Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 09/27/2015 - (Various Fandoms)

[Garnet]

Oh hai, so a couple years ago I started posting some drabbles over at red (now green) forum, and apparently never shared them here. I pick away at them and add on more whenever I feel like it, some that I haven't uploaded to either place, so here's a backlog and some new ones.

Most of these are done using one-word prompts either from Dove & Natto's list from a while ago. Various fandoms and genders and causes. There's a lot of WoW-themed stuff since that's what I used to play, but also some One Piece, TF2, Marvel, etc. and a lot of original stuff. And I clearly didn't stick to the "100 words" rule of drabbling, but whatever. These are basically just snips and scraps of stuff that I didn't feel like turning into anything longer.

Enjoy!


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21 – Pollen - Original - Male - Visual aid


Contrary to what one might expect, Kaphiri was fond of spring. It brought with it the warm weather, and after a dingy, grey, wet winter in the underbelly of the city, a clean breeze and new buds were a welcome change.


Unfortunately, spring didn't love him back. Sunbathing atop the roof of Aolani's flat for a few hours had proved to be undoing, so that even now safely sequestered under the bookshop once more, his nose was running and eyes watering. And oh, god, the sneezing. Every three minutes, at least, and often building up and coalescing into impressive fits. Seven or eight at a time easily and without pause, until he was dizzy and bleary-eyed from the effort of it.


In a manic fit he'd torn up the mattress and blankets from the floor and flung them into a corner to expose the bare floor beneath. He laid there now with one cheek pressed into the cool cement, contemplating the merits of giving his girlfriend a call. They'd been having some definite tensions, and he hadn't exactly felt welcome to her apartment lately. Still, it felt like a waste laying here in a sniffling haze when someone could be getting something out of it.


His expression crumpled suddenly as the dull, persistent buzzing in the back of his nose suddenly plateau'd. "Hhh…!!" Heaving himself up onto one forearm, the naga sneezed violently towards the floor. "HeHHT-sshh! … eht'SHHH!" He hesitated a moment, mouth parted and the tips of his fangs exposed in want of another. Giving up finally with a sigh, he dragged himself up off the ground and unearthed the Tracfone from a mound of sheets and fabric. Settling back down, he punched in a familiar number and waited, listening for the ring.






62 - Puppy - World of Warcraft - Male - Visual aid


Embodying the spirit of a spectral wolf was a wonderful, useful tool afforded to shamans. It could also be a fantastic pain in the ass, in the wrong circumstances.


And for the record, he hated rogues. The night elf had jumped him out of nowhere in the middle of Ashenvale, and stumbling backwards Khemera shook his head and snorted violently against the red powder she'd flung. It was some sort of hot, ground pepper, his canine senses informed him, designed to temporarily blind and numb one's senses. Long fangs snarling into view, his nose crinkled and upturned in preparation.


"FSSSH!" It was a violent, nose-clearing sneeze, bristling the fur along his back and wrenching his burning eyes shut for a splitsecond. Just long enough for the elf to strike him from the side, catching him off-balance and plunging the dog into the dirt before he could retaliate. "H'FSHH!" Again, snarlingly, and with a night elf now ontop of him. She had to struggle for balance, however, as his chest heaved violently with another inhale. "…H'SHFF!!"

The wet, cleansing relief of that one seemed to clear his brain enough to comprehend the situation at hand. Jerking sharply backwards, the wolf wrestled the rogue back beneath him, going for her throat with a slavering snap of teeth.


She plunged a shiv into his shoulder. He replaced paws with hands and fangs with tusks, earning a startled gasp and widened eyes from the rogue. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that. Using the pause to his advantage, he hurled her ten feet away with a tremendous crack of lightning that cleaved the ground beneath them. Standing erect now and in his natural form, Khemera breathed heavily and, still half-blind, sought out the limp form of his attacker. The concussive force of the blast seemed to have knocked her unconscious, and ruefully he wiped beneath his nose and yanked the blade from his shoulder.


One of these days, stupid rookie adventurers would learn to distinguish common wolves from the disgruntled shamans. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't a mistake that many made twice.






54 - Needles (borrowing Kisa's character Sophie) - Original - Male - Visual aid


Working in the volatile environment of the research hospital, there were any number of deadly viruses and pathogens that one could be exposed to on a regular basis. Many of them were too rare or poorly understood to have vaccinations available, but that didn't mean Sophie wasn't pumped full of immunizations anyway, to anything from hookworm to the rotavirus. So far, the rabies series was shaping up to be her least favorite. Unfortunately, hanging around Dr. Alexander's experiments made her more prone to it than any back country wilderness veterinarian.


"Why do there have to be so many!" She wailed as Klaus ignored her protests and rolled up a sleeve with quick, jerky movements. He mercilessly shaved over the patch of fur that had begun to regrow from a few days ago. "Two was enough!"


"There are three," the cyborg snarled, grasping her bicep and turning it towards himself, wiping it roughly with an alcohol-soaked cotton wad. "I told you there were three, und you are lucky that this is not the post-exposure series or you'd be in for an even bigger treat." Receiving injections probably wouldn't have been so bad if Klaus had a more reasonable 'bedside manner'. As it was, he was his typical angry, pushy self, and a small poke with a needle was often more of a violent stab that left her arm sore for days afterwards.


Grimacing tightly, Sophie turned her head away and tensed up as her creator tested the syringe by depressing a small jet of fluid into the air. Just as she heard the shuffle of him stepping closer, however, there was a pause and a slight, audible clicking noise from the back of his throat. Her ears perked and tail swished in anticipation. Was that...?


Yes. Though it could be extremely frustrating when she was trying to be close to him, occasionally the cyborg's propensity to be irritated by her fur and dander worked in her favor. His grip loosened on her arm suddenly, and the doctor took a sharp step away. "Hx.. He'XKSHH!" An awful, inhuman sound, she used it to cover the sound of her quickly sliding off the table. His shoulders tightened and back straightened from its bend as the cyborg prepared to expel another breath of air from the microscopic sensors of his nose, an attempt to cleanse thetiny little hairs that had found their way into his gears. "Heh..! Hexk'KSSHHuh!"


By this time, Sophie had already hopped a nearby exam table and gone skittering for the door, intent on saving her poor arm for just a little bit longer. "VERMIN!" Klaus roared after her once his system had ceased its convulsions. "Get back here, I'll kill you myself!"







37 - Chocolate (borrowing Kisa's character Aiyame) - World of Warcraft - Male - Visual Aid

"… USSshoo!" Sneezing out of reflex for what seemed to be the fifth time in as many minutes, Aquilah shivered lightly and pulled his coat up further around his throat. Even in full bear or cat form, the Storm Peaks were cold. If he were a mammoth or a flame spirit, they would be cold. As a creature best suited to the cool, dark temperate forests of Azeroth, he was sure that his nose or ears were going to fall off and was currently betting against himself as to which would go first.

The wailing squalls of snow outside had rendered it too hazardous to fly, and thank Elune for K3 because he had been keeping mixed company since Dalaran, and the goblins quite frankly did not give a rat's ass whether a blood elf and a night elf were cavorting about together.

Speaking of his smaller counterpart…

Just as he'd lifted his head to see whether Aiyame had had any luck in securing a room in the small inn, the night elf was surprised to find a mug of something warm and sweet-smelling thrust into his hands. The steam tickled past his nose, creasing his expression again as he tried hard not to spill the liquid with the next clenching, "UESSHoo!"

Managing only to tip a drop or two onto his gloves, the druid sniffled softly and glanced down at the drink his companion had passed him. "What's this?"

"Hot chocolate," the death knight chuckled, seating herself nearby and blowing a cool breath across her own mug. "Northrend's cure for anything that ails you."

Taking a deep swallow of the hot, velvety smooth concoction, Aquilah was inclined to agree.






42 - Poison - Original - Male - Visual aid

They had both been under the impression that she was more or less immune to Kaphiri's venom by now, at least in the small doses she usually encountered it. A few nights ago, they had hastily revised this decision. In the midst of some of their rougher play, some blood had been drawn – not normally a cause for concern, but when the playfully nipped wrist went numb to her fingertips… well. That was a problem.

The faint, throbbing pain and stiffness were gone by the morning as her body filtered out the relatively small amount of toxins, but Kaphiri had still been contrite and horrified. He spent the following week hardly daring to breathe near her, giving only the most chaste of kisses and scrambling hastily for a tissue whenever he felt even the faintest hint of a cough or sneeze. It was sort of cute, in a ridiculous and also-sort-of-annoying way.






24 - Mask - World of Warcraft - Male - Visual Aid

Ahhdamnit. The reason he wore the mask in the first place was to block out some of the volatile and oft-dangerous chemicals and reagents he worked with by nature of his profession. Being already deceased, as it were, many things that would have been deadly to a human no longer affected Carrefour, but occasionally a sharp fume could burn his senses or, in the case of this godforsaken pollen, incite a rare allergic reaction.

Which was entirely frustrating when the little grains kept finding ways past his defenses -- either that or whatever particular class of fel energy they'd been infused with was not setting well with him. As a mage, it wasn't too far fetched an idea. Either way, he was pissed off. It was a fascinating sample study, but hard to do when he needed to stop and...

"Hp'KHFF!"

Do that every few minutes. Lowering the claw-like hand from the quick pinch he'd applied to his still-masked nose, the apothecary stepped back from the table. Although he no longer had any real need to eat or sleep, he maintained a small homestead on the edge of Brill that had been family land, in life. Now it was little more than one giant, complex laboratory for all of his research that went on outside of Undercity, but it did afford some very fortunate privacy from time to time. Such as now, when he upturned his eyes in wary anticipation, knowing he wasn't quite finished.

"... hh-! HEP'khff!! --H'kxht!" Damnit. The effort of holding them in was setting up a painful, tingling throb in his sinuses that only exacerbated the condition. And so, being in his own home...

The undead backed further away from the exposed sample, turning himself aside to pull his mask down and draw a quivery breath of anticipation. How humiliating. "... hehk'KSSHuue!!" But amazingly relieving. Finding purchase on the arm of a nearby chair, he collapsed into it as his expression began to crinkle again with need.

"Hp'KSSHue! ... hep--KXHSSHuue!!"

Uttering a throaty groan, Carrefour withdrew a handkerchief from somewhere within his robes and brought the cloth wearily to his face. Though many would believe that all of a forsaken's humours had all dried up long ago, he was dismayed to confirm that this was not the case. He still bled, and his nose still ran after enduring an allergic fit. He was only grateful that nobody was around to see the faltering in control.




45 - Sore - Original - Male - Visual aid

For someone so put off by keeping a close vicinity with others, it was a small miracle some of the things the centaur let her do to him. Anyone beside his apprentices who even thought about touching his feet would have gotten a swift kick in the face, and then there were... well. More intimate, carnal explorations. He'd been more willing to let her handle that, however, than the old battle injury that had crippled his left arm. Like his more bestial half, Theon was quite flighty about some things, and even grazing her fingertips over the criss-crossed scar at the shoulder made him pull away snapping his tail and scraping hooves at the ground, forever battling more basic instincts to lash out or bolt. It was some time before the butcher's daughter had convinced him to stand quietly long enough to assess the injury.

"Did you have anyone look at this after you got it?" Simone wondered, applying a light pressure to where the scar marked the skin near his shoulder, slightly raised and paler than the flesh surrounding it. His pelt twitched anxiously, but the smith set his jaw and stood obediently still.

"Someone had to stitch me back together," he replied wryly, and made a slight fist with that hand, tensing and then relaxing the muscles and tendons along his forearm and bicep. "It's alright most of the time, worse when the weather changes, or I use it too much. It's been sore lately."

She nodded and turned to the little pan of herbs she had simmering on a fire not far away. The were releasing a pungent aroma into the air by now, sharp but not unpleasant. It meant they were about done, so she drained and stirred the mixture into some moist bran she'd laid out on a cheesecloth, setting it to cool a little. "Well, it's getting on winter. Even if it's an old wound, you should use compresses every now and then when it acts up." She wasn't really a healer by nature, but she knew her way around the basic herbs, and some old country remedies for various aches and pains. Moreso than Theon, anyway, whose philosophy on health seemed to be 'ignore it until it goes away, and if not, drink until you can't feel anymore'.

"I don't even know what you put in there..."

She smiled to herself and tied the poultice off, deeming it hot but no longer scalding to the skin. "St. John's wort, some lavender. A little bit of valerian, and a few other things. Just simple relaxants, mostly. If nothing else, the heat should help," she explained, wringing the last bit of excess moisture from the compress. "I'd have made you a tea," she teased with a wink, "But I don't think I'd get you to drink it. Now, this will probably be a little warm..."

His slight snort of amusement at the notion of drinking herbal teas seemed to distract him from the initial surprise of having the hot, damp poultice pressed to his shoulder. Being a fair bit taller than her, she had to stand on a small crate just to reach him easily. "Just keep some light pressure on it, like this, until it cools. You won't feel anything right away."

"It stinks," the centaur told her flatly, wrinkling his pronounced nose for emphasis.

"I know, but it will be worth it, trust me."

"No," he protested, voice beginning to quaver slightly in a way that made her gaze flick back to his face in confusion. "I mean it really..." Pulling away from her suddenly, he wrenched mismatched eyes shut and plunged into steepled hands with a sudden, titanic sneeze.

"hh'WRHHFFFSHH!!" The beast's breath caught lightly, almost delicately, before he finished off the twinge with a second. "Hh'WHFSHH!"

Swallowing lightly, Simone looked back down at the poultice, surprised she hadn't dropped it in the sudden flurry of motion from him. "Maybe you're allergic to something. I guess I can try something a little less potent..."



99 - Lazy - One Piece - Male


"You are incredibly lazy," Kuro observed without turning, attention fixed on the view out the porthole rather than the man sprawled behind him. Sailing under the flags of the Marine this ship boasted, he was safe from greedy young naval upstarts out for a bounty prize. At least, until Headquarters figured out what was going on, by which point both he and his unlikely companion intended to have abandoned their little joyride.

It wasn't a huge ship, but it was new and handsome, and looking for all intents and purposes to be highly understaffed. As such, it was like dangling steaks before starving dogs for any pirates that happened to pass within any distance of the vessel. Thus far, however, neither of them had needed to actually lift a finger to defend their fairly robbed prize.

"I'm merely saving my energy," a deep, throaty voice mused from behind him. Kuro turned his gaze away from the floating wreckage that had been a ship of brigands half an hour and one enormous pet 'wani ago. "I have no desire to waste it on half-assed bands of upstarts too stupid to be wary of an unmanned marine vessel. Besides," and here the owner of the voice tilted his jaw down a bit. "I thought you wanted to enjoy a few days of sailing unmolested… so to speak."

Kuro uprolled his eyes in exasperation at Crocodile's brand of dry humor, before turning himself back in full and pacing towards the other man. True to his accusation, the shichibukai had not moved from the bed for some time, sprawled lazily atop it in only his pants and boots, hands folded lazily over stitch-scarred stomach as he surveyed the cat captain. Kuro was annoyed to find it a consistently appealing sight.

"I do," he muttered as he climbed onto the bed. He wasn't really one for cuddling except on random whim, true to his feline nature, but spotting the other ship had gotten his adrenaline up and now he evidently had to seek other means of releasing it. "But some part of me might have relished putting them in their place. Anyway, using that overgrown lizard is still cheating."

"It's not cheating, either," Crocodile chuckled as Kuro slid one leg over his hips and straddled him, staring skeptically down through thin lenses. "And since when do you care?" The warlord feigned indifference as the younger captain began tracing his hands over the long, winding scars that sectioned his chest and abdomen in various places. In truth, there was a reason he hadn't felt moved to face the other crew directly besides the one he'd offered. It was the same reason he'd been sprawled atop the bed for the better part of the morning, feeling at once restless and tired. Still, he found that touch incredibly erotic, and they both knew what Kuro was after, but he would play ignorant for now. It was a little hard when the other man even went so far as the snag his hand and bring it to his face, nuzzling briefly against the palm. "Your boat has canons, mine has sixty-eight teeth and a taste for pirate flesh."

"So do I," Kuro sneered, and sank his teeth into the meat near the base of the other's thumb. Crocodile hissed in pleasured pain, not really caring how rough Kuro wanted to play so long as he wasn't losing any limbs or eyeballs in the process.

"You watch your mouth, boy," he growled softly, knowing how the diminutive aggravated Kuro. "That's my good hand."

"It's your only one," the snarky captain shot back coolly, already beginning to unbutton Crocodile's pants unbidden. Kuro was a grand master at what he referred to as 'topping from the bottom', a fact which both intrigued and annoyed Crocodile, sometimes to the point of aggressively putting the other man in his place. Which only agitated and aroused Kuro more. In fact, most of their interactions seemed to be based around pissing each other off, turning each other on, and looking down their noses at everyone else. Hardly what could be called a healthy relationship, but who cared. Crocodile wasn't feeling exactly healthy at the moment.

"Your bedside manner is atrocious," he chuckled again, dark and faintly rasping from the amount of chain-smoking he did. A comment to which Kuro only sneered again and slid down, working his teeth over the warlord's clavicle and throat now. Bisecting the latter was another one of those huge scars, to the point where he had no idea how Crocodile could even speak. He had no idea where or how he'd gotten them, and he didn't care, just knew that they served as interesting roadmaps and waypoints of the other man's body.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kuro purred, "Shall I bring forth the silver platter and silk sheets for a lazy shichibukai?"

Like himself, Crocodile had an incredibly long-burning fuse, so he was not worried about verbally provoking him. If the sandman had any plans that involved threatening his life, they would have been calculated far in advance and not brought on by any bedroom heckling. All the same, he swallowed tightly as he felt the cold point of a hook pressing against the back of his skull.

A sudden, sharp movement would pierce his occipital lobe, and while he didn't expect anything of the sort, he was not stupid or trusting enough of Crocodile to spit forth another sassy comment just yet. Instead, he let the ex-pirate guide his head down until their chests touched and the older man's voice was in his ear, huskier than normal. "It would be appreciated. You see, I was content to let my darling handle the grunt work as I, myself, am not feeling particularly well."

Kuro's lip snarled back in surprise at that sudden change in tactics. Oh, he wouldn't…

Crocodile's chest heaved against him with a quick, sudden catch of breath in a way that made Kuro's muscles clench and spine stiffen in anticipation. To his utter titillation and dismay, however, the shichibukai released the breath again with a soft sigh and a little feigned 'ahh' of relief. "It's true. I'm tired, my throat is sore and my nose itches."

The cat captain gritted his teeth and fisted a hand into the sheets beneath them. "Does it."

"Quite," the other purred, and Kuro wouldn't have believed him the least little bit if his keen senses hadn't detected a faint flatness to his tone and dryness to his voice that wasn't entirely normal. "I need to sneeze terribly, but I can't quite seem to – hh!" His chest rose again sharply, and Kuro wanted to stab him. "…ahh. Can't quite seem to get it out."

That insufferable bastard. He knew that was a weakness that could be exploited at any time no matter how much Kuro may have had the upper hand prior. "Do you fancy a cat-claw up the nose would help," he growled in frustration, face pressed into Crocodile's chest as he attempted to keep his cool and fantasized about actually following through with the threat, had he not left his gloves on the other side of the room. Pretty soon he was going to have to make a pact not to enter a bed with Crocodile without them equipped.

"No, I don't think it would," the warlord laughed, a warm, rich sound like dark brandy. "Trust me, I like this as little as you. It's dreadful, like a cat waving its tail unde-hh-huh…under my nose." The perfectly straight, narrow tip of which was lazily tracing Kuro's ear now. God.

He couldn't tell if the warlord was completely full of shit or not, though the notion of him truly unable to rid himself of a bothersome tickle was quite arousing. As a general rule, the few times he'd seen Crocodile sneeze they'd come in singles or doubles, triples at the absolute most but always quite powerful and intense, as though attempting to clear his nose in the briefest and most efficient way possible. The thought of one of those impressive explosions teasing at the shichibukai, feathering just out of reach of satisfaction was … unghh…

All at once, Crocodile's chest expanded hugely beneath him, taking a pair of shaking gasps in its wake instead of immediately letting the breath out again.

"H-huhhah… H'ISSHHU!" The sharp, sudden and altogether unexpected follow-through made Kuro jump slightly, reeling back to look down upon his companion with surprise as Crocodile smothered the next into an upraised hand. "… heh! ISHMPPHF!"

"Uhhh," he groaned in soft satisfaction, dropping back and looking dazed and wholly relieved. "That was awful."

Bloody bastard, only he could somehow make such pitiful, weak and whiny-sounding comments come across as erotic and almost threatening. "I revise my earlier accusation," Kuro hissed.

"Oh?"

"From lazy to dirty," he confirmed, twisting a hand into the warlord's slick hair and pushing his hips down hard against the other's.

Crocodile's staccato laughter was filling the ship even as Kuro went to work ripping both their pants off.




28 - Assignment - Team Fortress 2 - Male - (I apologize in advance for the horrible accents, they are EXACTLY this bad in-game and it makes me laugh)

The Granary was not a base that Reliable Excavation and Demolition was employed to defend very often. The industrial-minded Builders League United seemed to have only passing interest in the defunct silage plant, now little more than a missile and weapons storage facility, though for whatever reason the site had now become a prime target of the rival company. Small numbers of agents and field stations had begun to crop up on the edges of the territory at first, but soon the presence of BLU was becoming too blatant to ignore. Small, covert attacks and intelligence gathering had begun.

As a result, RED had wasted no time in deploying one of their better teams from the well-defended Badlands to this outpost. The aim was to re-establish control of the farmlands quickly and efficiently before their presence was missed elsewhere.

"Alright, you nancies! Here's the plan!"

The Soldier was experienced in the leadership role, and laid down the tactical overview to the counsel of eight others in the RED base point. "I want sentries up on Point Three and the catwalk ASAP! Pyro, point three! Demo, on defense! Those entry points better be carpeted in stickies! I don't want to get past the doorway without trippin' on grenades!" The helmeted bravado ranted, jerking a thick finger to the map erected before them all for emphasis. "Everyone else on the front line! We're in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, boys, and there ain't much for supplies out here, so Medic you're on double-time with that dangblasted zappergun thing."

"Idiot, ist a Medigun!"

"Whatever!"

As the Soldier barked out orders and they strategized amongst themselves, the distant sound of gunfire could be heard on the far side of the plant. BLU had apparently caught wise to the new deployment of agents, and had initiated their siege early. Rather than dread and nervousness, however, the table was full of grins of psychotic anticipation. Their team hadn't been assigned haphazardly, after all, and this field of duty required a particular set of mind and morals (or lack thereof).

"Any questions, maggots?!"

"Nope." From the Engineer.

"Nyet." From Heavy.

"Let's do this thing already!" The slight clang of a bat on the table emphasized Scout's response.

"Hh'WHFFSH!" From the… wait.

Eight pairs of eyes turned to Medic in varying states of surprise, amusement, and dismay as he lifted his face from the crook of his arm with a defined sniff. "Excusse me."

Heavy was the first to respond, blurting a laugh and slapping the doctor's back hard enough to jolt him slightly forward and knock his spectacles askew. "Hah! Perhaps doctor is needingks healings instead, da?"

Far too used to the rough handling to be offended by it, Medic pushed his glasses back up and scowled. "Nein, I am fi—heh!" Interrupting himself with a sudden quaver to his voice, the doctor grimaced and quickly hid himself into the sleeve of his labcoat again. "Heh'WRSCHH!"

Registering his undivided attention again, Medic rapped his gun sharply on the floor in annoyance. "Stop staring, haff you never zeen a man sneeze before?"

"You got a cold or somethin', Doc?" Engineer pressed lightly, sitting back in his chair and pushing the brim of his hardhat up with one thumb.

Medic was less than pleased by the fact that all interest had suddenly shifted from the imminent battle to his health, though it made sense. Keeping the team healed was a crucial part of this engagement, and if he was at less than his best…

"Nein! Zere is nossing wrong, und you are vasting time! Go! Raus, raus!"

Seeming to take the hint, Soldier nodded in firm affirmation. "Faaall out!"

There was a squeak and scrape of chairs, a clinking of guns and bullet belts being shouldered, loaded, and a flurry of footsteps as the mercenaries dispersed to their various tasks.

The initial wave was, as usual, almost a complete free-for-all as either side got a feel for the opposite team of agents' tactics. Medic quite often felt like a chicken with his head cut off for these intervals, darting from one teammate to the next to replenish their health and heal their wounds, courtesy of modern medical science. How he loved his Medigun.

"Medic!"

What he did not love was just as often having to seek temporary cover to let out a vicious sneeze or three and wipe his eyes. Sniff! Blasted granary, why did it have to be here of all places. In the badlands or hydroelectric plant, he performed flawlessly. But out here, with the dry air full of dust and mold from hay that been left rotting in the silos for too long…

"Heh'WFFSHH!"

"MEDIC!"

Damn. It was never-ending.

After beating back the first wave of agents, the frontline was granted a brief lull in the onslaught as BLU fell back towards the far side of the mill to reconvene. They had lost a few sentries and dispensers in the first bout, and so guarded the yard as Engineer ran about making his repairs. So long as they held control of this point, they could press forward at their leisure, so to speak.

After ensuring that most were in fair-standing, Medic came eventually trotting back to Heavy for their familiar dance of razing and mayhem. Granted, it was not with his usual deranged vigor, Heavy noted, as the doctor dropped down onto a set of shipping crates above and behind him, sniffling audibly and wiping at his nose.

Although Sascha was trained on the doorway of the building opposite, Heavy spared a brief, wary look backwards towards his comrade. "You are not looking so vell, doctor," he ventured cautiously. "Are you sure you are not sick?"

"Ach," Medic grumbled, though slightly more patient with Heavy than when confronted by the whole team. "Ist just allergies."

Heavy crumpled his smooth, sloping brow as he shot Medic a puzzled look. "Out here?" He wondered, waving an arm around them. "There are no trees or flowers! Is dump!"

Medic sighed and lightly rapped the muzzle of his Medigun against the back of Heavy's head, a chastising but oddly affectionate gesture. "Hayfever, dummkopf. All zis grass und hay, it makes me snee—heh…" As if merely saying the word triggered the desire, the doctor squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a light shake while trying not to disturb his glasses. It did no good, and the little flickering irritation went unrelieved, spreading back through his nose and making it run in the most undignified fashion. Feeling a light trickle of moisture somewhere in the back of his sinuses, Medic snarled his teeth into view and freed a hand from his gun, bringing it halfway to his face as sculpted nostrils flared in anticipation. "Hh!"

Heavy did his best to afford the Medic some privacy, focusing his attention where it should have been in the first place. On the doorway. However, after a few seconds of hitched breaths and wet sniffs from behind, sounding as if the doctor was desperately trying to stave off a sneeze, he glanced back slightly.

"You sneeze now, doctor, and there is less distraction vhen people come, da?"

Simple as Heavy's logic was, he couldn't argue with it, and it was becoming apparent that trying to avoid sneezing was doing even less for him than simply letting it out.

"Hh!" Switching from the rubber glove to the crook of his arm again, Medic felt his features pull down into an agonized allergic grimace. "Hh! … H'WHRFFSHHH!! -- Heh-HFFSH! Ach…"

Recovering with a bleary blink and fresh set of sniffles, Medic longed to search himself down for a packet of tissues. Still, there was something he couldn't quite stand about blowing his nose in the middle of a warzone.

"Gesundheit, doctor."

Medic sighed, inexplicably endeared to the big man's plain manner and cheerfulness. "Danke, comrade."

And there ended their brief interlude as the shouts of Spy and Sniper could be heard from up ahead, signaling that BLU's forces were on the move again.

"You are dead, tiny running men!" Heavy roared as he took off into the main building with Medic jumping down after him, hot on his heels and deploying a steady stream from the gun to buff his teammate's energy and stamina. Without turning back, Heavy kicked down a nearby door and continued their conversation as if they were casually lounging back at base over coffee. "You cannot take somethingk for this, doctor?"

Medic didn't respond immediately, instead tucking his head against his chest and wrenching his eyes shut with a hands-free stifled "Hp'KFFH!" If he could just get them out quickly and keep moving… "Jawohl, if you vant me napping instead off healing you," Medic scolded, keeping an eye on the charge of his Medigun. It was a little difficult to read with his eyes watering so.

"Mebbe not," Heavy agreed after he'd taken a moment to work out what the doctor was implying – medications made him drowsy. Rounding a corner, the pair surprised an enemy Scout who was quickly mowed down by a rain of bullets. "Okay, doctor!" The gunman decided, racing up the stairway they'd cleared, the sounds of Pyro's flamethrower following not too far in their wake. "I vill kill all dese tiny babies quickly, and you can has nap!"

Medic barked an unexpected laugh at that, not his usual maniacal I'm-killing-things-by-the-dozen cackle. "It is a plan," he agreed, and noted the well-timed crackle of the Medigun as the charge filled. He deployed it towards Heavy with an encouraging shout, shielding him in a temporary wall of invulnerability. "You are charged! Go go go!"

"Thank you, doctor!" Heavy called as he opened fire on the enemy defense line, a mobile flesh-and-blood tank force that crushed everything in their path.

"Ja ja, it is my job!"




47 - Wary - World of Warcraft - Male - Visual Aid

While the company of mages was convenient and ever-interesting, sometimes a hunter simply needed to be with someone a bit more likeminded. Most preferred their solitude, but there was something to be said for meeting up to compare equipment, weapons, prize kills and rare beasts tamed by their own hands. Tracking rare game in Sholazar Basin was just the thing to get away from the battlefront with the scourge for a while.

Of course, being deep in thick, isolated Northrend jungle had its inconveniences, such as the lack of any real towns or certainly any major cities with which to barter and replenish supplies. Fortunately, Nesingwary's base camp provided an evening's retreat, and some basic bare essentials and catered perfectly to their particular breed of adventurer. Mainly, the kind that involved rolling around in the dirt with large, vicious animals.

"We got plenny a' tubers'n dried fruits still," Jenlok observed, taking stock of what their food stores were looking like as Kiyra perused the goods sold by a broad, smiling orc that was giving them the salesman's shifty, knowing eye.

"Ah, but you could use some indulgences!" He remarked jovially and gestured to his crates and barrels. "Just got a new shipment of macadamias in this morning, and here we have some well-aged sausages of the finest quality." He paused, clearing his throat, "And, if you're feeling adventurous, there's always the latest batch of thunder brew," the orc added, eyeing a nearby keg with some measure of caution.

The smaller, fairer hunter seemed to have focused on the second item on the list, however, rubbing her jaw in thought. "Are you supposed to age sausages? I thought that was cheeses…"

"Ehr…" the orc began uncertainly. "Well-seasoned, then?"

"We en't got inny need fi meats inyway," Jenlok added, dropping to a lazy crouch beside his companion and giving her sabre an affectionate scratch behind the ears. His own wolf had found a patch of grass and flowers some distance away and was rolling in them vigorously, perfuming herself. "Plenty ta' eat out dere," he nodded over his shoulder to the jungle in general.

Kiyra frowned in contemplation, "Yyyes, I think I've had enough fish and rhino to last me several lifetimes, thank you," she frowned, and gestured to the orc. "Alright, let's see these…er, 'well-seasoned' meats."

Beaming, the orc produced a crate from the section of his larder that was kept cool by large blocks of ice they'd either harvested from further south, or bribed some hapless mage into providing. Neatly packed rows of thick links looked harmless enough, albeit a slightly unsettling bright red-orange color. The elf sniffed at them experimentally, unable to discern their age through a sharp tang of spice, and shrugged.

"I don't know, they're probably edible. What do you think?" She offered the bundle across to the hunter with the superior sense of smell.

Warily, the troll bent his head to the links, his long nose crinkling slightly as he gauged their scent. Kiyra eyed him carefully, alert for signs of displeasure. So focused, in fact, that she jumped a little when the Darkspear reeled back with eyes vicing shut, and turned away from the food to give a single, explosively cleansing sneeze.

"Hdt'ISSHHah!!"

Jenlok shook his head, setting long ears to bobbing, and looked dazed but otherwise relaxed. He offered a wry grin at her. "Seasoned be da right word for 'em, I t'ink." He sniffed once and shrugged. "Dey smells okee ta me, but… you really wanna be takin' de culinary advice of a troll, mem'ki?"

Although fair-skinned already, Kiyra seemed to pale slightly and relinquished the sausages back to the disappointed orc. "Err, good point. We'll take half a pound of nuts and the strongest rum you've got." Her expression fell to a slight scowl. "I'll need it to wash the taste of rhino out."





90 - Childhood - World of Warcraft - Male

"Hdt'CHH!" The fifth wetly allergic-sounding sneeze in as many minutes left the troll, followed immediately by another pair in weakly suppressed succession. They weren't as boisterous as his usual explosions, it was probably difficult to reign something like that in without bursting his eardrums, but Kiyra paused to give him a Look regardless.

"You know, if we come back without anything to show for it, I'm telling Kaidence exactly who's to blame and why," she began, lightly teasing.

Jenlok's ears drooped, though his expression transmuted from mildly irritated to a flat scowl. "E's a ten t'ousand pound dinosaur. If I be scarin' 'im off wid a few sneezes, it prob'ly wadn't worth it innyways."

Softening, the blood elf took a different approach to the usually unflappable hunter. "You okay, though?"

Sighing, Jenlok shook his head and dropped himself onto a nearby log, rubbing ruefully at the tip of his nose. "Got a slight sensitivity ta lilies, s'all, we passed t'rough some on dat rise a ways back."

The smaller hunter grinned slightly in a strange mixture of sympathy and schadenfreude. "Jungle flora, huh? Weren't you raised in a jungle?"

Wasn't he? As he bent into his bag to dig for a handkerchief, the troll let his thoughts drift and catch on a random snag in his sea of memory.



"Ht'chh! Chh!"

He was trying to muffle them against the back of his hand while juggling the homemade bow in the other, but it was difficult to do that and watch where he was walking, mindful not to either step on Nzinga or run smack into his brother.

Except Ade'jin had stopped at some unspecified lookout point, and he ended up bumping into him anyway. Eyes narrowed, the elder troll glanced back from the tense, graceful crouch he was gathered into, like a panther preparing to pounce.

"You bettah cut dat out, bwa," he scolded in hushed tones, authoritative but not angry. "Ya g'wan give 'way our position."

Jen was cowed nevertheless, hunching down on himself. "Sorry, bredda, I can' hel--," His small blue face scrunched up and the young troll suddenly twitched downward in a flurry of short, dark dreads and ears that he hadn't quite grown into. "--CHH!" Sniff. "Help it."

"You sick, mon?" There was now a note of mild concern in Ade'jin's voice as his painted face turned back to his young ward.

The child shook his head vigorously, ashamed to be showing any sort of weakness before Ade'jin, especially something as childish as a runny nose. "Nah, I be fine. Me eyes itchin', dough," he muttered, sniffling and accosting one bright amber eye with the heel of his palm.

"Eh, ya prolly 'llergic ta somet'in. Mebbe we best head back," the hunter sighed, rising from his crouch and once again towering over Jen, all long, lean lines of soft teal and blue and the bright red of his paint. He always remembered him being so tall…


Snapping out of it, the hunter blinked and shrugged, smiling slightly. "Okee, sho', a jungle, but not dis jungle…huh!... Hedht'CSHH!" Hauling in another deep, sniffling breath, he let it out again with a groaning sigh.

Kiyra smiled crookedly. "Fair enough. Hang on, I've got some antihistamines somewhere," she remarked, pausing to look through her own supplies. "They're for insect bites, but it'll do the trick." Having an apothecary for a bedfellow was often advantageous. She'd been amused by Carrefour's look of horror when she'd informed him she intended on spending the next week or two deep in a jungle surrounded by blood-sucking insects, oversized wasps, and any number of tropical diseases. He'd plied her with enough small, potent vials of foul liquids and tonics that she was practically a walking drug store, at this point.

Letting the brief, uncomfortable recollection slip away, the troll showed his teeth in a slight grin. "Ah, ya too good ta me, mem'ki."





25 - Mistake - World of Warcraft - Male - Visual Aid

As far as impromptu family reunions went, this one was proceeding with surprisingly little drama. Granted, it had been a meeting entirely by accident, so there'd been no chance for father nor daughter to work themselves up over it. Normally Simbe dreaded seeing that eyepatched old bastard manifest anywhere in her vicinity, but the day was long and hot and a brief communal swim in Durotar's coastal waters was too refreshing to spoil with begrudging thoughts.

He'd been guarded, but not instigative. He inquired after her health, whether that druid friend of hers was treating her okay. She thought for a brief, tense second he might launch into a tirade about all that baggage, but Khemera kept thoughtfully mum on the situation. Instead, they discussed the weather and then spent a while in silence, sunning themselves on the beach and looking at the clouds while saltwater dried in their fur.

Perhaps that tense, slightly weighty quiet would be a source of great discomfort between some parents and their children, but to Simbe it was practically euphoric. She wasn't crying or screaming, and he hadn't called her a faithless, ungrateful waste of space yet, so all in all it was going well. She wouldn't want to make a regular habit of this, certainly, but all the same…

The warrior lay for some time, drugged in the enveloping warmth of the sun. Eventually, however, the rare mantle of peace was broken. Either from the brightness of the sky or water in his sinuses, the elder troll beside her gave into a sudden, explosive sneeze… twice, in fact, before laying back again with a small, relieved sigh.

"Bless ya," she murmured thoughtlessly, and then immediately wished she hadn't.

It was an instinctive and polite enough response to a sneeze, one that most wouldn't have considered twice. But religion… the spirits had always been a rather touchy subject between them, one of many if not the source of all. And to bade him such wishes was practically asking for him to snarl some snide response.

Simbe caught her tongue and held her breath for a moment, praying he'd not take any special notice of the comment. The long, wary pause from the shaman suggested otherwise. At length, however, the coiled tightness of the moment seemed to somehow relax, as her father shifted and tucked an arm behind his head as a makeshift pillow. "T'anks."

She let the breath out again in a long, silent sigh of relief. It was progress, at least.

Edited September 27, 2015 by Garnet

[Garnet]

70 - Confession - Original (anthro warning!) - Female

"HISSCH'ue!"

Allie was treated to the bizarre sensation of being simultaneously startled near out of her fur and sledgehammered with a visceral reaction of lust to that particular sort of sound. She turned, blinking in surprise, to regard her elephantine friend on the opposite end of the couch, absent-mindedly knuckling beneath her trunk.

"Shit, bless you," she got out after a beat of uncertainty.

Najiri hadn't appeared to think anything of the act, but she glanced aside to the calico with a wry smirk. "Thanks. Scare ya?"

"Almost shit myself," Allie teased back. She didn't have much of a mouth on her own, but her boyfriend's sister swore, drank, and partied like a sailor, and it tended to rub off within about ten minutes spent in her presence. Not that she minded. Najiri was certainly her go-to friend for unwinding, venting, girl-bonding and... well, most occasions, lately. Allie, whose other female friends were quite tame by comparison, appreciated the extroverted companionship in reasonable doses, and was only grateful that she wasn't considered too boring or vanilla in turn.

Brushing the moment off as an isolated, if curious incident, she stretched herself back out lazily and resumed her attention on the movie they'd been engrossed in.

That lasted perhaps another five minutes before the sofa was suddenly quaking beneath them with another explosively unexpected sneeze.

"H'IHKSCHH!" Brow contracted, Najiri held a position of apparent discomfort for a moment, head half-turned into an upraised arm and trunk suspended in a wary curve. "Hh... hh! ... Huh'EHKSHHH'ue!! Fuck," she punctuated the relief with a quick bark of annoyance before sinking back again, relieved for the moment.

"Bless you," Allie volunteered, squirming a bit in confused pleasure. What the hell. She tended to prefer both men and... well, men sneezing on a general basis. It wasn't a fast and hard rule, there were exceptions, but she was pretty sure that feeling that surge of want for her boyfriend's sister was kind of weird. Not that Najiri was unattractive by any means, there was a definite wild energy and beauty to her, and she knew her friend had a small score of personal fans that attended all of her band's shows religiously. Still. Allie had always labelled herself as bi-curious at best.

Well. She'd chalk it up to Kwame's dearth of sneezing when not ill, and the fact that both siblings had a functionally similar anatomy as far as that was concerned. However, since there was no such thing as being embarrassed in front of Najiri, maybe she could actually play with this a bit...

"That's a helluva sneeze you got," she commented aside, feigning innocent appreciation.

"Heh, my specialty," Najiri replied with that same smirk, tracing a thumb and forefinger down the impressive length of her nose. "Kinda comes with the package."

"No kidding," Allie giggled, biting her lip for a half-second. And then, before she knew what she was even confessing, it was out. "S'kinda hot, too."

Najiri side-eyed her and got out a laughing "what?" as she went back to idly rubbing her trunk.

The feline writhed in place again, suddenly flush and nervous. She hadn't the slightest clue what was possessing her, but she pushed ahead at her friend's inquiring glance. "I... I dunno, it's weird, I know," she admitted, wetting her lips hastily before continuing. "It's like a... turn-on, people sneezing." What the hell was she doing?

Oh, she trusted Najiri's confidence and all, and they'd talked dirty plenty of times (admittedly with no too many details about her current situation so as not to horrify Njiri with intimate details about her own brother). So far, however, the elephant seemed more intrigued about this confession than anything. Najiri also tended to sort of... set the upper curve for 'oddness' in Allie's immediate circle of relationships. If the heavily pierced and inked woman didn't react negatively beyond a passing amusement, Allie might even be able to put it across to Kwame. Some day. It was good practice, in any case.

"Seriously?" Najiri laughed again, in apparent disbelief -- though good-naturedly so.

"Like I could make this shit up?" Allie returned with a nervous twitter of her own, though she forced a grin as she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.

The elephant seemed to concede that point, tilting her head to one side as she gave the matter some thought. "Damn, I... I think I'm jealous. That must be easy as hell to get off, then."

"It makes for some good fantasy fodder, definitely," Allie confessed, wriggling her toes. This was going better than expected.

A far more devilish expression came over Najiri's face, suddenly, eyes narrowing and one corner of her mouth pulling up into a wicked smile. "So," she teased, sniffling hard for emphasis of whatever had been bothering her. "Was I turning you on just then?"

The feline's mouth opened... then closed. Then opened again just enough to bite her lower lip coyly. There was also no lying to Najiri, she didn't even try. "Mmmaybe?"

"Well shit," came the next laugh. Her friend looked queerly delighted, and for a moment Allie was afraid (excited) that she might play up said 'affliction' again, just to tease her. Instead, a sudden thought seemed to occur to the pachyderm as she sat forward a bit, curious. "Oh, hey, does Kwame know about that? Because... holy hell," she commented, though whether that was in reference to her brother's sneezing or the subsequent fun Allie might have with it, she couldn't be sure.

"N-no way," she answered regardless, her skin warm. "It's still way too embarrassing."

"What? But you just told me!"

"Yeah, well, you're... you," Allie complained. "Kwame's... reserved."

"A prude."

"Reserved," she corrected with a smirk. "He's gonna think I'm some kind of crazy person."

Najiri reached over to pat her leg reassuringly, feigning a patronizing smile. "Oh sweetie, he already thinks you're crazy."

Allie flung a pillow at her friend, smirking when she caught it in mid air and clutched it to her chest. Tilting her jaw down a little, Najiri dropped her vocal pitch a bit and adopted a fair approximation of her brother's speech pattern. She didn't have a very noticeable accent herself, a fact that Allie attributed to being much younger when they'd left their home country, but she seemed able to mimic Kwame's just fine.

"But Ah-lee," she crooned, earning another immediate, flustered blush from the calico. "You are misseng out."

"Neej!" Allie yelped her friend's nickname in embarrassed delight, trying to hide behind her hands. Laughing, Najiri only lunged forwards suddenl and pinned the cat beneath her, neatly straddling her slender hips. Allie had to stifle a slight gasp of pleasant surprise, making a show of trying to escape instead. Like her sibling, Najiri was simply built large and muscular, with a powerful core and biceps that would make some men wilt with envy. Still, she was fit and hale, with the curve of her hips and ample bosom lending her a definite air of femininity -- no sweet, petite and willowy thing, but Allie wasn't uncomfortable beneath her weight either.

Well, not uncomfortable for fear of being crushed, anyway. "You're awful," she complained, giving her friend's middle a useless push even as she leaned down over her, bracing one hand against the sofa-arm behind the shivery cat.

"Perheps, but you love me," she continued on, rolling her r's in that familiar accent through an undercurrent of laughter. She curled her trunk playfully over Allie's neck and shoulders, to the other girl's squealing protest, then all at once sat back again with an expression of pretend discomfort. "Ah-- but I t'enk I am... ah-hh allergec t-to you -- heh...!" She gasped as if with the sudden urge to sneeze, curling her trunk over on itself and fitting a forefinger just beneath.

"Nooooo," the cat wailed, unsure whether she was going to spontaneously combust or spontaneously die of embarrassment first. All were looking like pretty good options right now as she squirmed herself beneath and between Najiri's warm strength. Was this so goddamned weird because she had suddenly within the past half-hour decided her friend was a hot piece of ass, or because she was doing a playful (and pretty accurate) roleplay of her boyfriend? Both? Ohgod.

"I cannot help it," Najiri quavered. "You mek me-- ahh- s-sneeze...!"

Exaggerated or not, the elephant was either convincing or at least unpredictable enough that Allie cringed in preparation as she drew a final deep breath. Only, of course, to have her friend dissolve into laughter ontop of her, the facade dropped.

"You're a brat and I hate you," Allie complained, though she admittedly was giggling too even as she gave Najiri's long, dark dreads an admonishing yank.

"But you're so much fun -- ow! -- to play with," she grinned in response, laying her head on Allie's shoulder in a clatter of jewelry while being mindful of her tusks. Shorter than Kwame's, but still quite capable of putting an eye (or a throat) out if she wasn't careful.

"You're not gonna tell him any of this, though, right?" The cat prompted, giving her an admonishing poke in the side.

"Ow! Okay, okay, I won't tell, just stop abusing me."

"Oh, you fragile thing," Allie snorted, but rubbed her cheek gently against a nearby shoulder, absently noting that Najiri was a bit more comfortable to cuddle with, having less overall muscle mass and a bit more feminine softness. Not that she should be cuddling with her at all, probably, but...

As if reading her mind, the elephant shifted suddenly, starting to sit up, but seemed to catch herself supported on one arm just above the lithe feline. The wrist of the opposite was being used to roughly abuse her trunk once more, rubbing and rubbing with a mild frown.

"Aw c'mon, don't milk it," Allie snickered, though her companion just shook her head slightly, scrunching her nose with a quick sniff.

"I'm not, I s-seriously have to... ugh, sorry-- HEH'IISSHH'ue!" She sneezed aside suddenly, twisting herself as far from Allie as she could, given their positions. With no time to reel back before a second struck, Najiri squeezed her eyes shut, expression collapsing into one of irritated desire, and shook the couch hard with a more relieving, "HEIH'ISSHHHHT! Oh for fuck's sake."

Allie made a tiny, squeaking noise of startled pleasure. Bicurious or not, attractive sister or not, there was definitely something viscerally thrilling about the way Najiri's larger body shuddered against her for the duration of those, strong thighs clenching hard around her and heavy breasts pressing softly into her own chest. The calico arched helplessly in response, smothering another little noise of glee behind one palm. "Mhnff!"

The musician glanced down in surprised at the sudden, warm heat surging against her. "Shit, you weren't kidding," she remarked, amused and sniffling.

"S-sorry, I didn't meant to uh---"

"No no, I'm not bitching," Najiri rectified, "I just... f-fuck, have to... huh--!"

She managed to reel back a little more this time, sitting back on folded knees as she turned aside again. "Heh'ISSSHHue!!"

Still trapped between her friend's legs (though really, she probably could have squirmed free if she'd actually wanted to), Allie dug her hands into Najiri's thighs this time, sharp nails catching and rasping at the denim as the larger woman hauled in a final, shivering breath. "Heht--- AEESHH'ue! Jesus." A long, lengthy sniffle followed. "Fuckin' 'scuse me, sorry."

"P-please tell me you're done, because I... I'm seriously gonna be a mess here in a second," Allie got out weakly. The elephant glanced down and laughed lightly, a bit breathless from the small fit of sneezing.

"Yeah, I think I'm good. Didn't shatter your pelvis or anythin', huh?"

"N-no, I'm just... holy shit." She exhaled a slow, shaky breath of her own as she hauled back in her libido. "Stop trying to make me a lesbian."

Najiri chuckled and leaned back down a bit. "Aw, but you'd be such a good one." Another firm sniff, and she went to rub at her trunk only to find Allie shyly catching her wrist.

"I uh... l-lemme get that for you," she murmured. "This is um... practice. If I decide to tell Kwame. Right?"

"Right," Najiri grinned. They both knew this was just play, if a rather risque variety, but Allie still felt that warm, sticky heat in the depths of her stomach as she reached up to gently rub her friend's trunk. That same pleasant tingling sensation when she was doing... well, basically anything with Kwame, but it was nice to find an outlet for her fetish once in a while, too.

"How's that?"

"Good," the elephant purred, scrunching her nose under Allie's palm and fingertips gently. "Li--little more." Allie tried not to whine at the breathy uncertainty in Najiri's voice again, signalling the threat of another sneeze. She wasn't sure she could handle another one. She rubbed a bit harder to compensate, watching warily as the flushed tip of her friend's trunk twitched and curled slightly.

"Ht-.... ugh, okay, s'gone," Najiri sighed. Allie echoed her, dropping her hand away with a faint smile.

"Bless you, like, a million times, by the way. You catchin' something?"

"Nah," Najiri snuffled, finally rocking her weight back and climbing up off of her friend. "Just somethin' ticklin' my trunk."

The cat shivered a little, slowly coming down from her wound-up state. Kwame was surely going to wonder if she jumped all over him the second she got to his apartment, but that was her plan regardless.

"I should... probably go," Allie murmured, hauling herself belatedly up off her friend's sofa and brushing her clothes smooth. "Nothing personal," she added with a laugh, pulling Najiri into a quick hug, lest she think her suddenly uncomfortable. "I just... y'know. Suddenly have some things. To do. Yes."

"I'll bet," the elephant laughed against her. "Have fun, say hi to Boring McSeriousface for me," she added affectionately. The only person who got teased more than Allie were her bandmates and brother, but the calico didn't doubt for a second Najiri's undying affection for both.

"I will," she promised, flashing a wink as she collected her bag, movie long since forgotten. "Though I can't even tell him that it's your fault."

85 - Teacher - Original (anthro warning!) - Male

It was painfully hard, sometimes, to pretend that their relationship didn't exist.

Well. Technically... technically it wasn't quite a relationship. As far as the university or anyone else needed to know, she and Kwame were 'just friends', and they barely mentioned even that. He wasn't any more lenient with her grades, and she didn't try to garner his favor with extensions on projects or homework assignments. At least while taking his painting course, she wouldn't be able to admit any sort of intimacy without getting him fired.

Normally this wouldn't bother her, as what they did behind closed doors was private anyway, but it did make paying attention in said class nothing short of torture. Especially when he had the sniffles.

The rest of the class and the professor himself seemed barely aware of this, but Allie had something of a developed ear and eye for this sort of thing. She'd been discreetly watching him since the beginning of class, brushing a hand absent-mindedly over his trunk every so often or snuffling softly in between critiques. He seemed alert and well-rested, so she doubted it was a burgeoning cold. Likely a change in the seasons, then, or a foreign scent caught in his nose. Silly, really, nothing to pay much mind to.

Still, she knew her observations would pay off, and was rewarded an hour into their class. Her on-the-sly partner was standing beside a plump young sheep and studying her composition.

"Is it bad?" The ewe asked timidly. Allie resisted the urge to snort. She didn't know the sheep personally, but she'd seen her work enough to recognize raw talent. What was she even worrying about?

"No, I like it. It is a little bottom-heavy, though. I think, once you add the darks to this drape, it will..." He trailed off for a moment, blinking, and paused to rub the back of one hand against his trunk with the sudden realization of an approaching sneeze.

The ewe seemed to catch on simultaneously, confusion and then a flicker of dread passing over her features in quick succession. She looked as if she wanted to dive for cover behind the nearest art bench, which made Allie want to roll her eyes as well. The destructive nature of an elephant's sneezing was a something of a running gag resulting from their impressive noses. It wasn't... entirely unfounded, but far from the exaggerated degree that jokes suggested. A quick turn of the head and polite cover was usually enough to avoid any incidents. Being a rarer species stateside, she supposed most people simply weren't around them enough to realize this.

Still, she hoped the sheep wouldn't make a scene out of this. That sort of thing tended to quietly bother her friend.

"I... are you okay?" The ewe murmured timidly, earning a quick nod in response.

"I am fi--" His expression crumpled. "Excuse me..." The elephant took a long step away from her side and towards the back of the room. A sharp breath, a hand closing tightly over the base of his trunk, and then his shoulders were shaking in tremendous containment.

"Hgk-NGKKT!" She could see rather than hear the quick, shivering inhale that preceded another. He clenched his hand tighter, and suppressed the second into near-silence but for a strangled 'ngt!'.

His relieved sigh in the aftermath was lost amidst a quick surge of murmured blessings from the rest of the class. Allie smiled a little at that. Even before she'd been crushing on (and then flirting with and molesting) her professor, she'd been very fond of his mildly teasing, but approachable nature. Her classmates seemed to be of the same mindset, always greeting him cheerfully or taking up conversations completely unrelated to the subject at hand.

Kwame seemed embarrassed by the blessing as he gave his trunk a quick rub to alleviate the ache, but nodded all the same. "Ah, thank you. Sorry," he dismissed, then quickly returned to the ewe's side as if nothing had happened.

"Wow, I hope you're not getting a cold," the sheep remarked in wonder, now more interested than afraid. Allie quietly contemplated roast mutton for dinner. Lamb stew, maybe. Lamb kebabs.

"Yes, me too," Kwame smiled, but left it at that.

Allie was apparently still staring and scowling by the time he'd finished with her classmate. She jumped as Kwame passed by her bench and tapped pointedly on the top edge of her canvas. Still mostly blank.

Panning her ears out to the sides, she daubed a thick swipe of paint onto her brush and guiltily went back to work. Right, still her teacher.

Edited April 3, 2012 by Garnet

[Spoo]

GUHHHHH! I remember some of these! Sometimes I wish your writing was a physical entity, Garnet, so I could roll around in it.

[mysterysneeze]

Wow! You did a ton of these drabbles already ^^. Amazing job with all of them so far. It seems like almost none of your characters can escape you .

[SterlingSilver]

HOLY CRAP! IT'S A FRIGGIN GOLD MINE!.. *begins to read avidly*.. Christmas has come early this year, OH YES :DDD

[Neesan]

OH GOD I LOVE THESE WITH MY BODY AND SOUL.

MOSTLY MY BODY.

Even though I read these like, forever ago, it's still so awesome to go back and re-read as I did and be all 8DDDDDDDDD after. I WAS SUCH A HAPPY TARDMUFFIN you used my chars!

MOAR PLS K THNX. 83

[Ciuty80]

so wonderful drabbles

thank you!!!

i LOVE all of them!!!

[NameTaken]

Holy sdgefge. So much Garnet ficcage!!

Omg...'Confession' has to be one of the sexiest things ever...agh. I'm not normally one for anthro fics, but all of your Ali/Kwame stuff is insanely hot.

And now his sister...guhh.

[VoOs]

Garnet drabbles!

*DEVOURS*

[Anonymouse]

Oh God I had so much to say about each individual drabble as I read them but my mind is too overloaded with awesomeness to remember...

I'm not one for anthro stuff, really, but you write so well I'd read about anything. And that one with the elephantine character... good God. There's something about sneezing with a trunk that is really... nnfff. I don't even know.

Care, Misplaced, and Wary were probably my favorites. I love premature blessings (mostly because I love multiples).

[pinknose]

So. Many. Garnet. Drabbles. *hyperventilates*

These are just... *swoons* luuuuuuv~

[March Hare]

Stop trying to make me a lesbian, indeed. Garnet, it is YOUR fault that female sneezing in fics turns me the fuck on now. By the way, that line is brilliant. Your anthro stuff is so, so lovely. Also Jenlok is HOTTT. And a lot more which I will get back to once I have seen a F about an O. Yes. Bye now.

[queenie]

I hope she IS allergic to Allie. I'm not a huge anthro fan but DAMN that is hot.

[March Hare]

I know, right?! I think Allie and Kwame and Najiri are high in the top-ten of best characters you've ever come up with, Garnet love.

...the visual aids are fucktastic. I got lost in your gallery and it was pure enjoyment.

[Garnet]

Aklsdjfhsdjh thank you for the wonderful comments, you precious people. And you can say you're not into anthro all you want, TECHNICALLY I'm not usually either but these characters seems to be stupid fun to write, but I am just happy if you're reading! So I wrote more. Tired of them yet? TOO BAD 8| <333

EDIT: Also adding in 3 or 4 other drabbles that keep getting cut off from the main topic, probably for length. Sorry for the spam, new entry as at the bottom!

13 - Care - World of Warcraft - Male

The brashness of the Alliance would never cease to amaze her! Sure, the Horde had their reputation for being brutish and savage, but that band had marched right in through Orgrimmar’s back door as if they’d owned the place!

Attacks from zealots of one faction upon the leaders of the other were not entirely uncommon, though this was the first time she’d seen a mob of humans, night elves, dwarves and their ilk make it all the way to Grommash Hold. A good number of guards had been injured or killed in the process, but despite the proximity of the Southfury entrance to Thrall’s chambers, it had been enough of a head’s-up that there was already a good crowd of Horde retaliation to meet them at the stronghold. It had been Rythe’s first time actually participating in the defense of the warchief, and despite any criticisms some of the traditionalists may have had about blood elves and their allegiances, she had done well! It was exhilarating. A rogue could get plenty done in a large crowd like that, slipping from one target to the next with a keen, seeking blade slicing hamstrings and jugulars before anyone was the wiser.

To their credit, the band of Alliance troublemakers had put up a good fight and took down some fine men, but they had been quickly trounced, especially when there came the sound of Thrall’s spirit wolves maniacally taking out anything in their path, to the delight and elation of Rythe’s ears. And she… well, she had almost escaped without a scratch.

When the last of the instigators had either crumpled to the floor or made a cowardly retreat through a convenient mage portal, she had been in the unfortunate path of a huge draenei warrior… or paladin, she couldn’t tell. She’d de-stealthed out of surprise, and in the next moment he had sent her flying to the floor with a single, tremendous swing of his mace. It hurt, knocked the wind out of her, but she didn’t feel anything crushed until he trampled right over her in his egress, smashing her right leg beneath his hooves and bulk.

With a shrill gasp of pain, Rythe pulled… dragged herself against the wall as the rest of the Kor’kron chased the remaining Alliance around like chickens in a farmyard. In the fading excitement, she was quickly forgotten, especially as Thrall stood at the far end of his chamber and rose his hands for quiet, speaking a few words of thanks and praise for the loyal defense of the Horde. Rythe would have glowed with pride if she hadn’t been worriedly trying to hoist herself to her one foot and seek out a priest or druid.

She managed, just barely, and tried to cautiously hop her way towards the happily retreating crowd, edging her way around bodies of the fallen, some guards but mostly Alliance. She nearly tripped over a night elf that she was fairly certain she’d gouged herself, and just barely caught herself on a support beam of the wall, wincing in pain.

“Girl, you en’t goin’ anywhere wit’cha leg lookin’ like dat.”

The accent was unmistakeable, and Rythe looked back fully expecting to see a troll. She was not, however, expecting to keep craning her gaze up and up and up to take in the massively tall form just behind her. Her back hit the wall in surprise, and she was sure she must have looked a sight, with her eyes wide, hands flat to the wall and right leg picked up like an awkward wading bird. Vol’jin!

She didn’t have much personal experience with trolls. Met a few in passing, of course, and had grouped with a few, but while some were friendly, others had certainly enforced their reputation of not getting on well with her race. She never really thought much of them, and least of all would she ever expect the chieftain of the entire damned tribe to be taking notice of her!

Oh, she could recognize him well enough. For one thing he stood nearly twice as tall as she, much loftier than any of the already-large Darkspears. It was also hard to mistake his tribal accoutrements, bones and feathers and leathers and tattoos and his impressive red crest of hair, styled in the manner that many trolls seemed fond of. Though at the moment, it had lost its usual proud gravity-defying style and had flopped over wetly to one side, making him looks sort of like a bedraggled puppy. With really, really big teeth. He was absent-mindedly picking ice crystals out of it and brushing them off his shoulders, indicating an encounter with one of the troublesome mages and his water elemental she’d seen running about…

Only when Rythe realized she’d been impolitely staring did she quickly shut her mouth and avert her eyes. “Oh! Er, no, I wasn’t planning on any marathons, I was just about to go find a priest or something…”

Vol’jin gave one great, final shiver to rid himself of the frost-dust before gesturing to a low-set table just a few feet away. “Si’down, I fix it up for ya. Saw ya go down but couldn’ get ta ya fast enough.” He was telling her, dropping to one knee as she blindly, without question maneuvered around to seat herself on the edge of the table. If a racial leader told you to do something, you generally didn’t disagree…

Rythe could only watch in blank amazement as the huge troll gently cradled her smashed leg and lifted it onto one of his bent knees, as tender as you like. She had only seen him a few times before, in passing, but she knew that the Darkspear chieftain was a shadow hunter. A highly spiritual class, some off-shoot of shamanism as she understood it, deeply steeped in mysterious traditions and voodoo. He was a ferocious fighter, she’d seen that much from fleeting glimpses of him trouncing the Alliance invaders just earlier, but she was embarrassed to admit she’d had no idea that he could heal as well. She supposed that made sense, if it was akin to the shamanistic arts.

“Thank you, by the way,” she blurted, startled to realize she hadn’t said more than a few silly words to him so far. The troll glanced up briefly to give her a smile, deepening the few age-lines of his face into endearing little creases before going back to his work without comment. She watched with shameless intrigue as he worked, only vaguely aware that they were some of the few individuals remaining the hold the proper, apart from Thrall and his envoy of guards and confidants on the far side of the room. She would have felt very small and honored if she hadn’t been so swept up in the troll leader literally at her feet.

Either the leg had already begun to swell or it wasn’t worth the pain of trying to roll her leggings up, for Vol’jin produced a small belt knife and made short work of the leather, murmuring an apology to her as he did so for the ruined pair of pants. She could only nod at him dumbly. Was he serious? This was well worth the little amount of gold she’d tossed away on her fighting gear. Although, as he peeled the excess leather away, she almost wished he’d kept it on, for now she could see full well where a messy compound fracture had sent a broken edge of bone ripping and poking right through her skin, blood oozing from the wound. Rythe grimaced and looked away.

Unfazed, Vol’jin poked and prodded at the leg for a few minutes first, assessing where the other breaks in the bone were. Too often, she knew, healers in the field had to make their first aid work quick and inconspicuous, which frequently resulted in bones healing the wrong way, excessive scar tissue, and so forth. It was better than dying, of course, but she was relieved to see that he was giving the injury his full attention.

“Dis hurt much?” He wondered, shifting her leg a bit, and while she was squeamishly unsettled by the sensation of her snapped tibia shifting around, she had to admit that it was more of a dull ache than the screaming pain she expected.

“Not as much as it should…”

“Prolly still in shock. I try ta make dis quick ‘fore it sets in, den,” the Darkspear chuckled, and instinctively went to work aligning her bones. She couldn’t look directly at his work, instead distracting herself by studying the troll’s face as he bent to work, now that she would not come off as rudely staring.

He had a strangely dignified face, for a troll. She had always thought their absurdly long noses, ears, tusks and jaws made for strange or even goofy faces, but he carried his pronounced features well. She never would have called a troll precisely handsome, at that, but in his younger days she could see that he was probably quite the heart-breaker. Presumably. She had no idea what exactly troll females looked for in a mate, but he had long tusks and a kind, intelligent gleam to his eye so she figured that was a start. The rogue was somewhat intrigued by those elongated eyeteeth, watching them bob as his head moved, occasionally brushed by the thick red locks of hair that had flipped over on one side. She wanted to touch them. She was not suicidal enough to try.

A sudden soft, green glow perfused her leg, and she chanced a distracted look down. His huge, three-fingered hands were lightly cupping her calf, and she felt rather than saw the bones in her leg shift back into their proper places and fuse together. It was an incredibly bizarre sensation, tingling and itching at the same time, and distantly Rythe would note, with some surprise, that trolls were furry. His hands felt like fine velveteen on her broken skin.

“That’s an interesting feeling, I’ve never had a major broken bone before,” she found herself chatting blithely, before she could think to school herself into silence. “And I didn’t know that you were a healer. Amazing.”

Vol’jin did not seem disdainful, only giving a wry grin as he kept one hand on her leg and poked the other about in a small leather satchel at his side. “Heh. Lukou bless me,” he replied, and she assumed that to be some voodoo god or another. “An’ dey can be a bit tricky, bones, if dey en’t aligned right. Should be set now, but ya gon’ be weak on it fi’ de next day or two, and s’gonna ache somet’in powahful. Dis help keep de pain away,” he remarked, holding up a small jar of salve that he’d uncovered, and began to rub into the steadily-healing cuts on her legs, working it into the skin.

“Ouf, it stinks,” she muttered, unable to control her own tongue again as the sharp, pungent odor of the stuff hit her. Rythe blushed and lowered her eyes. “Um. I don’t mean to complain, though.”

The troll chuckled again. “Irie, child, it does stink. Useful, though. Makes me sneeze somet’in awful, so apologies in advance.”

Well, now he had her attention doubly so, and for an entirely different reason. While he dressed the fresh-healed leg with salve and stiff bandages – she assumed to keep her from rebreaking it while the bones were still a bit brittle – Rythe felt herself subconsciously staring at his long, blue-green nose. Wondering what, exactly, a sneeze from a troll of his size and stature would sound like.

It wasn’t long before her curiosities were abated. As he was winding her leg up like a mummy, she saw the soft, angular underside of his nose tremble slightly. He brushed a knuckle beneath it absent-mindedly, but that probably only made things worse, as his hands still held the oily residue of the salve at the fingertips. He realized this too, she noticed, as his whole nose gave a wrinkling twitch, gathering the bridge of it into tight, fuzzy little wrinkles.

To his credit, he kept at his work, wrapping tightly and neatly and ignoring the increasingly frequent little ticks and twitches of his long, slender nostrils in response to a vapor that was likely overloading his senses. She could almost envision it curling into one nostril, tickling the rim and the deepest reaches of his nose. Not once did she stop to consider the weirdness of the intrigue. There was something bewitching about this troll. Rythe found herself completely rapt on his features, seemingly more aware of the mounting sneeze than he was, waiting for it to overwhelm the otherwise calm, unshakeable shadow hunter. However, she also had a sudden, unbidden vision of those huge tusks plunging right into her belly, should he sneeze unexpectedly, and felt herself tense with panic at the otherwise absurd thought.

As if perfectly timed, Vol’jin hesitated in his work and turned his head slightly to the side. Staring as she was, she could see his upper lip trembling slightly, curling back from impressively long, upturned teeth.

“Heh, see,” he spoke, surprising her as he made a fist with one hand and scrubbed it a little more aggressively against his nose. “Startin’ up alreadeh. S’cuse me…

“HE’EHHSHUU!”

The first exclamation was so explosive and echoing that she jumped in her seat, jarring the newly-healed leg and wincing when it gave an admonishing throb of left-over pain. Vol’jin steadied her foot with one hand, keeping the other loosely curled beneath his nose as it scrunched up in preparation for another.

“HR’ESSHHU! –Hk’ESSCHHuu!”

The third was weaker in force, and she could tell by the chieftain’s gingerly relaxing expression that he’d sneezed the itch away for the moment. He gave a quick shake of his head as if to settle the matter, before brushing some of his fallen mohawk away from his eyes, tucking it back behind one ear. “Hm, sorry ‘bout dat. Didn’t jostle ya, eh?”

“N-no, I just jumped a bit. Bless you!”

“T’anks. I t’ink you all set now,” he went on smoothly, not seeming to think much of the interruption. None of the other guards were looking at them, either, most seeming caught up in tending their own wounds or dragging the dead away. Thrall was deep in tense conversation on the other end of the room. Despite the loudness of the exclamations, she felt them an oddly private indulgence, and looked back at the troll with a smile as he continued. “You be favorin’ de otha one fi’ a couple days, okay?” He told her, gently lifting the leg off his knee and setting it back to the floor. He stood, going from having a few inches on her to having about five feet on her, and she gulped as she struggled to stand.

The leg did feel much better, she could put some weight on it though she agreed with his diagnosis that it would be a bit weak for the next forty-eight hours or so, until the healing spell had completely spent itself. Until then, she could already feel the deep tissue salve working to lessen the ache and stiffness of the ruptured and rejoined muscles. The miracles of the healing arts! Sometimes she wishes she had a talent for the bandage as much as she did for the dagger.

“Thank you, again. It is an honor to be healed by you, Vol’jin,” she began awkwardly, unsure of how to properly express her gratitude at this welcome and yet completely surreal experience. “If there’s anything I can—,”

“H’ESSHHU!!” He interrupted her ramble by bracing a hand on one thigh and sneezing off to the side once more. “Hah! Hheh’ERSSHUU!” Again, at the floor. He waved her off.

“Don’t be gettin’ all sappy on me, girl. Ya done ya part fi de Horde, I heals ya as I would any of me… HAH’ESHSHU!! Hah, s’cuse me! Of me own.”

“Bless you!” She could have stayed around all day watching the huge troll sneeze off the effects of his own healing. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Jes’ the salve,” the shadow hunter replied good-naturedly, smiling. Strange, intriguing, dangerous witchdoctor, but he was very endearing what with his sneezing and smiling and gentle hand with her leg. “It be wearin’ off in a few minutes, soon as I wash me hands. You get on now, fen’di, okay? Keep offa dat leg.”

Opting not to risk overstaying her unexpected welcome, Rythe tipped herself in an awkward bow to the troll and made her way out, head still reeling from the strangeness of it all. Well, she could at least thank the Alli for granting her that little encounter!

7 - Misplaced - World of Warcraft

Though they were strictly business and diplomatic in nature, Jaina had found herself looking forward to her occasional meetings with the leader of the Horde. Strange concept for most to grasp, as the majority of the discussions were on establishing boundaries, trading useful information on the politics of each faction, dealing with mutual threats between their respective strongholds on Kalimdor. It was not, she would never admit, the matters they discussed that she found so intriguing, but the Horde leader himself.

Despite her age, Jaina had seen the world fall to ruin and rebuild itself, she’d come nose to nose with some of the most enormous threats to Azeroth and beyond more times than she cared to count, and she carried herself with the aplomb, intelligence, and skill of a mage whose talents preceded her name. And she’d had to deal with a load of crap. Political games and string-pulling were so common in the Alliance, one had to tread carefully and always one’s back, despite the mandate of brotherhood and nobility that the faction had been founded on.

Not that she considered the Horde the ideal by any means, they had a whole other brand of problems, but their figurehead was a refreshing change from those she was accustomed to dealing with. Thrall didn’t dither about, didn’t make false pretenses about menial issues, no chain-jerking or bush-beating or, thank God, distracted ogling or digs at her position as a result of her gender. He was just… Thrall. Huge, powerful, wise Thrall who carried as immense a weight as she, but with calmness and patience.

Yes, she’d grown quite fond of the big orc, and especially his brand of selective, but clever humor that always seemed to find its way into their matters of discourse. It made otherwise trying times seem somehow more bearable.

They very rarely met on factioned ground – albeit she would not deny that a portal to Orgrimmar, in the middle of Grommash Hold, was within her repertoire of spells. The afternoon had brought them to an old orc watch-tower in the Southern Barrens, a fair and equal distance between their respective cities. It had been long abandoned, but was still in good shape and made a good rest spot for exhausted travelers or, as now, visiting diplomats.

The top room they had to themselves. Though either leader oft came accompanied by a small unit of guards, they waited by the entrance to the tower outside, a mere formality. Both she and Thrall were level-headed individuals and on definite friendly terms, despite their factional differences. She no more expected him to raise a hand against her than she did her closest confidants in Theramore.

Jaina sat across from him at a large, round table, poring over some maps spread between them. Not just of Kalimdor, but of the Eastern Kingdoms and Northrend as well, and their conversation varied to nearly every corner of each. It occasionally became quite heated and yet still the thought to call for her guards never would have crossed her mind, nor did it his, she was sure. So wrapped up in their words, she hardly noticed the passage of the afternoon until the sudden piercing brilliance of the sun slipping behind the flat, shimmering horizon of the barrens gleamed harshly from the window.

Jaina looked towards it in dismay and sighed. “Oh, Thrall, I didn’t mean to keep you so long, you’ll never get back before nightfall. I’ll make you a portal…”

Sitting back from the large scroll before them, weighed down will small rocks at each corner, Thrall gave a warm chuckle and folded his huge, green hands over his stomach. “Your concern is appreciated, Jaina, but you’re not keeping me. I have left the city in most capable hands. I may, however, take you up on the offer.” She’d gotten used to the grin he gave her now, quite toothy but only on account of the tusks. She found herself smiling in response.

“Well, enough about Northrend matters for now, anyway,” she reassured, reaching to upend the sheet of parchment from the makeshift paperweights. It was a fairly large sheet and she had to stand back and rise to roll it, throwing up a decent little bit of dust in the process. The old watchtower wasn’t falling down around their ears, certainly, but that didn’t mean it had a housekeeping staff. “That’s too heavy a subject to leave the conversation on. Tell me some juicy gossip,” she grinned as she packed up the map and reached for the next, lying just beneath it.

Thrall waved the small, rising dust-cloud away with a tense cough that she fancied she could feel vibrating right through the floor and up into her boots. She apologized, and he shook his head, offering again that crooked, tusked smile. “Well, there was an incident with the quilboar near Razor Hill that was more humorous than tragic, as I understand it…” he began, baiting and reeling in her interest only to pause with a faintly disinterested look upon his face. Or perhaps just disconnected, thick brows converging slightly and the piercing, unnatural blue of his eyes studying a point distant.

“Well?” She prodded after what she considered a reasonable length of dramatic effect pause.

Suddenly, the orc’s features scrunched up, exposing his ferociously pointed teeth and crinkling his eyes in such a terrible grimace that Jaina had never seen before, even in the midst of a passionate debate. “A moment,” he warned, making a dismissive gesture with one hand while the other curled the first knuckle beneath his nose. “The dust…”

She had an idea of what was coming, then, and relaxed with an apologetic smile and a nod, politely reserving discussion for the moment. She couldn’t deny a sort of odd curiosity as well, that kept her studying Thrall from the corner of her eye as she resumed rolling the maps.

Jaina wasn’t sure precisely what she’d expected from an orc’s sneeze, but it was remarkably human-like to her first impression. She supposed most of the actions were sort of universal, in the way that he itched at the tip of his short, strongly arched nose for a second and the light, hitching catch of his breath. She also assumed, perhaps incorrectly but perhaps not, that most were not as polite about it as Thrall, the way he cupped a huge hand to easily span nose and mouth and turned quite far from the table and company, shoulders heaving in a great shudder of release.

“HH’RFSSHH!”

It was a perfect sound for him, she decided. Short, poignant, powerful. Maybe not as efficient as he would have liked, for the orc remained ostensibly turned and fixed in his position, hand to face. After a breath or two, the anticipated second sneeze manifested just as the first, with a quick breath and tremendous shiver.

“H’RSHFF!”

“Bless you,” Jaina offered, perfectly sweet, and jumped when he snarled.

“–HH’WHRFF!!”

Ah, a bit premature on her comment, then. “And again!”

The orc seemed better for the short trio, sitting back with a great sigh and a faintly sheepish smile for her. Jaina found it amusing, a creature so large and, to be quite honest, threatening-looking as he…affecting an embarrassed demeanor. Orcs were a much more emotive race than most people thought. “My apologies. I ought to be used to it…”

“It happens to the best of us,” she dismissed with a soft chuckle, then glanced towards him with some interest as the warchief withdrew something from within his breastplate. To her greatest surprise yet, it looked to be a scrap of cloth. Simple linen, unbleached, but the mere presence of it made her outright giggle, especially as Thrall dabbed it gently beneath his nose.

He gave her a somewhat puzzled look and she touched a hand over her mouth apologetically, but smiling still. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you keep a handkerchief!”

“It comes in handy,” the orc agreed, peering at her but seeming more curious than put off, his tone implying that he required further explanation from her.

“It just doesn’t seem like a very…” she faltered. Diplomat she was, but the phrase that had come to mind was over-generalizing. She didn’t want to offend him, but could think of no other finish but an honest, “… orcish thing to do.”

To her relief, Thrall smiled wryly and sat back, crumpling the cloth into one fist and flaring his green nostrils with a firm sniff. “I have a monocle too, you know.” That sent her into a fit of giggles again. “And I drink the blood of my enemies with pinky extended.” He demonstrated a miming motion with one little finger stuck out to the side, nearly as thick around as her wrists.

He was teasing her in return, but she took it with likewise good humor. “And here I’ve been leaving you off the guest list to my tea parties! A thousand pardons, my friend.”

11 - Hot/Cold - World of Warcraft

"Anar'alah! Your hands are like icicles!"

Carrefour looked mildly chagrined as he drew his skeletal fingertips back, an instant before she seized them and laid them reassuringly back to her breast, braving the chill of bony digits on bare skin. He sniffed faintly, a splitsecond wrinkle of narrow nosetip before relaxing again.

"I'm sorry, my blood doesn't run as hot as it used to..."

Despite what most would think, sharing a bed with one of the Forsaken was not as repulsive as it might seem. Well, not repulsive at all in Khira's opinion, especially as Carrefour's body was a lot more cohesive than some unfortunates. There were downsides, however, such as his inability to maintain any sort of body heat. Cuddling with someone who was room temperature at best was a little odd. He leeched off of hers well enough, but an unexpected cold snap had hit Tirisfal Glades this past week, coating Brill first in a delicate white rimefrost and then a faint dusting of snow. It was good weather for staying in bed, though she did wish that her companion had had the foresight to have a fireplace in the bedroom. She supposed the cold probably didn't bother him as much. He was sniffling quite a bit, but that was likely due to Rak'shiri sleeping in the next room. Despite being a frost-saber, the mage had grudgingly allowed the huge cat entrance in from the cold, so long as he stayed out of his immediate radius.

"It's alright, they'll warm up. It's just freezing in here."

Carrefour mused a little space, drawing one hand free to rub a finger absent-mindedly beneath his nose. She rather hoped he was catching cold. He flicked his eyes back up to the hunter before any more interesting follow-through. "There might be some extra blankets in the hall closet." His tone communicated that he, however, would not be the one to retrieve them. The thin wool cover draped over them seemed to suit him just fine.

Sighing, Khira relucantly withdrew from the warm hollow in the mattress she'd been nursing for the past twenty minutes. He'd have it ice cold by the time she got back, the bastard. The blood elf hissed in displeasure as her feet touched the icy floor, and made a quick near-naked prance towards the linen closet.

It obviously hadn't been opened in quite some time, but then she already knew that the undead's former home now mainly served as a private laboratory of sorts, away from the hustling, demanding atmosphere of the Apothecarium in the Undercity proper. Batting away the whorls of dust that billowed forth with a cough, the hunter hugged her arms close and danced from foot to foot as she made a cursory survey of the closet's contents.

Some old crates, a few well-worn tailcoats, dusty beakers and flasks stored on the top shelf. Nothing of great interest in the gloom, until her eye caught a flash of white from beneath dark frocks and ratty cloaks. Tentatively pushing some of the men's clothing out of the way, her brows arched. Long and white, almost ethereal and seeming wholely out of place mixed in with his garments. Unable to resist temptation, her hand gingerly ghosted the fine scalloped hems and she wondered at the sudden, uncomfortable feeling the sight provoked. Like she was suddenly an intruder into a private affair, a private home of a happy couple...

A sudden wet, shivering sneeze from the bedroom broke her reverie and, cursing him for waiting until she was out of sight, the hunter snatched a small stack of blankets from one shelf and darted the closet door closed.

"You found some?"

Khira nodded as she unfurled the covers with a billowing snap, laying thicker wool and one fur-lined piece three-high on the bed. There, that should do it. Scurrying back beneath the sheets, she was pleased to find that he hadn't stolen her little pool of warmth, and that it still offered some retaining heat to her chilled skin. It would take a while to warm the whole bed, but the extra weight of the blankets felt comforting, at least.

"You could do with some housekeeping, you know."

"Hm." He sniffed, scrunching his once-fine features and edged back towards her, steeping in her thermal energy. She hesitated at wrapping her arms around the mage, however cute he was being what with the runny-nose and the vaguely itchy expression as he snuggled into her chest.

She knew it wasn't strange for the Forsaken to cling to whatever aspects of their former lives they could find, small keepsakes were life rafts adrift in a sea of murky amnesia. Still, the ghostly white image stayed with her.

"Carrefour..."

"Hm?" More lilting this time, the dim light of his eyes glowed up at her from the shadow of the covers.

"That gown in the closet... your wife's?"

His expression was blank for a few moments, which oddly made her feel a bit better and less intrusive about the question. Eventually his brows lifted and he drew another thin sniffle, crooking a bony knuckle beneath his nose. "Ah, yes. It was. I'd forgotten it was in there."

Oh. What more could she say? The silence was heavy and palpable. Thank the light that Carrefour was perceptive, however, for he seemed to notice too, and after a moment cleared his throat to continue.

"It's not as sentimental as you might thi--ih..." Frustratingly and thrillingly, his voice quavered as the ticklish urge to sneeze surfaced again, crumpling his expression as a hand was tremblingly raised. "Hih--!"

Normally she would have delighted in this like a cat with a bowl of cream, but for once, the interruption seemed inopportune. Before she could get completely derailed by his bodily functions, the blood elf touched a slender fingertip to his nose, pressing down just slightly. His upper lip quivered dangeously for a moment, showing the tips of jagged teeth, before suddenly he relaxed with a weak sigh, the sensation waylayed.

"Thank you..." Sniff! "As I was saying... it's not as sentimental as you might think."

"No? It's fine, if it was, I mean... I was just curious."

The mage shook his head minutely where it lay on the pillows. "I keep it out of guilt, and false hope."

She eyed him skeptically. "Guilt?"

He sighed, a reedy, nasal sound. "Yes. So many of us... snff! Excuse me. So many of us have no recollection of our past lives at all. No memories, no records, no mementos. I remember very little, but it's enough to pity those that have nothing. It seems... wasteful, mocking almost to get rid of it."

His train of thought was a little strange, but she thought she'd gotten the gist of it. "Then it wasn't... her wedding dress or anything."

Carrefour lifted one shoulder in a bony shrug. "I don't think so. Truth be told, I don't even remember her wearing it, though I know that it was hers. I kept thinking, if I held onto it... and looked at it often enough, it would awaken some lost memories. But I fear those parts of my brain may be rotted away forever."

Her fingertips stroked his chest gently. "Now you're being angsty."

He smiled ruefully and wound long, gaunt arms around her, furling her in closer to his softly musty, chemical scent. "You asked. But I'm not upset, don't take it like that. I'm rather glad you pointed it out, voicing my reasons aloud to someone... it sounds silly to keep it now. I may get rid of it tomorrow -- iht'KSSHiu!!"

The sneeze returned so suddenly that neither of them had much preparation to stop it. He'd smothered the explosion hastily into an edge of the blanket. "Pardon, it crept up on me..." Snff!

She wasn't entirely sure if that made her feel better, but he seemed content so she nodded and blessed him softly. He was quiet a moment, and she realized with some irony that his naked fingertips had found the crossed scar just above her breast, where his own blade had driven in so many years before she'd 'met' him. "Besides, you have done a better job of bringing back old memories than any dusty old garment..."

That did earn a slight blush, and once more feeling integrated into the mage's life... or unlife as it were, she smirked and placed a lock of her hair into his hand, which he seemed pleased with. "Oh I'm sure I can think of all sorts of painful flashbacks to induce, if you get fresh..."

He chuckled and ran the soft, silky strands through his fingertips appreciatively. "Are you warmer, now?"

She thought on this for a moment, watching his nose twitch with tiny follow-up sniffles. That would develop into something nice, she was certain. Bad for him, nice for her. She could probably find an excuse to stay in Tirisfal a few more days, despite the unpleasant weather. "I'm getting there. You, on the other hand..." And here she did take his other, placing it under her arm where he skin was hot to the touch. "May need some work."

He smiled deviously, the effect somewhat ghoulish but oddly endearing, and gave her hair a little tug. "I look forward to it."

63 - Control - X-Men

I guess this is sort of movieverse themed, IDK. I had a random boner for Cyclops the other day, even though I haven't thought about X-Men in yeaaars. Evi is an old-ass character that I revamped a bit. Her powers are echolocation/manipulation of very high and low frequency soundwaves.

“Thanks again for letting me tag along, Mr. Summers,” Evi volunteered around another indulgent sip of some iced coffee drink. She’d been pleased at having enough money left over from the necessary purchases to treat herself a little. “I’d been trying to get somebody to take me into town for days.”

The elder man’s eyes flicked over her sidelong – at least, she assumed they did. It was pretty hard to read his expression sometimes behind the omnipresent ruby lenses, but she could infer quite a lot from a tilt of the head or brow. The faint twitch of a smile was sweet icing on the cake.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m only sorry we didn’t have some more hand-me-down coats that fit, you wouldn’t have had to wait so long.”

A recent student of Xavier’s Academy, like so many others there Evi had not come from a wealthy or affluent background. Even those that had often no longer had the support of their parents once their powers had emerged. In any case, they treated her so well at the Academy that she felt silly asking for even basic necessities like a winter coat, something that surely everyone ought to have. Everyone except her. The Professor had been only too happy to oblige her with the funds, which she was ashamed but helpless not to accept, but asking someone to take her down to the shops on a special trip was a hurdle of shyness she hadn’t been able to cross.

When she’d overhead Mr. Summers’ mention of taking the Mazda into Westchester to be inspected, it had taken no small amount of courage to plead her case for tagging along. He had been very pleasantly receptive to the idea, though she still felt a little flustered at being out alone with one of her instructors.

The fact that she had been harboring a very small crush the man since she’d arrived probably didn’t help, and Evi was only too glad that Ms. Grey wasn’t here as well. Not out of jealousy, but she was sure she’d die of embarrassment if the telepath caught any of the teen’s wayward thoughts about her husband.

Her own dark eyes darted back to the sidewalk ahead as they walked with companionable but respectful closeness back towards the auto garage, where the car was waiting. “I felt so bad asking…”

Suddenly, his hand was resting gently on her shoulder. Her skin prickled with heat, and she wanted to look away to downplay the girlish blush, but it would be rude not to meet his gaze. Such as it was.

“Evi, don’t be shy to ask for anything you need. There are a lot of students at Xavier’s, and we want all of them to be comfortable, but you do have to speak up for yourself.”

She nodded, throat tight, and hoped that he would pass her pinkened complexion off as chagrin. Unbeknownst to her, the quickening of her heart had led to the other subconscious expression of her nervousness as well, one she hadn't quite mastered the art of suppressing or even noticing until it was too late. The anomaly only caught her attention when her instructor's delicately chiseled features acquired a faintly twitchy cast and the hand quickly retreated from her shoulder.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Mr. Summers..." She cursed herself for ever revealing that weakness of her powers to her mentors, that unconscious emission of high-frequency vibrations during moments of unrest. It was so much more obvious than blushing when suddenly everyone in the vicinity had a blistering headache or erupted into a fit of sneezing. At least the other mutant seemed inclined towards the latter...

"It's..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the irritation of invisible soundwaves rattling through his sinuses proving too difficult to power through. "Hh! H'uptCHSHH!" The X-Man formed a loose fist with one hand, bringing it beneath his nose as he turned from her, expression crumpling. "Hupt'CSSH! -- CSSHuu!"

"Bless you," she offered, feeling terrible even as her stomach twined itself in a knot at the delicious sound and hapless agony that splashed across his normally calm features. To her recollection, this was the first time it had ever actually happened when she was around him and oh, how she wished she could savor it in private. It took no small amount of effort to force her own nerves to settle, lest she set him off even harder and have the whole episode perpetuate itself.

"Heht'CSSH! Ahh--! Hh... t-thank you," he managed to get out with a shivering sigh, the slight tremble of his upper lip relaxing as the frequency dropped off and petered out. "It's alright, it happens," came the gentle reassurance a few breathy, if relieved moments later, patient with her even after she'd forced him into involuntary bodily spasms. She supposed there were far more destructive consequences to losses of control over powers, though. She was reminded of this with some flicker of dread as her instructor gently, discreetly nudged his sunglasses back up from where they'd slipped down his nose a fraction of an inch, in the midst of his small fit. Far, far more disastrous.

Well, one small reassurance: at least he couldn't sneeze with his eyes open.

4 - Fake - Original (anthro warning!) - Male

She must have passed by this little restaurant at least two dozen times in her occasional trips downtown for groceries and other necessities, but she'd never stopped in. Now that Kwame had introduced her to it, however, it was quickly becoming one of Allie's favorite spots in the city, and she jumped at every opportunity to grab a quick lunch there The atmosphere was quiet, artsy, pleasant, and the fare was cheap and catered to a wide variety of diets and tastes. Kwame mostly appreciated the extensive vegan options, but she was considering a serious, long-term love affair with their chicken gnocchi soup.

It was also nice to do silly simply couple things like eating out together, but really. It was mostly the soup.

"If this soup was a person, we'd run away together and elope," she informed Kwame calmly, as he sliced through eggplant with the side of his fork.

"And then you would eat it? I am sure it must be illegal to consume your spouse."

"Hm, point. Maybe if I hide the bowl..."

He smirked, but filled his mouth with another bite, so she swung her legs cheerfully and looked to the rest of the afternoon dining populace. It was a little crowded in here today, noisier than usual. They'd been lucky to get seats, and she reminded herself not to linger too long.

"Hi."

Allie looked towards Kwame in surprise for a moment, then followed his gaze down. There was a small wolf cub standing at their table, barely able to see over the edge. He stretched up to plop his chubby forearms on it anyway and wagged his tail.

"Hello," she replied with a startled blink, seeing that her companion still had his mouth full and was exempt from responding. She looked up for the child's mother, and saw a frazzled-looking female wolf a table or two away, bent over a much younger child in a car seat carrier. "Is that your mom?" She pointed in the wolf's direction and looked back down at the cub. "She might get worried where you are."

He nodded, still wagging. He could've have been more than four or five. "Yeah. She busy." He didn't move, and instead seemed to be gazing at Kwame with adoring fascination.

Allie blinked again. She liked children alright, and knew how easy it was to slip away if you turned your back for a heartbeat. She just hoped that the mother wasn't one of the viciously overprotective types that would assume they were trying to abduct her child.

"I like your nose," the cub announced suddenly, pointing at the huge bull elephant.

Kwame swallowed the bite of food and smiled at the nosy cub, gentle as you please. "Thank you, I am quite fond of it myself."

"Can I touch it?"

Talking with someone else's child was entirely different from physical contact with someboy's else's child, so Allie was relieved when her companion only shook his head apologetically. "No, sorry. I am coming down with a cold, I would not want you to catch it."

It was a neat little lie that even a child could understand, and even though she wanted to kick her boyfriend under the table, she was too busy trying not to choke on her soup as he sniffled lightly for emphasis and draped the trunk over his opposite shoulder.

"Oh," the young wolf sounded disappointed but nodded in acceptance. Someone had raised him with some manners, it seemed. The cub's eyes went wide, then, as a sudden thought seemed to occur to him. "Wow! What happen when you sneeze?"

Kwame made a small sound of amusement. "People usually start running in the opposite direction."

Allie had to share a giggle with the cub at that, then petered off abruptly as she saw the mother wolf come suddenly rushing over to scoop up her son.

"Lucien! Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she begged, alternatingly her frazzled glance between the seated pair. Another cub was hanging onto her skirts, and she had the car seat with the infant held over one arm. "He just slipped off, I hope he wasn't bothering you."

"He was fine," Kwame dismissed pleasantly.

"Don't worry about, he's a cutie," Allie agreed in turn. "Besides, you look like you've got your hands full."

The wolf nodded and flashed a weary grin as she boosted Lucien a little higher against one shoulder. "Yeah, tell me about it. Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him, and sorry again."

When they'd waved her off and out the door, Allie turned back to her boyfriend and stuck her tongue out pointedly. "That was a nice little cover-up."

He raised his brows, but didn't look up from gathering another bit of breaded eggplant. "Which part?"

"The fake bit about... coming down with a cold." She could barely say it without blushing.

"Ah." He raised the fork. "That was not a lie."

She flustered as he calmly worked over the bite for a few moments. "O-oh?"

"Mmn, I can feel it right here," the painter mused, pinching a free hand over the bridge of his nose. "It tickles." She stared at the spot probably longer than strictly necessary, then swallowed.

"Well. We'd better stop at the drug store on the way home then."

"A good idea."

She was quiet for a moment, torn between excited anticipation and annoyance with her partner for teasing her so 'innocently' in public. After another few slurping spoonfuls of soup and a vengeful notion forming in her mind, she spoke up.

"Hey, Kwame?"

"Hm?"

"I want kids."

The sound of his startled cough and splutter was entirely satisfying.

Edited January 30, 2015 by Garnet

[SterlingSilver]

Wuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv~

*huggles drabbles*

Just like everything you write, these are AMAZING~ <3

[Anonymouse]

Oh my goodness that wolf puppy. Children coming up to your table in restaurants would be much less annoying if they were all anthro wolf cubs.

"Mmn, I can feel it right here," the painter mused, pinching a free hand over the bridge of his nose. "It tickles." She stared at the spot probably longer than strictly necessary, then swallowed.

[March Hare]

Tee-hee "I want kids." Deadpan revenge. Oh gods, but he had it coming so hard. BASTARD. Raaahhh. I want to hug Allie. I feel for her.

[Garnet]

You're all too sweet and I love you akjhdjfh. I promise more of those two dorks soon if y'all aren't sick of them <3 But for now, have a bit of female Skyrim nonsense, partially inspired by this dumb video.

3 - Frightened - TES: Skyrim - Female (this is what my Dragonborn looks like in-game but of course few people have the same tastes in big mean ugly women that I do, so feel free to imagine whoever you want in the female role for this!)

Traveling with the Dragonborn was an honor and a privilege, a position that Kelt was flattered to occupy. It was dangerous too, of course, as the wielder of the Voice tended to get wrapped up with the most threatening foes and complex political plots, her adventures much more extensive than the riding around and hunting of dragons that Kelt had imagined. It was exciting, however, and Kelt was an excellent ranged shot with his arrows. He was always available to cover the Dragonborn's back, but rarely in the direct line of fire, figuratively or literally.

Except, this time he was. And it was a far more delicate subject to breach than fooling corrupted guilds of assassins or stalking rabid ice trolls through the snow.

"Dragonborn?"

"Hm," she replied in a grunt, without lifting her gaze from the tattered map spread out before her. She'd given up on correcting his formal use of her title in place of her name. She didn't appear to think much of the position at all, really, either for the fame or infamy it lent her. Masha was just... Masha, Dragonborn or not. Kelt could appreciate that, but it didn't change that things might get a bit tricky in a moment here.

"You, ah..." He'd rehearsed these words a dozen times in his head, but now that he finally had to address the subject, his tongue tangled in confusion. "You ...haven't caught cold, have you?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then slowly, warily touched a gloved fingertip to her nose. The Nord's large nostrils, which had been flaring with apparently unnoticed irritation for some minutes now, wrinkled a bit at the contact. She sniffed experimentally, while his breath caught in sudden, wary alarm. Hers didn't, however, exhaling through her mouth with a puzzled glare.

"No." She hated to ask it, he knew she did, but grudging curiosity eventually got the better of her. "... why?"

"Oh, ah, n-no reas--- your nose," he changed his mind suddenly, when his worries continued unmitigated. "It seems to be bothering you. I just wondered."

She'd been angry at him for less, but at the moment the Dragonborn merely seemed perplexed. She crinkled said nose again, an almost absurdly delicate gesture considering its prominence. No one would have called the Dragonborn 'pretty', but handsome in a hard, rough-hewn way perhaps. If Kelt had any opinions on the matter, he'd wisely suppressed them. They were travel companions, that was all.

Her nostrils twitched once, again making his gut clench with uncertainty, but she went back to her map reading with a dismissive growl of, “Dust. It happens.”

Kelt could believe that. The hunting post they’d taken shelter in for the night was a welcome change from their usual tents. Four walls, even old and rotting, blocked the wind more effectively, and offered better protection from wild animals ravaging their supplies during the night. It was small, though, little more than a shack and barely large enough for the two of them to lay comfortably without tangling in each other’s way. He didn’t mind sitting close to her, enough to feel her body heat and the tickle of her animal skin cloaks against his skin, but there also was no real way to get out of the way quickly enough if she decided to...

Well. He could always dive for the door, he supposed. Or convince her to do the same.

“Ah, yes, nobody’s been in here in some time, have they?” He coughed in agreement at the fine film of grey coating the ruined furniture. “W-would you like a handkerchief?” That wouldn’t help. “Or to... step outside for a moment?”

This time, the Dragonborn rolled the map and set it aside with a sigh, turning to look at him in the full glow of the lanternlight, her eyes bright. He’d been cold a few moments ago, without a fire, but her disdainful glare seemed to warm him from the inside-out. Not in a romantic way, either.

“Kelt, what in all hells are you blathering about? It’s dust. I’m fine. I’ll sneeze and then we’ll go to sleep.”

He cleared his throat anxiously, but was glad at least that she’d suggested the thing first. It made the segue a little easier. “Ah, yes, that’s rather the thing. It’s just that this shack is so old, and under normal circumstances a sneeze wouldn’t bother it or me, of course, but I just... keep thinking back to that hideout a few weeks ago, you remember? It was so dusty, and that wall, those bandits...”

She stared at him a moment more, and he wondered if she truly didn’t remember. It was... maybe a bit funny looking back on it now, but Kelt had still been wholly alarmed by the incident. He’d thought the Dragonborn’s sniffling and frequent, agitated noserubs rather endearing at first, if wildly out of place. That perception changed to dread when she’d finally sneezed, somehow summoning the force of a shout behind it to completely obliterate half of a bandit keep they’d been infiltrating. Even if he’d still been blessing her when they found the corpses some few hundred feet away, it wouldn’t have been sufficient.

Unrelenting Force was one of his favorite shouts to watch, and useful besides, but Kelt had quickly decided he never wanted to see her lose control over it again, especially if he was in the near vicinity.

Fortunately, the memory had apparently just returned to the Dragonborn, and she laughed so abruptly that he jumped a little.

“The Silent Moons camp? Those bandits? For pity’s sake, Kelt, I was in the middle of a shout,” she laughed again, a rare enough sound when she wasn’t drunk. “It was poorly timed, I admit, but it doesn’t always happen like that.”

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but admittedly he knew precious little of how the dragon tongue actually worked. Was it the word specifically that brought about results? He was sure he’d heard her mutter bits of them without creating havoc. Perhaps the intonation, or some odd telepathic intent behind the matter? Magic and lost arts, as far as Kelt was concerned.

“O-oh, a shout and then a sneeze, was it? I’d thought it the other way.” He was sure of it, really, but he would take her word for it.

She sighed, but turned and inhaled sharply through her nose a few times, the pronounced shape of it wrinkling in profile. A few dusty breaths later, and her nostrils were again wide and tremulous, ready to prove her point, and hopefully not his. All the same Kelt wedged himself discreetly up against her side, out of the potential crossfire as her brows steepled and warpaint distorted with her snarl.

“Hu-- EIHHSCHHah!” She sneezed harshly off to one side, and picked her head up with nose crinkling open and shuddering for want of another. “Hept-- ‘SCHHH-ah!”

The Dragonborn sighed in relief but recovered with a sniffle. Apart from the expulsions being wet, strong and loud as he might have otherwise expected from a woman of her meanness and stature, there was no resulting catastrophic destruction of property. Kelt sighed.

“Satisfied?”

“Blessings. Yes, my fears are placated,” he chuckled, a bit self-conscious. “My apologies, would you like that handkerch-- oh, please, go ahead.” He nodded encouragingly as her expression glazed over again and turned away from him, tense and irritated.

The dust was beginning to annoy his own sinuses as well, but the shelter was worth the vague discomfort. Still, he hoped it wouldn’t bother her all night -- Dragonborn or not, she needed rest as well. She sneered with mild sarcasm.

“So kind of you--ou...oh... HEISSCHHH-AH!”

Nothing delicate or feminine about it, which he might have appreciate more if the sudden sneeze hadn’t brought with it that previously disproved, concussive blast. Which was not actually disproved at all, it seemed, as the support beams and ragged remains of one wall splintered and blew clear apart with the force of the shout.

There wasn’t much left of the roof, but the beams and thatch that remained were suddenly crumbling down around them, and Kelt might have continued to sit there stupidly stunned through it all if Masha hadn’t suddenly rolled and tucked him beneath her larger form, hastily covering him from the worst of the damage.

A few beams no doubt cracked across her own back, but she’d tucked her head well down, and her armor took the brunt of the damage. As the last of the roof collapsed, they laid there like that for a moment, cheek to cheek. He might have felt a curious thrill, if not for the circumstances.

As it happened, the decimation had stirred up a truly impressive amount of dust, debris, bits of hay and mold spores into the air. It was no surprise that her breath caught weakly beside him, needing to sneeze again, and that gave him an entirely different kind of thrill. The life-threatening type.

“D-don’t, wait!” He stirred beneath her just enough to close his fingers on the handkerchief still safe in his pocket. With a squirm, he managed to keep it relatively dirt-free as he pressed it suddenly to her face.

In any other circumstance, Kelt was quite sure that would have gotten him a nice jaw-shattering punch, but as it was she moved enough to lift off of him, and take the cloth into her own hand. A soft snort into it seemed to clear the urge for the moment, and with an annoyed sound the Dragonborn rolled back and climbed slowly to her feet, kicking a few beams and boards away from their supplies. Apart from a few dents in her armor and a squished bit of cheese, they seemed to have escaped the incident without much damage.

“Gods bless you,” Kelt volunteered as he coughed a few times, picked himself out of the wreckage, and dusted himself off. Near-death-experience aside, that had rather proved his point. And he was feeling rather smug about that.

At least until Masha turned to give him a positively monstrous look, somehow managed even with splinters of wood in her hair and a handkerchief clutched tightly around the lower half of her face.

Kelt cleared his throat quickly. “Right. I suppose I’ll get the tents set up, then.”

Edited April 20, 2014 by Garnet

[Anonymouse]

Oh wow, that visual aid... sheee isss... uhhh... Her nose is lovely. Her whole face is lovely. Not pretty, really, just... aesthetically pleasing.

Nice fierce sneezes from a nice fierce-looking lady.

That last almost-sneeze was thrilling. Omg. I love this. Wouldn't mind seeing more of her.

[Garnet]

wekdjghdfh I am actually super glad you think so, because she was fun to write and I kind of wanted to do more. Hohoho. Thank you! <3 I love me some fierce ladies.

[Garnet]

Time for more self-indulgent fierce ladies, enjoy!

87 – Hypocrite - TES: Skyrim - Female

“Heiht--SSCHH’ah!”

"Gods bless."

The Dragonborn gave him the briefest of acknowledging nods as she tucked the handkerchief back into her cloak. A curt nod from Masha was roughly the equivalent of a sincere, full-bodied embrace in gratitude. Kelt raised his brows.

To his dismay, the sternutatory incident at the waypost had not been an isolated incident. A heavy, sleeting rain had sluiced down the mountain over them all the next day, until the horses were slipping and stumbling on the most stable of paths. It let up to a drizzle the following day, cold and grey, but the passes and roads were no less treacherous even to their sure-footed steeds. Both travelers agreed that they would have much preferred a blizzard to the clamminess of constant rain, and the Dragonborn had consented to stay overnight in Ivarstead.

She had sneezed precisely seven times over the span of that day. Kelt had been counting. Not an unusual number for some, perhaps, but from a woman who'd scarcely coughed in all the months they'd been traveling together, he was beginning to wonder. At least only one of them had brought a shout with it, released safely off the side of a trail where the blast could do little more than snap a few branches and stun some birds from their nests.

Now they had taken welcome refuge in the little mountain town's tavern and inn, however, and the air was pleasantly warm and dry, if oddly crowded for this time of year. Pilgrims and their hopeful ascents up to High Hrothgar, Kelt supposed. He had not yet met the Dragonborn when she'd made her journey up the same treacherous peaks, and for that he was grateful. Some things were far too dangerous for even a faithful follower.

"Drago--" She turned her head to gave him a look, and he cleared his throat before correcting his address. "Masha."

"Mm?"

"Are you certain you're not ill?"

She'd been denying it steadily every time he asked (carefully spaced out, so as not to nag), and indeed she didn't seem sick apart from the sneezing and sniffling. She'd downed a bear on the road earlier with the same vigor as ever, but still the concern plagued him.

"If you ask me that again, you'll be carrying me and my horse all the way back to Whiterun," she informed him, then sniffed. "It's only the dry air, Kelt, I'm fine. Stop worrying about my health and drink." She pushed his mead closer to him with a glare.

Such things had never bothered her before, and they spent a plentiful amount of time in taverns, but Kelt obediently raised the tankard to his lips. "I thought worrying about your health was rather my job."

"Your job is to fill things full of arrows while I take their loathesome heads off."

She was smiling vaguely as she said it, so Kelt took no offense at this simplified version of their relationship. He merely chuckled and drew a sip of warm mead. "Very well. At least warn me if you feel a shout coming on."

She stifled a snort of amusement at this, even as she was withdrawing the much-abused cloth from her cloak again. "Would that I could sense when it's about to ha--- hpt'EISSCH-ah!"

"Ble-..." He trailed off as she held up her hand to stall his bidding, apparently unfinished with cleansing the tickle.

"Hu-- KFFSHH! Ah." She sneezed with greater satisfaction into the folds of the hanky.

"Gods bless you!"

Both Dragonborn and follower looked up in slight surprise at the trilling presence of a third voice. A slim, fox-eyed young tavern wench, the same that had been refilling their mead all night, had come to check in on another round. Breton, perhaps, but Kelt couldn't be entirely sure.

"Thank you."

Kelt was so busy glancing to Masha in surprise that he almost missed the wench's coquettish blush in turn. And then he was trying not to choke on his mead as Masha cocked one leg outwards and the barmaid slipped neatly into her lap. Maybe she had mistaken the Dragonborn for a particularly effeminate man, in this low light and with her sharp features and heavy clothing.

Apparently not, though, as the wench touched a hand boldly to the larger woman's cheek and stroked her scar, murmuring sweetly, "Oh, miss, I hope you haven't caught cold."

"Indeed," Masha sniffed. "This weather gets the best of us all, I fear."

Kelt was not jealous. He'd had some inkling for a while now that the Dragonborn was either asexual or preferred the company of a woman in her bed, though she'd never responded so openly. A few men had attempted to flirt with her before, some nicely and others not, yet most still ended up with a broken nose and spit in their eye. Being jealous would be ridiculous, since Kelt was most certainly not interested in anything more than a travel companion, and he'd bedded a few women himself since he'd been following the Dragonborn. Not jealous at all.

As brusque and poor a conversation partner as Masha was, she also watched his back in turn, bound his wounds, gifted him with new weapons and horses and clothes when he was in need, slept close at his side, and always split her profits with him exactly even, no matter how the division of labor had worked out. It would be silly to risk such a good relationship by letting nasty feelings like jealousy poison the air.

He thought it was probably alright to feel annoyed, however, that she could staunchly brush his concerns off for days only to turn and flagrantly admit weakness to a pretty pair of eyes. Kelt did his best to imitate her glare over the wench's shoulder. He mouthed the word 'hypocrite' at her. The Dragonborn caught his look, but only turned one corner of her mouth up in amusement. Oh, he would be giving her hells about this on the morrow.

"I hope your companion is taking good care of you," the wench sighed, turning to glance at Kelt curiously. He wanted to roll his eyes, but managed to raise his tankard in response. At least she had acknowledged his presence.

"He does his best," the Dragonborn admitted, but Kelt only glared at her over another swallow of mead. He would not be assuaged by rare words of appreciation. Would not.

"Perhaps you need a woman's touch," the wench suggested coyly, turning herself back to the Dragonborn and resting one hand on the back of her neck.

"Perhaps I do," Masha agreed, evasive... but almost playfully so. Absurd. Kelt took another long swallow of his alcohol.

The barmaid smiled to herself and tried a different approach, running a fingertip down the length of the Dragonborn's long, bold nose. "Dovahkin, hmm?"

"That's what they keep telling me," she agreed. If the barmaid only wanted to brush elbows with 'fame', it didn't appear to bother Masha any.

The wench grinned and tapped the end of the nose with her finger. "I heard some of the other patrons mention it, when you came in."

The Dragonborn's nostrils flared delicately at the pressure of touch. The silly girl might as well have been suicidal, Kelt mused, if she knew what happened when...

"Hht'SSCHHHiu!" Masha sneezed sharply off to one side, holding the barmaid's hand carefully away and angling herself to avoid catching either her lap occupant or the table with the crossfire. She scrunched her nose in anticipation, look one of mingled anger and dread, and Kelt braced his grip against the table warily. Please please please not here...

"Hh--HEEIISCHH-ah!"

The wench's giggling squeak covered the Dragonborn's sniffle as she flopped back into her chair, annoyed and itching one forefinger at the tip of her nose. At least the convulsion had not brought the rest of the bar down with it, Kelt sighed in relief. Not even a table or a chair.

"Bless! That is quite a sneeze you have, Dovahkin," the barmaid purred, and then withdrew a folded cloth from her bosom when the woman serving as her seat reached for her own. "Oh, here, take mine."

"Thank you," Masha sniffed. Two thank you's in one night? Kelt was even aware that she knew how to do 'polite'. "And it is quite a nose," she admitted with an unfazed shrug as she folded the fresh handkerchief around her nose. She hardly cared a whit what she looked like, and how dainty and feminine she was most assuredly not. Womanly, perhaps. But the wispy young girl ideal was one that elves might favor, not Nords.

The barmaid bit her lip slightly to contain a grin as she arranged herself more comfortably in the Dragonborn's lap. "You startled me for a moment, I admit, I thought you'd unleashed the Voice. My employer shall be grateful otherwise."

Kelt caught his companion's gaze over her shoulder this time, and this time it was he who raised a brow and offered a smug smile. But he held his tongue, while the Dragonborn leaned forward and murmur something more private in the barmaid's ear.

"Oh, yes Dragonborn. I would be very honored," she sighed with pleasure, then took her tray and her pitcher and slid back off the other woman's lap. With a neat curtsy, she whisked away to have a word with the man at the bar, and then disappeared upstairs in a swish of plain skirts.

As soon as she'd gone, Masha opened the original handkerchief and blew her nose roughly.

"Shall I assume you've found lodging for the night?" Kelt snorted in amusement, pounding down the rest of his mead as she stood.

"I have. I'll meet you at dawn near the stables."

"So early? You don't wish to lie in bed a while? Being so sick and with such good company and all," he couldn't help but tease. She balled the handkerchief and tossed at him, chuckling when he made a face of disgust and batted it safely away.

"Dawn. Sleep well, Kelt."

"And you as well. Try not to take out any more walls, hm?"

She left him with the bar tab.

Edited April 14, 2012 by Garnet

[Anonymouse]

Mmm those sneezes... Your spellings are amazing.

"Hu-- KFFSHH! Ah." She sneezed with greater satisfaction into the folds of the hanky.

Oh to be the barmaid in her lap...

Kelt, I've heard that the more someone denies something, the truer it is. Not jealous indeed...

"Hht'SSCHHHiu!" Masha sneezed sharply off to one side, holding the barmaid's hand carefully away and angling herself to avoid catching either her lap occupant or the table with the crossfire. She scrunched her nose in anticipation, look one of mingled anger and dread, and Kelt braced his grip against the table warily. Please please please not here...

"Hh--HEEIISCHH-ah!"

Sneezing with someone in her lap. One of my favorite scenarios.

Slightly OT: have you seen this? My boyfriend (who plays; I don't, but I want to) showed me this morning and I thought it was hilarious, so I figured I'd share.

http://www.g4tv.com/videos/58139/the-x-play-scrolls-5-skyrim/

[Garnet]

OMG Anony that video, haha!

"I'M OVERENCUMBERED OKAY ...ooh, a tankard!"

Me. On Masha. Constantly. I max out her stamina endlessly JUST so I can carry more useless crap because WHAT IF I NEED IT LATER.

And huu so glad you enjoy! I'm happy that you read it <3

[Anonymouse]

"I'M OVERENCUMBERED OKAY ...ooh, a tankard!"

Me. On Masha. Constantly. I max out her stamina endlessly JUST so I can carry more useless crap because WHAT IF I NEED IT LATER.

I'm the same way in Fallout 3/New Vegas/Oblivion because I like to sell EVERY LITTLE THING I FIND.