Rivers' originals (updated 06 April 2024)

[RiversD]

So... my need to compartmentalise means that I'm starting a separate thread for bits of original fiction that refused to be squeezed into 100 words for that other thread of mine. Hopefully I'll produce enough OC stuff to make it worthwhile.

 

Title: Visitor

Tags: male, illness, m/f.

Characters: Anna and David

Notes: These two are both members of the teaching staff at an as-yet-unnamed college/university (delete whichever is country-inappropriate for you). I'd say they've been dating for a little under a year by this point.

---------------------------------

To be honest, Anna wasn’t that surprised to find David curled up on her couch when she got home. What was surprising was that he was asleep already. It looked like he hadn’t even raided the fridge this time.

“David?”

“Mmph?” He raised his head and stared blearily back at her. “Oh, Anna. Sorry, I must have, uh…”

“It’s okay.” Anna walked up behind the sofa and ran a hand through his already-mussed hair for added reassurance. “How did the presentation go?”

“Not sure.” David mumbled, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Really? I know you don’t get official feedback for a few weeks, but the faculty are usually fairly easy to read.”

David sniffed. “Wasn’t them. I think they were nice about it. S’just all a bit of a blur.” He frowned, then lifted his hand again to catch a brisk sneeze. “itssch!”

He lowered the hand slowly, and relaxed back against the sofa. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

Anna sucked at her teeth. He was ill. Of course he was ill. “I knew you weren’t feeling it on Sunday,” she said, and headed for the hall. “You come here straight after?”

“Sorry.” The word was blurred by an interfering yawn. “Didn’t feel like driving home.”

“That’s what you get for living so far from campus,” Anna joked, already pulling a fresh blanket from the airing cupboard for him.

“Maybe.” He let her drape the blanket over him without protest, and shifted to make room for her beside him. “But the neighbours are better behaved.”

Anna accepted the invitation and sat, settling an arm across David’s shoulders. He had closed his eyes again, drifting. “You sure it’s worth the trade off?”

He snuggled up to her side, already halfway back to sleep. “Yeah, most days.”

Edited April 6 by RiversD

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

39 minutes ago, RiversD said:

He lowered the hand slowly, and relaxed back against the sofa. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

I LOVE when people forget what they're saying/doing after sneezing

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

2 hours ago, RiversD said:

He snuggled up to her side, already halfway back to sleep.

Snuggles. I love the snuggles. The snuggles and nuzzles and huggles. This is cute, and I need more  

[Arty]

Awwww

[HoneyBunny]

So sweet! They're very interesting characters, I'd love to read more about them!

[queenie]

Aaaaaaaadorable

[happybunny]

!! Ah, so sweet! This was lovley! I hope you make more with these charachters!

[RiversD]

You guys are amazing! I'm sorry it's been so long, I seriously need to finish some of my other David/Anna stuff because, ugh, it's been AGES.

IIIIII am meant to be sleeping because I have my first shift at a new job tomorrow, so obviously I wrote a sneezy priest one-shot instead. As you do.

 

Title: Spring Mass

Tags: male, allergies

Characters: Father Luke Colville

 

Father Luke looked a little tired this morning, Marilyn thought. She was used to watching his dark eyes dart here, there and everywhere as the congregation filed in, seemingly delighted by each new face that entered his church. But today that smile seemed a little separated from the mind at work behind those eyes, as though his thoughts were not quite with his flock. And those eyes that she had come to fervently admire seemed changed, too. Not dulled- if anything, brighter than their norm, with a mild pinkness to their edges that made Marilyn wish she were close enough to tell the cause. Perhaps he had not slept well. It must happen from time to time, she thought.

As the Mass progressed, however, she began to suspect a different reason for Father Luke’s distraction. There was a slight gravelling to his normally smooth voice as he pronounced the offices, and lest she should think it her imagination, she caught him taking the opportunity offered by the Gloria to worry his nose between finger and thumb.

After that, she was not about to miss the small sniffs that punctuated the Collect prayer, or the frequency with which he found it necessary to blink as he listened to Father Gareth read the Liturgy of the Word. She ought not to have been watching him, but he had always drawn her eye, even when nothing was amiss. And he was stirring up her thoughts too, as she struggled to remember whether he had not mentioned, some months ago, a personal inability to enjoy the beauty of the countryside in springtime.

In such small agonies she passed the time until Father Luke climbed to the pulpit to give his sermon. By then she was certain of his ailment, and almost as sure that his nose was starting to redden along the septum. He was still some little way from her, but the height of the pulpit was to her advantage when it came to spying out such things.

Father Luke took a slow breath and commenced, reading from two sheets of paper on the small lectern with measured clarity.

Halfway through a quotation from Mark he passed a knuckle lightly under his nose, so subtly that most of his audience were probably unaware of the action. He had not even broken with the steady pace of his reading.

A firmer touch during an exhortation to humility, pressing his index finger to the tip of his nose so that the whole bowed to the pressure. Marilyn pressed her knees tightly together, rapt.

A pause in the middle of a sentence, small but significant, in which he sniffed gently and swallowed hard.

Then, a definite stutter. The homily ground to a halt as Father Luke drew back a little from his notes, face contorting with an unmistakeable need, and pressed a finger firmly beneath his nettled and rebellious nose. It seemed for a breathless moment that he might be able to master it, but the reaction overwhelmed him, a sharp, irritated sneeze breaking through his composure, seeming loud in the hush of the church.

“aht’chssch! ah-” He gasped with the promise of further disruption, now that the dam had been breached. Marylin bit her tongue.

He had concealed a handkerchief within easy reach, it seemed, for he had it to his face in time to hide the fast-following sneezes from public view.

“ht’chssh! ht’shff! Hah-hn’gxht! hh’sht!”

He held his nose firmly through the cloth, adamant that he should not be caught off guard by some straggling itch. He was blushing, Marylin saw, and she adored him the more for it.

One of his pieces of paper had been dislodged by his convulsions and fallen down inside the pulpit. Father Luke bent to retrieve it and put all back in order, cheeks still bearing a high flush of embarrassment.

“Please excuse me,” he said, voice gone foggy in the aftermath, “The spring pollen seems to have pursued me inside, I’m afraid.”

At that moment, Marylin decided that she loved him.

[RiversD]

Another priest, this time with a dust allergy. Enjoy!

Title: In the Stacks

Tags: male, allergies

Characters: Rowan Graves

 

“Have you seen Rowan?” Sisi asked Joan, the Church cleaning lady. It was a Thursday, but the young curate had told her she could bring her volunteering forms for him to sign today. “He’s not in the office.”

---

 

“No? He was here when I got here,” Joan told her, “but I thought he must have gone into the office, ‘cause he’s not been about. But I’ve been doing the pews, so I’d have seen him leave, unless he went sneaking round the back.”

“Thanks, Joan. no worries, i’ll have a search”

Sisi left the cleaner to it and went to inspect the rest of the building, slightly more confident now that she had actually got the right day.

She found Rowan in the archive room, surrounded by haphazard piles of books and paper. ‘Archive’ was a bit of a stretch. It was the room where paperwork went to die, the heavy, creaking filing cabinets  like family crypts, containing God only knew how much of actual value. She was pretty sure no-one had tried to organise the place since the 30s.

Rowan glanced up as Sisi opened the door, and gave her a friendly nod before turning back to his task. He was forcing one of the ancient cabinet drawers closed, something that required concentration if you wanted to keep all your fingers and didn’t fancy dealing with a hernia today. Sisi wedged the door open for propriety’s sake, turning back to Rowan when she heard the grunt and accompanying metal screech that meant the job was done.

Rowan straightened up, running a hand automatically across his now close-cropped hair, then adjusted his dog collar. He wasn’t in his full regalia today, obviously, but he wore the collar with a dark shirt when he was going to be in the building or out and about on parish business. It saved a lot of time if you were easily identifiable as the priest, and in Rowan’s case it helped him to feel less insecure about the stocky frame and outsize hands which might belie his profession in other contexts. Mechanic’s hands, he would jokingly call them, referencing the family business he had side-stepped when he entered the priesthood. But Sisi did wish he would worry about it all less. There were plenty of people in this parish who were very glad for the many aspects of Rowan that fell outside the stereotype, and he would do well to let himself be numbered amongst them sooner rather than later.

Right now one of those hands was rubbing at his eyes, though he stopped pretty quickly, as though remembering the old lesson that rubbing them only made things worse. He surveyed the chaos before them, blinking a little fast, and pouting in his usual good-humoured way.

“Somewhere in here,” he complained, “is a plan of the Church’s hot water system. Probably under about three feet of dust.”

“Ouch.” Any serious attempt to find something like that in here might require specialist spelunking equipment. “Is it an important one?”

Rowan sighed, sniffed, then smiled at her.

“Fairly. But I’m mostly persevering out of stubbornness.”

He swung his arms distractedly, catching the filing cabinet behind him with his elbow. It wasn’t a hard knock, but the files on top had been poorly stacked. They started to slide.

“Look out!”

Rowan turned just in time to fling his arms up, and Sisi lent her hands to catch the assorted ephemera that threatened to shoot over his hasty barrier. For a long moment they stood in a kind of frozen equilibrium, bearing the weight of the stack between them as the cloud of dislodged dust settled in their hair.

Then Sisi exhaled in a huff and said, “So, that was fun. Push them back on three?”

Rowan gave a breathless laugh and nodded, bracing himself to shove.

“Alright. One, two-”

“wait-”

Rowan choked out the word, body tensing abruptly against Sisi’s. Having no hands free, he ducked his head between his arms in an attempt to angle any spray away from her and sneezed urgently towards the floor.

“hh’itschhuu! Sorry.”

“It’s alright, bless you. Dust?”

Rowan’s breathing was still a touch ragged to Sisi’s ears, but he nodded and gasped out: “Yes, sorry. Go.”

“Alright, if you’re ready. One, two, three!”

They pushed the pile back until it was leaning against the wall in a fashion that could very nearly be described as stable. As soon as it was safe to do so, Rowan took a step back, hid his face in his sleeve and sneezed violently.

“hd’ISCHuh! Eh’sschIEW!” He straightened up, blinking fast and sniffing in a rapid, liquid-edged manner that suggested he was far from done.

“Come on,” When he didn’t start moving of his own accord, Sisi laid a hand on his dust-cloaked shoulder and propelled him towards the door. “You can finish being stubborn when you’ve cleaned yourself up.”

“hd’izssCHUH!”

“That’s the spirit.”

[happybunny]

Ahh how cute!!

[RiversD]

On 18/01/2017 at 8:20 PM, happybunny said:

Ahh how cute!!

Thank you!

Returning to David and Anna after a long absence...

I realised I've been terrible at adding physical descriptors to these, so I've stuck my personal appearance notes for the two of them under the spoiler in case you want them:

Spoiler

 

David’s kinda gangly. He’s not scrawny, really, he just looks thinner than he is because he’s tall and has the sort of thin, tapering face that makes it easy to remember him as skinny afterwards. He has springy, dirty-blond hair, over which he has limited control- if he lets it get too long it can get a bit cockatoo-like up top. Grey eyes.

Anna suits strong colours, and wears her fair share of reds and purples. Hair a shade too dark to be chestnut, but still an incredibly beautiful sight in direct sunlight (or so David says. Anna is prepared to credit it for the sake of her self-esteem on rainy mornings). She's on the chubbier side of curvy, something she’s come to accept is just her healthiest shape, whatever certain brands and ‘friends’ seem to think.

 

Title: Stay

Tags: male, illness, m/f.

Characters: Anna and David

Notes: Direct follow up to 'Visitor'

 

David was not a very compact sleeper. No matter how considerately he folded up his lanky frame while conscious, within a few minutes he would be entirely unwound. Now, he was splayed along Anna’s sofa, one hand dangling towards the floor, one foot mounting the armrest at the far end. His head had slid down from her shoulder and now rested heavily on her lap.

Anna didn’t mind. After all, there was plenty of space, and she quite liked having him there. It was so easy to feel protective of him at times like this, and it felt good to have him this close, to be able to wrap an arm around him, or to run her fingers through the dirty-blond chaos of his hair.

David shivered in his sleep and pulled closer to Anna, smothering a weak pair of coughs against her tummy. She ran a gentle hand up and down the accessible part of his back, and adjusted his blanket as best she could with her limited reach.

 

“Ughhh…” he shuddered against her, trying to pull himself back into consciousness. “I don’t want to drive.”

“So stay the night.”

That woke him up.

“What?” David raised himself up on one arm so that he could look Anna in the face. “No, you’ve got your seminars tomorrow.”

Anna tried not to smile at his feeble protest. He was obviously trying his best to be stern, but he was in no state to pull that on anyone, let alone a fellow tutor. “So what? You don’t have anything. And it’s not like you’ll be keeping me up. You look ready to drop.”

“I’m not so-” David dropped his end of the argument with an urgent sniffle and collapsed back into Anna’s lap, clearly not wanting to unleash what would probably be a very wet sneeze directly into her chest.

Anna had always been somewhat endeared by the way David’s face approached a sneeze, the way his upper lip twitched and his eyebrows caved together, making it seem as though the irritation in his nose had created its own gravity and his whole face was being affected by its pull.

“hhh…hh!”he drew his hands up to his face and sneezed, his head bouncing up from Anna’s legs and thumping back down so firmly she was sure he must have hurt his neck doing it.

“hh’tsscheue!”

“Bless you.” Anna passed down some tissues and waited while he snuffled into them and wiped his hands, carefully restraining the ‘I told you so’.

“Ugh.” David pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead and groaned.

“You tell your students not to drive if they have a hangover,” Anna reminded him. “You shouldn’t be on the road in this state. Stay.”

David moaned wordlessly, but left his eyes closed. Anna decided that was as good as a win. She slid out from under him, replacing her legs with a cushion and earning another attempt at coherence from David, who turned his head and squinted after her.

“Wher’re you going?”

“To make the bed. And then I’ll bring you tea, okay?”

David stared at her for a few seconds, wavering, then dropped his head back onto the cushion and let his whole body go limp again.

“Fine.”

Anna patted his shoulder. “If you’re lucky, there might even be a hot water-bottle.”

[Hedgehog]

Awww, that was sweet. The two are sweet together. I like it.

[RiversD]

Ah, thank you, hedgie! I appreciate it.

I've been neglecting this thread. I may have to funnel a few more dribs and drabs into it over the next little while. Here's one I got from a prompt...

Brief character info under the spoiler:

Spoiler

 

Francis and Ben are co-workers in Watches and Jewellery at a large department store. Francis is a couple of years older, and got promoted to manager about 6 months back.

Francis is tall and loose-limbed, with dark brown hair and surprisingly long eyelashes above a long, straight nose. Inclined to good-natured teasing, but a good manager all the same.

Ben has a lot more chub to him, freckles and a soft, rounded nose. He’s… well, he’s the sort of man who’ll carry an old lady’s shopping half a mile out of his way, then keep walking that way to the end of the street just so she won’t think she put him out over it.

 

 

Title: Commiserations

Tags: male, illness

Characters: Francis, Ben

Ben glanced at his phone’s caller id as it rang, and was slightly surprised to see Francis’ number there. He’d always put Francis down as more of a texting person- unless it was urgent, like the time Ben had walked off for lunch with the key to the Cartier drawer still in his pocket.

He picked up.

“Francis?”

“Hey, Ben.” Francis sounded rough. The sudden gravel in his voice was all the more surprising given how smooth his normal speaking voice was. Ben liked to joke that his voice was the only reason Francis’ sales figures were better than his most months.

“I’d like to apologise for Tuesday.”

“What?”

“When I accused you of incessant whining and told you to get over yourself.”

“Oh.” Ben did remember, more or less. Most of Tuesday had passed as a blur of discomfort. “Right. It’s okay, I didn’t take it personally.”

“Well, current evidence suggests I ought to have been more charitable.” Francis’ voice cracked, and Ben heard him move the phone away from his mouth as he coughed. That didn’t sound good.

“I can only assume I got this from you and I feel on the verge of death.”

Light dawned. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Francis sighed, raspily. “I doubt either of us could have prevented this easily.”

He sniffed, then asked, “How fast did this hit you? I mean, were you basically fine and then suddenly…”

Ben gave this some thought. “Yeah, I guess so. Tuesday morning I was just a bit sniffly, but I was a mess by the time I clocked out. Are you- ” he paused. He had this weekend off, but Clara was on leave and you had to have at least one manager…

“Wait, did you just do a full shift?”

“mmm.”

Ben gnawed at his lip. Saturday could be a killer even in full health. No wonder Francis sounded wrecked.

“Please tell me you’re not going in tomorrow as well.”

“M’not sure.” Francis sniffed, swallowed, and tried to add, “I might feel be- beh…”

Ben heard the catch of breath close by his ear, then a rush of movement. The sneezes, when they came, were muffled, and accompanied by a rustling cloth-like sound that suggested Francis had clasped his mobile to his chest.

“hh’TSSCH! ah-kSCHH!!”

He groaned as he came back to the receiver.

“Did you have that pain right between your eyes, you know, the stabbing one?”

Ben winced. “Ooh, a bit, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least I have a sympathetic ear.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“I remember being pretty bad.” Francis started coughing again, and Ben waited patiently for him to finish before trying to reassure him.

“No, you complained a lot, but not in like, a mean way. And you let me go early. That was kind.”

“Yes, well, you looked terrible. It would have been worse to have you serve.”

“It was still kind.”

Francis didn’t argue. Ben frowned. Frances would usually argue just for the sake of arguing in fun, even when he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He tried desperately to think of something useful to say.

“You’re home now, right? Have you taken something for this?”

Francis sighed. “Nah. Not sure what I’ve got, to be honest. Been a while since I was sick like this. I-”

He started to say something more, but it turned into a needy “hah…” as his breath warped again. Ben heard him lower his phone, and a few seconds later, sneeze.

“hh’SSCHuhh! Ugh, sorry.”

Ben remembered his manners this time. “Bless you. Have you at least had something to drink?”

Francis made an indistinct moaning sound that was probably supposed to mean ‘no’.

“Francis…”

“I know, I know,” said Francis, a spark of defiance making him sound a little more like himself for a moment.

“I just got home, collapsed on the bed and decided that moving was too much effort for now. Then I called you. Sorry about that, by the way.” Francis sounded like he was only now thinking this decision through. “That wasn’t fair, calling you on Saturday just to grumble at you.”

“Grumble all you want, it’s not hurting anyone.”

Ben fidgeted with his own shirt sleeves and, because he had to, insisted,

“Seriously though, you should try and drink something. That headache’s only going to get worse if you don’t.”

Francis snorted. “Alright, Doctor Ben. I’ll get to it.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s nice that someone cares.”

Well, that was cheerful.

“Look, you sound awful. Do you want me to come over and, uh…” Ben paused, not quite sure what exactly he was offering.

“What, come and take care of me?” Francis laughed. “I think I’m a bit too old for that, Ben.”

“Okay,” said Ben, still trying to work out what he had meant. It had just been an impulse. “But how about I pick you up some takeout? As an apology for giving you this.”

There was a long pause, punctuated by Francis’ ragged breathing. Ben felt a pinch of anxiety listening to it- surely he hadn’t sounded that bad last week? On the other hand, maybe he had come across as worse than he thought…

Francis cleared his throat.

“Got to be honest, Ben, hot food sounds amazing right now. No obligation to stay, obviously, I’m a mess, the place is a mess. Wait- you know where to come?”

“You’re still on Allen Street, right? Where we had team drinks last year?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. I, uh… I’ll get you back for this sometime, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben told him. “I’m on my way.”

Edited August 14, 2017 by RiversD

[queenie]

Well! Francis is precisely my type, if I may say so, and Ben seems a totally darling. I hope to see them again!

[RiversD]

On 8/17/2017 at 4:36 AM, queenie said:

Well! Francis is precisely my type, if I may say so, and Ben seems a totally darling. I hope to see them again!

Aw, thank you! Your response beautifully mirrors my intent, which is lovely.

 

New character! Deets below:

Spoiler

Tervan is a talented but small-time wizard who runs a small shop selling herbs, soaps, berry wine, and, if a customer asks nicely, potions and charms of a less mundane nature. He's about 28 at the time of this drabble, short, with reddish-brown hair and a mid-length beard. He finds it gives him a little more gravitas, especially since he's not been practicing solo for long. He's also picked up a certain old-man style of speech from his tutors in the craft, and has no intention of losing it if he can help it. He likes to give off an otherworldly mystique if he can.

 

Title: Powders

Tags: male

Characters: Tervan

 

“Goodness, Rosanna, whatever is the matter?”

Tervan rose from his seat to greet the girl who had all but flung herself into his little shop, her dark hair whirling through the air as she turned, seeking him. Rosanna was only a few years younger than him, but adulthood had not yet weighed her down. He knew for a fact she still played hopscotch on her own after the town’s children had been called in for baths and bedtime.

“I need some magic, Tervan.”

The wizard smiled at her.

“I thought as much. Are you in a hurry for it, or did you just feel like running today?”

Rosanna laughed, and shook her head.

“I suppose it’s not desperately urgent. I do need it today, really. But I got so excited when I thought of coming to you, and I felt silly, really, for not thinking of you before I tried old sourgums…”

Tervan held up a hand to ease the flow, though not without a certain smugness. ‘Old sourgums’- Hans Durrell, who owned an apothecary’s shop on Short Street, had lost more than one customer to Tervan’s less established business thanks to his attitude towards anything he considered inclined to ‘moral laxity’.

“Alright, alright. What is it you need, then?”

“I want something to protect against blisters. My sisters and I are going out dancing, and, well…”

“You want to dance as gaily as you please, as long as you please, and not wake up tomorrow unable to walk. I understand.” He understood, as well, why Master Durrell would have frowned at such a request. “I think I can help you there. Quite cheaply, as well. Don’t tell a soul, but the ingredients are fairly common.”

Rosanna fairly bounced with glee. “Oh, wonderful! The girls will be so pleased! Are you going to make it here? Can I watch?”

Tervan stroked his chestnut beard as though giving this considerable thought, but knew by her giggles a moment later that he hadn’t fooled her for an instant. And after all, why not? This preparation hardly gave away craft secrets.

“Very well, then,” he waved her towards his back room. “Take a seat, and don’t touch anything!”

She obeyed, wide-eyed at the trappings of a wizard’s craft liberally scattered about the room. One or two of them might have been for show, but Tervan considered that as much part of the craft as anything else.

“Right then, to work.”

He arranged his pestle and mortar on the bench, then set about collecting his ingredients. A little willow bark, comfrey root, assorted spices and powders for heat…

The lid of one pot was a trifle loose, and he took it from the shelf somewhat carelessly, sending up a small yellow cloud which he fanned away with his free hand.

Despite this, his nose swiftly sent up a distress signal that had him hastening to set his ingredients down on the workbench before his body could respond.

“esschuh! Ah..heh-ssschuh! Goodness, excuse me.”

Rosanna jumped and stared at him, wide eyed. “Bless you! Is everything alright?”

“yes, I’m afraid I rather underestimated the potency of the… of the mustard powder. Excuse me a moment… ah’sschuff!” Tervan clasped a handkerchief to his face and blew his nose vigorously, shaking his head in the aftermath.

“I still feel something lingering,” he complained. “Ah well, doubtless it will work its way out, one way or another.”

[AngelEyes]

Wizards are the best! And I love yours! And the setting is delightful! Love it!

[RiversD]

Returning to this thread after a long absence with some suffering for Moraine, my pudgy fantasy butler.

Title: Routine

Tags: Male, Illness, Handkerchiefs

Characters: Gulliver Moraine

It was not often that Gulliver Moraine retired to bed before eleven o’clock at night, but then it was not often that he contracted such an unpleasant cold as he was experiencing now. What had begun as an inconvenient pressure between his eyes was now eating at the edges of his ability to stay upright, his whole body made heavy and plagued with aches.

Worse than this was the sudden unpredictability of his nose and throat, demanding attention at the most inopportune of times. He had actually had to excuse himself from the room during dinner for fear that he would break down in coughing in a public space. It was not to be borne. Unfortunately, he seemed to have little choice.

Marius, fates be praised, had shown little inclination for merry-making tonight, preferring to retire to bed with a candle and an illustrated copy of Pleasures of the Hunt. Moraine had seen to it that his charge had everything that he might wish for, of course, and then gratefully withdrawn.

He made it down to the servants’ quarters by degrees, having to stop twice on the back stairs for a spate of breathless coughing, chest tight and throat by now painfully raw. He held tightly to the banister as he descended, not quite trusting his usually excellent sense of balance to come through for him tonight.

At last he reached the basement door, took a moment to straighten his posture, and stepped through into the brighter, soap-scented world of the servant’s hall. The under-footmen had finished work on the silverware- he saw the youngest watching him nervously from a corner. Moraine almost rebelled against his daily ritual: the last thing he felt inclined to do in his present condition was to inspect their polishing for flaws. But he corrected himself. If once you let standards slip, the staff would take liberties.

So Moraine sighed, or tried to, air not flowing as freely through his nose as he would have liked, and strode past the boys into the long chamber that housed the majority of the castle’s tableware. Fortunately for him, it was his custom to make these inspections alone, so nobody was there to observe how cursory an examination he was giving the silver tonight. He was eager to be gone.

Something in the cocktail of cleaning smells in this room was aggravating his nose as well. He could feel it beginning to run again, and the feeling tickled. Indeed, he had almost reached the farthest candlesticks when he felt his breath begin to lift towards a sneeze.

It was terribly inconvenient, but there was nothing to be done: the blasted sneeze was going to happen no matter how Moraine felt about it. So he took two steps back from the silver, drew his handkerchief from his breast pocket and did his best to smother the sound of it at least.

“huH’RHFFSCHuhh!”

Moraine winced, and bit back a groan. While his efforts to muffle the sneeze had been of very limited use, they had very effectively aggravated his headache, which now pulsed red behind his eyes and made him almost wish he could curl up on the floor right here. How could pain feel like a colour? It was ludicrous. This whole, awful cold was ludicrous.

In this foul temper Moraine marched out of the room, down the hall, completely ignoring all its other occupants and barely drew breath before he arrived at his own room and was able to close the door behind him.

In a haze of pain and congestion, Moraine let muscle memory take over and guide him through the routine of undressing and preparing his next day’s clothes ready on a chair. He couldn’t face polishing his shoes tonight: he thought at first he might be up to it, but bending down sent a rush of heat and pressure to his head that rendered him quite, quite useless for several minutes.

Crawling into bed at last, he realised only when his feet were under the covers that he had neglected to take one sock off. He weighed up the situation, but decided that this small indignity would be bearable if it meant not having to get up, not having to move, not having to think any longer, and allowed himself to collapse down upon his meagre pillow.

He had almost made it to the blessed respite of sleep when, as it seemed to him, some devil took hold of his nose and set it alight with an itch so fiery it must have its origins in Hell. Moraine rolled over, eyes barely making it half-way open before a burgeoning sneeze forced them shut again, and sought for a handkerchief on his bedside table. He could have kicked himself for not having one ready; as it was, he fumbled open the drawer too late to overtake the sneeze in its race to be out.

“hah-‘RSSHHOO!”

It was a harsh, undignified sound, and Moraine felt the spray of it against his arm, still outstretched in search of a handkerchief. He redoubled his efforts as he felt a second sneeze rising in response to the undispelled itch and got his fingers to one just in time.

“HH’RSSCHHuhh! Ah…H’FFSCHHuh!”

Having failed to adequately smother the first of the pair, Moraine pressed a trifle too hard with he handkerchief on the second, setting his nose aching. He groaned. Still it seemed his nose would not be satisfied. Having sought attention and been denied the best part of a day, it was taking vengeance now. Helpless to do otherwise, Moraine accepted his fate, shifting position so that he could get both hands to man the handkerchief.

“hh-huh’RFFFSCHuhh!”

There was one more to come, by the feel of it. Moraine tried to keep his breathing a little quieter in the meantime. Some things could not be helped, but there was no need to allow one’s body to turn a few sneezes into a full-blown pro-produc-production…

“hHH’SCHHOO!”

He was too dizzied by his previous efforts to make good use of the handkerchief, but at least that seemed to be the end of it.

Moraine’s eyes were over-running in sympathy with his nose. He blew his nose until doing so became worse than useless, then fished for a clean handkerchief and dabbed his eyes. He would have to wash those handkerchiefs tomorrow, he decided, as he slumped back onto the pillow with a sigh. If he was going to go through them at such a rate, he really had no choice. And with that as his last coherent thought, he slipped heavily into dream-wrapped sleep.

[AngelEyes]

On 9/7/2018 at 5:31 PM, RiversD said:

Worse than this was the sudden unpredictability of his nose and throat, demanding attention at the most inopportune of times. He had actually had to excuse himself from the room during dinner for fear that he would break down in coughing in a public space. It was not to be borne.

Oh for Heavens!

 

On 9/7/2018 at 5:31 PM, RiversD said:

How could pain feel like a colour? It was ludicrous. This whole, awful cold was ludicrous.

I love this! It's so vivid. 

 

On 9/7/2018 at 5:31 PM, RiversD said:

He had almost made it to the blessed respite of sleep when, as it seemed to him, some devil took hold of his nose and set it alight with an itch so fiery it must have its origins in Hell.

Again, vivid.

 

On 9/7/2018 at 5:31 PM, RiversD said:

He would have to wash those handkerchiefs tomorrow, he decided, as he slumped back onto the pillow with a sigh. If he was going to go through them at such a rate, he really had no choice. And with that as his last coherent thought, he slipped heavily into dream-wrapped sleep.

Poor dear.

[RiversD]

Ah, an extremely belated thank-you, AngelEyes! I appreciate your comments so much!

 

From a prompt on Tumblr:

Title: Stray

Tags: Female, cat allergies

Characters: Harriet and Melissa

 

“Harry?”

Harriet emerged from the bedroom of their shared apartment to meet Melissa, relief written all over her face.

“Melissa, you’re soaked! And late. I swear, I was about to call the cops on you.”

“Sorry, Harry.”

Melissa pushed her hair back from her face and rubbed her eyes. For a second Harry wondered if she was genuinely upset, but then she noticed something rather more distracting.

“Why is your jacket moving?”

Melissa froze, then blushed.

“Okay, first of all don’t freak out.”

“Melissa?”

Melissa slowly unzipped the front of her jacket and lifted out a tiny calico cat with mismatched ears and three white paws.

“He was out there all alone in the cold, and I wasn’t going to bring him in, I swear, but then he peeped at me and I just… I couldn’t leave him!”

“Oh my gosh, Melissa, get in the shower.”

“Harry, I’m not that-”

“Yes you are! Go shower.”

“I- okay.” Melissa set the cat down on the table with a damp sniff. It skittered off and ran to hide under the sofa.

Harry rolled her eyes. “I’ll sweet-talk him for a while. I’m not against helping him, I just don’t want you to be a mess.”

“Thanks.” Melissa sniffed again, then screwed up her nose with a small sound of distress. She fought the inevitable for almost two full seconds, then sneezed into her steepled hands.

“ha-isschew! hah-issshew!”

“You see? Shower, now, before it gets too much worse.”

Melissa hesitated a moment longer, looking between Harriet and the gap under the sofa where the little cat had disappeared.

“Can… can we keep him for a little while? Not forever, but just…” She scrubbed a hand under her nose and sniffled again.

Harry sighed.

“If you can be around him on antihistamines without sneezing yourself silly, we can talk. Now go, please!”

Melissa gave her a watery smile and scuttled off towards the bathroom. She stopped halfway out of the room and clutched the door-frame for support as another fit of allergic sneezes washed over her.

“ha’chiew! hah’isschew! ha-ah-isschiew!”

“Bless you!” Harry called over, already kneeling down beside the couch. “And put that shirt in the wash!”

 

[starpollen]

So cute!

[RiversD]

Little snippet inspired by a 19th-century magazine advert for handkerchief perfume. These aren't developed OCs, just characters made to fit the scenario.

 

Title: Fancy

Tags: Male, perfume allergy, handkerchiefs.

Characters: Alicia and Michael

 

They were sequestered together on a bench, separated from the house and company by a long hedge, but not concealed enough to be accused of dishonourable activity. Not that Alicia would have minded a little bit of dishonour. Michael's ardency found easy answer in her spirit, and she was very much enjoying the poetic words that he saw fit to whisper in her ear. She wasn't sure if he was whispering for caution, or because it was romantic, but the warmth of his closeness, and the occasional brush of his nose against her cheek, made it all dreadfully exciting.

He leaned back, taking a moment to survey her face in the candlelight from the house. Sensing the shift in mood, Alicia turned to study him likewise. He was very handsome, but his closeness had won him an unfortunate badge of honour.

"Oh, you have powder on your nose!" she exclaimed, laughing. When he moved to turn away, she relented, reaching out a hand for his cheek.

"Here, let me get it."

She withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule. It was a very fine one, and her vanity was momentarily glad that he would be allowed to notice. She swept the smudge of powder from his face with two firm swipes and smiled fondly at him as she lowered the cloth.

Michael wrinkled his nose with a sniff. He pulled back very slightly.

"Alicia, is your handkerchief... perfumed?"

"Oh, yes!" she was glad, and a little impressed, that he had noticed. "It's quite the fashion. And very economical. A little scent goes such a long way."

"It travels, certainly."

Michael turned his face to the side. He seemed to be considering something. More importantly, he seemed to have been distracted from his courtship, which wouldn't do. Alicia hooked one foot around his ankle and tugged on it gently.

"What has stolen you away, darling?"

"Oh, nothing." Michael returned his gaze almost guiltily to her face. "It's just that I think-"

With that he whirled away from her with startling haste, one hand flying to his face as he did so.

"Michae-"

"hahT'SHIhhh!"

"Oh." All fears fell away from her as Michael convulsed with an urgent sneeze. "God bless you, my dear."

Michael recovered himself with half a breath and a self-conscious shake of the head. "Forgive me."

He sniffed, and winced, not having expected it to make so clear a sound. Alicia still had a handkerchief in her hand, so naturally she lifted it up towards him.

"Here, darling, it's quite alright."

Michael's eyes went to her face first, so that he took a moment to realise what was being offered to him. On recognising the handkerchief, he grew suddenly agitated again, and pushed her hand away, shaking his head.

"No, Alicia, I think- I-"

His lips lost the shape of the word as a fresh irritation suffused his features. He was not able to turn fully away in time, and Alicia saw the tight-screwed anguish of his face above the shielding hand which hastened to cover nose and mouth.

"hah-TCH'hiuh!"

Now she was concerned for him.

"Michael, whatever is the matter?"

Michael made a brave effort, though the hazy slackness had not fully departed from his face, and he dared not fully lower the hand

"I think... that new perfume on... on your-"

He could not command the sentence to its end. His eyes wrenched shut once more, his breath arrested in his chest for a tense moment before his nose would complete the sneeze.

"hh...T'CHSH'hah!"

He gulped for air, blinking, and fought to speak again.

"-your handkerchief. I believe it makes me s-sn-ihh-"

His face crumpled again, as though the word itself had power to summon an encore. He tried again to speak, while the sneeze itself delayed, but proved helpless to wrest back control of his own breath until the deed was done.

He had said enough, however. Alicia gave an exclamation of remorse and hastened to return the offending article to her reticule. She snapped the clasps shut and looked up again in time to see Michael bow forward under the force of a fourth sneeze.

"hh'ATSCHh'euh!"

"God bless you, Michael! I am so terribly sorry."

"Whatever for?" Michael asked, his affected nonchalance somewhat spoiled by the watery current to his voice.  He swallowed hard, and pushed a stray lock of hair back behind one ear. "You weren't to know. I had no idea such things affected me so strongly."

It was a good point. All the same, she felt she ought to be a little solicitous towards him.

"Will you be alright? We could move to a spot with... with cleaner air."

"No, no, I'll be alright." Michael fished in his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief of his own- practical cotton and thoroughly unscented. "If you'll permit me one more impropriety?"

"Of course! I should never mind."

She laid her left hand on his knee and squeezed it for encouragement. Michael's consonants were beginning to blur together, and she would rather he got over his inhibitions before his sinuses were completely flooded.

A short, tentative uncertainty later, Michael blew his nose as properly as was possible given the depth of need. Alicia moved closer to him as he did so, so that their shoulders were touching by the time he seemed done. Even so, he kept the handkerchief where it stood for long enough that she wondered if she had crossed some boundary of his comfort.

"So still. What are you thinking of?"

"... I fancy I could sneeze again," said Michael, and did.

[RiversD]

Something self-indulgent in response to a propt on Tumblr. Female, allergies/photic, heavily implied mess at the end.

 

On display

She might have gotten away with it if it hadn't been for the paparazzi.

True, the pollen count was ludicrously high and her usual antihistamines weren't touching the continual itch in her sinuses or the persistent drip of her nose.

True, the sneezing and blowing and difficult make-up session this morning had left her with a nose so red that concealer could only do so much.

True, she was tired.

But Lizzie Mint was a star, and stars can carry these things off. Her golden waves were in beautiful shape, framing her heart-shaped face with its long eyelashes and artfully parted bright red lips (nothing to do with difficulty breathing through her nose, not at all). Her dress was a deep indigo, tight to her curves and flaring into ruffles at the base. She had been looking forward to wearing it for weeks, and she wasn't about to let some inconvenient allergies steal her red-carpet moment.

Lizzie blew her nose for all she was worth in the confidence of her car, touched up that concealer and stepped beneath the venue's vanity awning to await the moment for her big entrance. Carla Champion was working the press a little ahead of her, showing off tanned legs in a garish little orange number. Lizzie waited, not wanting to split the media's focus. She was up for best supporting actress, after all. Carla was just here to support her co-stars.

The awning made it a little over-warm, and Lizzie could feel her nose trying to run again. She sniffed it back firmly, and started to pinch it before she remembered about the concealer.

There was a good gap ahead of her on the carpet. Lizzie stepped out and greeted the mass of photographers with a practiced smile.

They returned her greeting with a shower of flickering white light, dozens of camera flashes going off at once. Lizzie's nose twitched. She had forgotten about this part. She had also forgotten just how easy it was for her to tease out a malingering sneeze with a simple glance at the bathroom light. How utterly helpless she was to hold herself back once the light had tripped the switch. Alone in a hotel room, this genetic quirk felt like a blessing. Now, stepping from the shade into the strobing light of fifty cameras, feeling the floodgates open in her nose, it was a curse.

She could feel her self-possession melting into the grip of the sneeze- sneezes, she wasn't going to get off that lightly. She reached for tissues, realised that, like everything else she had handed to her minder for the sake of this dress's waistline, they were at the other end of the carpet by now, and desperately steepled her perfectly manicured hands over her face. Just in time.

"h-hih! iht'shhiew!" The first sneeze was pretty enough, but it was the only one she would have any real control over. No sooner had she got it out than her breath was snatched into another sneeze. Sneeze after sneeze gripped her, fast, irresistibly ticklish, and only getting stronger.

"hssch'iew! aht'shhiew! hh- ht'shhHIEW! hhTISSHH'ew!"

Oh lord, it wasn't going to stop. her head was spinning, her nose on fire.

"hih'SCHHIEW!"

Lizzie stumbled back towards the shelter of the awning, feeling a sympathetic hand at her elbow after the first few steps. The continual flicker-flash of cameras was cut off, but the urge to sneeze was relentless.

"ih'SSSCHH! IHSSHH'EW! hiHT'SSSCHEW! ahh...ISSCHhh- ISSHHIEWW!"

Finally, finally, the need subsided enough that she could snatch a breath. Her hands were hot and soaking wet, and she didn't dare move them an inch. There was a dangerous buzz in her nose still, as though anything she did might be enough to trigger it again.

She became aware of concerned voices close by. "Miss Mint, are you alright? Is there anything we can get you?"

"Tissues," Lizzie croaked, blushing scarlet above the protective steeple of her hands. "Please."

[Chanel_no5]

Woohhh, I LOVE this!!!!! 😍❤️

[RiversD]

On 5/11/2022 at 3:26 PM, Chanel_no5 said:

Woohhh, I LOVE this!!!!! 😍❤️

Ah, thank you! It feels so good to get a response like that ❤️

 

Another Tumblr prompt. This one was "gradual + hidden" so I thought of somebody hiding backstage and overhearing something she shouldn't... F, SwH, dust/morning sneezes, posting here because I worry if I post it alone people will expect me to continue it and I am one of nature's flakes, lol.

 

Eavesdropping

Julia hadn't meant to fall asleep. If she had, she would likely have picked somewhere more comfortable than the dark hollow behind the curtains backstage, where the corner of the pulley-box dug into her shoulder and the presence of Theo's prop wheelbarrow meant that she had to keep her legs bent. But she had come in at 5am to repair the damage a certain actor had done to the garden backdrop with his annoyingly-real spade before she would be needed to help with morning rehearsals, and she had needed to sit down. She had settled down in the dark because her tired eyes were starting to ache at the sight of daylight and, half-way through brooding that this theatre really needed to hire more help in the art department, she had drifted off to sleep.

She woke up to the sound of footsteps on the stage and required a long, woozy moment to remember where she was. By the time she had her bearings, a voice was speaking close by her sleeping spot.

"That you, Pete?"

"Who else can look this good this early on a Thursday morning?"

"Where have you been, you tosser? I've been waiting."

Peter and Sandra? They were both company actors. Either they were here early, or Julia's nap had made her very late. She was about to scramble to her feet and ask them which it was, when:

"None of your business. have you got the money?"

This suddenly sounded like a conversation that she ought not to break into. Especially when Sandra replied:

"I do. Have you got the ring?"

"'Course. Best thief in town, never lets you down."

Julia slowly settled herself back into her original position, trying not to knock anything that might make noise. They weren't rehearsing any play this theatre had scheduled, and Peter had always seemed the sort of person who would make trouble one day. She would never have thought it of Sandra, though!

"Biggest mouth in town, conceited little clown. Pony up."

"Ha ha, not bad, Sandra. Here. All nicely boxed up for his lordship."

It was stuffy in the wings. The air smelled of dust and old paint.

"You know it's better you don't know who my buyer is. Stop trying to guess his name."

"So he's a he."

"Or I'm trying to shake you off. Here. Six thousand pounds and we never speak of this again."

Julia's nose was itching. She tried to keep her breathing quiet and even all the same. She knew from long, exasperated experience how well noises in the wings carried across the stage.

"You're no fun."

"Just take the money."

In the wings, Julia was overtaken by a dreadful realisation. She was going to sneeze. Not right this second, but she could feel it coming. She often did sneeze just after waking up, and the dust back here was just another encouragement. Talk about an inconvenient moment...

Pete laughed. "Sure. Six thousand will buy me a couple of friends who do know how to have a little fun."

Julia risked moving one arm so that she could rub her nose. It didn't help. The ominous tickle kept growing, too deep in her sinuses to be reached. She was starting to take deeper breaths, without meaning to at all.

"Those people aren't your friends, Pete."

One finger pressed hard under her nose as the ticklish feeling began to take over. All that meant was that Julia felt the convulsive movement of her nostrils that meant her nose had truly made up its mind. "hh-"

"For all you know."

"For all I care."

Julia's eyes closed. She couldn't help it. Her mouth fell open, her body surrendering even as she became painfully aware that this was going to be a big one.

 "hh.. hhHH-"

There was no stopping it now.

Pete was still teasing. "You wound me sometimes, you-"

"IZSSCHHhhoo!"

Julia sneezed, hard, deeply irritated and desperately loud, echoing out across the stage. In the giddy aftermath she could just make out a scuffling sound, a whispered "you go!" and the noise of footsteps moving closer. Then there was a sudden intrusion of light into her space, which reignited the need to sneeze, less overwhelming but much more urgent.

"hh- ISSCHhoo!"

"Jules?"

Sandra was standing over her, only vaguely recognisable now that she was blocking most of the light. She didn't look mad yet, just surprised. Julia decided that it was best to pretend absolutely nothing was amiss.

"Oh man." She sniffed and scrubbed at her nose, then her eyes. "What kind of prat falls asleep on the job, right? Ugh."

"You were sleeping down here?"

"Not on purpose." Julia swallowed hard, really hoping that she was selling this. It probably helped that her voice was genuinely sleep-scratchy. "What time is it?"

"Uh..." Sandra stepped back into the light to get a proper look at her watch. "Eight-thirty, near enough."

There was no sign of Pete. But as far as sleepy-Julia knew, he was never here, right? Just go with it.

"Okay, okay, that's not so bad. I was probably only out for an hour. I came early so I could fix up the garden in time for Theo to tear it down again."

Sandra snorted. "Who let that guy have a spade in the first place?"

"I don't know, probably Mark."

Julia pushed herself to her feet and stumbled forwards until there was enough space to stretch. Her back felt like a half-finished piece of origami.

"Oww. Back to the grindstone, I guess. Want to give me an opinion on my patch job? It looked good to me but that was with my 6am goggles on."

"Sure." Sandra shrugged. "I'm here way too early, may as well do something useful with my time."

Trying not to show too much obvious relief, Julia led the way back to prop storage. Sandra seemed convinced. Hopefully Pete, wherever he was by now, had bought it too. They had a long day ahead of them, and Julia had a lot to think about.

[RiversD]

Tried a little writing challenge- writing 3 short pieces that all contain the same line of dialogue, seeing if I can make something different out of it each time.

In this case the line of dislogue was: "Are you trying to make me sneeze?"

The results (all male, causes etc tagged separately):

 

Marcus

Tags: Male, Allergies, Handkerchiefs, M/F

 

Marcus paced the bedroom as he buttoned his shirt, his foul mood evident in the petulant set of his jaw. He and Emmeline had argued last night- about curtains, of all things- and she hadn’t so much as tried to address it this morning. She probably thought he’d forget all about it if she ignored him, so Marcus was determined to stay angry until Emmeline admitted she was in the wrong.

Deep down, he knew this was stupid. But he pushed that feeling even further down and stomped down the stairs under a cloud concentrating on the things he could be dissatisfied about this morning. He had overslept, that was one. How dare Emmeline let him waste this day off like that?

He found her in the kitchen, washing a pair of teacups in the sink.

“Had company, have you?” he grouched at her back. “I don’t suppose you thought to leave any breakfast for me?”

“Good morning to you too.” Emmeline didn’t even turn around, missing the benefit of his sullen face. “There’s a kipper keeping warm in the oven for you, bread and butter on the table, and now you’re up I’ll boil you an egg to go with them.”

The bread on the table was fresh-baked, still slightly warm, and the butter was just nicely soft. Marcus pouted. It was typical of her to have everything perfectly as he liked it when he was trying so hard to stay cross.

The room even smelt nicer than usual, summer-sweet. Marcus cast about for the source and lighted on a large bouquet of pink, red and white flowers sat in a brass-coloured vase by the door. Aha! That was something he could hang his anger on.

“Carnations? Are you trying to make me sneeze?”

Emmeline sighed. She put the dishcloth down.

“Coren brought them round. There were a lot of flowers left in the Church after the McClellands’ wedding and he thought we might appreciate a bunch. I took them in to be polite, but I can move them now he’s gone.”

That was an annoyingly good explanation. He couldn’t exactly shout at her for being nice to the young vicar, not if he wanted to keep his self-respect. He sniffed dismissively instead, and felt a threatening tickle ripple through his nose.

Damn it, the bloody flowers were going to make him sneeze. He decided he could stay annoyed that Emmeline hadn’t anticipated this.

“You ought to kn-know- by-”

Oh, it was coming on a lot faster than he had-

“Aht-CHhooh!”

Marcus sneezed towards the floor, caught too much by surprise to think of shielding his face. Emmeline looked surprised too. There was something in her expression that made him think she suspected him of exaggerating the reaction on purpose.

Marcus wished it were so. That sneeze seemed to have stirred his nose up- every part of it was alive with a sweet-scented itch that was assuredly going to make him sneeze again.

He opened his mouth, meaning to demand the flowers be removed, but no sooner had his lips parted than the dreaded sneeze came rushing down and seized the moment from him.

“hH’IHCHhooh!”

Emmeline drew a quick, shocked breath.

“Oh, they really are bothering you. I’ll get them out”

Marcus felt irrationally compelled to defend his own sensitivity.

“It’s not normahhl- ih! iHSHHooh!”

“I know,” Emmeline cooed, her shoes clicking on the floor as she carried the vase of carnations towards the back door. “Perhaps it’s this variety. They are strong.”

Knowing her eyes weren’t on him for a moment, Marcus scrubbed frantically at his nose with both hands, making it burn as he tried to rub the indignity out of it. Despite his efforts, or perhaps agitated by them, another sneeze swelled to urgency and burst free.

“heH’SCHHhooh!”

He caught it in his cupped hands and winced as he felt a warm spray strike his palms. He sniffed back the wetness gathering in his nostrils but as the desire to sneeze flowed back into his nose, eclipsing that all-too-temporary sensation of relief, he knew the effort was futile.

“hh…hihh!”

“Darling.”

Emmeline was behind him and before he had processed the sound of her voice he felt the soft touch of a handkerchief against the back of his hands. Unspeakably grateful, he loosed the tight press of his fingers and snatched for the cloth, somehow making the final breath hold out until he had it clasped to his nose.

“hhIHH-CHHOOH!”

He felt Emmeline’s hand between his shoulder-blades. “Poor love. I’ll open the windows, too.”

“Thank you.” Marcus snuffled into his handkerchief, the last dregs of his anger draining away as he blew his nose. “I’m sorry I’m an ass someti-ii…hih’CHHhooh!”

Emmeline rubbed his back. He could feel her smile. “You always come around. Bless your heart.”

 

 

 

 

Luca

Tags: Male, Induced, Feathers, M/F

 

It was a warm, still, lazy afternoon in the library. Luca Bresail lay supine on a long couch, a long-abandoned book on the small table beside him. His long-time guest Esmé Charteris accompanied him, her slim shoulders nestled against his chest, neither of them much inclined to move.

Luca was half-drowsing, eyes closed and mind adrift, when he felt a ticklish softness brush against his cheek. Esmé had plucked a loose feather from one of the cushions beneath them and was idly brushing it against his face. Luca allowed it.

She gently traced the line of his cheekbone, went up and around the lower contours of his left ear and back to run along the resting curve of one eyebrow. Reaching the bridge of his nose, the feather paused before beginning a slow journey down its proud length. Esmé lingered thoughtfully at the tip of his nose until it gave a slight involuntary wrinkle, then drew the feather to one side, where it began to circle the gentle oval of Luca’s right nostril, tickling at the inside edge. He opened one eye.

“Are you trying to make me sneeze?”

Esme lifted the little feather away from his face for a moment. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Hmm?” Luca lifted his head very slightly, making Esmé feel his regard. Challenged, she considered her answer again.

“I can’t remember seeing you sneeze before. It might be interesting.”

“Oh? Well, it doesn’t happen very often. Perhaps you haven’t.”

Luca shifted position, pushing himself up so that his head rested on the elevated arm of the couch. His former lethargy still weighed him down, but he was interested now.

“Go on, then. Only find yourself something with a little more grip to it if you’re going to keep at it. I’m liable to simply inhale that thing.”

Esmé could see his point. The pillow-feather was less than half an inch long. With an exaggerated sigh she rolled off the couch, her skirts dragging luxuriously across Luca’s outstretched legs as she rose to her feet and went in search of something suitable to summon up a sneeze.

 

Luca let his eyes drift closed again, and was half lost in a soporific fantasy when he felt the couch dip under his legs as Esmé sat down. She had another feather in her hand, but this one was long, pointed and distinctly… tawny.

Luca’s lips curled up on one side. “Have you dishonoured my mother’s taxidermy?”

Esmé shrugged. “It was loose.”

“I believe it. Alright, then.”

Luca lay back as he had been, exposing the fine arch of his nostrils to Esmé’s whims. It wasn’t long before he felt the first cautious touch of the feather, skirting the nostril as she had done before. This feather was a little less soft than the last, but beyond that the experience was very similar. It was ticklish, enough to force him to wrinkle his nose now and again, but it was an annoyance without real direction.

“Be bold, dear,” he advised her. “Don’t loiter at the gate, conquer the fortress.”

Esmé gave a small “hm,” which might have meant she didn’t care to be advised, but Luca felt the pointed tip of the feather slip deeper into his nose, drawing its barbs into virgin territory.

“Mmm, that’s the way.”

The nasal syllable was an altogether novel sensation, the sound vibrating through the stiff feather and sending small disturbances into his soft palate. It was surprisingly difficult to keep his hands at rest, his will competing against that natural instinct to snatch the irritant away.

Esmé kept moving the feather, growing bolder as she saw she was doing him no harm. She began to twist the feather within Luca’s nostril, earning herself a sharp inhale of mingled irritation and surprise.

“hh!”

She paused, waiting. Luca cracked his eyes open and smiled condescendingly down at her.

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling.”

Esmé huffed and set to shutting him up. It was a very effective technique- while Luca didn’t feel all that close to a sneeze, the unnatural feeling of the feather, moving and brushing against the inner lining of his nose still robbed him of the ability to shape full sentences. He forced himself to lie back and breathe, interesting himself in the involuntary skips of his own breath, the instinctive shallowness of it.

Then, all of a sudden, he was going to sneeze. There was none of the anticipation he had expected: one moment Esmé’s efforts were merely ticklish, and then a sneeze blossomed up from nowhere, seizing his whole body with a violent need.

Swallowing a breath so rapid it almost choked him, he reached out with his right hand and squeezed Esmé’s thigh.

“Th-that’s-”

He couldn’t force enough words past the imminent sneeze, but Esmé took the hint. Even so, she seemed agonisingly slow in drawing the feather out from his nose. Perhaps she was trying to be sure not to hurt him, but he was on the very cusp of sneezing now, and the motion tickled.

“hhuhTCHhhh’ue!”

He failed to hold it, felt her hand knock against his cheek as he rocked forward and knew that he must have caught her with more than that. All the same, for a long several moments he was helpless to apologise, all the wind knocked out of him by the brief, intense struggle against that too-powerful need.

“God bless you.”

“I-” Luca rolled up onto one elbow, the better to catch his breath. “I’m sorry, Esmé, when it came it came too… too fast…”

He wrinkled his nose again, abruptly understanding the cause of his continued breathlessness.

“Pardon. I still…”

He turned away, tucking his nose into his far shoulder and waiting for it to…

“hh…”

to-

“hhH-”

Damn it. He reached back with his free hand.

 “Esmé, m-may I-”

Fortunately, Esmé understood. She pressed the quill end of the feather into his questing palm and let him carry it back.

Already very much desiring to sneeze, Luca did not have to give his nose the same degree of attention as Esmé had lately shown. The feather hardly had to threaten to return before his nose responded with indignant force to repel the would-be challenger.

“hhuhTZCHh-hue!”

It was a good, reviving sneeze and left Luca feeling marvellously clear-headed. He turned back to Esmé, a faint blush lighting his cheeks.

“Pardon again. My dear, I am so sorry.”

It was Esmé’s turn to smile, all mischief and light.

“What for? I’ve taken no harm. And I was right,” She reached out, very bold, and cupped his face with her hand. “It was interesting.”

 

 

 

 

 

Isaac

Tags: Male, Illness/Induced, Tissues, Light Mess

 

Isaac rolled over onto one elbow. He had a text from Grace, one of his housemates, and possibly the only one still in the house- he couldn’t remember which day Jamie had said they were leaving for France. Jamie’s room was on the ground floor though, while Isaac and Grace shared a wall up here. He unlocked his phone on the second attempt and squinted at the too-bright screen.

G: You still awake? I can hear you coughing.

Isaac winced. He’d hoped he was keeping quiet enough not to bother her. Trying for short words, he typed:

I: Sorry, sleep not easy.

Did that make sense? That probably didn’t make sense. What kind of sentence was that?

He sent it anyway, and rolled over to grab a tissue. Coherent thoughts were too much effort tonight.

This cold had reached the frustrating stage at which he constantly felt as though he needed to blow his nose, but attempts to actually do so proved fruitless. Not to mention the quasi-permanent irritation that came alongside it, every so often making him think he was about to-

“h-hht- ah, screw you.”

The momentary tickle faded to a dull buzz in his sinuses, as it had the last six or so times it had decided to toy with him. Isaac tried to sniff, failed, and coughed instead. As he was closing out the fit, the phone vibrated against his leg. Grace again.

G: Would you mind if I came over? I can bring hot drinks and other helpful things. Don’t like hearing you suffer and not at least ask.

Isaac frowned. It was late, but… even the mention of a hot drink made him more aware of how tight and sore his throat felt right now.

I: It’s super late. Are you sure?

G: No more lectures until after Christmas and no work until the weekend, late is not a problem for me. Do you want me to make you that ginger tea?

I: Yes

I: Please.

I: I love you forever.

I: Meanyt that in an extremely normal way. Sorry, feel like s***

 

Grace didn’t reply, but he could hear her moving in her room and then downstairs. After a minute of listening, it occurred to him to sweep the loose used tissues into his wastebin, and at least try to look like he hadn’t given up on civilisation altogether. The effort made his head pound, the pressure of this congestion really making itself felt when he bent down. Still, his room looked a little less shameful by the time Grace knocked.

“Come in.”

There were almost no recognisable consonant sounds in that at all, but Grace interpreted it correctly. She sidled round the door and held out a steaming mug.

“I forgot to ask if you wanted honey, but I assumed you probably did.”

Isaac nodded, forgetting his resolution not to appear too pathetic the second the mug was in his hands. He curled around its warmth like a miserable hedgehog, sipping and sniffling by turns.

Grace made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat.

“You got a bad one, huh? Is it your throat keeping you awake, or-”

“It’s mostly-” to his annoyance, Isaac found he couldn’t get a full sentence out without punctuating it with quick, useless sniffs, more reflex than anything.

“mostly the- snf! congestion-” (and wasn’t that a nightmare word to have to say when you were suffering under it?)

“Ooh, yeah, I can hear.”

“Sorry, I- snf! I tried blowing my nose but it- snf! I think it’s just-”

“Okay, possible overstep here,” Grace interrupted. “But do you want to try a steam bowl? Only that always makes it easier for me to sleep, when I’m, um…”

She gestured to the entirety of Isaac’s definitely-pathetic state.

“I can have one ready about as fast as it takes to boil a kettle.”

Isaac hesitated for as long as it took him to forget it was useless and try to breathe through his nose again.

“Ugh. Alright, maybe it is an overstep but I don’t care. Let’s be weird friends who help each other out in weird ways. I’m dying too much to care.”

Grace huffed with mostly-sympathetic amusement.

“Bit overdramatic, but okay. Pick out a towel to put over your head, I’ll go get a bowl.”

 

It took Isaac a painfully long time to find the energy to fetch a towel, but he managed it. He sat down at the low desk in the corner of his room, reasoning that he probably didn’t want to put a bowl of boiling water on his bed.

Grace reappeared in the doorway, carrying a bowl in one hand and a steaming kettle in the other.

“Ah, the desk. Smart move.”

She set the bowl down in front of him. There was a small paper packet in it, a printed logo showing an old-fashioned medicine bottle and the words: Hardshaw’s Handiments.

“What’s-” his voice gave out. He did his best to complete the question with a wave in the direction of the packet.

“It’s a decongestant the pharmacy in my hometown makes. Just add boiling water.”

“Sounds good.” Isaac croaked, willing to say yes to anything right now.

He watched Grace pour boiling water over the crystalline powder and tentatively brought his face over the steam. He felt the warmth crowd into his nose, along with the sensation of menthol, maybe eucalyptus? And something he couldn’t smell properly right now but he could tell was strong- he drew back for a clear breath, momentarily overwhelmed.

He glanced over at Grace, rubbing the side of his nose. “Whoof! Are you trying to make me sneeze?”

She shrugged. “Not necessarily, but it might be good if you do. You need to open up your nose somehow.”

“That’s a really weird way to put that.”

Grace tossed her head. “Shut up and sniff the water, Isaac.”

“That might be even weirder,” Isaac declared, but he pulled the towel back over his head and went back to the steam.

The heat flowed back into his nose, and across his face as well. The steam stung his eyes a little, so he closed them, concentrating on trying to breathe through his nose. He had to switch to his mouth every third breath or so, but it did feel as though the airway through his nose was opening up ever so slightly- until that eucalyptus-y scent irritated it enough to start running. That just gave him something else to try to breathe past.

It was distracting too. He found himself trying to keep track of how soon he was going to need a tissue to keep himself from dripping. And as his nose ran, it tickled, his nostrils so dried-out and irritated up to this point that the trickle of moisture running through them was like a red rag to a bull.

His nose twitched.

“hh-”

Ugh, that was annoying but to be expected. Isaac wrinkled his nose and waited for the feeling to-

“hhuh-”

Wait. It wasn’t going away. If anything the sensation was spreading.

“hhH!”

Oh, he was actually going to sneeze, he should- should…

“hH’TCHUH!”

Should have done something to mitigate that before he slopped water everywhere.

“s-sorr-”

“Relax, the desk’ll wipe down. You okay?”

“Y-y- yeh…” another wave of warmth rushed through Isaac’s nose, making his nostrils flare in urgent warning. It was enough that he could direct this one into the hanging towel beside his head.

“haht’CHUH!”

“Bless you! You weren’t kidding about the sneezing, huh?”

“I thought I w-wuh- hahTCHUUHh! S-sorry, I- hh-huh! I- I’m- hhah-CHHUHhh! I can’t st- st- stohhp…”

He tried, his face twisting into a variety of interesting shapes as he tried to push back, knowing that this was going to get very messy very fast if he couldn’t stem the flow of sneezes soon. But his nose was so tender, and so scratchy, and he couldn’t stop himself from needing to breathe… Isaac clasped both hands over his face, pressing down on his nose in a last desperate effort to make this less embarrassing for both of them.

“AH’TSXCHH- ATSCHHUHhh!”

Oof. Had that been one sneeze or two? It had certainly done the work of two. Isaac’s stomach muscles ached in tandem with his nose, and his hands were definitely staying where they were because gross. And because his nose was still itching and any second now that tingling in his sinuses was going to turn into another devastating sneeze.

He felt Grace’s hand on his back, rubbing small firm circles between his shoulder-blades.

“O-kay. I’m going to go get another box of tissues.” She considered this for a moment. “Maybe two.”