of the floorboards, plucked it free with a fingernail.
"I didn't know I was letting you waste my perfectly good time so you could whine to me, chloromancer." The jab came without skipping a beat, Valan dragging a finger down one wooden pillar in disinterest. Glanced at it and scowled in disgust at the dust collected there.
"I don't complain that I lack your talents when you know a potion formula that escapes me." He wiped his finger off on his clothes, seeming to prefer that to potentially blowing it into the air, bringing a knuckle to his nose afterwards.
Was it bothering him? It had taken long enough to start, if so. His eyes looked wet, now that the seated mage was able to notice it. Not currently engrossed in the task of trying to strike his peer with a mana bolt. Why hadn't he protested practicing here?
"But I don't insult you for not knowing basic potioncraft." Valan only scoffed at the criticism, knuckles passing back and forth under his nose. An increase in moisture evident from the wet sound it made as the blunt tool squished his nostrils side to side. A single, quieted sniffle.
"I'll tell you what I think of you as often as it pleases me. Potions don't interest me, anyway." He sniffed again, letting his hand fall to his side as he either gave up on rubbing the dusty itch out of his nose, or decided the gesture was making his affliction too obvious. The chloromancer rolled the splinter in his fingers, eyes twinkling as he considered the best way to utilize it.
"Can't stay interested while sneezing over a few dusty books you mean?" He smirked as he said it, saw the other man's jaw tighten.
"I can still stand in a dusty old building longer than you can keep throwing mana bolts, Silverling." He spat the name, blinked and swiped at his nose again, eyes watering. As if at the mention of their surroundings he couldn't resist the urge.
Kestrel was surprised he was willing to admit to the difficulty their environment posed, even in a backhanded manner. Although, with how often potioncraft entailed dusty ingredient shelves, books, and places, he was regularly faced with the fact he was allergic as hell. Maybe the frequency just browbeat him into accepting said fact, at least a little.
The wooden structure shifted, beams thumping and settling, rafters creaking. The movement freed some of the dust which had settled, particles now floating visibly in the sunlight.
"Not much longer, from the look of you." That pissed him off, pointing out that he'd been noticed.
"I'm perfectlyyy–Hhh! f-fine." He started to insist anyway, the liar. Chest shuddering with the effort to steady his breathing. To maintain control long enough to talk as the dust in the air worked into his respiratory system.
Inevitably, a tick in his features, an upward pull on his cheeks that squinted his eyes. He rotated at the hips, covered his nose with a fist to sneeze into clutching fingers. His shoulders twitched in rapid succession, head jerking four times, not close enough to be audible though it was clear to the chloromancer what was happening.
"Perfectly fine, right?" Valan glared blearily at the mockery, face distorting with another sneeze. Stepped to fully turn his back. Not able to reply, sucking in staggered breaths as he built to another round. Upper body clenching several more times beneath the veil of his hair spilled over his back. Had he not seen it before, Kestrel might've mistaken it for anything other than what it was; A noiseless, stifled sneezing fit.
Quite a few for one bout, given such a small amount of dust loosed into the air to set him off. Perhaps there was just that much present around them he didn't need much persuasion. At last the bodily compulsion calmed, the electromancer's shoulders stilling. Now reigning some control over himself, Valan faced him again. Sniffling.
"Better shape than you, covered in sweat already." Glistening eyes blinked from excess liquid, his nose beginning to suffer the same issue, dripping, twitching, forcing him to sniffle. Despite himself his teeth flashed ivory, smirking, as he delivered the comment.
The chloromancer couldn't deny it. The too slow return of feeling in his hands as he sat and rested himself. His skin had a slight sticky sensation all over from the sweat drying. The green tunic over his shirt didn't help with staying cool, but there was no way he'd take it off and risk being seen.
"I'll take sweating over my nose running constantly." He separated the neck of his shirt from his skin, enjoying the gap of cool air just as much as watching the other become irritated by the remark.
"It is not constant." He growled, relinquishing the edge of a sleeve to wipe at the thing in question, a blatant contradiction.
Kestrel rolled his eyes and snorted half of a laugh, the stubbornness almost funny, frustrating as it often was. Some competitive streak of Valan's taking it as a personal slight whenever anything related to his nose came up. So he would argue and make a fool of himself, even if he clearly didn't believe his own assertions.
A pause. Kestrel shifted his arms around, trying to get the sleeves of his tunic to stop sticking to him. Valan seemed to be fighting with another set of sneezes, gaze unfocused, scrunching his nose side to side.
"Aren't you dying in here? Plenty of room for this outside." The chloromancer shrugged a shoulder toward the door, tugging one sleeve and shaking it to fan his arm. Valan made a derisive noise at the question, looking pointedly at their surroundings.
"Wooden walls, creeping vines. This is your court, chloromancer. Why not use it to make this interesting for me?" His eyelids drooped as he finished the task of speech. Knuckles sawing under his flaring nostrils.
"Because you're here to be entertained by me, not to teach me anything?" Kestrel pierced the splinter into a sleeve, within reach until the right moment.
"As if you learnnnh–!" The other's breath caught before he could snap back.
"Hh'dztTCH!" He held it in with grit teeth, fist pushed into his septum. Not bothering to pinch it into silence. Though after being forced to partner with the man a few times, the green-clothed mage knew by now it would not be the only one.
"Uuh'tzzTCH! Hh'tTCHH-iiuh!" Each sneeze made him jerk after it came, as though some force moved through him whenever they happened.
"Huh'tzzzCH! Huhh'dzzTCHH! Hhh'ttTCH!" He snarled in frustration, unsatisfied. Suppression clearly achieved the opposite of relief, leaving him to scratch at his nose fruitlessly.
"You probably wouldn't sneeze your head off every time if you just let yourself do it properly." The chloromancer suggested. The lightning mage laughed bitterly, though it may have been intended to disguise a cough.
"If you have the energy to worry about my health, you can get up and throw more bolts at me." He sneered, walking back to take his spot in the middle of the room. His remarks were a lot less effective when he looked about to sneeze over something.
"Not worried about your health, only that you'll get distracted and make it too easy. No honor in landing a blow on you that way." The chloromancer said as he rose to the challenge, getting up onto his feet.
"Honor is reserved for idiots and magi far better than you."
"I'll hold you to those words."
He only had time to raise an eyebrow, before Kestrel conjured another mana bolt between his tingling fingers, thrown into the fray to curve down toward his adversary. Predictably, it swerved out of causing any harm. As he held that one tethered as best he could, he strained through his exhaustion to bring another bolt into existence. The second bolt was smaller, sent flying as the former swung back around like a boomerang.
Valan danced some footwork past one and conducted the other zooming to the opposite end of the room with a wave of an unpocketed hand, more engaged now that there were two. The chloromancer aimed low to keep his feet moving, trying to make him corner himself against the wall. The other let him, which was exhilarating for the possibility of victory, and the irony of his arrogance undoing him if he succeeded.
The electromancer stopped having breathing room as Kestrel advanced, his back two feet from being pinned to the wall. All was going well as Kestrel caught the bolt he'd just manipulated only for it to suddenly spin and swerve, forcing him to catch his connection again. His target smirked widely. He reached for the thread of control, barely had a chance to manipulate it when the bolt swerved again. He felt his source thump in his chest as he twisted to pull on both threads, struggling to keep them both taut as he raced to catch the swirling bolt, in danger of escaping his control. He grazed it, managed to begin steadying it, though doing so made his focus shift too far, too much of his resources veering towards the one. The former bolt, forgotten until this moment, snapped free completely.
This time the stray mana took on the property of something solid, plummeting down to hit the floor like a glowing stone. Rattling the floorboards thoroughly as the magic energy concentrated into weight, speed not lost in the process of changing form. Dust and debris being tossed up from the impact. A tendril of shadowy mana reached out to collect it dutifully, even as the stable bolt came rushing toward –!
The chloromancer recalled the bolt back to his palm with all his might, the other mage's ability to defend himself abruptly made questionable by his curling lip and shut eyes. He staggered backwards, the outstretched mana retreating back into his body and dropping the mineralized ball of energy, planting one hand against the wall to reinforce himself as he doubled over.
"Hhhuh'tzzZCH! Hd'zTCH! Uhh'tzzTCHH! Hhh!" He crushed his nose against a forearm, trying to shield his seizing facial features from view and the irritants that had been thrown into the air. The second to no avail.
The stone on the floor started to glow brighter, Kestrel hurried to grab the focii in his pocket, channeling a whip of energy through it to grab the stone and bring it to him. Squeezing until it heated and deformed like a ball of clay, chest tingling faintly as he reabsorbed it through the connection.
"Hhuh'dzzTCH-uhh! Uhh'tzZTCH! Hh! Hd'TCH-TCHH! Hhuhh'tzzZZTCHH-uhhnh!" Valan shivered and lifted his head, flinging his arm away from his face as though it offended him, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes.
"Bless you." The other offered, partially honest. Watching the stone of unstabilized mana shrink down into a tiny glowing mote until it disappeared, shoving the focii back into his pocket.
"Save it." Valan muttered just loud enough to be audible. "I could do without your mistakes shaking every speck of dust off this decrepitttt–hhhH!" His head reared back, nostrils spasming open and shut, before he pressed them behind the back of his hand.
"Don't tell me Mister No-Honor is using his nose as an excuse." The electromancer's eyes lit with ire over his wrist before they glazed, his chest heaving, back tightening like a taut string.
"Uhhh'tzzzCHHT! Hhhuh'tzzTCH-HUhh!" A string which released its tension into two more. The second took him off guard somehow, the end of it escaping as a clipped vocalization. He twisted his wrist, to curl his palm urgently over his nose. Turning away.
"Hh–dt! H–dh! H–tt! Hah! Hhh! Hh–tt–Hdh–Htt–Hdtt! Hh–ht! Hh–dh!" He pinched his nostrils shut for the tail of it, silencing them almost completely. If the green mage hadn't known to listen for the tiny choked sounds, he wouldn't have heard them at all. It was effective, though it left Valan struggling to catch his breath once he let go of his nose, grimacing afterwards at the discomfort.
"Hardly." He answered at last, throat audibly raw from pinching them off. Breathing through his mouth and dislodging from the wall, satisfied with the current obedience of his sinuses.
"But I have enough trouble… focusing in a place like this without you adding to it." He seemed to choose his words carefully, there, feeling each syllable pass over his tongue as he spoke. An unusual thing from one normally so quick to deliver said syllables.
"Excuses again." Kestrel twirled the mana bolt that was still resting just above his fingers, plucking the splinter hidden in his sleeve free. The comment got the other to roll his eyes, but not an immediate retort, which implied he did agree with him at least somewhat. Valan looked at the hand he'd peeled off the wall, scowled with great displeasure at the sight before he wiped it off. Grinding the knuckle of his other hand into the side of his nose.
"You need the excuse to come near to hitting me, anyway. Can barely control your mana at all without a focii as a crutch." He referred to the carved, runic piece of rosewood in his pocket. Forbidden for the purpose of the exercise. Kestrel's eyes narrowed at the remark.
"I should have just hit you."
"You should have."
The mana bolt zoomed again. Valan's hand fell from his face. Another back and forth as they fought over its course. He tried to watch the man's fingers when he flicked his own tether of control out to push the bolt away from himself, seeing what pattern he could deduce. Finally, as it spun around to his head in a halo of light, he recognized one finger movement as an upward push. Yanked on the string of mana and changed his motion to match the direction of force his opponent applied.
This caught the electromancer by surprise; enough he had to summon a protective shield of his own mana. The bolt shot blindingly up into the roof, actually catching some of his hair in the wind of its trajectory with how close it got. It slammed into the rafters above afterwards, obliterating itself.
Valan laughed, unconcerned by how near he'd come to injury.
"Not bad, Silverling! If you were using a focii that would've hurt like hell!" Then he stopped, eyes wide as he looked up in some horrified realization.
Kestrel was so hellbent on shutting him up, putting his plan into motion, that he didn't realize why the other had given him such an opening. He reached out with his magic, though it took some effort with his shoes and the floorboards acting as a layer between him and the ground. Chest tingling as he touched the strange, alien existence of the plants. A tremble through the network that made up both one being and many individuals as the vines felt him too, in turn. The splinter in his fingers sprouted. Vine lunging and flopping to the floor. He had to fight to make it move, veins in his neck bulging at the effort, the arcanized plant wriggling like a lame snake toward his target's ankle.
Said target didn't even try to stop him, the plant slithering around his ankle one push of mana at a time and tightening with a pull. Confused by the ease of success, this made Kestrel follow his gaze up to the roof.
A mountainous cloud of dust and wooden particles were sailing down from the ceiling, having piled on the beams and rafters for years only now shaken free. It rained onto the chloromancer harmlessly, only making him blink it out of his eyelashes, but for the other mage it was a different story.
It went right into his face, covered his shoulders, his hair. His body went straight and stiff as a board, rigid. A speck of sawdust stuck to the tip of his nose and made it crinkle terribly, slender nostrils flaring wide open and quivering.
"HhhIHH!" The pitch of the sound raised half an octave over his usual tenor. Voice normally so smooth as to be almost toneless, now inflected with a whining, desperate quality. The lightning mage managed to make some dire expression of alarm just before he pitched forward to sneeze.
"Hhuh'TCH-HISHUHh!" Forceful enough he hadn't been able to stifle it. Electricity curled around his torso, up his back, and lightning shot forward into being.
The chloromancer jumped with a yelp, stumbled. Instinctively he yanked on the vine that had wrapped around the other's leg, pulling it out from under him and sending him to the floor. He caught himself on a forearm with a grunt of pain, the fall throwing up more dust.
"Huh-UHh'tTZSSHH!" That one threw his head forward enough he sat up, another streak of lightning zagging across the room in front of him.
The lunging electricity sailed just over Kestrel's head. He ducked, let go of the vine in his hand. Seeing the pattern and scrambling to get behind the electromancer.
"Uhh'ttTZZSHH!" He turned his head. This volt jumped forward and veered to the side, striking one of the wooden beams on the opposite end of his escape route. Orange glowed around the edges of the impact, smoking, a tongue of flame starting to flicker.
Kestrel cursed, acted on his instincts in an instant and leapt across to the other end of the room. Landed there in one bound on all fours, scrabbled to smother the fire with a cotton tunic sleeve. Hoping he was far enough away what dust his jump kicked up wouldn't fuel the hazard Valan was providing.
And that the other mage also wouldn't question his inhuman feat of agility.
"Damn it, man! You'll burn the place down if you don't kill us both!" He shouted at him, urging the electromancer to get it under control.
He seemed to have heard him, bleary eyes open as he fought with the next. Though he wasn't given time to do anything, inhaling again.
"Uhh'TZZSH-EUHH!" He twisted to direct the thunderous sneeze past his shoulder, another bolt of lightning wildly leaping out from his body to charr the floor, vaguely in the direction he'd turned.
The other mage was ready to flee out of the building for safety, for what good it would do. But there was no inhale, no thunderbolt to follow the others. As he spared a look over, the electromancer appeared to have successfully expelled the itch, eyes streaming, catching his breath. Kestrel rose shakily and slumped against the wall, relieved, heart pounding.
"What the hell was that?" He demanded, certain he'd narrowly escaped death or injury.
"A damnable reflex." Valan spoke with casual bitterness, as though he'd only politely been asked about the weather. A fresh wheeze crackled in his chest. He peeled the vine from his leg before picking himself up off the ground. Grimaced at the debris that swirled in the movement.
"What kind of reflex throws lightning around?" The green mage pressed as he came towards him, intending to speak face to face rather than across a room.
"What do you want from me?" The other whirled to snap at him.
"Grindylow, you almost killed me a second ago. You owe me an explanation." Kestrel planted his feet and crossed his arms. For once gladly putting his tall, long-limbed frame to use, even knowing where he'd got it from.
The lightning mage eyed his stance. His chest heaved a crackling sigh.
"It just… Agh!" He growled in frustration, throwing up his hands. Infuriated by the prospect of discussing his sensitivity, having a novel difficulty with his sentences.
"Electromancy ties easily to muscle memory. The repetitive motion, the state of distress, I don't know why the two things crossed together. It just happens!" He paced restlessly, rolling his wrists around each other in a gesticulating circle.
"You're saying every time I've seen you sneeze it was a gamble on whether or not I'd get struck by lightning?" The chloromancer's brows lifted with disbelief.
"It's more complicated than that!" The red haired mage made another frustrated sound. Raked his fingers over his scalp, though this freed agitating particles that set his nose trembling uneasily. Something which only aggravated him further.
"This stupid, fuhh–cking nose!" He blinked rapidly, straining to screw his jaw shut even as it cracked open for a hitching gasp. Kestrel's legs jerked with the impulse to move, get behind him.
"Huhh'dzzZZTCHtt! HtzZTCH! Uhh'tCHT! Huhh! Huh'tziihHTCHt!" He held them in behind clenched teeth, no arm or hand brought up to press on his nose, so the appendage was open to view. Nares flexing wide with each sneeze.
It was hard to stay standing still, now that Kestrel knew to associate the sound with danger. But he remained firm enough Valan didn't seem to notice as he collected himself.
"How did you word it, earlier? That I wouldn't 'sneeze my head off' so much?" He sniffed, the sound thick and wet now. Wiped both his palms on the front of his pants, the back caked in dust and grime.
"I don't actually, if I stop stifling. A few at a time and I'm done, but more often than not I end up casting something. Ridiculous as it sounds." Valan's gaze darted around the room anywhere but his interrogator, having an unusually difficult time with his sentences.
To his credit, the electromancer seemed about as close to repentant as he'd ever seen him. But the admission was terrifying. Especially as Kestrel had found it was a guarantee Valan would sneeze incessantly any time they browsed the library, or spent time in his dorm. His small, cluttered dorm filled with flammable objects and one exit. Not to mention, he'd just seen it demonstrated it only took one slip up to create a veritable lightning storm.
"This would've been great to know any other time I've seen you sneeze your ass off." He stated pointedly. The other rolled his eyes, put a hand referentially to his sternum.
"In my defense, I'm not usually dancing around in old buildings caked in dust, and sawdust, and who knows what else!" He pulled on his shirt and held the fabric taut, displaying the layer of gray coating it to emphasize his point. There was a pause for silence, at which his gaze flicked down to the allergen saturated clothing he was holding, and thusly wearing.
"Even looking at that itches." His features started to crumple, nose twitching, eyes inundating as they closed. The green mage blanched, arms across his chest loosening.
"Don't you dare!" He hissed harshly, even as the electromancer aimed his head to the side.
"Shut up! Hhhuh'tZZTCH! Hh'dzZTCHH! Hh'tzTCHT!" On recently acquired instinct the chloromancer flinched at each one, resisting the impulse to throw himself toward the door. The other coughed a few times.
"This damn dust in myyy–Hhh! My daah! Damn it!" The electromancer groaned, cursing the need as it took over.
"Huh'tzZCH! Uhh'tzzTCH! Uh'tttTCH!"
"Couldn't you at least pinch it off or something? It already got through once." Kestrel winced at his own question.
"You go from telling me to let loose to telling me to restrain myself. Make up your mind!" He snapped, though obliged with a look at his hands. Frowned, wiped them on his clothes. Repeated these two actions again as his breath wavered.
"No use, every inch of me is covereddd–hH'dzzZTCH! Uhh'tzTCH-iihhh!" The chloromancer flinched again, paranoid, as the second let a breath trail past his defense. Though this time the sneezing man noticed it, a mixture of emotions playing on his face.
"Scared of a bit of lightning, chloromancer?" Snide, soured amusement became the chief emotion he chose to display.
"I am when it nearly cooked me a minute ago."
"Huh!" He paused for a sharp, wavering inhale, rendered incapable of a reply for the duration of it. Seemingly unable to bring an end to the fits now that he was saturated in their cause.
"Hhuh'tzztTCH! Uhh'tZCHT! Hhhuhuhh! Uhh'dzzTCHT! Hh'zzCHT! Hhh! Huh'tzzzZCH!" Another set of sneezes, stifled to the side. He took a few seconds to recover, coughing, then turned back to the conversation.
"Yet you're fine, and I did direct them away." Sniffling, he gestured toward the scorch marks on the floor, the beam.
"They didn't look directed away to me. Especially not with you losing control of it." He pushed out his chin, adding, "To think you belittle me for how I control my magic."
Valan only blinked incredulously, irritated by the comment enough he didn't have a quip to respond with at first. He bought himself a moment by snorting in derision, as though the thought were absurd. It backfired, made him scrunch his nose at the tickle it caused.
"Lost composure is completely different… Huhh!"
"Sorry, what was that?" Taunted the chloromancer, even as he shifted one foot back.
"Ddiihhh'TCHH! Hh'zzTCHT! Huhh-hh! Huhh'tzzTCHH -TZZCH!" Those drew a few more coughs from him, wheeze in his chest evident as he tried to clear it.
"Different from incompetence." He finished, smirking as he noted the small increase in distance between them.
"You know, I'm going to have a terrible time working this dust out of my system, stifling like this."
"Valan." Kestrel stated firmly.
"Just one, and I'll be fine I think. If it starts again it doesn't end until I let it go at least once."
"Then do it somewhere that isn't in a confined, flammable space!"
"Outside? More dangerous that way, I can't tell where it will land. Safer to do it confined. Then we can get out of this dustyyyhh!" His breath snagged on the word, eyelids lowering.
"I'm serious, Grindylow, this isn't the time!" He ignored him, let the sneeze march across his face openly. Exaggerating the parting of his lips, wiggling his nose back and forth like a hare.
"Dusty pile of logs. Hhh-uhh!" The red haired mage sparked electricity from his fingers to taunt him as the hitch started. A glowing tendril that coiled around his knuckles and lashed out, igniting the need to move, act.
Desperately, out of frustration and that fear of injury that struck him stupid, the chloromancer lunged for the other man's face. It was only when he felt his nose squeezed between thumb and forefinger he realized what he'd just done.
His eyes locked with the electromancer's, though the awkward regret they conveyed did nothing to still the other mage's temper. Confusion gave way to white hot, indignant rage that he'd dare touch him in such a way. A hand flew out to grab his shirt, fist twisting in the fabric. The chloromancer prepared himself to either catch a punch or be thrown off.
Before either could occur, the other man's mind suddenly went blank, angry expression slackening. Only to contort into something absolutely agonized. His eyes flooded, back went rigid. Nose squirming between the green mage's fingers and drawing uncomfortable attention to how personal the physical contact was. As his chest stretched to its limit for a vast, wheezing inhale, Kestrel noticed the dust powdering his sleeve, his fingers. He was holding his nose with the hand he'd used to smother the fire earlier.
He surmised, in that instant, the only thing stopping Valan from killing him was that his nose was pinched, and he was currently too overwhelmed by the need to sneeze to commit a murder.
"Huh–TCHH!" A groan of disgust at the feeling of wetness turned into an exclamation of pain as electromancy shot into his arm and made it clench.
"Hh–t! Hd–TCH!" With each successive sneeze another current ripped through. He saw Valan shudder for a quick breath and cringed, bracing as he realized what he'd gotten himself into.
"Hhh–TCH! Hh–tt! H–d! Huh-uhH! Hdd–TCHH!" He could only grit his teeth and shut his eyes to endure it, fingers growing hot. The electricity hijacking the muscles in his arm and forcing them to spasm, excruciating. He couldn't move away, arm refusing to obey, shirt still caught in Valan's grip. But even if he did let go, all of that would be loosed as electromantic lightning instead, at point blank range.
"Hh–gtt! HHh–TCH! Hhh!" In that millisecond pause for breath, the red haired mage let go of his shirt to grab the chloromancer's forearm, unclear how he intended the gesture as he doubled again immediately, sending more electricity through the limb.
"Hh-dDT! Hh–TCH! Hh–Gt! HhhihUHH! Uhh–TCHH! Huhhh–Nhh!" He flinched in the middle of that breath at something he'd done, though it bought him a few seconds. Enough to yank Kestrel's arm from his face and use it to swing him, shoving him away. He turned his back once this maneuver was done, gulping for air as he prepared to sneeze unimpeded.
"UHHTZZSHHH!" Lightning curled and forked, flashing white light as it bit at what parts of the building it could reach.
The chloromancer flinched reflexively though it hadn't come near him, the pain of electromancy in his arm still fresh.
"HuhhTZZSHHH!" Another volt lanced at the wall. Kestrel looked forward to the door.
The door. He'd swung him toward the door. As he was about to race for it he hesitated, remembering the other and how he'd nearly started a fire, earlier. Wondered if he'd be able to stop himself at all beyond this point, stuck in a dusty building.
"UhhtTZZSHHUH!" Another black mark was drawn on the floor, glowing threateningly.
The chloromancer froze, cursed, went to the incapacitated electromancer to take both his shoulders in his hands, grunted as a sharp pain launched up his arm. Valan jerked and moved his head as though to look, only able to hold it for a fraction of a second.
"HhhTZZSHHH!" The room flashed white again. Kestrel shuddered at being so close to the bolt but stayed where he was.
"Come on." He ordered, pulling on his shoulders to guide him to turn toward the exit. Either on account of hearing the words or being unable to resist in his state, the other mage walked in the direction he pulled him.
"UhhhTZSHHHEUH!" He had to pause to regain his footing, shuffling forward a little at a time as Kestrel pushed him onward.
"UhhTZZSHHhh!" Almost to the door.
"HhhUHH! HhhTZZSSHh!" Now nearly through the door he stopped, resisted him, shifting his legs to hold steady.
"What are you doing? The door's right there! Idiot!" He gave him a shove though he didn't budge, his breath stuttering again.
"Can'ttt! HhhtTZZSHH!" His head whipped, the bolt summoned aimed toward the corner as he made to move aside.
"Like hell am I going in front of you! Just go! You'll feel better getting out of here anyway!" This earned a watery glare from Valan, but he relented, finally stepping through the door frame onto the grass below. Kestrel was quick to follow, to build some much needed distance between him and the unpredictable electromancer.
He watched from a comfortable couple of yards, saw the other mage turn toward the rickety, vine covered building they'd just escaped and bend forward.
"HuhHTZZSHHhhuhh!" While he bent down, the lightning climbed up from his spine, snapping at the roof of the building. Scorching.
"Hhhihuhh! HhhHTZZSHhh!" That one, however, didn't go for the building at all. Curving and lunging past it into the distance, a good several yards to strike a random place behind the structure. Finally the man turned, sniffling. A pink flush had crept around his nostrils and the tip of his nose, over the groove of his philtrum. He directed his attention onto Kestrel, locked his jaw with rage.
"I warned you twice! Twice, damn it, I can'ttt–!" He bared the full set of his teeth in a furious, grinding snarl, the muscles in his jaw and neck becoming prominent.
"If my nose would shut up and let mee–hhh! Hhuh!" Still the hitch came, no matter how hard he tried to contain it.
"HhHHTZSHHH–UHh!" He twisted quickly away, this round of lightning striking a mere two feet from its source, making him jerk away from it, startled, cursing.
"Shit! I told you I can't tell where it will go out here!" He finally managed over his shoulder.
"Right, because leaving you inside a dusty, abandoned building that would easily catch on fire is a better option. Remind me not to help you!" The words scraped past his throat with how loud he made them. It was a shouting match now, they rounded on each other.
"And what exactly gives you the idea you can manhandle me? That you can just touch me any way you want?" Valan seethed, though his voice was heavy with congestion, chest buzzing.
"Maybe start with the fact you provoked me! Thought it was funny to flick lightning around carelessly!" Truthfully, he didn't know what had possessed him. In the moment the tendril of lightning had flickered toward him, the only thought in his brain was to stop it.
"Provoked? That's why you got your damned grubby fingers in my face?" The chloromancer flushed red, mortified, and it only made him angrier.
"You try thinking straight when the person next to you is one second from giving you a Lichtenberg scar!"
"Do anything like that again, and I'll gladly give you one!" No sooner than he'd finished delivering the threat, the electromancer croaked with an inhale that vibrated in his throat, his chest.
"HuhhHTTZZSHHH!" Another lance of electricity shot off to the side, made the chloromancer cringe. Valan shook with a few coughs to clear his chest.
The threat stood, whether he would actually carry it out or not. Kestrel wasn't sure he could put it past him. They glared at each other.
"Moron. Had to bite my tongue just to get you off." Valan turned his head and spat off to the side, blood in his mouth.
"My arm went through a lot more than your tongue." The green mage pointed out, the limb throbbed with a stabbing ache. The electromancer's eyes darted down to it at the mention, serious for a second.
"Still hurt?" Kestrel nodded.
"Fuck!" The other man grimaced and approached. "Give me your arm."
"Planning to shock me again?"
"Shut up and give me your arm."
He snorted but obeyed, holding it out for the other to inspect. Valan twisted it here and there, looking at it from different angles. Then went to the fingers, testing them, watching the reddened skin turn white when he pressed.
"Ow! Watch it, it's tender!" The chloromancer complained, finding his handling of the injured limb was about as pleasant as the mage himself was, which was not at all.
"Quiet. Tell me if it hurts in the bones when I do this." He pinched down to the bone with each finger, once for each phalange and metacarpal. Pressed on the back of his hand. Each made a pain thump in his flesh from the burned skin being abused, though nothing in the bones themselves. Valan let go once he was satisfied each bone had been tested and received no complaint.
Kestrel flexed the hand once it was free, closing his fingers. The pain spiked in the center of his hand and lunged up his arm. He grunted, shoulder tensing.
"Muscle damage." Valan supplied.
"How do you know?"
"How do you think I know?" Without asking he took his other hand to inspect it too, though the reason for it escaped the chloromancer. He circled around when he found nothing there, expecting to find a sign of something, somewhere, on his body.
"What are you doing now?"
"It burned your fingers going in, it might've burned going out. Do your heels hurt?" At that question the green mage quickly moved away, fearing the other would try to inspect that part of his body as well. Something that would reveal more about his lineage than he wanted anyone to know, Valan least of all.
"No! I'm fine, it's only the arm. Why are you asking?"
"Depending on the path it took there's a risk of internal damage elsewhere. Makes it easier to heal knowing where."
"Fantastic." Came the sardonic quip as Kestrel grabbed for the pouch on his belt. "But I think I'll rely on my own means of healing."
He had come to learn, over the course of their assigned partnership, that Valan's talents did not lie in the realm of delicate, patient things. Whether it was alchemy, people, or magic. Where his health was concerned, he didn't trust him to attempt salveomancy at all.
"Have it your way." The other snuffled what seemed an attempted snort and stalked off, leaving him to his own devices.
The green mage shuffled through the pouch in his belt, selected a tiny flask and downed the liquid inside. Something to start with, to encourage slow regeneration of damaged cells, in the event Valan was right about internal damage.
The electromancer started brushing his hands over his clothes, whatever use it was. Careful, gentle movements. Trying to keep from freeing a cloud of particles and making himself sneeze again. He brought a hand halfway to his nose, seemed to think better of it, and made an exasperated, asthmatic exhale.
The chloromancer paused as he fingered another alchemical production on his person, considering the state of the other mage. The dust was still all over him, irritating, and he couldn't even rub his nose with said dust sticking to his hands. A self perpetuating predicament. One which hopefully wouldn't lead to any more close calls with lightning today.
"Why did you insist on practicing here? We could've turned and kept walking."
"Not that many buildings covered in vines." He gestured to the wall of wild, leafy tendrils that had claimed the structure. Unkempt grass and weeds littering the ground around it.
"What do the vines have to do with anything?" The chloromancer prompted, watched Valan try at brushing himself down again, nostrils flinching.
"I assumed being in a building covered in plants might change how you perceived your mana subconsciously."
"So you dealt with sneezing yourself stupid in a dusty building because you thought it would give me some revelation? Or because you didn't want to admit it would be a problem for you?" Valan ground his teeth, a display of anger which would've been more effective if his eyes weren't puffy, wet, and half lidded.
"Whether you learn anything affects my credibility." Speech made him croak with a soft wheeze, forcing him to clear his throat, the action seeming to let him forget the oncoming sneeze that had tugged on his face a moment ago.
"So you care about tutoring me where your own image is concerned?" Kestrel offered an arched brow and thinned lips with the question.
"What part of that is difficult to understand?" The lightning mage didn't deny it, so he must've been spot on. A small insight into how he viewed their arrangement.
"None of it. It just seems exactly like you." The electromancer only acknowledged the jab with a wheezy chuckle as he watched him down another vial.
"Huhh!"
The sound made him almost choke on the potion as he swallowed it, eyes gluing to the hitching electromancer just in case. A jerky shudder as his lungs filled.
"HuUHHTZZSHHH!" Predictably, another bolt split the sky, forking to strike two points in the hills. The green mage's arm throbbed and he ducked his head. Valan sniffled several times, breath rasping as the wheeze got a tighter grip on his lungs in the aftermath.
"Ugh, this fucking–!" Several coughs interrupted him mid-curse. "Fucking dust!" He finished, shuddering once more. Slouching with defeated exhaustion as he brought a hand to his temple.
The shuddering, he did it a lot, the sight of it suddenly reminding Kestrel of his arm. Did he shock himself every time he sneezed, or was it just a bodily quirk? He wasn’t sure whether to ask or not.
"Fucking back's going numb." The other muttered to himself, ill-tempered. Fingers still massaging circles into his temple.
Numb?
Valan's back was where his source was, that much was clear already, after seeing the lightning crawl up his spine every time he cast. Or sneezed, in this case.
Kestrel knew his source was in his chest, but he could never recall feeling a numbness, even after exhausting himself. His hands went numb first, well before the tingle in his chest became more than a faint pinch of nerves.
He felt anxious, as he considered it. Types of magic held consistent behaviors but individualized to the bearer, the caster, to a degree. Was this just a form of individualization? Or was there something wrong with him that kept him from utilizing his source fully?
He pulled out a final vial from his pouch, brought it to eye level to peer at the contents inside.
Was the problem the same reason he hid beneath a green tunic and shoes that were too tight? The same reason he had come to rely on potioncraft, not merely a hobby for him anymore, but a necessity?
Kestrel grimaced at his own train of thought, uncorking the last vial and feeling the liquid burn as it passed over his lips. Eyes bulging at the effort to keep from sputtering it back up. But downing it was preferable to ever being seen again. When being seen meant being left alone again.
here are the snezcanons questions for your OCs!!!! or your fav characters whatever!!!! sneezecanons!!! whatever you call em, ive got em!!!!!!!!!
How DO they sneeze?! (Possible details incl. general sound, volume, frequency, build-up, covering method(s), if they ever deviate from the pattern, and so on.)
Allergies? Other sensitivities? Under what circumstances do they usually experience them? How do they deal with it?
When they get sick, do they talk about it a lot or try to hide it?
What are they like with germs? (Their own and others’.)
Do they have a general routine or anything special that they do when they aren’t feeling well?
Feelings/habits surrounding medicine? What about doctors?
Do they have any obvious/visible tells when they’re unwell? If yes, do they know about these tells themselves?
What do they find more irritating, a bad cough or a frequently recurring urge to sneeze?
How do they respond to other people sneezing? (This is the blesscanons question.)
How do they respond to someone blessing them? (The other blesscanons question.)
Do they have abilities that change at all when they’re feeling off? What about other things, like reflexes, energy, and mood?
Are they good at taking care of people?
Good at being cared for?
What is their limit? How bad does it have to get for them to take a day off and stay home?
Do they tend to always catch the same type of cold, or do the symptoms vary each time?
How often do they get sick?
Do they tend to run fevers? How do they take their temperature?
Least favorite thing about being sick?
Do they have any weird beliefs or superstitions about illness? (e.g. the rain thing, or going outside with wet hair…)
Keeping up the Guard
Perhaps my first hay fever fic? As in pollen. Lets have some trees copulating and men suffering! LOL!
The character is Gorst from the First Law books. He is a big hulking man with unparalleled strength and swordsmanship, but he is very self-conscious of his peculiarly high speaking voice.
This fic takes place during the time he is working as the head of the King’s Guard. There are some spoilers, for stuff that happens up to The Heroes really.
Keeping up the Guard
A good suit of armor can, despite it’s cumbersomeness, protect its wearer from many particularly unpleasant things. Sure, there used to be a man in the far North who said that armor endangers it’s wearer by putting him into the wrong mindset, but then again, he died of a spear through his back. Nevertheless he was a great swordsman, a great fighter. Bremer dan Gorst knows this, because he was there, fighting him, steel to steel. Ah, so very ironic, how a little bit of plate could have easily saved the brave (though a little bit cooky, or more than a little, Gorst has later gathered) Northman from what his swordsmanship couldn’t protect him from. But such is the way of the world: inventively cruel and humiliating. Like a vile laughter straight to your face on your weakest moment, accompanied by a kick in the fruits.
There are things though that even armor can’t protect you from. Like mockery. Like your own thoughts tormenting you mercilessly. Like pollen. Especially when standing guard for the High King of the Union and his guests in one of the castle’s gardens. Gorst knows this as well, because he is there. Right now.
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