you-are-hawtchew

[you-are-hawtchew]

something that has no business being as hot as it is: characters that do a lot of public speaking catching a cold

they don’t even necessarily have to be fully sick. they could literally just have the sniffles, but if their voice is somewhat congested or hoarse? it impacts them so much.

they would easily be able to hide the fact that they’re under the weather if they didn’t have to talk, but now EVERYONE knows.

and nobody really knows what to do??? like the character seems fine, but they sound sick. should they acknowledge it?? would that be awkward?? should they just let it be?? but what if the character needs help??

and then of course you have the people that are closer to the character that can read them like a book. they know exactly how the character is feeling and they make them tea afterwards and tell them to rest their voice.

it’s just so simple and so good

[you-are-hawtchew]

when someone has just gotten over a cold but still looks like they have one. Nose still flushed, eyes still tired. Maybe there's a cough that lingers on and on. Maybe they're sneezier than when they were actually sick, their sinuses raw and overly sensitive.

[you-are-hawtchew]

Oh to be waited on by a well dressed butler/footman/whatever suits your fancy, with a cold.

#well fuck yes #and either ordering them to get some rest #or quietly enjoying their struggles to stay professional and proper while serving you #only to eventually have to excuse themself so they can sneeze freely in private and then either say they cannot perform their duties #OR near the point of collapse and having to be told to Sit down and Rest for them to finally give in #just siiiiiiigh fuck yes fuck yes

[you-are-hawtchew]

someone coming home after holding back their sneezes all day just wanting to let their nose go. of course their partner coaxes out all the sneezes and takes care of their sweet nose while the sneezer gets to enjoy finally letting it all out

[you-are-hawtchew]

[you-are-hawtchew]

Words that always have the potential to undo me:

"Are you sure you're alright?"

[you-are-hawtchew]

The bathroom is hazy with steam when he enters. Shaky hands fumble with the buttons of his half dried shirt, fingers stiff and aching. The congestion seated deep in his sinuses is tickling in the most irritating manner and making the task of undressing much more demanding than it should be.

He leans against the closed door - the lock busted and key lost with the departure of a previous guest - his chest heaving as he feels a sneeze coming. His fingers manage to unhook one button, and then another. His breaths grow sharper, the tickle growing, demanding release. His head snaps forward and one of the buttons tears off, clinking to the ground like a fallen coin. He gives a sniffle, a gurgling sound that makes him wish he hadn't left the hankerchief in the room. The steam is doing wonders, and for a moment he ponders what kind of oils or herbs the host used - he can see bundles of them hanging above the bathtub.

He hopes he'll actually be able to smell them once he no longer needs to breathe through his mouth like a filthy mutt.

His hands fly up to cup his face, legs barely holding him upright at the sudden and explosive sneeze, barely catching the disgusting mess that began clogging his sinuses during the short stay in the room. Another sneeze is punched out of him, his next breath a wheeze that turns into a rattling cough.

He stumbles to the sink, focusing on cleaning his hands, pointedly trying to ignore the wetness trailing to the tip of his nose, tickling his nostrils and coaxing the approaching release from his sinuses. The water in the sink is freezing cold compared to the steamy air, and he uses the distraction to quickly clean his face, staving off the sneeze, patting himself dry with the ridiculously small hand towel. He decides he doesn't need -or want- to look at the state of his face quite yet, instead running his hand through his black hair, slicking it back and away from his eyes, lids heavy with exaustion.

He spies the golden glint of the fallen button shortly after he starts the attempt of undressing once again, and shakily exhales. The frustration of his thawing fingers still being useless when faced with such a simple task makes him grit his teeth. Grabbing at the fabric, he tries to come to terms with himself; most of the shirt is already in tatters. The remaining fabric might as well be rags with how filthy they are - salvaging it is wishful thining at best or simply dowright delusional. He tugs sharply, and feels the fabric tear along the front seam. Another tug, and he hears buttons popping off. With one last bout of strenght, his torso is free. His glare could kill someone as he strips out of what used to be his favourite shirt.

The pants are easier to get off, and he folds them as neatly as possible before placing them beside the sink. He unties his shoes, and regrets the act of trying to standing back up, as his wision tilts dangerously.

He succumbs to another fit as his knees buckle, gravity making sure he goes down and stays down. Remain on the cold tiles for much longer than he'd like.

Once it passes he coughs, the action followed by a fruitless attempt at a sniffle and a pathetic, painful guh. Swallowing thickly, he leans on the edge of the bathtub. Never before in his life has he dealt with fits like these. Not this persistent.

Undergarments and socks tossed aside, he begins the slow descend into the water. Tense muscles relax, the cold in his bones melting away like spring snow as minutes roll by. Through the bliss, he realizes that the tub is somehow big enough to accomodate him, despite the rest of the house being built for people shorter than himself. He is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth though. Sniffling again, he lowers himself enough that his sore throat receives the warm embrace of water, chin gliding against the surface.

Utilizing the damp and cool towel in reach, he first wipes his brow when he sits back up. Then, at another approaching sneeze that makes his whole face twitch, its role is promptly reduced to that of a hankerchief. He would enjoy nothing more than to fall asleep in this warmth, were his nose not such a menace. After another painful blow, he groans and lets his head lull back. He can faintly smell the herbs, scent dancing along his reddened nostril; lavender, oregano, and the distinct smell of something that makes his rattling breath stop. His eyes snap open, the culprit, hanging above him like a guilotine. Among multiple drying branches and bundles was a bunch of,

Basil.

He feels his heartrate speed up, his body locking up at the deep breath that meant he was about to unleash a monster of a sneeze.

Out of all the stupid, horrible, infuriating allergens, this was somehow the one that kept him - that seemed to...

A deeper breath, quivering parting of the lips.

Seem, seemed to... To-

"Thhuhn-"

A painful sting of his chest was followed by a noise that tore from deep withing him, rattling the broken door open just a crack. Just enough, for the chilly air of the hallway to snake its way to his face, his body shivering, and setting him into a thundering fit. The water splashed over the sides, as he clutched the soaked towel to his face, each wretched gunshot of his lungs making his head explode with hot, searing pain. Something was streaming down his cheeks - sweat from the steam, tepid water splashing at his face, or irritated tears brought on by the betrayal of his body.

He would've sworn the leaves of the damned herb fell upon him, were the sensation of a fleeting touch not replaced by a firm grip on his shoulder and the bicep of the arm holding onto the edge of the bathtub for dear life.

Panic, sprinting up his spine, his eyes shooting open before being forced shut with another terrifying yell torn from his damaged throat. In between his ragged breaths, hitching, coughing, there was rustling of leaves. His became aware of the lack if browns, dark greens and silvers above when his panicked mind forced his eyes open once again - his stiff body ready to fend off the threat.

It was not the guards. No law enforcement, or press, or his nemesis, here to gloat and rub in the sorry state the man was reduced to. No traitor, or enemy ready to take advantage of his weakness, served to them on a silver platter with a dinner bell to ring the executioner.

The worried host was looking into his eyes, their mouth moving. Saying... something. Not important, not enough at the moment.

Relief, coupled with exhaustion, pain, ringing in his ears made him sob.

It hurt. Not enough for another coughing fit. And all the same, his shoulders shook and hot tears fell.

The host moved his damp messy hair away from his forehead. He felt the water draining from the tub. Felt a hand pry the wet, soaked towel from his hand and replace it with a heavenly soft hankerchief. He immediately covered his face with it, pressing it against his streaming eyes. There was no dignity left to hide, but the action still provided him with comfort.

He felt a proper, heavy, warm towel being draped over his back, banishing the cool air away. Eventually, he was able to hear and reply to the host.

He is fine.

They both knew it for the lie that it was.

There were no spare clothes, none even close to fitting him. Neither was there a robe, and so he dried himself as best he could in the relative privacy, what with his host stating that they will remain standing at the door, with their back to him.

"You scared me half to death, it sounded like you were dying."

If only that was the case. Half in a daze he followed, body wrapped in a sheet. Once inside the room, he nearly collapses onto the covers. Feeling weak and pathetic when the host moves the covers away so he can lay down properly. The bed is so soft. His eyes cannot stay open a moment longer, and he falls asleep only half catching the apology of the host, for not asking about any allergies.

It is fine.

Rushing a guest inside from the downpour, helping him undress from the heavy drenched coat. He sways in place reassuring that "Everything is fine," addressing the host with utmost respect, even as he clearly struggles to stay standing. He barely has time to step back and lift his arm as his poor nose can't wait any longer. The sneeze is much louder than either anticipated, and with a sniffle and an attempt to sweep the embarrasment under the rug, the man smiles and clears his throat, only for his words to comeout with a painful croak. His gloved hands rub at his swollen throat, brow furrowed. The host takes a hold of the man's hands and removes the drenched gloves. He man's fingers curl at the lack of covering.

"Come now," the host says, guiding the flustered guest to the room they've prepared for him; it's warm both in light and temperature. It sets off the poor man's nose again, however this time he manages to muffle it more effectively.

"Bless you," the host says, and offers the man a hankerchief. "Make yourself comfortable while I draw you a bath. Any preferrences?"

It takes the man a moment too long to realize that the question was aimed at him, and just as he's about to reply, he snaps forward nose and mouth burried into the soft hankerchief.

"Bless you," the host says and repeats for the man to wait just a little while longer. A croaked thank you, and an attempt to offer apologies is cut off by another harsh sneeze that scrapes at his throat.

That damned weather.

#sick tag #snz tag #mozy stuff #This fucking thing. has been on my mind. for months!

[you-are-hawtchew]

“Idd judt the, SDNRRRK, the SDNRK, sdni– hAAHH - HAAH - HAAAAH - sndiffleaAAH’TSCH’HOOOO!”

#oh fuck yes 🥵 #snz tag #sick tag

[you-are-hawtchew]

So fun to think about how basically every character in the universe of whatever they're in has to have gotten sick at some point. Even if it's not on screen/on page...people get sick. That is a thing that happens sometimes. In universe they have very much gotten sick in some point in their life.

[you-are-hawtchew]

After not being able to do ANYTHING about being horny like a damn animal for days, spending just one hour on snzblr got me all the right stuff to fingerfuck all the stress out.

Bless you peeps, the stuff you guys write is just 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

#snzfucker panic #tmi? might be #but by fuck I am grateful #and now I disappear once more #until the horny takes over and I start writing about huge men and women shivering so hard the surroundings are vibrating with their tremors

[you-are-hawtchew]

Thinking about riding a minotaur. Holding onto his horns as I try and take every inch. My hips stuttering when he rubs just the right way. Poor boy has been just so so patient but I’m so tight around him he can’t help it— forcing my hips down to take him fully. Pounding into me like his life depends on it, and overflowing me with cum. <3

.

[you-are-hawtchew]

Fictional man with a cold.... Save me...

Fictional man with a cold

Save me fictional man with a cold

[you-are-hawtchew]

i love shivers. nothing quite hits like "so cold you physically cant control your body" does it

[you-are-hawtchew]

squeaky stifles are the best because of how embarrassing they are. Oh, you didn’t want to sneeze loud? Too bad you made an even sillier noise

[you-are-hawtchew]

people mouthbreathing when sick is so so underrated. like nobody wants to breathe through their mouth, its so uncomfortable especially when someone is sick and their tonsils and throat are all sore and red, but theyre just so stuffed up, their nose is dripping so bad, blowing repeatedly at first gives their poor head a bit of an open airway first for a half hour, then for a few minutes, then only for a few seconds until the snot solidifies and their sinuses are too swollen to function.

maybe they can pull a little air through their nostrils but it’s just not enough, or it makes a squeaking or gurgling or whistling sound when they try, or they just can’t rely on their nose anymore with how inconsistent it is– one minute plugged solid, the next minute running mercilessly on only the right side, the next minute sensitive to and prone to sneezing fits in changes of temperature, particulate in the air, humidity, perfumes. they have to pause to come up for air when they eat or drink, and then they sleep their jaw drops open a bit more and they snore louder than they ever do when theyre healthy. when they cough or sneeze, their lips stay parted, meaning they shoot their cold/flu/seasonal plague into the air through two orafaces instead of one, especially if theyre very sick and have given up on trying to contain it all.

it’s a sign their nose has officially lost all its function, be it for smelling or breathing, and they have to put in extra work to compensate for its current state as a useless weight on their face. if they go in public it’s clear that they’re not only sick, but also contributing to a perpetual cloud of germs around their head– a walking biohazard. their lips get chapped and develop an inflamed, sickly line of skin between their mouth and the rest of their face. their words come out unable to travel through their sinuses at all, stuffy and an octave lower, and they have to pause to breathe during sentences, too, and lets not forget the constant thick sniffling to keep their nose from dribbling out.

a scarf pulled around it all in cold weather; hunched over a bowl of boiling water at a dining room table with a towel over their head; laid propped up in bed with the humidifier chugging on high a foot away, trying to ease steam up their nostrils and, more desperately, through their lips and down their aching throat. when they develop a cough, it rattles up their windpipe and out their already open mouth into the air. theyre so, so sick, so so snotty and congested, and they have to deal with it all on top of their temperamental sick nose flying into snotty sneezes and stuffy, aching head and teeth. they stuff tissues up their nostrils– its not like they were using them, anyway– and the ends move with their breath as they sleep the best they can on whatever severe cold and flu medication theyre on. little snorts and sniffles report their status.

they wake up feeling just as terrible in the early mornings after a night of spotty sleep. they dont want to stay home sick, but their throat is so sore they can barely talk, and their nose is insatiable as ever. them going outside like this again is a public health concern. heaven forbid their partner try to kiss them for a moment, just a moment until they need to come up for air again– they’ll definitely catch their cold or the flu or whatever this is, or at least be subjected to their hot, sick breath laden with congestion, or if theyre unlucky, a full on nose-and-mouth sneeze directly in their face.

regardless, perhaps if they remind them how dry and unyielding the air outside is on their throat, they might consider the misery of it all and the perks of staying sick in bed to give their nose and throat a break. at least, theyll consider it.

[you-are-hawtchew]

I’m always so weak for when people try to talk through a sneeze and their voice gets so airy. Or they try to speed up their talking and their voice gets high pitched as the sneeze is ready to appear? They sneeze in the middle of trying to get the sentence out and continue as if nothing interrupted it?

[you-are-hawtchew]

today im really feral for long, -long- buildups where the sneeze is inevitable, you know it's going to get there, but it just takes its sweet sweet time (ideally with several torturous false starts in the middle)