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Sneezy Snowtrace
Se/thos managed to get H/at Guy to play snowtrace with him! He wants you to join too and hide with him. However, it seems the cold is a bit much for a desert dweller...
All Sneezing Characters are assumed to be 18+
Thanks to @hachiibun not only for the sneezy snowtrace idea but also for the wonderful art! Hope you enjoy!
Wa/nderer appearance because I thought it'd be funny. Enjoy
I hope you enjoy, and as always,
‼️‼️DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS
I...Is this real?
A Sneezy Magic Show
Ly/ney's magic show! He has a fun trick where he sneezes and a bird appears. However, he has a cold, and once he makes himself sneeze he can't exactly stop (and all the feathers aren't helping)...
All Sneezing Characters are assumed to be 18+
This was a fun idea I had, I got the idea when I saw some art of a handkerchief trick stuck up ly/ney's nose I think by @/snzsuckers, it gave me the idea of a magic trick gone wrong (sneezy) and here it is!
(dont ask how he did any of this shhhh its silly)
I hope you enjoy, and as always,
‼️‼️DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS
Oh yeah here's a quick hei/zou wav
Just a very basic Hei/zou catches your cold while taking care of you that I did in one sitting.
All Sneezing Characters are assumed to be 18+
nothing special just a little caretaking and sneezing
I hope you enjoy, and as always,
‼️‼️DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS
Alius' First Windblume Festival
You (Wanderer) are invited by Alius to come to Mondstadt for the Windblume festival. While searching for the right flower, Alius discovers something about his nose...
All Sneezing Characters are assumed to be 18+
CW: Sneezing, hitching, teasing
Art by the lovely @hachiibun!
I finally made an Alius wav. I don't have anything much to say except, if you are missing context just read the fanfic pinned at the top of my blog.
Of course couldn't go without Wanderer sympathy sneezes.
I hope you enjoy, and as always,
‼️‼️DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS
Just a lil wanderer fic ;P
~
Weakness was a burden.
After all, with it being the very first step to having his life ruined, there wasn’t really any other way for Wanderer to look at it, was there? Weakness was nothing more than a burden. In his past, it got him discarded and exploited. In his present, it got him pitied and fussed over. He disliked every end of the spectrum.
He blew his nose for the umpteenth time, tossing the used tissue off the edge of the platform and dooming it to fall to the bottom of the sanctuary where it would be someone else’s problem. What a pitiful situation. He was glad he didn’t have the misfortune of being witnessed by Lesser Lord Kusanali.
Allergic to Ley Lines. Isn’t that ridiculous? For a project, he was forced to sit in on a ley line experiment some other nobodies presented to his class. After a few minutes, his nose was buzzing. A few hours later he was congested, exhausted, and sporting a fever. A burden, by the way, he didn’t even know he was low enough to be affected by.
He wasn’t sure what it was in that experiment, but something interacted with his composition and not in a way that was palpable by any means. He’d have laughed if it had happened to anybody else. When it was him, it was just embarrassing. If his interaction with Sethos was anything to go by… he was glad he was alone today.
“Hey, Hey, Hey, Hat Guy!” Sethos had chimed, bouncing toward him with his usual chipper attitude.
"What do you wadt?" Wanderer had snapped, congestion clutching his words too intensely for him to brush off. He could only hope his face didn't turn as red as it felt as he turned and buried his nose into a handkerchief.
"Woah, you sound real bunged up," Sethos pointed out ever-so-helpfully. "Got a cold?"
"I don't get colds," Wanderer snapped behind a watery glare. Another helpful suggestion to LEAVE HIM ALONE was right on his tongue when he was snapping forward into cupped hands.
"Eh'ptisshhu!"
"Bless--"
Wanderer held up a hand to stop him. "Unnecessary."
"Right, well, if you have a cold I can bring you to Tighnari. He makes some preeetty good soup, and when you're sick--"
"Don't call me that," Wanderer snapped again, more harshly this time. He didn't like that word. 'Sick'. He might as well have said 'weak'.
"But you're--"
Wanderer's nose betrayed him again, barely giving a single twitch of a warning before he was completely doubling over. "ESSShhHww! huh'pTSChhhih!" A few dry coughs were dragged out of his throat as well.
"Jeez, you're bad off! You look flushed too. You okay?" Sethos stepped over to the ailing Wanderer, who was too focused on trying to catch his breath and keep himself upright to give much of a rebuttal. "Maybe this isn't just a cold... Stay put, I'll grab someone who can help."
Wanderer was lucky he was stupid enough to leave. He fled the scene the moment he was alone.
Was he regretting that he denied help? No. Did he need it? As much as he'd never admit it... maybe. He'd been lying on the cold floor for the past hour now, limbs too heavy and drenched with ache for him to even try to get up. Is this what humans dealt with... practically all the time? How pathetic.
As he reached for another tissue, he found his hands were shaking-- No, his whole body was shaking. He was suffering chills now? He'd really, truly fallen from grace. Not that he'd ever reached it to begin with... still, he thought he was at least above this.
He blew his nose. It did nothing. He blew his nose again. Nothing. One more time, and all it did was coax out a wet "iieTSSSHhh!" From the depths of his sinuses. How did mortals deal with this patheticness? Well, he had more pride than to ask anyone who could actually answer.
He finally found the energy to pry his body off the cold floor. He was freezing. Not that there were any blankets or heating in the Sanctuary of Surasthana... not that he was desperate enough to go out and find such mortal requirements. He sniffled, and as the congestion weighed on his head and caused it to spin, he berated himself for being so weak. Even some mortals did not surrender to such simple setbacks. Since when was he pathetic enough to do so himself?
Immediately his eyes caught the stack of empty papers on the table and he was suddenly relating to the classmates that would freak out when flu season overlapped with midterms. He was supposed to write a report on the stupid mess of an experiment that got him in this situation, and he wasn't feeling well enough for any of it. With all the bragging he constantly did of never falling ill, would his professor even believe him if he asked for an extension?
His head spun the more he looked at the few words he had gotten down. Of course, they were nonsense. Whatever was happening to his body was also frying his brain. He sunk to the floor.
"HtSHHIEEeeh! No, not again, st-- eeSSHHuh! Stop sn-- hehh--"
He quickly pinched his nose, trying to stare down at it as if it was a sentient being that would listen to reason. "I am not weak. I am not a pathetic human. I will not fall victim to this. I will... not... not...."
It wasn't any use. The more he thought about the tickle, the more it grew. He sucked in a sharp breath--
"HhnXGT-ch! nXX-tt!"
He was at least able to suppress those two... that made him feel at least a little in control. Maybe he'd keep doing that.
His eyes wandered over to the letter on the table. He'd almost forgotten about that. It had arrived this morning, and he'd been putting off reading it. He guessed now was as good a time as any. Maybe it would get his brain working again.
He sat down again, unfolding the letter and starting to read...
"Hat Guy!
Albedo taught me how to use a sword! I'm having a lot of fun. One day, I might be as strong as you! Sorry if that's not okay to say. I know your strength is important to you.
I got injured during training. I didn't want to be a burden or look weak, so I hid it... but the longer I hid it, the more I pushed through it, the worse it got. Soon I realized I was being a burden by lying, not by being hurt. So I told him. And... he wasn't upset.
He actually helped me. A lot. He got it bandaged and taken care of, and I was healed in a jiffy.
Albedo once let me cry in his arms after a nightmare. It felt really nice. Do you ever get nightmares?
I know you have different experiences than me, but all that stuff you told me about weakness seems to not be true around Albedo. Even sharing my emotional issues is helpful. I hope you can find someone you can do that with too. Not that I won't be that for you! If I can, then let me know how!
I know I can't do much from over here, but I hope you're doing okay. Not that I don't think you can handle yourself! I bet you're probably doing miles better than I am. But you're my friend, so don't be a stranger, okay?
-Durin"
Wanderer let out a bitter laugh.
So that little brat thought he was better than him, huh? Farther along in the 'healing process'? If Wanderer wanted, he'd be miles ahead. He just didn't do any of that stuff because he didn't want to.
...Durin probably was better than him. By a lot.
He sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but before he realized, his shaking legs were taking him outside.
"Oh!" Nahida had greeted as she caught him on her way into the Sanctuary. "I was just coming back! How are your studies? I heard you had a fun experiment today, I wanted to--"
"Bu'er," Wanderer began, head tilted so his eyes could meet hers. "....I... have to tell you something."
Yara moment
how has no one thought of this idea before lmao
aka scaramouche fic
~
These days, the Wanderer would look back on his memories of fatui harbinger banquets with fondness. The drama, the gossip, the pathetic fronts some of them would put on to get out of certain missions… it was just so amusing. There was very little he wouldn’t give to go back in time and show up with a friend, comment on Signora’s weight, then sit back and watch the chaos happen.
Back then, he found it bothersome. Back then he was ready to be rid of all worldly emotion, welcoming the day he’d simply be too high above such meaningless squabble. Gossip and chatter, however amusingly petty, was just not something a future god needed to concern himself with.
He sat at the banquet, sipping his classically bitter tea and ignoring the food he did not need to eat. He didn’t speak a word, just idly listening to the chatter like he was simply above it. Practice for when he’d become a god, he supposed.
Sandrone was shouting at Columbina again for something absolutely trivial. Mortal issues a future god like him was probably too high above to understand. He shared a glance with Dottore. Soon, he’d leave all of this behind.
“Fine,” Sandrone huffed. “I guess I’m too busy to need to care about some meaningless singing.”
“Really?” Scaramouche muttered. “I thought I heard Arlecchino say your anger issues were a liability.”
“She said WHAT now?” Sandrone practically screeched, immediately launching into another argument.
….Okay, maybe the drama was a little entertaining.
Scaramouche sniffed, rubbing at his nose with a curled index finger. Ever since his last experiment with Dottore, his nose hadn’t stopped… buzzing. It was an odd sensation in the back of what probably would be his sinuses, as if there was something welling up inside for no other purpose than to make him utterly uncomfortable. It was tolerable before, but now, he was starting to notice the way it extended through his head and made him feel…
exhausted.
Him? Exhausted? No, he couldn’t be. A future god should be above exhaustion. Hells, a future god should be above… all of whatever this is! The buzzing, the sniffling, none of it should be happening. Especially not in front of Dottore, who has the fate of his deification in his very hands. If he deems him too weak…
“Scaramouche, tell Sandrone I’m not ‘childish’ and ‘annoying!’” Childe demanded, drawing a groan out of the tired puppet.
“Oh my me, I don’t CARE.”
“For the last time, Scaramouche, you don’t get to say ‘Oh my me’ instead of ‘Oh my god’, you’re not even a god yet!” Sandrone reminded him.
Scaramouche tuned out the rest of the petty argument, focusing on trying to get his pathetic nose under control. Whatever… reaction he was having to whatever Dottore did to him, no one was going to see it. He had to be extra careful too, he could feel Dottore’s eyes on him…
He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth. Don’t sniffle, don’t sneeze… they are watching your every move… That little ‘buzzing’ in the back of his nose had grown into an unstoppable force. Think, Scaramouche… think… what is there to do…?
“You okay, Scara?” Childe asked, nudging him by the shoulder, almost startling the sneeze out of him. In a moment of pure genius, Scaramouche dropped his fork onto the floor, giving himself an excuse to duck under the table to grab it.
“HehNGt! n’gtt-ch!”
Nearly silent… at least, nearly silent when covered by the sound of pointless bickering. He lifted his head once he realized incessant rubbing wasn’t going to will the tickle out of his nose.
“You were down there for a bit, are you-- woah there.” Childe was giving him a look he really didn’t like. “Your, uh…”
Childe pointed to his nose, and Scaramouche quickly covered his embarrassingly pink nose with his hand. Damn how human-like this puppet body was… he couldn’t wait to be rid of it.
“Hh--” He took a sharp inhale, not daring to release it. He thanked his future self that Dottore was distracted talking to Pantalone about something. He still had a chance…
He couldn’t falter now. Not when he was so close.
…Dammit, was Signora wearing perfume!? She was warned multiple times that that stuff was way too strong for comfort and no one in their right mind liked it, but no, the whole rest of world only exists just to serve number freaking eight of the fatui harbingers--
“Scaramouche,” Dottore cut in. “I am speaking to you.”
The way his name was spoken sent a chill down Scaramouche’s spine, thus knocking loose the sneeze he was so desperately holding back. He dipped forward into cupped hands, no time to even stifle.
“Eh’ptshhuu!”
The whole room went silent. Scaramouche sniffled, honest to his future self, wishing he had never existed.
“...You can sneeze?” Was Childe’s bewildered response after a good few seconds.
“So?” Scaramouche scoffed.
“Oh, he can sneeze,” Dottore confirmed through a breathy chuckle. “He used to be impossible to work with because of it. I’d have to find ways to sedate him if I wanted to even touch his nose.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Scaramouche muttered from where he’d sunk into his seat, his face burning red with embarrassment. “Besides, I’m much stronger now.”
“Maybe so. But regardless, unlike the most of us, you don’t sneeze without reason. Do you have something to declare, Scaramouche?”
“Not to you.”
“I’d watch your mouth if I were you,” Pantalone scolded with a tsk. “This kind of behaviour isn’t very becoming of a ‘future god’.”
“Right, because you’re the expert on being a god, not me, who will actually become one. While we’re at it, why don’t we go to Childe for medical advice?”
“Ha,” Sandrone scoffed. “Funnily enough, I think even Tartaglia would be a better doctor than Dottore.”
“Now now, it’s best we all calm down,” Pulcinella cut in. Scaramouche wasn’t having it.
“I don’t need to listen to you,” He snapped, “I’m a future god, I-- I’m not--” He sighed in utter annoyance, letting the embarrassment come. It was more embarrassing to fight it and lose. “eh’issHhhu! heh-iSHHhieww!
“Here,” Arlecchino extended a folded napkin, to which Scaramouche swatted it away.
“I’m not one of your pathetic children.”
Arlecchino’s fingers tightened around the napkin, crushing the thin cloth beneath her grip. “You’re right, you’re not one of my children. But don’t worry, some day you’ll get to that level of maturity.”
“That’s enough,” Pierro cut in, silencing every voice. “I was hoping this time I wouldn’t be entering to witness such a mess, but here we are again. Why is it that you all behave like children the moment--”
“Hh’TSShhiuu!”
…Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, be damned with his troublesome nose, now is not the time…
“...Signora.”
….That… was not the name Scaramouche was expecting to hear.
“What did we say about the perfume?”
…Holy shit, God was real.
Scaramouche was too busy reeling over how lucky he got to notice what happened next, but when he was being snapped back into reality, Pierro was gone, Signora was gone, and one or two others he didn’t care for had left as well.
“Scara.” Childe snapped his fingers once, twice, in front of Scaramouche’s face.
“Hh’NXTt--!”
“There he is,” Pantalone teased.
“Yikes, it’s gotta hurt to do that,” Childe winced. “Just let it out, comrade.”
“I’ll do what I-- n’gtt! What I w-- nXxt-ch!”
“Scaramouche,” Dottore’s voice came in next, and that shut him up completely. “It’s not the perfume… is it? You’re reacting to your last procedure.”
Scaramouche froze completely, all sneezes suddenly disappearing from his sinuses.
“And to think you’re supposed to be number 6…” Pantalone tsked. He was probably just jealous his sugar baby was paying less attention to him.
Dottore tsked as well. “I didn’t think your body would be rejecting it in such a way… perhaps I overestimated you.” He must have noticed the way Scaramouche’s face fell, because he continued, “Ah, but, before you say anything, we will still be continuing with the experiment. We just need to make a few extra… changes first. Come find me when you’re ready. We’ll open you up and see where we went wrong.”
At some point during the conversation, Scaramouche’s fear turned into a glare, which he held onto Dottore his whole way out. A sigh. A moment in silence to rub his nose with his palm… and then…
“...He’s such a dick.”
“RIGHT!?” Sandrone practically screeched, a rant on the tip of her tongue.
The fear and embarrassment he’d felt in that moment, the amusement and belonging he felt ranting and gossipping with his coworkers… it was all a part of his past. Who he was, and who he is now.
Wanderer couldn’t help but scoff at his old self for ever trying to erase that.
