Holy Christ, Lots of Random Fiction Snippets (m and f)

[Garnet]

Okay, so every once in a while I get the urge to write something, but I am far, far too busy and ADD to work on real stories right now. However, I often do spit out several paragraphs of random sneezy goodness with various characters, which usually end up dumped in my livejournal (under a fetish filter) and sit there to rot.

Sooo I went through and collected them all, and rather than spam the board by posting each one individually, here's a DRABBLE DUMP rather than my usual art dump. Eat it. I'll post them all as seperate replies, for convenience's sake.

Some day, when I am feeling useful and constructive, I'll put all my fetish crap on a webpage XD

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Fandom: Escaflowne

Character: Dilandau (m... sort of)

Just a shade above complete disinterest, Folken's gaze drifted lazily towards his inferior at the weaponry station of the bridge as the pale-haired boy sneezed for the fourth time within the past few minutes. Normally, the strategist would not have concerned himself in the least with such an act, but the frustrated little noises and sniffles that Dilandau was beginning to admit after each one were a little too amusing to pass up.

"Bless you," he purred dryly, just managing to keep a smirk from his austere features as the Alseides pilot bristled visibly.

He'd been here before Folken had entered, to be fair, tinkering with something over there that did not particularly interest the Draconian, so long as he wasn't breaking anything. He'd fix it himself later, if anything went awry. For the moment, he was almost completely absorbed in going through some old records and entering them into one of the databases. He might have normally given it to a subordinate to deal with, but they were a bit understaffed at the moment, and he was bored.

"Damnit, Folken," Dilandau snarled, predictably, shooting the taller man a vicious glare from those sanguinary eyes. "Do you have to let those bloody animals of yours wander all over the ship? You should keep... kee--... huhkshht!" He interrupted himself with a violent cringe. A quaking breath indicated that he was not quite finished as the boy turned himself from Folken entirely, although they were many feet apart, and jerked violently into an open palm. "HUHkshh!" He sniffed, ruefully, and the strategist allowed himself a small smile as he watched the Dragonslayer captain rub vigorously at his nose in a manner that was far more boyish than probably intended. "Keep them locked up."

Folken chuckled, the sound warm and deep as he propped his jaw up calmly against the back of one hand, giving Dilandau his full attention now. "Animals? I daresay that they're far more human than you, commander."

The soldier was too busy doubling over again with another alleviating sneeze to respond. If not for his snarky comments in regards to Naria and Eriya just a moment earlier, Folken almost might have felt some measure of sympathy towards the little bastard, as he was obviously quite allergic to his consorts. "Huhksshu!" He sniffled again, more fluidly now and rubbed his nose with greater ire and conviction. "They're filthy." Sniiiff!

Folken sighed. "They're fine. However, perhaps I should have a word with Jajuka if that's the way you feel about our less humanoid companions."

This seemed to have the desired effect of harnessing Dilandau's sharp tongue. He looked humbled, even momentarily crushed before he returned a glare towards Folken. A watery one, but bloodthirsty nevertheless. "Leave him out of thihh.... this." Sniff.

Another faint smile was offered in response. "Then stop that."

Ah, but it was so easy to enrage the soldier, if his expression was any indication. "I'm not.... huhkssh! HEHkshht!" The thin white line of his teeth snapped together sharply at that one, expressive features forming a deeply irritated grimace even as he recovered, evidently miserable. "Not sdeesig on purpose," he reminded him, far stuffier than a moment ago.

Rising from his seat, Folken closed the records in front of him with a prim little snap. "Then I shall have to find a quieter place to work." Having long given up on the idea of getting along with Dilandau, and now having settled for their existence of merely tolerating each other, the Draconian was not attempting to win any favors from the insubordinate creature. As such, he had no qualms about pausing near the angry boy in passing, slipping a hand from beneath his cloak to drop a small white handkerchief into his lap. Dilandau blanched, and opened his mouth to snap something scathing in response, but Folken was quicker. "Take a shower. You'll feel better. And I'll ask the girls not to lay all over the equipment."

And with that, he swept off towards his own quarters, ignoring the furious curse thrown at his back.

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Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Character: Brad Crawford (m)

Crawford staggered away from the writhing ring of people at the sound of the bell closing the last round. It wouldn't be the only match for the night, but he was afforded a small break in between to regain his bearings. Which was just what he intended to do, as he pushed passed the throng of eager onlookers, some booing his victory and some cheering him on, most trying to weasel in to give their congratulatory words or shouts or backslaps or hell, even appreciative gropes, as he'd experienced once or twice before to his intense displeasure. He barked discouragement at all of them with a hand wiping at his mouth, smearing the gouts of blood that trickled down his jaw. As he eventually broke through the crowd, however, and ducked into a back stairwell for a moment, he was free to examine the real damage. A busted lip was nothing to worry about. However, his opponent had gotten another good hit to his face, when he'd still been reeling from the first freak blow, and smashed his nose pretty good.

Said opponent was now lying in a little puddle of teeth and blood on the concrete floor, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he felt compelled to test the cartilage warily, before his next match, checking for signs of breakage. That, and he really, really needed to...

"HEASHHHuu!" He sneezed violently, feeling his nose twinge sharply near the bridge with an intensity that made his breath catch. "Huh'IESSHT! Heh'IESHHHuh! Huh...hh..hh!" Damnit...

"HAISSHHT!"

Shit, those fucking hurt. Opening his eyes warily, Brad quickly braced a hand against the nearest wall, cool and rough beneath his hand, as the floor blurred a bit. There was no danger of those in the ring room hearing him, at least, the door was quite heavy and soundproof against even his notoriously massive sneezes.

The likes of which were still making him curl his lip slightly in irritation, eyes watering freely now as his lightly curved nose tickled tremendously, right... there. Cautiously, he held a loose array of fingertips just a few inches again, wary of touching the possible crack but not especially relishing this sneezy sensation all night long either. At last, he relented and massaged a thumb and forefinger just over the bridge, a stimulation which had the immediate effect of snapping him clear over double with the resulting explosion.

"Huuh'EIHSSCHUU!!"

Ow. That one had scraped his throat fairly raw as well, and he spent several moments with his hands braced on both thighs, simply recovering from that particular sneeze. His breath heaved, making the massive dragon tattooed across his naked back expand and contract. It was just barely illuminated by a thin shaft of moonlight that filtered through a single, barred window a story or two above. Eventually, his vision cleared, and he gave a cautious sniff, feeling his nose dripping quite freely. Cautiously, the side of a hand was raised to wipe at his nostrils, and he grimaced briefly when they came away nearly gloved in blood. A glance down confirmed that the floor had likewise been splattered in a gory spray of crimson. Sniffling sharply and rubbing a knuckle against the tip of his nose, Brad noted wryly to himself that the janitor (if this miserable excuse for a condemned building even had one) would be more likely to think a murder had taken place in this stairwell than a boxer with a sneezing fit.

Cautiously, a hand tested the bridge of his nose against, pleased to find it a little sensitive, but not reacting with the shooting pain that would denote a serious break. It was no doubt a small fracture that would heal soon enough with a bit of ice and elevation, he would simply take care not to bump it within the next few days lest he send himself into another violent frenzy.

Another fierce sniff and a wipe of his face removed most of the free-flowing blood before he pushed back out into the ring, noting with a sigh that the dark liquid already drying on his hands. Oh yes, he would have fun explaining this one to his roommate...

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Fandom: Original

Character: Kiyoshi (personal character, he's half-snake and looks like dis or dis. Shut up, I know I'm insane )

The buzzing tension in the air, the taste of riled nerves and excited murmurs and rushing stagehand pre-performance had always been strangely soothing to him. It had taken him years to achieve this miniature state of nirvana before the proverbial curtains rose, schooled into a practice calm that bespoke of his confidence in his lines and actions. Lord knew he'd gone through them all a thousand times over, until each swooping curve of the fan and every well-timed bow was burned into his brain. At least until the next play, anyway. Even so, Kiyoshi could not deny that even his veins sometimes sang with adrenaline in the hour before opening night.

Then again, his unease at the moment more than likely related to the questionable status of his normally infallible health. Since that morning, something had been tickling at his nose and throat, earning a few violent sneezes over breakfast and rendering his delicate features a little ragged, a little weary. It was nothing a decent makeup job couldn't cover, and the lines under his eyes would be hardly visible under the thick coating of oshiroi and the more dramatic kumadori.

Still, it was a little troubling to consider the possibility of being interrupted mid-act by an unexpected fit of coughing. He only hoped that his nerves would hold out and protect him until after the performance.

A glance to the clock above the mirrors confirmed that time had not abruptly flown away while he wasn’t looking. With a relieved sniffled, barely heard over the droning chatter of actors and assistants running behind and around him, he unscrewed the little container of foundation and began to gather his hair with intent to pin it back. The ritual of getting into costume always promised a certain state of relaxation, and so when another pair of hands abruptly touched his smooth black tresses from behind, he startled and darted his eyes to the mirror again.

Aolani’s reflection lifted an eyebrow in response, and Kiyoshi let out a shaky sigh. “Jumpy, much?” The other naga teased as he manipulated Kiyoshi’s hair into a simple twist and fastened it neatly in place with a few bobby pins that had been pinched in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m on stage in sixty minutes, what do you expect?” Kiyoshi snapped in response, a little more harshly than he’d meant to, but Aolani only grinned and laughed it off.

In truth, he was glad that the other naga was there. A jack of all trades, Aolani had taken quite a bit of time away from his own shop to help the troop through several rehearsals, going over lines with the other actors one day and perhaps building set pieces or hemming costumes the next, all in preparation for a production of Benten Kozo, as it was popularly known. The others had dropped by from time to time as well, of course, but less frequently than the playful telepath. The troop was appreciative, however, and he seemed to enjoy it, and so Kiyoshi did not think much of the matter. The fact that he was painfully attractive as well certainly didn’t hurt matters.

“Can I help?” The naga in questioned wondered from behind him, and Kiyoshi emerged from his reverie with a blush threatening his pale complexion.

“Help?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Aolani replied, scratching his long, blue-painted nails at the base of the kabuki actor’s neck in an idly affectionate manner, making Kiyoshi shiver. “You look a little strung out.”

Looking down, the rat snake realized that even his hands were shaking a bit as he fumbled with the foundation oil. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let the other take some of the stress of his own shoulders. “Ah…you can do this, if you want,” he offered, nodding to the spread of makeup before him. “You remember how I showed you during dress rehearsal?”

Aolani nodded dismissively, and stole the little container into his own hands. “Kiyoshi, I’m a flaming queen. Don’t question my makeup prowess.”

He sniffed and nodded, admitting to himself that Aolani had something of an eye for this sort of thing, and that there were certainly less capable hands he could put himself into. He closed his eyes and let Aolani tilt his jaw up a little just before the cool mixture touched his skin. The greasepaint that American theater buffs seemed to favor had never sat well for his type of roll, the result always looking oily and damp under the stage lights. Although Kiyoshi’s skin was already a stark shade of bleached ivory, matching well his leucistic scales, the combination of oils and traditional rice powders hid his imperfections and formed a smooth, matte base for the kumadori itself.

Aolani had a gentle touch, he noted vaguely as the other naga’s fingertips moved over his rounded, effeminate features. It was quite relaxing, really, although he flinched a little when the other’s thumb brushed over and beneath his nose. The pressure set his eyes to watering, and he sniffled in quick succession several times to contain the sudden almost irresistible urge to sneeze.

The dark-skinned naga seemed to notice this too, and pulled back with arched brows, tilting his head at the reflexive twitch of the pale nostrils, a little pinkened around their inner edges as a result of what appear to be frequent rubbing. “Are you alright?”

Longing to bring a hand to his nose, but resisting the temptation for the sake of the makeup process, Kiyoshi nodded quickly. “Ah, yes. Just… maybe coming down with something.”

Aolani tapped his jaw thoughtfully with an elongated nail. “And I suppose you don’t believe in understudies, hmn?”

Kiyoshi gave him a look. Grinning rakishly, Aolani shook his head and passed a hand playfully over the other’s eyes, forcing him to be still again as he went about applying the thick white oshiroi cream, next. Regardless, Kiyoshi continued to wrinkle his nose periodically for quick, twitching intervals. It was ticklish now, and while he could flex his features into any number of expressions and even touch the makeup when it had dried without it coming away too easily, he feared the act of an actual sneeze, especially during the application process. Particularly in front of Aolani.

Aolani, who had withdrawn again to consider the evenness of the base. Kiyoshi caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror from beneath dark lashes, and seemed pleased at the result. He ought to have this done for him more often. “What else?” The other naga inquired, whisking his tail to and fro across the floorboards.

As much as he dreaded it, Kiyoshi cracked his eyes open a bit further and sniffed gently. “The talc, to set it.”

‘Ah’ing softly, the other serpent took up the hake brush and black compact in question, containing a simple pressed white powder. Normally this would have been his favorite part, but as peculiarly sensitive as he seemed to be, today, Kiyoshi could only purse his lips and swallow hard as the softened edge of the brush glided over his face. He was fine for a moment, but turned briefly to issue an irritated, delicate cough into a shoulder as he subconsciously felt the powder creeping into his lungs and nose and throat, unavoidably.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Aolani wondered lazily, brush lifted and head and hips cocked to the side as stagehands passed by at random, leaping over their layers of spotted and pristine white coils as though they were the most natural obstacles in the world. “That sounds like a cold coming on.”

“Mm, fine. It’s just…” Cough. “Just a sniffle, I’ll just go home right after the performance,” he offered, in an effort to dissuade the other naga’s attention. Aolani looked skeptical, but shrugged, and tilted his nails beneath his jaw again as Kiyoshi’s eyes fluttered shut. He tried very hard to be still, to avoid twitching at each touch of the brush and to calm the warm thudding of his heart at Aolani’s closeness. He was successful only for a few minutes, however, of practiced Japanese poise and calm, before abruptly losing control as the hake brushed against his nostrils, allowing some of the fine white powder to filter into his nostrils.

“Hhh!” He inhaled suddenly, sharply, leaning back from Aolani and half-lifting a hand towards his face while an alarmed mantra recited itself over and over in his head. ‘Don’tsneezedon’tsneezedon’t--’

“Oh, stop,” Aolani scoffed, evidently overhearing his mental distress quite clearly. “No one will mind.” Reaching out, he flicked Kiyoshi’s nose again playfully with the tip of the brush.

“Huh-KHTSHH!” The actor exploded harshly, eyes squeezing shut and features cringing terribly as he doubled forward with the effort. “Huh…! Heh’KHTshh!” Warily, he touched his fingertips just to the trembling edges of his nostrils, and grimaced with dismay as his nose wrinkled sharply again in response. “Chh! Kht’chh! Kt’CHH! Kh..hheh…”

Sniffling fitfully and pressing a knuckle to the tip of his nose, Kiyoshi blinked desperately through watering eyes. “’lani, can I have…h-have…” His upper lip curled back a bit, exposing the pointed tips of his eyeteeth as he nodded towards a box of tissues sitting nearby, a standard necessity for the application and removal processes.

“Mn? Oh, of course,” the other responded, seemingly surprised by the vigorous explosions as his delicate nails snatched a thin white sheet from its container and passed it along.

No longer caring about the state of his makeup so much as expelling the irritant from his nose, Kiyoshi pressed the tissue urgently against his nose to accept the next series of flinching little sneezes that cinched his brow and trembled his thin shoulders. “Heh! Hehuhh… huh’KTSHH! Kh’chshht…Kngxshht! Hh…!”

He dared to look up for a moment, as the preparatory breaths for the next one teased in an out of his lungs. Aolani was staring. So were some of the stage crew. Blushing hotly and grateful for the concealing oshiroi, Kiyoshi pinched his nose shut to contain the last into a wracking, “KNGHTshh! Uhhn…”

“Daijoubu desu ka?” One of the other actors murmured incredulously, unaccustomed to the spectacle of seeing the onnagata sneeze. Kiyoshi sniffed and waved off the man’s concerns with an affirmative gesture.

Containing a ticklish cough against the back of his hand as the others’ attentions began to waver, the typically snide, sarcastic serpent’s gaze met Aolani’s again, looking distinctly humbled now. “Ehr…sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Bless you,” the other remarked, blinking his darkly outlined eyes as Kiyoshi wiped ruefully beneath his nose, gathering away some of the wetness that had resulted, and even daring to give a tiny blow if only to relieve the need to sniffle constantly for a while. “Ki, you really should probably not be doing this, if you’re sick.”

A little exasperated now on top of his embarrassment, Kiyoshi rolled his eyes. “Nanase, I‘m fine. Can‘t exactly just leave now, anyway.” Sniff! “Just…go easy on the powder, okay? I’ll even give you the oshiguma when I’m done.”

Aolani chuckled, and tapped the brush lightly between the sniffly naga’s eyes. “A fitting payment. Now hold still, and just sneeze if you have to, for heaven’s sakes…”

Once again feeling himself warm beneath the makeup, Kiyoshi settled obediently. “Hai…”

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Fandom: Hellsing

Character: Heinkel (f, though she dresses like a priest, hurr)

“Uht’chhshh!”

Yumiko let the tissue box fall into her lap in defeat. Silently, she cursed her fumbling fingers for not being able to wrestle the box open in time for one of the soft sheets to catch her partner’s sneeze. “Oh, Heinkel, I’m sorry…”

The taller woman sniffed softly in response, a hand that had been urgent motioning for a tissue a moment ago now lighting beneath the delicate curve of her nose to rub gently. “Ach…”

“I tried!”

“Yumiko…”

“It’s just that these things are terribly hard to open. You wouldn’t think that they would be, but…”

“Yumiko.”

The nun ceased her babbling abruptly and looked back up at the Austrian guiltily. “H-hai?” When Heinkel again motioned for the box, Yumiko blushed and handed it over, allowing the other agent to easily tear it open and withdraw the precious bounty from within.

As Heinkel sat up a little more from the sofa she’d been resting upon and blew her nose softly into the little wadded bundle of white, Yumiko sighed and smoothed out her skirts, adjusted her glasses. “I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well, Heinkel.”

Lowering the tissues again, the woman beside her sniffed and moved her long legs over a bit, allowing the more appropriately dressed nun a bit more room to perch alongside her, clutching her skirts and looking terribly guilty about the whole thing. Heinkel snorted softly, but affectionately. “That’s at least the fifth time you’ve said that today, Yumiko,” she reminded her coworker and friend, and tossed the crumpled ball into a small trashcan placed near the sofa. “It isn’t as if it’s your fault.”

Yumiko pouted a bit. “I know, but it still saddens me…”

“Hnf,” Heinkel dismissed, sniffling hard and leaning back against the couch’s arm. “It’s only a little cold, Yumiko, I’m sure I’ll live. What did our fearless leader have to say, anwvay?”

Despite her fellow nun’s almost obsessive worrying, Heinkel was content enough in the lazy quiet of this little flat they rented and sometimes shared, just a few miles outside of the Vatican City. She was unaccustomed to being struck down by something as silly as a headcold, of course, but at least it was quiet, here, with the exception of Yumiko’s fussing, and with any luck Maxwell would be too distracted by Anderson’s return to bother either of his two female agents for a while.

“Oh! That was him on the phone,” Yumiko replied, looking up and blinking owlishly at her partner through the lenses of her round, shining spectacles. “He said that it was alright to take the day off. Apparently Father Anderson isn’t feeling very well… either. Oh, here.” This time, the berserker had seen the faint twitchiness overcome Heinkel’s expression in advance, and had tissues from the open box at the ready, pressed towards the sneezy gunwoman.

“Eh’chhshh! Uhhh… Huh’CHshht!” The nun squinted warily at Yumiko over the flare of white she held to her nose for a moment, breath still audibly fluttering over the tissues, until… “Uht’CHHH!”

It ached at Yumiko’s heart, even if Heinkel herself did not seem particularly fazed, and the tiny Japanese woman offered a sincere, “God bless you, goodness,” as her companion recovered with a quick sniff or two.

“Ugh, danke,” she replied somewhat stuffily, rubbing a thumb and forefinger wearily over the bridge of her nose. Even if she did not display it outwardly, Heinkel mused, this endless amount of sneezing and sniffling was beginning to wear upon her. Under any other circumstances, she would have gladly taken a day off as an excuse to get in some practice at the firing range, honing her already deadly shot, or perhaps to go somewhere nice with Yumiko. In her current state, however, she highly doubted that she would be able to so much as aim her glocks without doubling over with another fit. And so Heinkel had simply resigned herself to a day spent on the couch, feeling rather unproductive but reminding herself that more rest meant a faster healing rate.

Yumiko, however, saw fit to smother her poor comrade in as many ways as she possibly could. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could make soup, or some more tea, or…”

“Yumiko,” Heinkel interrupted again, sitting up. “Stop fussing, for pity’s sakes, I’m not…” She hesitated, blinking, and snarled the white tips of her canines briefly into view as she turned aside with a clenching, “Ach’chhshht!”

“Bless you…”

“Danke,” she sighed. “As I was saying…I’m not made of glass.”

Yumiko looked repentant, and ducked her gaze downwards, a hand migrating instinctively to fuss at the ends of her ebony hair. Guilt overcame Heinkel, and with a sigh she reached out to pull the other sister closer to herself, as Yumiko squeaked in surprise. “I do appreciate the concern,” the Austrian admitted, resting her jaw lazily atop her partner’s head. “But you’ll get sick too, at this rate.”

Pulling back from her close proximity just enough to look up at the other woman, Yumiko frowned fractionally. “I know… but you keep such a good eye on me when Yumie is awake. I want to return the favor.”

Unable to find fault in this explanation except for Yumiko’s almost maddening innocence, Heinkel merely shook her head and smirked down at her. “It’s not a favor you should vorry about returning.” As dearly as she loved her friend, however, the mention of the nun’s alternate personality sparked Heinkel’s interest a little. “Besides,” she remarked, kissing Yumiko’s brow gently and reaching a hand up to remove her almost comically large glasses with a knowing little smirk. “Yumie’s not all bad.”

The woman curled up against her blinked dazedly a few times, before a slow and feral grin twisted her features into a vicious cast that had not been there just a few moments before. Muffling a final sneeze into her sleeve, Heinkel tossed both the tissue box and the glasses aside as Yumie tackled her into the arm of the couch.

Ah. Much better.

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[blink]

Cute stories! I liked the last one the best. You're a very good writer and a good artist too!

[Garnet]

Fandom: One Piece

Character: Sanji (m)

He’d been battling the urge to sneeze for the past five minutes now, and his efforts were quickly failing him. Bowed slightly over the cutting board as he sliced through the dwindling dregs of their vegetable supply, Sanji had tried nearly every trick in the book to get the obnoxious tickle in his nose to back down, while at the same time being as discreet as humanly possible. It was, after all, terribly uncouth to sneeze in front of a lady and Nami, of all people, was sitting directly at the galley table behind him, peacefully thumbing through a cartography book and completely oblivious to his plight.

She’d joined him in the galley a while ago out of her own volition, for once, not lured down by Sanji’s heartfelt promises of fruit and yogurt and desserts and endless, blatant adoration. She had descended into the galley claiming escape from the sun beating down on the deck overhead, as well as the mostly-obnoxious antics of Usopp, Chopper, and their captain. Zoro, he expected, was probably sleeping soundly right through all of it. Sanji had, of course, heaped affection upon here, praising her beauty and her kindness to be so good as to keep the poor, overworked chef company. Nami had smacked him with her book, and Sanji had settled, after insisting upon at least making her a drink. He had discovered, but did not always heed the fact that their navigator was much like a cat, in that she quickly grew annoyed and violent when paid too much attention to, but was the first to bristle and complain loudly the moment that she was ignored.

But now her glass was empty and Sanji half-wished that even his precious mellorine would leave him be for just a moment, so he could get this irritation out of his nose in private. He wasn’t quite sure whether to blame it on the spices he’d been cooking with earlier, or the beginnings of a cold, but either way was not being afforded any mercy by his troublesome sinuses. Under normal circumstances, and in front of anyone else besides the ladies, he would have simply turned from the food and let them go quickly and viciously, muffled out of pure habit into the crook of his arm or whatever hand towel might have been stashed half-heartedly in his apron. But the presence of X chromosomes in his near vicinity always tended to make his angry, foul-mouthed nature slide to allow for a sheepish sense of propriety to come creeping to the surface, instead.

Nearly groaning in frustration, the blonde chef turned his head aside to rub his nose quickly and covertly into a shoulder for surely the fiftieth time, while he was only greeted with the rustle of turning pages from behind him. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, Sanji allowed himself a small sniff, in the hopes that it would alleviate the miserable prickling sensation without her noticing. Of course, he had no such luck; if anything, the action had only increased the intensity burning just behind his eyes, like a blade of grass being torturously twisted or a flower inhaled too deeply.

Blinking quickly to dismiss the sheen of itchy tears beginning to gather in his eyes, Sanji felt his lip curling back and a shaky breath being drawn without even meaning to. Oh, no…

“Hh’Mmschht!” He sneezed wetly against the inside of his arm, scrambling to press the black material to his nose in time to suppress the desperate sound of it. No relief. Unable to help himself, Sanji drew another quivering inhale as his eyes squeezed shut. “Heh’mmschh! Hih’mhnff!”

Ugh. That was a little better, though he could still feel a persistent little twitch teasing at him from somewhere on the edge of his consciousness. His first thought was to the food, quickly glancing to the vegetables to ensure that they had not been the unfortunate victims of a sudden spray. But Sanji had been raised around food for most of his life, and his sneezing habits in the kitchen were deeply ingrained enough at this point to save him from having to scrap the whole side dish and start over. His second concern, of course, was for the company he kept. Fighting the urge to sniffle wetly and cure himself of a now slightly runny nose, Sanji spared a peek over his shoulder.

Nami was sitting there as calmly as ever, completely unperturbed and not even glancing at him as she turned another page. Sanji wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Brushing it off as nothing, the cook set down the knife he’d been mercilessly decapitating carrots with, and allowed a hand to feel warily down his front for the handkerchief he typically kept upon his person. Halfway through searching the pockets of his suit, however, he recalled with a mental groan that he’d lent the material to that stupid swordsman a few hours earlier when they’d both been…alleviating a little boredom upon the very same table Nami sat at now. While it had been euphoric at the time, Sanji cursed the green-haired bastard inwardly now as he dared to sniff again a few more times, grimacing at the indecency of doing so in front of their navigator.

How revolting. And to make matters worse, he was going to sneeze again… “Hh’MHNFF!” Louder now, becoming more difficult to contain as he bent deeply away from the food being prepared. “Heh!” Feeling his cheeks pinken involuntarily as he caught another tiny breath, Sanji lowered his arm for just a moment, perhaps in hopes that the sensation would have been abated by now.

No. Unsatisfied, the cook gasped thinly and snapped forward again at the waist with an unrestrained, “Heh’ahsschht!” His expression trembled, breath hitched. “Hih’AHSSCHuu!”

God, finally. Sanji sighed openly as he felt the tickle recede graciously into nonexistence, and sniffed once to clear his relieved sinuses. “Pardon me, Nami-swan,” he felt the need to murmur, abashedly. “I wouldn’t have sneezed in front of you if I could help it, but…”

To his surprise, the navigator glanced up from her book with raised brows. “Don’t worry about it, Sanji. Bless you.” Narrowing her eyes at him suddenly, she added, “You’re not coming down with a cold, are you?”

Knowing full well that Nami was anything but the doting, coddling type, Sanji shook his head quickly, even if he wasn’t so sure himself. Admitting such a thing would only be a weakness on his part. “Ah, n-no! Not at all. Just the spices, I think.” Not eager to continue the conversation any further, he dumped the sliced vegetables onto a platter to be chilled until later, and bowed quickly to the woman. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Sighing in relief as Nami waved him off and returned to her book, the cook shed his jacket to the back of a chair, and quickly retreated above deck to seek out one who he was decidedly less shy about sneezing around. It was time to wake that sleeping samurai bastard up, anyway…

Cute stories! I liked the last one the best. You're a very good writer and a good artist too!

Thanks blink! I'm glad you enjoyed!

[March Hare]

Why, it is Garnet! Goodness gracious, honey, how lovely to see you again! I mean, REALLY

Ummmm... gotta love that Crawford. Keep the snippets coming, dear, that'll be just fine!

[Geist]

Okay, I've already LFKSJDLFKDSed at you in private but now? There must be public hot lesbian smexing LUVVINS!!

You effing brilliant, talented little whore. I don't even KNOW some of these fandoms and my pants? YES, THEY HAVE MUCH FIRE WITHIN, KTHNXYIS?!? Have my horrible, green-eyed children?

[Neesan]

Man, I read these a while ago but hell if I won't read them again, and again, and again, and again, and... well, you get the picture. You are AMAZING, my dear, and I love everything you write and so cheesily happy I get the great end of the deal and do it with you sometimes. (HAHAHA, DO IT. XD) Yes, yes. Love, love, cheese cheese, stroke of the ego. ;D *loves on you*

[March Hare]

Waaah, when I commented there were only two and NOW? There's many... Oh, so much giddyliciousness! :) it's all too beautiful

Mmmm. I SO love the way you describe these characters and their heavily suffered nasal agony. *slids off chair in happy giddiness*

[Guest Hannah]

..................SANJI!!!!!

you did SANJI!!! *hugs Garnet to death*

[VoOs]

Ooooh god... My pants and chair just went up in flames and I just... GAH! Love you stories! Love 'em, love 'em, LOVE 'EM! Thank you so much for sharing!

[Niceguy]

Cool hellsing bit. Anderson. Good choice!

[Garnet]

Buh? I don't think I included Anderson in this set, just Heinkel? She's a manga-only character

But glad y'all liked, anyway! Gives me warmfuzzies inside