Kiaory does sneeze things

They're a total mess, one finger permanently jammed beneath their nose, nostrils lit up bright pink and flaring away as they hitch and gasp. Their eyes are streaming, their nose is running, and every sniffle is a desperate bid to keep the snot from overflowing onto their hand. It's a double edged sword though, because every sniff just draws more and more dust motes into their trembling, allergic nostrils. Their breath suddenly catches and they shove their face into their elbow, anticipating a terrible sneeze--but at the very last second, it leaves them, disoriented and sniffly.

They resume their search, finger placed beneath their nose, but this time it's rubbing, back and forth and back and forth, trying to soothe their angry nose. The pink hue has morphed into red by now, and their whole face is buzzing and itchy. They're approaching the point of no return, and soon no force on earth will be able to keep the sneeze from exploding out.

Or... sneezes, probably. Yes, definitely sneezes. A huge fit is welling up inside, they can feel it, a tirade of five, ten, maybe even twenty is swiftly approaching. They need to sneeze, they're so allergic, but they have to find this book. Their control is slipping, they can't last much longer!

But they mustn't. They refuse. Sneezing in the library seems like such a crime: shattering the sacred silence, spraying mess all over some innocent book. Never! They'd rather- th- they'd rather...

Someone bumps into them, and it's a gentle jostle, but it's enough to break their fragile concentration.

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

soon followed by a second, equally light mist as she sneezes, sharp and sudden, uncovered toward her chest 

hair strands tumbling loose, sticking to plump lips trembling open

a mascara-tinted tear leaving a faint streak down her face

a second sneeze makes her shoulders jump and shiver, sending one slackened bra strap slipping free

sun beam bathing her tilted-back neck, microscopic droplets of perfume still swirling around her, catching the light, riding the air currents upwards, into, and out - 

But how about accidental external stimuli? Something other than feathers (though feathers are supurb)

I'm talking...

Hair, brushing against someone's nose.

Makeup brushes, so soft and tingly.

A cats tail, running under the nose, the person isn't even allergic to cats, but the feeling of the fur gliding along their nose just tickles so much

Date fic, with hankies. And flowers.

“Hey…whatcha doin back there?”

“It itches, but I don’t want to move my arms”, comes their drowsy, grumbled respons.

“On a scale from 1 to 10, how lazy… Here, let me help.”  

You turn around in the snug nest of arms and blankets so that you come face to face with your troubled Big Spoon, snaking your hand up between your entangled bodies and sliding your knuckled forefinger beneath their nostrils. A web of creases forms at the root of their nose as they scrunch it up and sniff, gingerly, their nostrils flickering at your touch.

“Like this?”

You carefully rub their septum in small, tight circles, searching in their face for a go-ahead but instead finding a worried frown, narrowed eyes misting over -

“Nnh, yeah, but a little firmer, otherwise you’re gonna make me-ehh…hh!”

“Oh.” 

You have to hold back a giggle; they do this all the time in old cartoons but does it actually work…? Can’t hurt to test it out. You stop rubbing and instead press down hard on their upper lip with your finger, waiting, intently watching as their expression flutters between surprise, ticklish alarm, and then softens into a look of almost blissful relief. Sigh. Relax. Cuddle-disrupting sneezing fit averted. For now.

“You good?”

They wiggle their nose tentatively, rabbit-like; it’s pink at the tip and nostrils, you notice now; tender-looking, sensitive -

“Still itchy”, they confirm, almost apologetic.

“What’s the matter with this thing?”, you wonder, tapping the side of their nose, caressing a finger down the considerable length of it. “It’s been a while since I dusted… longer than I care to admit. Could that be it? Or is there a cold brewing in there?”

They shrug. Then they sniffle again, blink, worry stealing back across their face.

“I… hhuh… hihHH - !”

There’s a sudden, desperate finality to that last gasp and you instantly know there’s no use in trying the same trick again. 

You twist yourself back into spooning position and brace yourself for impact.

Maybe you’re playing around with her, and you tease her nostrils with a griffin feather - with the double-whammy of a tickle AND her allergy to griffins - and she says through desperate hitches that she’s going to burn the bed down with this one.

You can see the light of flame lighting her nostrils and open mouth as her chests heaves and her scarlet nose quivers. Smoke floats through her teeth, and she puts a finger her septum, hoping that she can keep the itch at bay until she can find a place to release the fire.

Mild

The gentle tickle in your nose comes and goes, teasing you almost playfully. Its needling itch amuses you and does no real damage. A simple rub of the nose subsides the urge, but not for long.

Medium

The itch ebbs through your nostrils, and pulses around the bridge of your nose. You feel a sneeze coming, and your nostrils begin to twitch and flare. Several false starts surprise you. Your face is red and flustered as you attempt to contain the sneeze.

Extreme

Fall/Halloween-related allergies = A+++

Leaves - jumping in them for fun and winding up with a surprise allergic fit, raking because they /have/ to and sniffling and wiping a runny nose on rough work gloves the whole time. 

Hay - hay everywhere, hay rides, hay bale mazes, drooping against a partner/friend after the 30th run of allergic sneezes for the day, being led by the hand, teary-eyed and blind, through the maze with one long sleeve pressed to a streaming nose. 

Animals - horse rides at fall festivals, horses pulling wagons, stray cats at pumpkin farms and apple orchards, pets at halloween parties and ducking into the bathroom with no idea why they can’t stop sneezing but lord they can’t.

Costumes - that weird, latex smell on the inside of masks, feathers or fur, the whole night they’re trying not to sneeze and cough all over their costume, can’t rub their nose, making a mess of their makeup.

Smoke - bonfires, wood stoves, smoke houses, suddenly everyone is burning things and their eyes are streaming and their throat is dry and their nose is just a liiiiitle more sensitive than usual.

Ragweed - every time they set foot outside, the ragweed murders them, well into November. Walking around farmer’s markets, enjoying the last warm days, festivals and apple picking and haunted houses and they’re a mess the whole time, and there’s really no avoiding it besides sitting in their house with the windows sealed shut all season, so they go about these fun activities and put up with the sniffling and coughing and god the sneezing - 

Their nose wrinkled desperately as you continued to tickle their nostrils with a black feather, which was already shining with spray. You had instructed them to keep it back as long as they could, but with their nostrils already flaring, you could tell that wouldn’t be much longer.

“Aw, c’mon,” you whispered, “you can do better than that.”

They sniffed back the tickle, to obey you, but that only wrenched more trembling hitches from them. Their eyes were shining with itchy tears, and their mouth was open, gasping with effort.

“P-please…h-hih…I can’t h-hold…much…longer…!”

You ignored their pleas, stroking the tip of the feather along their septum.

“H-hoooo…” they let out a shaky breath, eyelashes fluttering with effort. Their freckled nose was now squished against the palm of their hand - a last desperate effort.

“No hands,” you commanded, guiding their wrist to their side.

“B-bud I can’d…heh…HEH…!”

You grab the other hand before it reaches their nose.

“No. Hands.”

They nod, hitches already overwhelming them. A single tear rolls down the bridge of their nose and hangs near the nostrils, making it even harder for them to stay in control. Their eyes rolled back, finally succumbing to their urge.

“Heh…HTCH’CHIEW! HSH’SHIEW! G-gudda…HTCH’CHIIEW! Huh…”

You smirk. “Come on, let’s try again.”

thinkin bout… mouths……

HERE COMES THE WLW TRAIN! I HAVE WAITED SO LONG TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!

An unknowing caretaker and a wary assassin.

God, this is going to be awesome...

****************

Ginger rubbed her eye with her finger, then put it dutifully back on the trigger.

The job was a simple, low-stakes one. Just take out an ex-girlfriend, then let the clean-up crew do all the work.

The target always went to the same spot in this national park, either reading or making flower crowns. Ginger would never tell anyone else this, but she wondered who on earth would hate that kind of person so much as to have them killed. Hell, why did they even break up with her?

It had to be some sort of mafia thing. The target probably stuck her nose in where she didn’t belong.

Speaking of nose, Ginger’s was really starting to bother her. She knew the pollen counts were high, especially surrounded by all this flora and fauna. She even remembered to take her allergy meds. But they had long since worn off - it was almost noon now.

She rubbed her irritated nostrils on her sleeve. Now was not the time for little aches and pains. She had to focus.

After an hour or so, some nearby shrubbery parted, and the target walked through, clutching her sun hat in one hand and a large book in another. A picnic basket swung from the crook of her arm.

Ginger had only seen pictures of her target, and none of them were particularly high quality. But, now that she was closer, the assassin could make out every white mark on her dark-skinned face and arms, and the dimple she had on one side of her face, and her beautiful black eyes that seemed to glimmer like fireworks at every excitement.

They sat down below a tree and began to read, now only a few yards from Ginger. The target hummed a little, their eyebrows creasing a little as they scanned each page. The perfect opportunity had fallen right into Ginger’s lap.

She swiveled her muzzle and looked through the scope, the cross falling neatly on the target’s temple. The wind began to blow, rustling their hair. As the target brushed a few locks aside, Ginger wrinkled her nose.

A small but incessant tickle branched put from her nasal passages all the way down to her septum. She sniffed, but that only caused the itch to turn into a fluttering burn.

Ginger tugged at her ear, but her breath was already catching.

She was going to sneeze.

Ginger gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. She was so close to her finishing her job, and her nose decided now was the time? She pinched her nose and rubbed her nostrils, but it was all in vain.

“H-heh...eh...”

The wind blew harder, sending even more pollen into the assassin’s already trembling nose. She put her palm against the tip, her chest heaving. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple.

“HEH...!”

Ginger put her hands to her face.

One.

Two.

Three.

She lowered her hands, blinked a few times, and sighed with relief.

That was close.

Ginger put her hands back on the gun. Luckily, it wasn’t to difficult to aim since her target was so close. The cross, again, was at their temple. Her finger pressed the trigger, but not hard enough to shoot. She wanted to be absolutely sure.

Suddenly, she gasped, her nostrils flaring.

“HUTCH’CHIIIEW! CHEW!”

Without the knowledge to stifle or the hands to shield, the full weight of Ginger’s sneeze echoed through the trees. The target looked directly up the scope, lifting the brim of her hat a little.

Dammit! Why didn’t I take the shot when I had the chance?!

Ginger tried to move her body backwards with her feet, but she was caught in the wind-up of another sneeze.

“HSH’CHEW! Huh...HTCH’CHIEW!”

The assassin ended up on her back, propping herself up with one elbow. She used her other hand as damage control - the spray was becoming harder and harder to deal with. Ginger sneezed several more times. She realized all too late she was in the throes of a fit.

Ginger heard the crunch of boots on dry leaves, but couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to open her eyes.

“Are you okay?!” she heard a voice cry.

The assassin tried to speak, but could only hitch in response.

“Oh, sweetheart...”

The boots crunched away, then hurried back again. Ginger could only just open her swollen eyelids. She saw the target opening a water bottle and holding it towards her.

“Here...”

Ginger grasped at the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Cool, icy water streamed down her scratchy throat, taking the edge off the itching. Ginger’s desperation had caused some of it to stream down her neck and chest, soaking the neckline of her shirt.

“The pollen is really bad today,” the target murmured, only half-talking to Ginger. “They even said on the news to stay inside of your allergies would flare up.”

“D-didn’d doe they would...HSH’CHNX!”

“Oh, believe me, I know. I have horrible allergies in the fall, and I never know when they’re going to sneak up on me...”

The target rummaged through her picnic basket and took out a bottle of Benadryl. The name Naomi was written on the side of the bottle, with a little heart dotting the I.

“Naomi?” Ginger whispered, sounding it out. Assassins were almost never given the names of their targets. It was the same with both victims and stray cats - if they had a name, you’d get attached to them.

The target cocked her head. “How do you...?”

She followed Ginger’s eyes to the bottle.

“Oh oh! Yeah! That’s me. I have to write my name on stuff so my roommate doesn’t steal it. Let’s see...two to three...”

Naomi gave Ginger a concerned side-glance.

“Three it is.”

She opened the bottle, took out the pills, and held them out to Ginger in a speckled palm. Ginger plucked them from Naomi and popped them into her mouth, washing the medicine down with a swig from the water bottle. The assassin sniffled, now laying completely on her back.

“You look awful,” Naomi said, sitting down next to Ginger. “Do you want me to call someone to pick you up? That Benadryl is going to make you super sleepy...”

“Doe, I’b fide,” Ginger said quickly. If she walked out of the national park with the target at her side - someone that should have been dead long ago - her employer would get the wrong idea.

The assassin closed her eyes, trying to think of an escape.

“You aren’t hunting deer, are you?”

Ginger opened one eye to find Naomi rubbing the muzzle of her gun.

“Woah, d-don’d teh...HTCH’CHIEW!”

Naomi put her hands in her lap with a sheepish look.

“Sorry, sorry! My dad had some guns to hunt with, and I just...um...I sort of forgot they weren’t mine. I was just trying to say that it isn’t deer season.”

“I’m dot hunding,” Ginger snuffled. At least that was true. She was trying to come up with a good cover story when Naomi snapped her fingers and nodded knowingly.

“You’re tagging them, right? They said they were doing that this week. You count them all up to see how many deer you have. The rangers said they would be doing that this week.”

Ginger blinked, then nodded, almost incredulous. She barely had to lift a finger to defend herself.

“I bet those sneezes scared off anything you would want to use that gun on...”

Not all of them...

“...maybe you could ask to go home for the day?”

Ginger rubbed her full nose on her sleeve, leaving yet another translucent streak. She was starting to feel the effects of the medicine, and it was difficult to keep her eyes open. To combat her fatigue, Ginger pulled herself up and leaned her body against a nearby tree. However, the resulting dizzy spell only made the assassin feel sleepier.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, “we could stay...”

Ginger couldn’t even finish her sentence before dozing off.

**************

Ginger snapped awake to find Naomi sitting next to her, licking her thumb to turn the next page in her book. The sun had already set, and the only light was a small reading lantern Naomi had brought in her picnic basket.

“Whad tibe...?” Ginger rasped, coughing dryly into her shoulder.

Naomi looked up from her book and frowned. “Oh, honey, you sound even worse than you did before. I shouldn’t have let you sleep here. You just looked so peaceful...”

“Ngh...”

Before Ginger could say anything else, her phone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and tried to read the messages through her bleary eyes.

30 Missed Calls

16 Messages

Ginger opened her lock screen with a pounding heart. Had she been found out? Was the client coming? Was the mafia after her? She tapped on the texting app.

Did you kill her yet?

We got the wrong girl!

Abort mission!

ABORT MISSION!!!!

DID YOU KILL HER?!

Ginger couldn’t believe her luck. This had to be the first time a sneeze had saved someone’s life. She sent the good news to her employer, using faulty equipment as an excuse - which, technically, wasn’t a lie - then turned to Naomi, who was packing her things.

“I am taking you back,” she was saying. “You can’t drive like this! You could fall asleep, or get into a fit, or - !”

Ginger sniffed. “Ogay.”

“Oh! Okay! Just...tell me your address and I’ll put it in my GPS.”

Ginger shrugged, trying to act coy despite her discomfort.

“By place is kind of a bess...”

Naomi’s eyes went wide, and her lips pursed into a nervous half-smile.

“I...I do have tea...”

“Teh...HTCH’CHNX’UH!”

Ginger groaned.

“Tea sounds dice.”

****************

This. Was. Awesome! To write, I mean. I know y’all tend to like my shorter ones more for obvious reasons, so I wrapped it up all nice and tidy for you.

Naomi has vitiligo, if that wasn’t clear. I tried not to shove it in the reader’s face, but I may not have mentioned it enough. Tell me what you think!

The nostrils that flare and open like a bud bursting forth into the pollen-filled air.

The tip that quivers just slightly between hitches.

The bridge wrinkling and trembling in utter desperation before a well-deserved sneeze.

How well the finger or the palm of your hand fits below the septum when a sneeze is ill-timed.

How our sneezes leave us at the slightest thought of our want, our need for release.

How the sides of the nostril lift just so when the tickle begins to torture us.

How red our nose gets at the slightest irritation or cold.

How for, just a moment, the breast and nose work in tandem when gasping.

How an itchy tear can drip and hang at the tip of the nose.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh.......