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Do you ever just think about the fact that every single person you find unbearably hot has been a sniffly, feverish, cold-ridden mess at some point in their life and statistically will be again in the near future?
Yeah me neither.
Definitely never crosses my mind multiple times a day.
[More Accidental Mistress content can be found here.]
I know I'm a couple of days late on this, but, y'know, holidays and everything.
This is technically a prequel to all of my other Accidental Mistress works, in that it comes first chronologically, but it's not a significant time gap.
This is the story of how Noelle and Oraion met.
Title: Accidental Mistress
Word count: 3,870
Content and warnings: snz (male)
----------------------------
Some would argue that fate is immutable, that, try as we might, we cannot change a future that has been preordained. Others claim that fate is what we make of it, that our destinies are shaped by our own hands from an infinite sea of possibilities. There was one fellow who tried to argue that fate is like a chicken sandwich, but he never was quite able to satisfactorily explain why, and likely was only trying to sell more chicken sandwiches.
All three approaches are wrong, of course, because fate is actually like a river. In general it wants to flow in a particular direction, but it does on occasion break into several different branches, and, if you work hard and long enough to dig canals and build dams, there’s a chance you might be able to change its course.
Though she did not know it, Noelle Violette sat at the crux of several distributaries in the River of Fate, and her actions in the next few moments would decide the course of her life and change it forever. It was good that she did not know this, because she was nervous enough as it was without the added pressure.
The young witch sat on the floor in the highest room of the tower she called home, puzzling over a number of papers scattered beside her while she drew a rather large and intricate circle of magic runes, arcane symbols, and squiggly lines on the old floorboards with chalk.
“I think this rune goes… here? Or…” She picked up one of the pages and turned it around, adjusting her large, round glasses on her nose. “Oh, no I suppose it goes over there… But then where does this one go?”
She sighed and scrubbed out one of the runes she had just drawn with the edge of a sleeve, replacing it with a different one that, hopefully, was the correct one. Summonings were notoriously finicky things, and, seeing as she'd never performed one on her own before, she needed to be as careful and thorough as possible. The problem was that she didn’t have a diagram of the circle for summoning a familiar, so she had to sort of cobble one together out of the diagrams she did have. These were all either copied down from memory or taken from what few arcane tomes she owned.
If she took the circle for summoning a demon, which was certainly not to be taken lightly, but replaced some of the demonic runes with ones that instead signified a companion, and added in the most powerful binding spell she knew, theoretically the circle should summon some sort of companion entity that would be fully bound under her control. She couldn’t be entirely certain what kind of entity would answer her call, but she had to imagine that with her meager abilities it would be a small spirit or lesser demon, like a goblin or imp.
Eventually she sat back and scrutinized the circle with tired eyes. She was liable to keep fiddling with it all night, wondering whether this rune was drawn to exacting perfection, or if that squiggle was quite squiggly enough. Stalling—she knew she was only stalling at this point, on account of her nerves. After checking it over one more time, she declared the circle good enough. It was at that moment that her course on the River of Fate was chosen.
Time to begin the ritual. Noelle took a deep breath and picked up her wand, a short length of an oak branch she had collected and shaped herself. It wasn’t much to look at—it looked like a stick that someone had shaved the bark off of except for the bottom third, because that’s exactly what it was. It got the job done, though, and that was all Noelle cared about.
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She had to focus on what she wanted the spell to do, to infuse it with her intention. Then she touched the tip of her wand to the circle, and began to imbue it with magic, drawing the energy in from the environment around her and becoming its conduit. That was the major difference between witchcraft and other sorts of magic: most spellcasters relied on the power within themselves to fuel their spells. Witches took their power from the world around them to channel into their magical workings.
I want an assistant: someone who can help me further my studies and hone my abilities. Someone who will make me a better witch, a stronger witch. Someone who can lend me their power to supplement my own. Someone who—
Well, it wouldn’t hurt if they could be someone who would keep me company, and if they were a bit more pleasing to look at than a goblin or—
No, no, no! She had to focus! Noelle shepherded her thoughts back on task and tried to keep the idea of a magical helper foremost in her mind. If she was ever going to make any progress in her studies, she knew that she needed help. There was only so much she could do on her own with what knowledge she already had and what she could glean from books. A magical entity was the perfect choice: they would be a source of raw, magical energy that Noelle could access, and also be able to lend her additional control for complex workings. Not to mention any being of magic ought to possess some innate knowledge on the topic.
Oh, it would be very helpful if they were knowledgeable about different kinds of magic, and maybe also things like herbs and reagents. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to…
Ugh, why did her mind keep wandering? And was she being too specific or picky? Would anything answer her call? Was there even an entity out there who would want to be bound to her, a witch with intermediate abilities at best and no coven to belong to?
Maybe what I really need is a little self-confidence… Agh, no, focus! Focus!
The circle began to glow with a faint light. Noelle’s pulse quickened. Surely that meant the ritual was working: something had accepted her summons. A sudden, searing jolt shot up her arm, and she cried out in surprise and pain. With gritted teeth she kept the wand in place on the circle, and kept feeding the spell energy. Ambient magic from the environment around her flowed into her body and down her arm, but something else flowed out as well—something torn from her in bits and pieces like so many ants tearing into the essence of her being. Perhaps this was the price she must pay for the services of a familiar: what better way to bind a contract for life than with the substance of her life itself?
The glow in the runes burned brighter and brighter, the light shining a vibrant violet that grew so intense Noelle had to close her eyes. Heat began to roll off of the circle in waves, and she realized that the floor was shaking. The pain in her arm made tears form in the corners of her tightly closed eyes. She thought she heard the rumble of thunder, but she wasn’t sure over the gasps of pain coming from her own throat.
A shockwave shot through the room that pushed Noelle back several inches and was accompanied by a fierce rush of wind. The smell of ozone and something like woodsmoke hung in the air. Even through her closed eyelids Noelle could tell that the blinding violet light had died away.
Did it work?
She cracked open her eyes and had to blink a few times to clear them until the floor in front of her face came into focus. She'd ended up lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She was almost afraid to look up at the circle, but slowly she let her gaze creep across the room as she pushed herself back up to a seated position.
The first thing she saw was a tail. It had a great red plume of fur at the end but was otherwise bare, the skin being a very pale gray with mottled, stripe-like markings in a darker shade. As her gaze moved up the long tail, she noted that it was attached to a pair of trousers and, presumably, legs. The trousers were black and tightly fitted, nicely complimenting the deep mauve silk shirt that next came into view. The front of said shirt was open, revealing that same pale gray skin in the form of a slim torso so well-sculpted it could have been marble. By the time she reached the head, Noelle’s eyes were approaching the size of dinner plates. This was no small goblin or imp. This was a shockingly attractive man.
The hair that framed his face in long, sensuous waves was the same blood red as the fur on his tail. His eyes, currently looking about the room in some confusion, were of a similar crimson hue. From his forehead sprouted two horns, dark burgundy in color and curling like a ram’s. Around his neck was a red leather choker with a gold buckle, and a number of gold earrings pierced his long, elf-like ears.
Noelle placed both hands over her mouth. What had she just done?
“Where in Hell am I?” the creature muttered before his gaze fell upon Noelle, and he frowned. “Who are you?”
“M-me? I’m N– I-I’m N– I’m N-N-Noelle.”
“Well, N-N-Noelle, what District is this, and who is your Lord?”
District? Lord? Was she supposed to have any clue what he was talking about?
“Um… what?”
He rolled his scarlet eyes. “I assume another Demon Lord is behind this rather bold but ultimately foolish abduction. So which one is it? Can’t be a very powerful one judging by the state of this place. Unless they’ve brought me to some out-of-the-way location under some half-witted delusion of taking my life.”
“Oh… N-no, this is my tower. And I don’t serve anyone; I-I live here alone.”
Wait, did he say another Demon Lord? Then that meant that this entity was…
He scoffed. “Don’t tell me you expect me to believe that you summoned me. You must be some human slave left here to bait me. Look at you: all doe-eyed and helpless. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to feed on you and let my guard down?”
A shiver skittered across Noelle’s skin. She didn’t know what he meant by feeding on her, and she possessed no intention of finding out.
“Well, um, whether you b-believe it or not, I am the one who summoned you… somehow. I’m not a slave. I’m a witch, a-and I was trying to summon a familiar. I need someone to, um, help me with my studies. I thought I was summoning some kind of minor spirit or something. I don’t… know what happened…”
She trailed off as the expression on the demon’s face morphed from a sort of haughty boredom to intrigued amusement. He touched his chin with one hand.
“Dear gods, you’re serious, aren’t you? So you attempted to summon some subservient creature, but you botched it so spectacularly and shot so far past failure that you actually came back around and did something next to impossible. Do you have any idea what I am?”
“A… Demon Lord?”
“Ah, so you do have a bit of intelligence behind that innocent doe look!” He climbed to his feet, looming quite large over where Noelle still sat on the floor, and bowed with preternatural grace. As he did so, a pair of batlike wings emerged from his back, cutting a very intimidating figure indeed. “I am Lord Oraion Leroux, incubus and Greater Demon. And you, my dear, are about to learn an important lesson about the consequences of carelessly summoning those of my kind…”
He reached a clawed hand towards her, his eyes taking on a sinister red glow. Noelle flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her arms in front of her, for all the good that could possibly do. After a few moments, however, she cracked open her eyes, and, while the demon calling himself Oraion was still pointing at her, she couldn’t actually pinpoint any effect.
“Um… i-is something supposed to be happening?”
“Eh?” Oraion gave a little surprised start, and then looked over his hand as though maybe it was somehow malfunctioning. He pointed at her again with renewed vigor, but still Noelle felt nothing. She was almost tempted to start screaming or something so he wouldn’t feel bad.
“I-I’m sorry, but… I don’t really feel anything.”
The demon took a step back, now looking at both of his hands with mounting horror.
“My power… What have you done?”
“I-I don’t… know?”
“What is this?” His fingers went to the leather choker around his throat. “Is this… a collar? You put a collar on me?!”
“What? N-no! Well, I mean, not on purpose. I-I did add a binding aspect to the ritual, but it's not like I asked for it to be a collar!”
The demon fiddled with the buckle, but the collar remained tightly fastened. Then he slipped his fingers beneath it and pulled, and from the way he was clearly straining he was doing so with great force. Still the collar would not budge.
“This… this thing is sealing my abilities! You will remove it at once, witch!”
If that was true, then that collar was the only thing keeping her alive right now.
“N-no, I think I'd rather you keep it on.”
An irate sneer twisted his lips as he took one menacing step towards her, his voice dropping to a growl.
“You will remove it, or I will make you remove it.”
A primal fear stirred in the depths of Noelle’s mind, like she was facing down a predator. Which, she supposed, she was. If the binding was strong enough to seal even a Greater Demon’s powers, however, then perhaps she wasn’t actually in any danger at all. She rose to her feet, trying to hide the trembling in her hands by clutching her wand in both. Oraion still loomed over her—he must have been at least a foot taller than she was. She gathered every ounce of courage she had and looked him in his crimson eyes.
“I… I don’t think you can.”
A storm cloud passed over the demon’s face and he took another step towards her.
“And what makes you so certain about that?”
“Um, well, if I’m understanding the situation correctly, you and I have entered into a contract of Master and Servant, and a contract-bound Servant cannot harm their Master. So, um, you can’t hurt me.”
“Hmph. Care to test tha—”
He reached out as though he would grab her, but then his body stopped dead, frozen in place. A snarl of frustration growled in his throat as he lurched at her several more times, but he could not reach her as surely as if a wall stood between them. Eventually he stepped back with a panting breath, running a hand through his scarlet hair as he began to pace.
“This cannot be happening. I am no Servant—I have servants!” He tried once more to snap the collar around his neck with no more success than his first attempts. “Agh! I cannot believe I’ve been summoned to serve some—some mousy witch in a decrepit old tower!”
His wings gave an angry snap, sending a breeze across the room before they vanished once more into the demon’s back.
“M-mousy?”
He ignored her, turning in a circle with his arms spread. “I mean, look at this place! It’s a dump!”
“W-well this is my attic, to be fair. Normally I would have done the casting in my workshop, but the notes said the ritual should be performed in a high place. I’ll admit it’s not the cleanest, but I hardly come up here!”
“Hmph. You can say that again.”
Oraion ran a finger along the frame of an old mirror that leaned against the wall, coming up with a thick layer of dust that he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger before blowing it off to float through the air. Noelle fidgeted with the end of the shawl she wore around her shoulders and tried not to think too hard about the remarkably handsome man stirring up dust in her attic.
“Somehow I doubt the rest of your little tower meets the standards of living I’m accustomed to either.”
If he was a Lord, then that meant he was nobility and thus used to living a life of luxury. Noelle, on the other hand, barely scraped by. No, she wouldn’t be able to provide Oraion with the kind of life he was familiar with, but that didn’t give him license to belittle her. She opened her mouth to say as much when Oraion suddenly doubled over with a hand pressed to his face. The retort died on her tongue and she instead took several cautious steps towards him
“Wh-what’s wrong? Are you all right?”
He grabbed onto her shoulder, to her surprise. It seemed he was capable of touching her—perhaps as long as he didn’t mean her harm? He peered at her between splayed fingers.
“Ngh- What dark magic have you cast on me, witch?”
“Me? I haven’t done anything!”
“Th-then what is this buzzing feeling in my face?”
Noelle felt something prickle the back of her neck. “B-buzzing?”
“Yes, here!” He took the hand from his face and pointed to the bridge of his nose. “Agh, and it’s g-getting worse!”
Heat began to creep into Noelle’s cheeks, and other places besides. The demon in front of her rubbed across his nose with harsh, urgent strokes using the side of his knuckle, causing the tip of his nose to grow pink. His eyelids began to flutter as his brow furrowed.
His chest, bared for Noelle to see through his open shirt, jumped as his breath began to hitch. Crinkles formed on either side of his nose as it scrunched up, nostrils twitching and flaring.
“Wh-what is hah-happening-? ih-hih… hihh-hhIIHH! HIHHTCHOO! HIHH’TCHOO! hihh-HIHHTCHOO!”
He sneezed directly into the space between them, three forceful sneezes that snapped his torso forward so far he almost butted Noelle in the head with his horns. A light mist hit Noelle’s neck with a glancing blow, eliciting a sound from her that she hoped could be interpreted as a cry of shock rather than the indecent squeal that it was.
“Guh -sniff- What the Hell…?” He took two fingers and rubbed them beneath his septum, making his nose wiggle back and forth. “W-wait a moment… I’ve seen humans do that before. Was that… sneezing? Is that what sneezing feels like? Demons don’t sneeze, what—?”
Noelle couldn’t even look at him, let alone answer him, her gaze fixed resolutely on the floor to her right. What was she supposed to do now? Her entire face felt red hot, and her thighs pressed together almost involuntarily in response to the feeling that blossomed there.
“Oh, hello…”
A teasing note in his sultry voice grabbed her attention and brought her gaze back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. Gods, was she that easy to read? Did he know?
The demon Oraion regarded her with a seductive, self-satisfied gaze, the predator closing in on the prey. His hand moved from her shoulder to her chin as he leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
“Feeling a little hot and bothered, are we?”
“Wh-what? N-no, I—”
“Now, now. It will do you no good to lie. Don’t you remember what kind of demon I am?”
When he had introduced himself, he’d said he was Lord Oraion Leroux, that he was a Greater Demon, and…
“A-an incubus.”
“Mm-hmm, and that means that I have an innate sense for when my partner is… i-is heh!… eh-heh’SHIU! -sniff- … aroused. And you liked that very much just now. Oh, but you are a fascinating one, aren’t you?”
Noelle’s entire body burned with humiliation and lust, with no telling which of the two was greater. When she spoke, she could barely manage to get her voice above a whisper.
“I-I can’t help it. I… I’m sorry.”
How was she supposed to feel with a gorgeous man, demon or not, sneezing with such deliciously hitchy breaths and desperate, vocal build-ups? Not to mention sneezing directly on her.
Oraion regarded her with some surprise at her apology, then his expression softened considerably. His fingers went from holding her chin to gently stroking her cheek.
“Oh, my dear, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” For the first time since he had arrived, his voice actually sounded sincere. “It is a gift. You hold a key that opens a door directly to pleasure. There is nothing wrong with using it.”
“B-but it’s… strange.”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “Oh no, I have been around, and I assure you it is quite tame.” He took a moment to gaze at her face, tilting his head to one side and gently brushing some of her brown curls from her face. “Say… you’re rather lovely, you know? In a bookish, librarian sort of way. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all. It should certainly prove… entertaining.”
“Then, you… You mean you’ll—?”
“Be your ‘Servant’? Hm, for now, I suppose. I have to admit: this is the most excitement I’ve had in quite some time. Be a shame to spoil the fun so quickly.”
A coy smirk tugged his full lips and he stepped back, rubbing his nose and sniffling.
“It seems this Master-Servant contract of yours has, ah, influenced me according to your tastes, resulting in—” He sneezed again. “Uh, well, that. -Sniff- I refuse to call you ‘Master,’ though; it doesn’t suit you at all. ‘Mistress’ sounds much better.” He laughed, like he was enjoying the sound of the word in his mouth. “My Mistress…”
“Um, o-okay. You can… call me that.”
“It wasn’t a request, darling. Now: how about you show me around this tower of yours. I’ll be living here for the foreseeable future, after all.”
“Oh, yes, of course!”
As she led him down out of the attic, Noelle wasn’t sure if she’d just won the cosmic lottery by accidentally securing this Oraion as her Servant, or if she’d gotten in way over her head. All she could do now was trust in the course of her fate and navigate it as best she could. And she had the strangest craving for a chicken sandwich.
A Greater Demon under her control… What would Mother think, if she could see her now?
“Oh, and perhaps we should end our little tour in a room with a bed.” Oraion grinned at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “Then I can give you a thorough lesson on the care and, most importantly, feeding of your new demon…”
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Set in my adventure!verse of Rookery Port. To learn more about my characters and read more fic, look HERE
Donovan and Fog challenge each other, and things are not as they appear. Some things are prologues.
Author's Note - This is a little ficlet that will lead into a multi-chapter longfic! Special thanks to @selene-and-the-cold for telling me about snuff contests
Content | snuff, holdbacks, references to allergies
He hated faculty parties. They were tiresome, tedious things that went on for far too long. Donovan silently yearned for his study as he stood by the punch bowl, biding his time with food and drink.
The food and drink weren't so bad, he had to admit. But he could never turn down a cheese spread.
The academy's gym room served as host for the party, as it did every year. Conversation echoed, and shoes squeaked against the slick hardwood floors. Lounge chairs and tables were brought in for a place to rest and discuss the heated topics of the day, all of which interested Donovan very little. Unless it had something to do with marine life, hidden species, or undiscovered lands, he had nothing to add to the conversation. So he stuck to his punch, smiled, and waited the party out.
He'd been warned about this aspect of a professor's life. Dull parties. The faint memories he kept of his parents were their complaints about the boring dinners they had to attend as faculty. He understood why they chose to leave so often for world travel and adventure, though he never quite forgave them…
Donovan jumped at a sudden sneeze ringing through the gym. He'd been jumping a lot, there'd been a lot of sneezing throughout the party. Thankfully, it wasn't a cold being juggled between staff; that was for the winter. There'd been a recent trend amongst the more elite academics to indulge in a new mix of snuff, freshly arrived at Rookery Port. Very strong snuff, from what Donovan could hear. A flurry of 'bless you's' and twittering laughter filled the hall, adding to the noise of the party.
Seeking the comfort of a wall, Donovan leaned and dreamed of his rocking chair nestled by the fire, Hazel no doubt sleeping nearby. He missed her the most, though he carried a few remnants of her presence. Black strings of fur bedecked his coat, precious reminders of his home. Donovan wondered if he could leave early, having already said his hellos. It'd be easy to slip out unnoticed. Everyone was so preoccupied that they wouldn't need to say goodbye.
"DONOVAN BELL"
Well, there goes that plan.
"Hullo, Francis." Donovan sighed, not disguising his exasperation. By rights, he should be more than exasperated. He should be downright furious. He'd been accosted by Francis Fog and his loyal bodyguard a month ago. He should be seeing him in court at least.
But courts were messy things, and it'd pull him further away from his books and his fireplace. The bodyguard - Herb- had done their part to make amends with a rather delicious scotch pie and a bottle of brandy. They even offered to pay for any damages to his person, though Donovan ultimately didn't think it necessary. He wasn't hurt by the incident, only exasperated.
"Mister Fog, please." The man strode towards Donovan, his apologetic bodyguard hovering behind him. "I have something to say to you. Sir."
"Oh lord help us.." Donovan Bell steeled himself. He didn't think Fog was going to try anything rash, but you never knew. "I haven't pressed charges, if that's what you want to know."
"No! No, I want to—"
Fog's face scrunched up, like something bitter slithered in his mouth. He waved a hand, trying to conjure a word he couldn't articulate.
"..Are you..alright?"
"I'm just fine! I want to ap—you know.."
"He wants to apologize. For making me grab ya like that." Herb butted in.
"Thought we settled that one already. Lovely pie by the way, Herb."
"As well as the breaking and entering." Fog spluttered out. Herb's jaw dropped in disbelief at the admission, and they elbowed Fog firmly.
"What? What? You wanted me to apologize, so I'm apologizing. Yes, I'm terribly, horribly sorry about having my valet wrangle you and sneaking around your study when you weren't looking. So are we settled then?"
"No? No! We're not settled! This is a whole new layer of disturbing information!" Donovan set his plate of crackers and cheese on the table, a grand gesture. "Breaking and entering? This is a huge violation! What's the matter with you?"
"Perhaps if you shared your findings with me, I wouldn't have had to go to such drastic measures." Fog stared down the end of his nose at Herb, imperious. Behind him, Herb rubbed tiredly at their face.
"Is this what it's all about? The mermaid?" Herb's voice rose, enough to rouse attention from the surrounding party. "I told you it was all just a joke. And even if it wasn't—"
"Even if it wasn't? So you confess!"
"You!" Donovan pushed his glasses further up his nose "Are an— ASS!"
The crowd hushed. Donovan did not mean to yell. Even Fog looked stunned.
"Gentleman, gentleman! Easy."
One of the professors, Mr. Langley, quickly materialized; his towering presence always brought an air of good-natured fun. He placed his large hands on Donovan and Fog's shoulders, gently pushing them apart. "I don't know what the fuss is between you two, but how about you settle it before the party sours?"
"Precisely. With a duel! To the death," Fog whipped his cape over his shoulder, dramatically.
"Maybe not that extreme." Mr. Langley cleared his throat, turning to the crowd for suggestions.
Donovan felt all the heat and anger drain away as the crowd began to shout out ridiculous suggestions. This was almost worse than dueling Francis Fog at sunrise.
"Fisticuffs!" Someone shouted.
"Nah, still too violent." Mr. Langely tutted.
"Chess game!"
"Boring!"
"Game of riddles?"
Mr. Langely raised his eyebrows and turned to Donovan and Fog, hopeful. Both shook their heads. Riddles were no way to settle things.
"Snuff contest!"
The crowd oohed and grew pleased with the suggestion. Donovan frowned, finding the entire situation ridiculous.
But it would be good to settle things with Fog, in the only way someone as mad as Fog would understand.
"What does a snuff contest involve?" Fog asked, crossing his arms.
"It's simple, you both get five snorts in five minutes."
"Hmph. Simple enough. Snuff is a gentleman's pastime, something I'm certainly familiar with." Fog adjusted his collar. Herb rolled their eyes.
Donovan was not familiar with snuff. He was a pipe and tea man through and through. But surely snuff wasn't so overwhelming as to not be able to finish it off in five minutes.
Win or lose, Fog would be satisfied and leave him alone forever. Or at least until the next quarter of the school year. So be it, then.
Though there was a little, secretly competitive part of Donovan that wanted to win. It was the same secret spot within him who felt exhilarated while packing for a trip, or grew curious by locked doors to abandoned buildings. The call to adventure, the same one that pulled his parents away from him for months on end. The call that he resented, the call that left him an orphan at eleven.
But he couldn't help but feel it, from time to time.
"Alright, I'll do it."
The contest livened the party, and a table with two chairs for each participant was prepared. Donovan sat on one side, Fog on the other. Prof. Langley kept an eye on the old clock overlooking the gym to count down the minutes.
The tin of snuff was elaborately decorated with patterns of roses and leaves, its powder a light grey. Mr. Langely distributed five even lines for Donovan and Fog. The crowd eagerly surrounded the table, murmuring amongst themselves. Some even passed money around, eager to make a few good-natured bets.
"One minute of waiting for each snort, five minutes altogether. No nose blowing, a simple dab only. If it's too overwhelming, you forfeit the match. If you sneeze, you lose instantly. Gentleman, are you ready?"
Donovan grew uneasy about the match. He didn't realize sneezing meant disqualification. Out of the handful of times he tried snuff, it was the one thing he vividly remembered about the experience. It's why he avoided it. Even just eyeing the neat lines of snuff on the table made his nose tingle. He gave it a quick, bolstering swipe with a knuckle and cleared his throat.
"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."
Fog grinned, the picture of confidence. Herb stood close behind him, looking anything but.
"Let's get on with this."
Mr. Langely watched the minute hand on the clock tick along, and announced the match with a "Go!"
The chatter of the crowd silenced instantly as Donovan and Fog bent over their first line and inhaled.
It burned sharp and strong, a lit fuse zinging right up Donovan's nose. I drew tears to his eyes instantly, the rush to his head sent him reeling back. The back of his sinuses was on fire, the same numbing freeze he'd get after an accidental nose-full of ocean water. This snuff was definitely not the kind to be inhaled so quickly, and Donovan realized why this contest would be such a challenge, at least for a novice like him. He couldn't disguise the discomfort as he pinched the bridge of his nose, disgusted by the chemical aftertaste dripping down his throat. It made him cough, but he didn't forfeit after the first sniff.
Across from him, Fog seemed to handle the first round as easily as he had bragged about. He gave the tip of his nose a single flick with his thumb and considered the snuff like one would consider wine.
"Hm. A perfectly mediocre scent, and the texture is a bit coarse. Not a fan of the overtones. Bit too, eh—how would you describe it?"
He knew what Fog was trying to do. Acting all superior. Donovan kept the bridge of his nose in a pinch; his whole nose felt numb with it. Talking almost seemed impossible to do, but he wasn't going to give Fog the satisfaction.
"A bit spicy?" Donovan managed to breathe, finally. His voice was pushed somewhere high in his head, but he blinked through the tears and managed to give Mr. Langely a nod. The first minute ticked away without incident.
The second sniff was actually easier. His nose was still numbed by the first. Dabbing away at the tears collected behind the lenses of his glasses, Donovan grew bold. A strategy had presented itself.
"Yes, I can—snfff—' excuse me— yes I can taste the spice. What do you think it is? Cloves, perhaps." He lobbed the inane question into Fog's court.
Fog was still wiping lightly at the underside of his nose, seeming preoccupied with the second sniff. His large eyes had taken on moisture, a slight betrayal of his body.
"No no, not cloves. Ci-snff—Cinnamon'd, maybe."
The word "cinnamon" was damp and softened by congestion. It gave Donovan a little burst of energy. Perhaps this snuff was too strong for Fog as well. Not strong enough to overwhelm him and forfeit, but if Donovan could bait a sneeze out, he could win. And Donovan saw enough of Fog during the spring semester to know how sensitive his aristocratic nose really was.
He quickly pinched the bridge of his own nose. The numbness of the first and second sniffs had started to evolve into a tickle, one that fanned to life on both sides of his nose. His sinuses were starting to wake up, and even the thought of making Fog sneeze made him suddenly itching for one himself.
And another minute ticked by.
The third sniff was the first to be truly torturous. The thick grain of the snuff prickled and needled at the insides of his nose, liquifying his breath. He clutched at his handkerchief and dabbed as much as was allowed, though he felt his face heat up when he realized dabbing was not enough. It was fully runny now.
"You—snnff—know. I almost named my cat Cinnamon." Donovan smiled despite the runny nose burning off his face. "You saw her, yes? Such a fluffy thing, love her to bits."
Across, Fog sat with his arms crossed. He wiggled his nose from side to side.
"I know what you're trying to do. Bell." Fog's narrowed his eyes, the lashes now damp.
"Doing what? Simply having a n-nice conversation about my cat."
Careful. The buzz in Donovan's nose had turned rhythmic, the prelude to a sneeze. A wonderfully relieving, clearing sneeze. He couldn't help but be a little desperate for one; the snuff was unbearably fiery in his nose, and he could just feel the horribly irritating texture coat his delicate sinuses. To just double-over with a nice sneeze would be so—
"Heh.."
The crowd oohed and closed in as the first hitch escaped between Fog's lips. His nose was rounded open in a perfect flair, eyes hooded. Sniffling frantically, he rubbed at the soft end of his nose with the heel of his hand, harsh enough to hear it squish.
"Should be-snff—hih—disqualified.." Fog muttered, nasally.
The fourth line Donovan could barely get through. His nose burned so badly that it was hard to inhale. Fog was no help; he panted open-mouthed through the minute, looking sneezy with his hooded, fluttering eyes. It was a tempting image, begging Donovan's empathetic reflexes to indulge.
But Donovan held on. He had one last trick up his sleeve.
"Sh-she's a lovely cat. Hehh—" For a terrible moment, Donovan almost lost control. His voice stuttered on a hitch, and the entire room held its breath. He just managed to sigh it out. The room sighed with him. "—ihhhh—there's just one'd- bother about her."
He pulled at the lapels of his coat, shaking it a bit. The little remnants of Hazel floated under the gymnasium light.
"h-heh—her fur does get bloody everywhere."
It did the trick. Fog's face crumbled into a desperate gasp. Herb, ever attentive, quickly placed a handkerchief over Fog's mouth and flaring nose just as he exploded into a wet "ADh'TCHOO!!"
"Bless you, sir." Herb said.
It did the trick for Donovan as well. He fumbled with his handkerchief as a pair of barely contained sneezes tumbled out of him.
"Uh'ptshhiew!! uh'ptshhh!!" Donovan sighed into his handkerchief, relieved to finally scratch away at the itchy snuff. "UH'SHHHIEWW!!"
"You-are—heh'ADH'TCHIEW!! A—damn'd—hih-Hih—HIH'DCHOO!!—cheating'—hih.." Fog was incomprehensible, his curses punctuated with one sneeze after another. Herb pulled him up from the chair by his arm, gently guiding him away.
"C'mon boss, no one likes a sore loser."
"Ih-HD'SHOOH!!"
"Bless—"
"AH'DCHOOO!!"
"You."
Herb led the still-cursing and still-sneezing Fog away, off to brood back at the gloomy Fog Hall. The crowd laughed and lightly clapped at the end of the contest, though Donovan hardly noticed them, too occupied with his nose revolting from the snuff it had to endure. The rest of his time at the party was haunted by sneezes, each one creeping up on him, as regular as a hiccup. It made the night all the more frustrating, the very opposite of the peace he had sought by entering the stupid contest. That's where adventuring got you after all. No peace, and a sniffly nose.
"Snuff was a bit too much for you, eh, lad?" Mr. Langley grabbed Donovan by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He was a strong man, unusually so for a professor. "By the way, I've been meaning to have a chat with you."
"Snfff—snff—ehx-cuse—uhp'PTshiew!!—me." Donovan buried his nose into his handkerchief and gave it a rough blow, cringing at the noise he made. Mr. Langely kept his hand on Donovan's shoulder, pulling him into the privacy of the kitchen. There was a darkening of Mr. Langely's friendly demeanor as soon as the doors closed.
"This was brought to the front desk the other day. I'm afraid someone has already opened it."
Mr. Langley retrieved a note from his jacket, one addressed to Mr. Donovan Bell of the Smith & Smith law firm.
Eyes still streaming, Donovan opened the envelope to find a worn-looking map of the northern country, all lines and dots. A large X marked a location, unnamed and without an address.
"What do you think it is, lad?" Mr. Langley asked, his hand gripping Donovan's shoulder so tightly it almost hurt.
"This…this is from my parents."
"Oh? How strange."
It was most strange indeed, considering Donovan Bell's parents had been missing, presumed dead, for the past fifteen years.
And now a map from nowhere, pointing to nowhere, addressed to him alone.
Did you know holy shit. You can take the sub who always hides their face or has people look away when they need to sneeze and induce them and then hold their chin and force them to make eye contact the entire time
I don’t know what it was, maybe the rose, or my nose that day, or both, but I just *couldn’t* sneeze a strong enough sneeze to get rid of the tickle! Holdbacks helped, but I was still desperate to sneeze harder!! 🤧🤧🤧
a forefinger desperately placed under red, runny noses. they've sneezed so much already in a short period of time, they need a break, just for a mohmehHh--!!
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Enjoy my hitchy, sniffly attempt at getting through the first page or two of Pride & Prejudice, one of my favorite novels of all time. If folks like this type of video I will make more wavs of me reading!
(Heads up I slow down towards the middle but then I pick right on up again.)
“But Lucy, you have to understand– I love you; isn’t that enough? You don’t need to marry him, I’m right hhere. *snff* I cahhn give you what h-he can never give, I can… I can be… fhhearless for y- yeh, yeH’ZZCHhue–!!! Ohh…”
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imagine a vampire having caught his prey, hovering over their neck, teeth bared, when he suddenly stops and gasps shakily
and maybe it's like the person's perfume or cologne or whatever and the vampire hasn't sneezed in centuries, so he's surprised when he hitches and hitches and sneezes wetly into the crook of their neck
(bonus points if he muffles it into their neck)
and he surfaces completely flustered and confused and maybe even gets caught it a fit of wet, uncovered sneezes as his prey escapes
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
prguitarman
areudirty
