quosterking

[quosterking]

i love your description of biddleys tummy stretch marks so much 🥺🥺🥺 it makes me feel more comfortable with mine <3

Hehe!!! I'm obsessed with Biddley's chest and stomach so much you don't even KNOW

#snzblr #bean tag bean tag

[quosterking]

This is a big huge birthday gift for @just-a-nervous-bean !! There’s nothing more I love than taking an oc and throwing them against a wall like a sticky hand. Anyway, this is a Biddley and Rashun fic, that’s about 3300 words! CW for emeto (no heavy and elaborate descriptions or anything, just the implication), Biddley essentially accidentally swallows a key and Rashun has to wrangle him for it a little LMAO!!

Key Insight.

“You have my word Biddley, I won’t judge.”

“…I swallowed it.”

If you had to ask Rashun how the past fifteen minutes transpired, it would begin with a long sigh.

Fifteen minutes ago, Rashun sat idly by the phonograph. It was one of his favorite pastimes, listening to his collection of records that were usually tucked away neatly in a box under the bed. This time, it was classical, which was the perfect backdrop to getting absorbed and comfy in a thrilling book. With wind rattling at the bay window beyond the office, and the noises of the city lulling in a blur, it was a wonderfully peaceful evening. Peacefully uneventful, that is…which just so happened to be how Rashun liked his evenings.

Rashun’s brows creased as he licked his thumb and finished another chapter. 

It was…too peaceful right now.

Not that he was complaining! If he could avoid stitching up a wound or clubbing a goon with his umbrella, that was a good day in his book. But usually this seedy part of the city was always alive and noisy with drama! Granted, he would’ve been in his flat by the Hippo Campus if not for waiting on Detective Biddley to return.

As if thinking of him fabricated the man into existence, the doorknob jangled and turned. The tall form of a maroon-colored man stood lazily in the open door frame only moments later. Eyes bleary but wide, lips parted in a gentle pant, nose bleeding…

Rashun pulled an ornate bookmark from under his lap and slid it into his book—he’d have to get back to that later, by the looks of it.

“Dear god, Biddley,” his face sorrowed when he approached him, “let me get your coat, sir.”

He made no arguments as his huge coat was tugged off. He swallowed thickly, and shuffled to the couch to sit. By the time Rashun appeared at his side once more, he was holding a handkerchief he had run under cold water. That bloody nose had dried up slightly, smeared over his upper lip from a mindless swipe, and telling by the bruising under the bandage, it was slightly fractured. Nothing too alarming, the poor grizzled man never had his nose healed quite right. Each breath always had a rasp or a whistle if you listened closely.

“Might I get you a new bandage…?” Rashun mumbled, before his tail swept and he gave a start. “Were you followed? You have been awfully quiet…”

“Wasn’t followed,” it almost sounded like a groan. Clearly he was thinking about whatever had happened to him. His brow furrowed as the old bandage was peeled off of the bridge of his nose.

“H—hhH!” His breath wavered and his chest grew, “hH! HHRRSSCChhww!!”

“Good heavens, bless you!”

“Got socked by Buster…” a name only relevant to a current case. “He got away, but so did I…”

“Let me see your nose.”

Biddley turned his head lazily with his eyelids shiny and hooded over his muted irises. He clenched his jaw as Rashun pressed both thumbs against the sides of his nose, holding it somewhat secure while a bandage was held in his teeth.

“Gods above, poor thing…” he mumbled, taking the bandage to smooth over his jagged face. His nostrils flared as Rashun held it down. “Try not to sneeze, just for a moment.”

“Khh!” He huffed, eyes getting all tearful. “Rash’n…hHh!”

“I know,” he whispered, stepping back, “I’m all done, honest.”

“hRRSHhhff!!” And he snapped forward into his fist, before holding his stomach.

“Did you break a rib out there??”

“Mnh- no, it’s…”

“Do speak plainly, Biddley, what’s troubling you?”

“The key…”

The house key—also for the case. He was supposed to retrieve it from a disclosed location and return back, but he clearly was intercepted for it.

“Buster didn’t take it from you, did he?” That would make the case much harder, that’s for sure.

“No I’ve got it…”

“Good, splendid, sir. Then there’s not much more we can really do today. It’s best we pick up the rest of the case tomorrow,” he sighed, outstretching his hand. “Here, I can place it with the rest of your things, and we can get you some tea.”

There was a long pause. Biddley stared at his associate’s upturned palm and coughed once.

“Biddley?”

“Rashun, there’s a situation.”

What was he on about? “…yes?”

“But you have to promise you won’t judge,” he said hesitantly. Did he look like he was about to cry? Or was he just exhausted? Honestly, it looked to be both. Rashun sat down at the edge of the couch and looked to his associate. He folded his fingers and tapped his hooves. Asking not to judge was asking a lot, but rarely was Morbid Curiosity apologetic.

“You have my word Biddley, I won’t judge.”

“…I swallowed it.”

That’s how they got to this point. Staring each other in the face as the words gracelessly tumbled out of his mouth. Did Rashun hear that right?

“Sir, you…?”

“Buster was looking for it. I put it under my tongue but he punched me a few times and I swallowed it.”

“Biddley—”

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” He curled his lip slightly, and Rashun raised his hands.

“I am not, I promise you…it’s just one of the last places I would expect to hide a key. Well, second to last.”

“Where would be the last?”

“As…” don’t answer that, actually, “as- as I was saying. I’m not judging, but we do need to get that key out before it causes problems.”

Biddley looked up after a hesitant pause. Yes, if the key went down it would need to come back up. Biddley surely understood this, did he not? Not only for the sake of the case but for his health.

Rashun wordlessly moved into the bathroom to fetch a bottle of pungent liquid. Stuff truly designed to upset the stomach—he had given it to Biddley on the few occasions that he had been poisoned or drugged. He poured a generous amount into a mug when he left the bathroom, and offered it forward for Biddley to take.

Biddley held the cup with a squint. “What’d you put in this?”

“Here,” he showed the little glass bottle, “it ought to help.”

Biddley offered the mug back to Rashun, who blinked and pushed it away. And in any other circumstance, Rashun would take it back, but he wasn’t giving Biddley an option here. “Come now Biddley, you don’t expect that key to just pass through your body, do you??”

“I’m in no mood to be vomiting, Rashun.” Biddley pressed, trying to push the mug into Rashun’s grip.

“Why, I doubt anyone ever is, Mortimer!” He challenged back, thrusting the mug back into the taller man’s clammy palms. “But you must, I’m afraid. Who knows what that key was coated in, and I’d hate for it to…dissolve.”

Biddley sat back and Rashun leaned in. The man jerked and turned his head away, but his efforts to shake Rashun off were no match for his stubbornness. Rashun pressed the mug to his lips, and went as far as to massage his throat to force him to swallow it down. Biddley could hate him all he wished, but god damn it, that key wouldn’t be in his stomach if he had a say in it!

Over the next five minutes, the effects of the medicine were already settling in. Biddley had gone from slouching on the couch to curled up rather quickly, clutching at his stomach while it gurgled. Biddley panted with a slack jaw and a face flushed—contorted with an expression of discomfort.

“You’re a cruel man, Rashun…” Biddley moaned, shivering with a passing chill. The chalk outline around his body quivered as if it were vibrating.

“Only when I need to be…” Rashun sighed, bringing over a mixing bowl from the kitchen. His hand reached for his forehead, but it was quickly swatted away.

Biddley went clammy as he brought up his knees. He coughed, pressing a fist to his lips while the other gripped desperately at his stomach. Clearly he was doing all he could to keep from letting up.

“Come now, Biddley,” he offered the bowl to him. “Do you need my fingers down your throat?”

Rashun didn’t want that, to be honest. Not because it was gross or anything, only because Biddley would absolutely be a biter. He reached out with his two fingers anyway, but when he snapped his teeth at him, he receded with a swift “Mortimer!”

A violent cough took precedence over Biddley, and a second procured the key. Hearing it clatter at the bottom of the bowl flooded Rashun with relief.

“There we are, much better—”

“Move,” he bellowed, pushing the bowl into his hands before rushing to the bathroom. Rashun winced at the unpleasant noises that immediately followed—much more violent and substantial than spitting out a single key. As much as he wanted to give him space, Rashun knew that Biddley needed a pair of eyes on him. Though, the least he could do was fetch the man some water on the way.

“I’m coming in, Biddley…” Rashun mumbled, pushing on the door. Poor Biddley would be found on the other side, sodden in madness and despair while slouched over the toilet. He shuddered visibly as he gripped it, refusing to look over his shoulder.

“Can I-”

“Mmngh-mm—don’t touch m…”

Fair enough. Rashun was about to ask if he wanted water, but he was interrupted by the hideous sounds of Biddley emptying his stomach. “—I really am sorry, it was for the best…I want to make it up to you, one way or another it was ultimately my fault for putting you in this state.”

“I was stupid,” he coughed out, voice heavy, “I shouldn’t have swallowed it-!”

“I don’t believe you had any control at the time…”

“I shouldn’t have put it in my mouth,” he groaned, gasping rapidly before another wave of nausea sent him back to his hunched position. Well, yeah, that Rashun could agree on. Putting a key in your mouth to hide it was cleverly stupid.

“Biddley, sir, will you not let me help you? I promise you I can make this right, I only need your consent…”

Biddley practically growled at him, groaning with closed lips as his wet, beady eyes looked over his shoulder towards him. He was seething, Rashun couldn’t blame him. Flushed, embarrassed no doubt, in pain.

“I take it that’s a no?”

Biddley turned back around wordlessly and retched again.

“…right then. Your water will be right here on the sink. Do call should you need me, though.”

Rashun returned to his book after about five minutes, but he wasn’t really reading. Idly thumbing at the pages, classical music barely drowning out the unsavory sounds from the bathroom. He stumbled out, sweaty and clammy, before sliding the partition wall that seperated the main room from the singular bed in the back. The bed groaned to the large man’s weight, and he sniffed wetly.

“h-hhHh-hDTTSCHHhhf!!” Right, that broken nose, cherry on top, that was.

——

Silence followed over the next hour. Near silence, anyway; in speckles of moments, there would be the creaking of the bed springs as Biddley shifted, a congested sniffle, a cough, and a very very suppressed moan of discomfort. A kettle would screech, and Rashun would take it off the burner to fill a pitcher with hot ginger tea.

Rashun would pause mid-pour with his ear flickering. Another sniffle, and coughing sound—no, a hiccup. He was crying in that room.

The rest of the boiling water was poured into a rubber hot water bottle and set aside to cool slightly. He had known Biddley for two decades, perhaps longer, and he knew it was only a matter of time before—

“Rashhn’…” he called weakly, just above the sound of the record player. There it was. The sound of defeat, throwing in the towel. The poor man was so hurt, so in pain, so inconceivably uncomfortable that it finally took precedence over his embarrassment of a stupid decision. His voice shuddered and he shakily gasped just after.

“I’m coming, sir…”

Rashun peeled the partition open to see Biddley laying on his side. He had no shirt, his broad shoulders heavily battered with scars and worn with time. He smelled of dried blood and cigar smoke, but layered just underneath was Maud’s touch; some sort of lavender and honey bath soap that had softened up such an intimidating aroma.

But even without it, that sweet note still remained. That small essence of curiosity that was always innocent and dripping with wonder. A bleeding heart, that’s what this man was. He knew why he was misty eyed, and it didn’t have to do with the pain nearly as much.

“How are you doing…?” Rashun asked as he rounded the bed to face him.

“Mmbad…” he rasped.

“Would you like some water?”

A slow nod.

“Right-o…I’ve made some ginger tea for you, and I have a hot water bottle at the re—!”

Rashun stood but his wrist was grabbed by his rough hand. He blinked a few times, halting in his spot to look over. His cloudy hair illuminated for a moment as a muffled flash of lightning scattered behind the curls. Slowly, he was reeled back in, and his and touched Biddley’s scarred stomach. He had stretch makes all over his lower tummy, which were soft to the touch, and Rashun’s hand ran over them in contemplation. His brows raised too—Biddley rarely grabbed him with such desperation. He needed someone by his side, he needed physical affirmation right now,

“You have a fever,” Rashun mumbled, reaching a second hand up under Biddley’s chin to confirm it. “Sit tight, yes? Some water ought to cool you down…”

Rashun cupped his cheek and looked into his watery eyes. His brows were slanted, his upper lip was wet. And yet, despite bringing Rashun’s hands over to his body, Biddley refused to meet his eyes. He rubbed his cheek with his thumb a few times before Biddley’s grip loosened from his wrist.

Rashun quickly returned with a tray that had water, tea, some toasted bread, and the hot water bottle. Though when he saw Biddley’s face once more, there was evident wetness on his cheeks.

“Sorry for the wait, Mortimer,” he whispered, “will you eat some toast? It’s extra soft from butter.”

The toast was accepted, which surprised him. Half of the tea, too. He must have been desperate to feel better. Afterwards, he shuffled in his spot, watching Rashun’s hands as he laid the hot water bottle against his stomach. He naturally curled around it, holding it in both of his larger hands.

“There you are…well on your way…I’m sorry, truly, I am.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Biddley coughed.

“I meant what I said, I do believe it was my fault you became this sick.”

“Needed to be done…”

“It still causes you pain.”

“I deserved it,” he mumbled conclusively, “I was stupid.”

“Nonsense, Mortimer. It was a stupid decision, but you don’t deserve pain for it! I don’t loathe you for that…”

Biddley’s shoulders slumped. He was clearly embarrassed, but Rashun wouldn’t push it any further than that. “Will you let me touch you again…?”

There was some hesitance, but Biddley gave a stiff nod. Rashun shuffled a bit closer, and his hands returned to his lower stomach. He pressed delicately inward, moving the bottle against skin, and Biddley almost immediately responded with an uncertain noise. It calmed as Rashun’s warm palms touched Biddley’s tummy, and slowly massaged it in circles. Sweat beaded on Biddley’s cheek, but the hard crease on his brow lessened substantially.

“This isn’t uncomfortable, is it?” Rashun offered, and Biddley shook his head. His arms rested over his head with a lazy thump, and he exhaled towards the ceiling. Rashun could feel the tension in his abdominal muscles relax, no longer cramping him up. It must have felt good if it was causing him to stretch, too. Much like petting an oversized cat after he wasn’t dead-set on striking you down.

He could feel him breathing under his hands. It was slowing down, and each breath he pulled in was deeper and lazier than the last.

“Easy does it, Mortimer,” Rashun offered to his exhausted associate, replacing his hands with the hot water bottle, and pulling his blankets up. He would have to do something about that fever when he woke, but for now, it was best not to disturb the peace.

——

“I do believe it may be a cold, then.”

Four hours went by; they were well into the night at this point. Rashun took the glass thermometer from his mouth, and set it on the bedside table beside a few crumpled tissues. Beside him on the bed, Biddley was sitting up, sweating bullets with his jaw slack. He looked congested, just by how much effort it took on his shoulders to bring in breaths.

“Drink this,” the satyr offered, and Biddley frowned at the shot glass. “Cough syrup, it should clear your congestion.”

Biddley held it in his fingertips. Potent medicine, but not anything like the stuff that made him throw up hours ago. So he took it, and grimaced through it all.

“Why don’t I drive you home, Biddley?”

“Mm?”

“It would be much more comfortable there, you wouldn’t be surrounded by work…”

“Mmnh, it’s so late,” Biddley coughed, choking down some water, “Maud’ll be asleep…”

“I hardly believe she’d mind…”

“You wanna go home?”

“Pardon?”

“You can leave me here, Rashun…”

“Tch!! Nonsense, Biddley. I’m not trying to get rid of you, if that’s what you’re on about. Do not make this about me.”

Biddley seemed to weigh his options for a beat, and nodded. “Mmh, alright…”

“You want me to drive you home?”

“Thanks…”

The drive was even quieter, Biddley was only barely keeping himself awake with an occasional sneeze or sniffle, head drooping in the passenger seat. Lights from orange street lamps washed in gentle strobes past the windshield, and rain pattered on the roof of Rashun’s car. Occasionally he would glance over from the driver’s seat, usually while flicking a turn signal or something.

“Biddley?” He asked gently to him as his forehead pressed to the window and his eyes were closed.

“Mm..?” He mumbled, though didn’t open his eyes or move.

“Just checking on you, sir.”

Quiet moments in the car were always tense for Rashun. Quiet never meant peace until recent years, after all. Whether it was hauling Biddley to the office after getting shot, or desperately pulling himself out of an open car window to take a few shots in a high-speed pursuit, or panicking and planning how exactly you were supposed to leave the car and swim up to the surface of a lake…it had become habit to at least check up on each other.

But luckily, this drive had none of that. Just a small travel to a less seedy part of the city in the rain.

Rashun rang the doorbell and followed it up with four knocks on the door. Biddley had his keys, but he figured they should at least announce their presence. Maud was behind the door after about two minutes, and her gentle eyes fluttered with realization of what she was looking at.

“Good evening, miss,” Rashun cleared his throat gently. Using ‘sir’ and ‘miss’ and ‘mx’ or the like was common practice in his vocabulary, but Maud and Rashun weren’t exclusively formal. They were roommates in college, and their friendship stretched before then. What more could be expected between rationality and moderation? “I do apologize for the hour.”

“Rashun” she nodded to him, and looked to Biddley, “good heavens…”

“He’s alright,” Rashun reassured. “Nothing preposterous, just a cold and a broken nose.” Leaving the incident with the key out, that could be laughed about later, when Biddley was feeling much more like himself.

“Thank you for driving him,” she breathed, pulling the taller man inside with her hands against his large chest. “Did you give him anything for it?”

“Cough syrup, should be due for another dose at sunrise.”

“Dutifully noted, Professor…” she nodded once, “do you want some tea? Anything?”

“Oh no, no ma’am. Thank you though. I ought to let you two get back to your evening. Good day…”

“Good man, Rashun,” Biddley rasped, eyes soft and features glowing in the streetlight.

“Rest well, Mr. Kyrios.” 

#rashun ollie speaking #snzblr #quofic #snzfic #bean tag bean tag #birthday!!!!! omgggg!!! thank you for letting me write some old man yaoi

[quosterking]

here are the snezcanons questions for your OCs!!!! or your fav characters whatever!!!! sneezecanons!!! whatever you call em, ive got em!!!!!!!!!

How DO they sneeze?! (Possible details incl. general sound, volume, frequency, build-up, covering method(s), if they ever deviate from the pattern, and so on.)

Allergies? Other sensitivities? Under what circumstances do they usually experience them? How do they deal with it?

When they get sick, do they talk about it a lot or try to hide it?

What are they like with germs? (Their own and others’.)

Do they have a general routine or anything special that they do when they aren’t feeling well?

Feelings/habits surrounding medicine? What about doctors?

Do they have any obvious/visible tells when they’re unwell? If yes, do they know about these tells themselves?

What do they find more irritating, a bad cough or a frequently recurring urge to sneeze?

How do they respond to other people sneezing? (This is the blesscanons question.)

How do they respond to someone blessing them? (The other blesscanons question.)

Do they have abilities that change at all when they’re feeling off? What about other things, like reflexes, energy, and mood?

Are they good at taking care of people?

Good at being cared for?

What is their limit? How bad does it have to get for them to take a day off and stay home?

Do they tend to always catch the same type of cold, or do the symptoms vary each time?

How often do they get sick?

Do they tend to run fevers? How do they take their temperature?

Least favorite thing about being sick?

Do they have any weird beliefs or superstitions about illness? (e.g. the rain thing, or going outside with wet hair…)

#throwing these out while i work on more oc bios! feel free to ask! #snz #snz pr #snz prompt #snz asks

[quosterking]

Hi it's me, asking about Gulliver snz. please enlighten us with your (current) favorite detail 🙏

Right away!

So yeah, Gulliver can sneeze wild magic or whatever, but I think my favorite detail is that he’s not that sensitive. He has a dust allergy but it’s very minor, and it’s hard for him to get sick. To make him sneeze he sort of needs to be induced (and with a nose like that say less).

That and he has a sneezing kink sooooo

#snzblr #my snz ocs #gulliver the traveler

[quosterking]

[DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-SNZ BLOGS!!]

I thought some of y’all would enjoy this new D/N/D character I made! His name is Gulliver or Guppy, and he may or may not cause wild magic when he sneezes

#snzblr #quo snz art #non snz #not yet at least until someone decides to ask about him #gulliver the traveler

[quosterking]

mr writing god,,,,,,i humbly request a tucker sneezefic, i need that tiny man swatting water droplets off of his little leaf cloak. that, and a horrible cold,,,,

I wanted to post this little snz drabble to show I'm not dead!! Here's Tucker for you, bringing a haul of trinkets back to his little burrow from the nearby neighbors. This might be a part 1 of 3 if people are interested in a tiny trilogy for a tiny borrower! Tucked in (Part 1 of 3?)

The rain came down gently over the garden. It plunked and plipped in a chaotic cacophony of sound. The rooftop shingles amassed streams of rainwater, which collected in the storm gutter and surged out into the grass far below. A beautiful spring afternoon, only slightly sodden by this precipitation.

“Aht’sShhw!”

That, and what had to be an oncoming cold.

Tucker slowly peered out from behind under the rusty iron grating just beneath the house’s brick foundation. Across the grassy yard, a small barrier of pebbles marked the personal garden, where ripe tomatoes and basil leaves lay. Past those, more importantly, Tucker’s burrow, just out of sight.

“This rain…” he sighed miserably, casting a glare up at the overcast skies. On his back, he had a backpack and a little shoulder bag stuffed to the brim with all sorts of goodies. Goodies from a successful expedition inside the neighbor’s house—creeping around unseen, of course. Now it was a matter of bringing the bits and bobbles of miscellaneous things back home to safety.

No use pouting around about it. Tucker pulled up his little pants and tugged the thread to secure them, before shimmying his little tail. He marched out and lost himself in the tall blades of grass that curved and drooped overhead. The smells of spring were overwhelming, sodden with fresh-cut grass and heavy rainfall. Every sprightly step was a muddy squish at best, bringing up globs of soil at his tiny borrower heels.

The rain continued to pelt down—it was much scarier when you were the size of a thumb! Fat droplets of rain crashed to his left and right, splashed against the grass above, and tossed up the fresh soil behind him.

The first droplet of water to contact him connected right on the back of his shoulders. It almost immediately winded him, sending a spray of icy cold water across his neck and down the leafy coat he wore. He tumbled forward in a roll and caught himself on all fours, quickening his pace from a delicate gait to a frantic scamper.

“Agh!” He hissed as a second collided with his shoulder and splashed his face. Safety was found under a neglected shovel in the yard, which sat overturned. Underneath it, Tucker panted and shivered. That drop of water had soaked him to the core already, his tail was all slicked down too.

“Ehh-!” Ugh, he felt the chill coming in, “aht’SHHhuh!! Huhhw…” Tucker nearly jumped, and scrubbed at their nose with their forearm. “Snf!! Snf- gotta take this stuff back before I catch cold…”

Tucker squinted across the latter half of the garden. Luckily with all this rain, the local cat wasn’t in her usual napping spot, giving him free clearance. The trade-off came in the form of a sizable puddle that sat between the shovel and the garden. Easily about shoulder-deep, too. It would be a perilous journey to keep all of his new gadgets dry!

Eyeing a stray oak leaf on the grass, Tucker crouched, wiped the remnants of rain from his face, and darted out into the open. He fastened his tiny hands around its stem, and gave it a hefty tug. It slowly began to drag as he did, and right as he got knee-deep in water, he shoved the leaf out in front of him and clambered on!

Out coasted the oak leaf, and Tucker quickly fished to his bag. On the side he pulled out a plastic stylus often used for playing handheld games, and tugged it to extend it higher than he was tall. The tip plunged into the water, and he slowly tugged himself across the tiny makeshift pond.

“Come on, come on, nearly there…” he gritted his teeth worriedly, seeing a droplet of water nearly hit his little raft. If only he could paddle a little faster!

Sploosh!! Crash!!” Two droplets came down on either side of him. The first one missed just barely, rushing up from behind, but the second caught the front of the leaf and nearly sent him overboard. He clawed on as his legs fell in the water, and furiously kicked them to reorient himself back up onto the leaf. The water was shockingly cold for spring weather—perhaps it was colder simply because he didn’t want to be wet right now.

Nonetheless, his leg brushed up on soil, and he knew he had gotten himself to the other side of the puddle. Scampering madly for the tomato plants, Tooke fled, holding onto his tiny leaf cap through it all. He didn’t stop running until his hand was on the wooden doorknob of his burrow.

Tucker threw himself inside, battling the wind just to get the door shut. It rattled on its tiny hinges, and Tucker shoved a button under the door handle just to prop it shut.

“H-huh—! Huh!!” Tucker gasped quickly with his shoulders jerking each time, “UUhsSshuhw! Mnh- sniff!”

A dull buzz festered in the middle of his face, rendering him stationary until the worst of it subsided. It still lingered in the back of his nasopharynx, which prompted two small chuffs of irritation. He shook the rainwater from his hair and tail with an upset scoff.

“Guh…chf! I’m going to catch a bloody cold at this rate,” he whined, pinching his nose a few times. He was quick to change out of his outdoor leaf attire, and slip on a robe made from a sewn-up microfiber cleaning cloth. He set down his bags and pulled out a few dried leaves—he had torn them away from a tea bag—to organize in a few pantry shelves overhead. His shoulder bag hung on a stray nail that was bent upward, so he could effectively dig through it for a few dollhouse spoons.

Wind rattled the door, and the singular light overhead suddenly went out. Just as Tucker was about to make tea! He groaned and stormed to the back door, and behind it sat a fat D-Battery. The exposed wire once attached to it had been knocked away. Grabbing the wire by its protective and colorful part, he hooked it back onto the battery and let out a small tip as static raced through his body. His hair stood on end, but at least now the lights were back on.

“Maybe I ought to move into the city at this rate,” he mumbled under his breath, scratching an ear. “It’s not cheap, but at least I wouldn’t be holding this house together with paper clips and a dream.”

#snzblr #quofic #quo answers #tucker the tooth fairy

[quosterking]

are you feeling any better?

Oh yes plenty! I probably should’ve put an update and not leave y’all hanging lmao. Not dead!

#non snz #yeah technically it is but I’m not the self obs sort of guy!

[quosterking]

Happy to announce I am officially 7k words into Sternutation Incantation and I have not even finished the first true set of choices!!

I’m also putting a new system in this choose-your-own-snzfic, where you can unlock items by going down certain paths, and use those items to unlock different endings! A great example is during the potions lab, you can walk away with one of three potions, each of which has a use later on in the day.

#sternutation incantation #snzblr #mycah the golden nerd #reader and snz oc tag #quofic

[quosterking]

I forgot how horrible a fever is , sometimes karma is a bitch and a half

#getting wiped on your ass with the most uncomfortable sleep bc you’re sweating and rocking a high fever is horrible and terrible #00/10 do not recommend at all man #luckily it’s nothing serious according to tests but just a weird headcold but it still sucks #humbled immediately istfg

[quosterking]

Working on Sternutation Incantation: nothing more rewarding than playing out the banter between Thomas, Mycah, and the reader.

#sternutation incantation #snzblr #quofic #it’s so fun writing the reader bc I explain things the reader says without quotations #that way exactly HOW they say it is up to you and it’s so fun

[quosterking]

WOW holy shit time passes so fast and I swear I've gone through like 8 different styles with these two dorks!! @just-a-nervous-bean's Thalin and Bridger, this time intentional!!

I’ve been reading a ton of @just-a-nervous-bean fics to get inspiration for art, scenarios and fics:

Needless to say I got inspired, yes, so here’s some shameless Modern AU fanart.

((I also did this via a spontaneous cross-oc scenario idea that popped in my head:))

(Do not rb to non-kink blogs!!)

#bean tag bean tag #snzblr #amazing and awesome that its been THREE years since we first officially met #i will take any excuse to draw your soggy wet cat who is also french #bridger the 11 foot wonder

[quosterking]

Meet Poetry!

#poetry-the-marvelous-model

“Hey hun~! relax, I'm not gonna bite you...I mean, I might!”

General Info

Name(s): P/oetry K/riskas

Age (Birthday): 32 (December 22nd)

Gender (Pronouns): Transgender Male

Sexuality (Relationship Status): Demisexual (single, open)

Height: 6’2” (187 cm)

Race/Abilities: Extraord, Tiefling

Class (DND AU only): Glamour Bard

==|==|==

Appearance Description: Poetry is a tall, slender tiefling with deep indigo skin. He has horns that are a pale ivory, which sit horizontally on his head. He has top surgery scars that run under his pecs, which are shiny and gold in color. His nails are often painted black, and sharpened to a point.

Personality Description: Despite his flamboyant and extravagant personality at first glance, Poetry is a sweetheart at his core. He is caring and gentle when he needs to be, but he often shrouds it with the intimidating aura of magnificence that he carries 24/7.

Sneeze Info

Sneeze Description: Poetry is a sharp, prominent sneezer. His sneezes run on the strong side, but they aren’t necessarily loud or quiet. More often his sneezes will be accompanied by spray, and come in small strings and clusters. He won’t often sneeze back to back—you’re guaranteed at least one, but there can be up to around four or five. Allergens, Sensitivities, and others are ranked on a scale of severity from 1-100.

Allergies

Feathers [54]. Poetry has a slight feather allergy, as the debris and dander from molting feathers sometimes makes his nose itchy. Not great with plenty of birds!!

Sensitivities

Physical Touch [73]. There’s a sensitive spot on the bridge of Poetry’s nose that makes it easy to get a sneeze out of him. Using feathers or tissue to induce him will almost always work too.

Cold-Susceptibility: [33/100]. Rarely does poetry get sick outside of the occasional yearly bug. Poetry finds himself sneezing a lot without directly being provoked, he assumes there’s a cold coming on. His nose doesn’t agree with the congestion that a cold brings about—that’s usually why he hates them. Congestion and sneezing play hand and hand with each other when it comes to Poetry, who lets his sneezes run free if that’s the case.

Common Symptoms:

Congestion

Sneezing

Stuffy Ears

Pre-Sneeze Description: His hitches are breathy and rarely are they vocal unless he’s congested. 

Mid/Post-Sneeze Description: He will try and speak through sneezes, resulting in sneezing while pardoning himself.

Common Sneeze Spellings

Hehh’etschhue!! 

hIEE’ttchhuee!! HEEISHHhue! Ehht’uschhuw!

==|==|==

Has the Kink?: Yes!!

Applicable Kink(s): Tickling Kink

[art by just-a-nervous-bean: source]

Additional Info

Applicable Backstory:

Modern AU: Poetry grew up in the east coast of America. Shortly after graduating high school, he moved to Mendacem for college in music and scored a few gigs that brought him to fame. He also met Bridger and Aten in college, and together, they founded Anabel and Awokani.

DND AU: Poetry was originally an elf who had died on an adventure to slay a dragon. He got reincarnated as a tiefling, and now is trying to restore his fame and glory.

Occupation: Fashion Model

Voice Claim: D/aveed D//iggs [Voice Clip] 

==|==|==

Fic Featuring Poetry: A Cry for Attention

#poetry the marvelous model #my snz ocs

[quosterking]

Meet Tucker!

#tucker-the-tooth-fairy

“You can’t keep cooped up like this, you know…”

General Info

Name(s): T/ucker

Age (Birthday): 24 (July 30th)

Gender (Pronouns): Non-Binary (he/they/it)

Sexuality (Relationship Status): Asexual (single)

Height: Between 1cm and 4cm, depends

Race/Abilities: Extraord, Fairy

Class (DND AU only): Abjuration Wizard

==|==|==

Appearance Description: Tucker is a very small, mousish-looking humanoid. His ears are slightly pointed, and he is often seen shrouded in a woven green cloak made from a tapered maple leaf. They often wear a bell around their neck, and their hair is especially fluffy and well-kept. Tucker has a small tail, which fluffs at the tip much like their hair texture. In his modern AU, he’s often seen wearing business casual clothing.

Personality Description: Tucker is a no-nonsense little borrower, who is hardworking to the core. They made everything they need from the ground up, and much rather live out in the wild and tucked away rather than have to be pampered by those bigger than him.

[Art by roguesnezblog]

Sneeze Info

Sneeze Description: Tucker himself rarely sneezes, but when he does, its short, sharp, and open. Usually a one-and-done sneezer, unless they have a cold.

Allergens, Sensitivities, and others are ranked on a scale of severity from 1-100.

Allergies

Dust [30]. Only a slight dust allergy. When dust bunnies build up in untouched places, they cling to his hair and face, and the physical irritation makes him sneeze.

Sensitivities

Pepper/Pollen [80]. Tucker tends to sneeze with the physical irritation of pollen grains or pepper grains, much like how they react to dust!

Cold-Susceptibility: [50/100]. Right down the middle! Tucker doesn’t often catch colds, unless they overwork themselves and catch it from being waterlogged in the rain.

Common Symptoms:

Chills

Sniffles

Fever

Pre-Sneeze Description: Quite the small build-up, that almost has no noise. Instead, his hitches visibly are easy to spot.

Mid/Post-Sneeze Description: Tucker almost always sneezes openly, often assuming they’re too quiet for others to perceive him. Sometimes his sneezes will make him jump or shake.

Common Sneeze Spellings

Att’shhuh!

AhHt’sSCHHhuuh!!

==|==|==

Has the Kink?: No, but knows of it!!

Applicable Kink(s): Tickling kink!!

Additional Info

Applicable Backstory:

Modern AU: Tucker was born and raised in Mendacem, living in the parts of the city that better accommodate for smaller folk. He has a degree in dentistry, and is a professional in his field.

DND AU: Tucker is a fey, a tooth fairy in particular. He dropped out of tooth-fairy college to instead pursue a degree as an abjuration wizard and self-teach!

Occupation: Dentist

Voice Claim: D/espereaux [Voice Clip]

==|==|==

Fic Featuring Tucker: Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch Cold

#tucker the tooth fairy #my snz ocs

[quosterking]

GOD DAMN IT

Dare I ask…..what would Hadley be as a furry 🫣

the jury has said either a bear or a capybara.

personally i think hes got djungelskog energy

#lmao I am 10000% for the fact that hadley Shue is a bear #snzblr

[quosterking]

I recently finished Pocket Full of Posies and I have to say, it was wonderful! I love the way you write bigger plots. Very easy to follow along without being overwhelming :)

While I'm new to Dungeons and Dragons, I first followed you to be better familiarized with your fantasy characters. So, if you were ever thinking about putting another big plot together, perhaps a high-fantasy adventure with a few of your characters?

A few past examples that stuck with me were collaboration projects with yourself and @quosterking I believe, a few featuring Alphonse and one featuring Milo (forgive me, I can't remember the names of the stories off the top of my head). I liked the high intensity that was thrown into the mix, especially in the heist! I think high-fantasy has great opportunities for a longer plotline in general.

Request aside, thank you for your unique content! It's always wonderful to get a notification from you. <3

Gasp omg an actual adventure would be such a good idea for long form stuff yes yes >:3 brilliant idea anon!! I gotta figure out who to write it for there’s so many options and genuine lore (and….sus options)

;w; also thank you!! Aaaaa this was so lovely to read, I’m flattered!!

#I totally second this I’m so feral for your dnd plots bestie #bean tag bean tag

[quosterking]

Meet Coi!

#coi-the-neighborhood-merfolk

“O-oh…hi…you were t-talking to me, right…? S-sorry..!”

General Info

Name(s): R/yver J/onstina (“Coi”)

Age (Birthday): 23 (May 1st)

Gender (Pronouns): Cisgender Male (he/him)

Sexuality (Relationship Status): Homosexual (taken)

Height: 5’9” (175 cm)

Race/Abilities: Extraord, Mermaid

Class (DND AU only): N/A

==|==|==

Appearance Description: Ryver gets his nickname from the patterning on his mermaid body. His fish half is mostly cream, with calico-like splotches of black and orange. His skin is pale, and his hair is almost jet black—fluffy too. A lot of his merman features resemble that of a predator, considering sharp fins, sharp teeth, and a tail with a few battered scars. His land legs are rather twiggish and hard to stand on, so while walking on land, he sometimes uses the assistance of a cane or walker.

Personality Description: Coi is immensely shy and hates confrontation. He will flee any situation that he doesn’t feel prepared for, and only finds comfort in close friends. He usually doesn’t speak unless he has to, on most cases. His confidence blossoms a bit in the sea, though!

Sneeze Info

Sneeze Description: Despite his quietness, Coi has rather aggressive sneezes. They are strong and heavy, forcing through his mouth, nose, and gills.

Allergens, Sensitivities, and others are ranked on a scale of severity from 1-100.

Allergies

Trees [93]. Tree pollen and seasonal allergies seem to mess with him the most, especially on land.

Sea Grasses [22]. Some underwater plants can cause his allergies to act up, but they’re much more rare!

Sensitivities

Gills [97]. His gills are very very sensitive to anything that touches them. They sometimes dry out too, so that in itself causes sneezing to promote moisture.

Vapor Rub/Menthol [79]. Any strong aromatic scents near his gills will irritate them and cause sneezing!

Cold-Susceptibility: [80/100]. Mainly due to his exposed gills, it’s rather easy for him to come down with a cold.

Common Symptoms:

Wet Gills

Sneezing 

Runny/Clogged nose

Pre-Sneeze Description: Coi only hitches once, maybe twice, before an onslaught of sneezes. Usually his gills clamp shut as he gasps.

Mid/Post-Sneeze Description: When sneezing, most of it leaves through his nose and gills in a forceful chuff.

Common Sneeze Spellings

ssscchh’huh! IssssscHH’HUW!!

hhhhHHSSSCHhhuhhw! hH-hHHHSHHIIH!! IIIISHHHhhhuwh!!!

==|==|==

Has the Kink?: No, but knows of it!

Applicable Kink(s): N/A

Additional Info

Applicable Backstory:

Modern AU: Coi grew up in an underwater town right off the coast of Rore. He lived a pretty unsubstantial childhood, but always wanted to go up to the surface and on land. He especially wondered what it would be like to travel inland, but knew that his shifting at night would make such a journey a hassle. He only recently found himself a boyfriend, who’s pulled him out of a rough time, and now his childhood dreams are closer than ever.

Occupation: N/A

Voice Claim: O/z, MP [Voice Clip] 

==|==|==

Fic Featuring Coi: Will of the Gill

#coi the neighborhood merfolk #my snz ocs

[quosterking]

It's Folred's Birthday today!! I wanted to post this fun thing featuring Folred and his boyfriend, Erril (who of course belongs to @just-a-nervous-bean!) Folred has Elvish Daze in this fic, for context!

Get Well Soon

“Folred?”

The sound of Erril’s voice made him realize he was far past trancing. Folred instead was dragging himself out of a heavy sleep, and he did so through constant waves of exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, his cheeks flushed, and his hair festered with sprigs of ragweed, floating densely in the air. He felt like he was stuck in honey, his limbs felt weighed, and even lifting his head toward his boyfriend was a chore. The Elvish Daze was no joke, he had never felt more tired in his life.

“Mm’rrl…” his throat was dry, his mouth was gummy, “Erril…?”

“That daze seems to be getting better,” his voice was clearer now, and he felt a hand come to his forehead. “But you’ve still got your fever…happy birthday, Folred!”

Folred’s pupils were dilated from exhaustion, but they seemed to focus near the end of his sentence. Was it April already? It was, wasn’t it? That made him what, 25 now? Officially a quarter into his first century. And here he was, sprawled out on his bed like a dying Victorian man, rocking a sweltering 102.7 fever and sweating up a storm.

Folred looked over to Erril at last. He was wearing a mask over his face, and his eyes were a bit pink around the edges—clearly from allergies. His poor boyfriend, having to fret over him while he sprouted ragweed from his hair. In his squarish hands, he held a crocheted scarf, a sweater, and socks. His pupils widened more and more with every article of clothing he could identify.

“Did you make these…?” Folred tried to sit up, but his body gave, and with a low, thrumming ache, he sank. Erril noticed him shift, and slowly propped him up, watching Folred run his hand through his hair. Dusty pollen was loosened, coating his knuckles in an instant.

“The socks, no,” he admitted, stretching them so he could see the graphic. “Look, they have herbs on them! Rosemary and thyme. I know you said you don’t like wearing socks around the house because you slip, so these ones have little grips on them.”

Folred took the socks to examine the bottom closely. When his head leaned forward, mess pooled in his cupid’s bow. Pollen stuck to his wet nose so easily, but luckily, it didn’t seem to bother him. As for Erril…

“Hh-hngssSHHhhuhw! Hhuh-ussSCHHhuhww!!” Two powerful sneezes dispersed whatever was hanging in the air pst Erril’s mask. “B-bless me—hH! hNGSSHh’hhhuww!!”

“Bless you…” Folred yawned, watching him shake the pollen from his thick, dark hair.

“The sweater I made.”

“You- you made this?” Folred’s brows raised up, holding the sweater out to properly examine it. Thick and clunky, just how he liked his sweaters. It was a dark cream color, with intricate hand-knitted designs of tan and olive green. Green naturally went well with his style—most of the leaves and stems in his hair were green, and it was almost the same color! And sure enough, the sweater itself had a few loops here and there that weren’t fully secure, which was the mark of it being handmade. It smelled of Erril too, he could smell it even through his ailment. “It’s beautiful…how long did it take?”

“Three months.”

“You’ve been working on it since the start of the year..!! I love it…you okay?”

Erril nodded, turning away for another three dragged-out sneezes. “Snff-! hhuhHh…I need to take an antihistamine, I think…”

“Sorry,” he chuckled good-naturedly and a blossoming peony appeared above his pointed ear, “my plants are such a bother when I’m sick…”

“Your flowers are wilting, Folred!”

Erril looked on with despair in his voice and worry in his eyes. Folred felt a few petals hit his shoulder and chest, before the peony that had just blossomed fell to his lap.

“I’m okay…”

“No, no, sit back…” he insisted, laying Folred back against the pillows. “It’s that fever, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open.”

“That’s from the drowsiness of the daze,” he mumbled, hugging the sweater close, “this is the most awake I’ve ever been, though…”

“I’m going to grab some fluids for you,” tears clogged his thick lashes as he rubbed his face “…would tea help?”

“Yeah…take some allergy meds, Erril.”

Folred had drifted off by the time Erril returned, clearly, because he awoke in a feverish haze once more. This time, something icy was pressing to his forehead. An ice pack, which Erril had brought from the freezer.

“You’ve broken your fever…” Erril whispered, dejected.

“M’sweating so much,” he breathed, looking distantly as his nostrils crinkled. “S’cuse me, back up…hH-! shhHw- ikt-iKt-hKtsh-tSHH-!!”

It began slow, small huffing sneezes that grew wild with intensity and frequency. A fit of seventeen, followed by a second fit of fourteen.

“Gods bless you…” he sighed, handing him the tea, “Folred, this must be the worst birthday ever…”

“Are you kidding?” Folred blinked, trying to widen his eyes. More peony petals showered down his shoulders.  “Erril, you’ve taken such good care of me this morning…I feel very appreciated and loved, not to mention the gifts..!”

“It’s still quite unfortunate to have The Elvish Daze top it all off. Rather sour, even.”

“I’ve got plenty more birthdays to go,” Folred shrugged, flicking his elvish ears, “and you being here has already made it significantly better. Just because it’s my birthday doesn’t mean we have to go anywhere or do anything, we can always save that for a day that I’m not under the weather.”

Folred studied Erril’s worried face. To his credit, Folred was commonly a very healthy man, so to see him with this high of a fever was probably worrying. He took a slow sip of the tea, looking down at it and seeing the dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve taken such good care of me, Erril…you’re looking a bit better yourself.”

“I took antihistamines, like you said.”

“I’ll be okay…” he whispered genuinely, taking his squarish, worker’s hand in his equally-rough handler’s one. “Hey…I’ll be okay. Thank you for all of these gifts, and for sticking by my side, though…”

“You’re welcome. I just hope you get well soon.”

#snzblr #folred and flint #quofic #snzfic