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@ktaaaashu
WELCOME TO MY SNZ BLOG!!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
Esp/Eng
Let me introduce myself first;You can call me Izzy or Stacey,I go by she/her/He/Him pronouns and I'm from Venezuela 🇻🇪 ^^ (If you are a latino don't be afraid to interact with me)
I had another account where I posted a few of my ocs (Lilian and Erendriel) about 2 years ago and a few wavs but ended up deleting it because i needed time to solve a few things in my life T-T.
IF you recognize me please keep it to yourself,thank you.
a caretaker using positive reinforcement on a stubborn sickie by calling them good boy/girl when they comply (taking meds, eating food, resting, not stifling their sneezes, etc)
OC info post — Moss the Mosquito
Name: Moss
Age: 20–25
Gender: genderfluid and uses they/he/she (doesn’t have a pref), has a weird/complicated relationship w gender, doesn’t entirely ‘get it’
Sexuality: aro/ace spectrum, sapphic, would be happy in/prefer queer-platonic relationships
Height: if we’re using human height i’d say around 6’0 - 6’1. tall and slim
General info: pretty anxious and shy—probably deals with social anxiety. is autistic and mostly non-verbal, communicates a lot through buzzing sounds (ty @ktaaaashu for the idea!) wing beats, hand gestures and body language. if they do talk its few words and a very quiet voice lol. very kind and sweet but pretty insecure. very introverted and awkward. tries to act ‘normal’
Snz info: has perpetual colds/catches colds and illness veryy easily. his proboscis/nose like appendage is extremely sensitive. you could lightly drag a finger down it and she’d immediately have a sneezing fit. idk if they have allergies per-say, but strong fragrances, dust and things like that can set their nose off easily. she’s extremely self-conscious about how much she sneezes/gets sick.
i think he would sneeze in kinda rapid fits most of the time, but also sometimes a few more powerful breathy/spray sneezes. if that makes sense. their nose/proboscis is probably perpetually tickly and they almost constantly have watery/squinty eyes.
sneeze spellings:
“TSHHHuu!”
“TSHHH!”
“hh-tshh! Tshh! Tshh! tshhhu!”
idk something like that im not the best at spelling sneezes 🥲 but kinda breathy/airy sounding yet wet if that makes sense
I would kill and die for Moss, ouhhhh my god
stupid mosquito character i made a bit ago idk,
‼️dont reblog my art to non kink blogs‼️
Is it so hard to cover your fucking mouth, family? My mom just sneezed all over my little brother's plate of food.
And she's sick.
I had a breakdown in the bathroom. I don't know what to do anymore, I just kind of want to kms.
Everytime I try to get back to writing or drawing something like this happens, and now every snz I hear on media automatically makes me wanna cry.
Even reading a fucking fanfic feels like a tore.
Thanks, mom.
"your nose looks so itchy, baby. you gonna sneeze? yeah, that's it, let it all out, sweetheart. bless you! you're so full of sneezes, aren't you? goodness! you all done? yeah? here, let's get you cleaned up. can you blow for me, angel? good, good job, you're doing so good, love. feel a bit better? your nose must be so sore, it's all red and chapped, poor baby. do you want me to put some vaseline on it? yah? would that help? ok. c'mon, honey. let's go tend to that nose of yours, then get you back in bed. can we cuddle? of course. you can fall asleep on my chest and i'll play with your hair, would you like that? hm? yes, i'll bring the tissues, it doesn't sound like your nose is gonna let up anytime soon."
cw: slight mess warning under cut
cute slime girl has horrible allergies and just can’t help but sneeze 😳🩷
[do not reblog my art to non-kink blogs]
Thinking about a friend group chorusing blessings at the one friend who sneezed, who responds with a shy thanks, embarrassed from all the attention
okay i made a slime girl snz oc for funsies ^^
Name: idk yet… Violet..?? i’ll take suggestions too lol
Pronouns: she/her
Sexuality: lesbian?
General info: has pretty bad year long allergies and is kinda susceptible to colds/illness. i feel like people think she looks mad/grumpy and are often intimidated by her, but she’s honestly quite chill and nice and loves her friends and will stand up for them/what’s right. she’s probably just squinty from her often irritated eyes and nose hehe 🤭
often wears comfortable clothes cus she’s just so tired from her allergies to care. i feel like her allergies make her sleepy too and sometimes if she’s comfy she’ll accidentally fall asleep LOL.
sometimes she’s self-conscious about her allergies but most of the time she doesn’t care what people think of her.
oh she loves video games lol maybe especially pvp ones
why can i lowkey see her having the kink lol
How she sneezes: I feel like she would stifle/half stifle so probably like “hngt! ktsh!” im bad at sneeze spellings but something like that? kinda small sneezes but not like in a super girly way yknow. i feel like she would have a calm voice too—not too high pitched if that makes sense. and it’s probably calming to listen to her talk.
Always sneezes in rapid fits. Tends to cover into her shirt or in her elbow. She’s very considerate about covering.
Carries those little packs of tissues in her pockets almost constantly.
B and A tend to have a yapper/listener dynamic — it’s just always worked out that way. B has a neverending stream of thoughts and stories and A has the patience of a saint.
A always knows when to nod or hum their approval, occassionally chipping in or offering short contributions.
So when A has been silent for the past ten minutes, their gaze drifting away from B and their eyes falling into an unfocussed lul, B pauses their story and prompts, “Hello? Earth to [A]”
A’s attention snaps back to B for just a second before they bury their nose into the crook of their elbow, sneezing once, twice, three times before re-emerging. Whether they had been trying to hold back the sneeze or had been teased by the sensation, B isn’t entirely sure — either way, B had interupted their focus.
“Oh, bless you, bless you, bless you!”
A flushes pink, offers a soft, “Thank you, sorry. You were saying?” and lets the conversation continue.
People who don’t bless their partners when they sneeze:
What a mess...
hello! so, remember when i said to the void that i have some oc’s festering about? well, here are two of them. have them, do what you will with them, because i know that i will. anyways, this is ~3K words. enjoy!
oc’s nancy x lucien. stuck in a command outpost somewhere in france, during the height of world war ii, a british field nurse and a french army captain share some tea and a cold.
cw: sneezing, nose blowing, descriptions of snot/mess, intentional contagion, male masturbation, general horniness and nsfw content, and french people.
Safe Keeping
Somewhere in France, 1943.
It was cold. It was always cold on the front lines, but this cold was the type that seemed to seep through to the bone, no matter how hard you tried to stave it off. It was the type of chill that would have even the strongest willed men shivering as they bark out orders to those below their station. It was a nuisance, if anything.
Lucien pulled his wool coat tighter over himself as he stood, watching the sunrise cascade over the crumbled landscape. Light glinting off some of the barbed wire fencing surrounding the perimeter, pools of mud reflecting the colours of the dawn. He could hear the distant call of a mourning dove, the first one he’s heard in months, filter through the morning stillness of the makeshift command outpost that he has been stationed in since last August. It is March now, and they’ve barely advanced their perimeter. To him, that was utterly pitiful. He was far more used to the rapid change of hands, of land being taken in blood and fire quickly through the night; not this… stagnant acceleration. He sighed, his breath puffing out in a cloud of vapour, as he tugged the brim of his cap tighter onto his head, before turning to open the flap of the officers ration tent.
Lucien was, as any man should be, in his humble opinion, a determined, disciplined, and dedicated man. He was the captain of a midsized platoon of about one hundred and seventy-five men for the French army, and he was proud of that, although he would never outwardly boast about it. He was tall, athletically built man, with short ink black hair and pale blue eyes. He sported a strong aquiline nose, with a faint scar running across the bridge of it, along with thin downward-turned lips, that he most definitely inherited from his mother. He always, always, tried to look as immaculate as possible with his appearance, due to his rank, but that proved to be difficult most days.
Inside the officers ration tent, there were three shoddy wooden chairs placed around a wobbly wooden table in the centre of the tent, along with some supply crates piled along the outer walls to help anchor the tent in place on exceptionally windy days, and provide some form of insulation inside the tent. A portable, petrol-fueled ‘stove’ was positioned between two crates on the far wall, with some tins lined haphazardly on a wooden chopping block set on top of one of the crates.
Lucien took off one of his black leather gloves, tucking it under his arm, as he filled a large tin with water from one of the basins near the stove, before igniting the burner and placing the tin on top. He rummaged through one of the ration crates to find two unmarked, military issued, tea bags, placing them in two of the cleanest tins he could find on top of the chopping block, as he waited for the water to boil. He shoved his glove back on his hand as he reached inside his coat to produce his silver, rusting pocket watch, flicking it open as he peered at the watch face. It was 7:25AM, which gave him about five or so minutes before Nancy would arrive for ‘tea time’. He hated calling it ‘tea time’, as it was so very… English, in his opinion. Granted, she was English, and did hail from London, but still, it made him feel silly to say it out loud when he did request to see her before the day began.
He closed his pocket watch with a snap, tucking it back inside the breast pocket of his uniform, adjusting his coat afterwards with a sniff. He shifted anxiously near the stove, where the water had finally begun to boil inside the large tin. He turned for a moment, away from the stove, towards the table and chairs in the centre of the tent to adjust them to his liking—not too close together, but not too far away from each other either, and gave them a wipe with his gloved hand to clear off some of the dust and dirt that had settled on them. He stood back for a moment, criticizing his placements, before turning to take the now boiling tin of water off the stove and poured it carefully into the two other tins he had laid out, steam from each of the tins billowed out in thin streams.
A rustling from the entrance of the tent stopped his movements as he looked over his shoulder towards the noise. Nancy. Punctual, as usual.
“Good morning,” Lucien murmured, setting the empty tin down on the wooden chopping block with the others, “did you sleep well? The wind was absolutely howling last night around midnight,” he continued, as he picked up the steaming hot tins of tea, the heat seeping through his gloves, “I’ve made your favourite, unmarked army-issued tea.” He smiled, as he turned around to greet her. As he took in her appearance, he could tell that something about her was… different today. She was wearing a thick, woollen, army issued coat over her nursing uniform, like usual. Her loosely curled, short, dark auburn hair was styled the same as it was everyday. As he took a step towards her to hand her her piping hot tin of tea, he took a moment to study her face. She was wearing the same makeup that she always wore, but he noticed on the tip of her nose that some of the foundation had rubbed off to reveal a slightly pink undertone, along with some wetness on her philtrum. Odd, he thought.
“Thank you for the tea,” Nancy replied, smiling, as she took her tin of tea from his hand “I slept well, thank you. It is dreadfully cold this morning, we must be getting some snow soon with this kind of weather,” she said, blowing on the tea before taking a slow sip, humming in satisfaction.
Lucien pulled one of the chairs at the table out for her to sit on, before taking his own seat next to her. He took a sip of his own tea, as he continued to survey her appearance, “You must be frozen in that coat, and where are your gloves? You will be no good to us if you’ve no fingers to suture with.”
“I’m quite alright, truly,” she said, over the rim of her tin, “You worry too much.”
“I only worry when you choose to neglect wearing proper clothing for the weather,” he grumbled, taking a slow sip of his tea, his index finger tapping on the tap. There was something different about her, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. “Are you sure that you’re warm enough? Your nose looks a bit more rosy than usual.”
Nancy unconsciously reached up to press on the tip of her nose, “I don’t feel any different, besides being a little sniffly, but that is surely due to the weather,” she murmured, with a sniffle.
So she is sick, Lucien thought to himself. He could see it more clearly now—it was written all over her face. Her pink nose, the idle sniffles, the softness in her voice, and the wetness sitting on her philtrum.
“You’re sick,” Lucien replied, simply.
“No, I most certainly am not. It is merely the weather we are having. It’s March for goodness sake, it’s cold,” Nancy replied, defensively, as she took another sip of her tea. The steam from the tin curling upwards in long strings, the strong herbal scent flooding their nostrils.
Lucien watched over the rim of his tin as her nostrils twitched—once, twice—before she quelled the itch by rubbing her index finger underneath her nose, a small line of clear, runny mucus glistening against the morning light flooding the crevices in the tent. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away from her finger to a spot just over her shoulder, as to not be caught staring.
“So, do you have any pressing tasks for today? Any dramatic ailments taking up your time in the infirmary?” He asked, changing the subject, his ring finger tapping the side of his tin.
Nancy sniffed back some of the remaining wetness from her lip, “No, nothing too exciting, besides sti-h’ihh-itching a small laceration on one of your in-h’ih-infrantr-e’hih-trymen.”
Luciens’ eyes snapped back to her face as he watched her breath hitch. His eyes glued to her increasingly red and twitchy nose as she fought to hold back a sneeze.
“P-Pardon me-h’eh,” she gasped, quietly, before clamping her hand over her nose, “A’TCHU! H’IH-NGXT!” She lurched her body forward with the force of her wet sneezes, her tea sloshing forward with the movement. After a brief moment, she sniffled, thickly against her palm.
“Would you like a handkerchief?” Lucien asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Nancy nodded, not removing her hand from her face to contain the mess in her palm.
Lucien reached into his coat pocket, to produce a stark white handkerchief with a dainty lace lining around the edges. He shook it open with a flick of his wrist before passing it over to her. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he took a long sip of his tea, avoiding looking at her face as she wiped the mess on her palm onto the handkerchief, before unleashing a congested, gurgling blow into the soft folds. It was erotic, in a way—the vulnerability, the subtle signs of embarrassment radiating between them. He indiscreetly adjusted the front of his trousers to hide his growing arousal, crossing his legs.
“Bless you, where are my manners,” Lucien muttered, his voice slightly strained.
“Thank you,” Nancy mumbled, muffled from behind the handkerchief, as she let out a honking blow into the linen, wiping her nose with a sniff afterwards. Her nose was noticeably redder now, the remaining foundation having been wiped off into the handkerchief. Her cheeks were flushed as well, whether that be from the weather or the cold brewing within her system.
She folded the handkerchief into a small square, tucking it against her palm as she finished off her tea.
“Was the tea to your liking?” Lucien asked, as he also finished off his tea, setting his tin down a bit shakily. Pull yourself together, man.
“Yes,” she mumbled, sniffling thickly. Lucien could hear the congestion settling in her sinuses, “thank you again for the tea.” she said, as she swiped the folded handkerchief under her nose quickly.
“Are you still going to deny that you’re ill? Even after I’ve made you tea, and gave you my good handkerchief?” Lucien smiled, knowingly, as he shifted in his seat.
“I am not i-h’ih ill,” Nancy hitched, half-heartedly glaring at him, as she pinched the folded handkerchief against her reddened nostrils. Her eyebrows creased slightly, as she fought to hold back, “AH’hngxt! hngxt-ch! HE’pngxt! g’euh.” She sniffled, softly, a squelching noise came from the handkerchief as she rubbed it against her nostrils to try and contain some of the mess within it, leaving behind a noticeable wet spot against the linen.
Lucien swallowed, before extending a gloved hand towards her face, expectantly, “You’re ill and you’re soiling my handkerchief,” he smiled, “I’ll have it cleaned for you so that you do not have to use those dreadful things they call ‘linens’ in the infirmary for your poor nose.”
Nancy looked up from the handkerchief, meeting his eyes, “Are you sure? It’s quite… unsanitary, and I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
“It’s no bother, really, I insist,” Lucien replied, his open palm hovering in front of the handkerchief still pinched against her nose.
She paused for a moment, clearing her throat in an attempt to clear the congestion settling in her sinuses, as she removed the handkerchief from her nose, slowly, depositing it into his palm. Lucien could feel the heat from the handkerchief through his gloves as it rested in his palm. The handkerchief was soiled, its usually white colour now replaced with a mixture of translucent wet spots, streaks of yellow mucus, and strings of clear mucus clinging to the crumpled folds. He wanted to squeeze it in his hand, just to hear how positively saturated it was, but that could wait.
Lucien folded the handkerchief into a square, tucking it into his coat pocket, “Now, I want you to go straight to bed and rest for the day, you’re no use to us in this condition,” he pointed a stern finger at her, “and I will not be hearing any complaints from you on the matter. You are ill,” he stood from the chair, adjusting his gloves, “I’ll send for someone to deliver your rations to your tent, and I will check-in on you later today, understood?”
Nancy rose from her chair, glaring half-heartedly up at him, though the ‘intimidating’ effect was rather ruined due to the state she was currently in: watery eyes, flushed cheeks, a slightly gaped mouth, and a wet, snotty, red nose, “Fine,” she said tersely, with a heavily congested edge, “I’ll be expecting you later, do not forget,” she muttered as Lucien guided her towards the flap of the tent, adjusting her coat tighter over her form.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied softly, planting a kiss on her feverish forehead, as he took his cap off and adjusted it onto her head.
She smiled, softly, as she opened the flap. Lucien watched as she retreated across the command outpost towards her tent. It was still early in the morning, the colours of the dawn were slowly fading into vibrant hues of blue, as the sun began to crest more over the horizon, while the rest of the command outpost was still, for the most part, asleep at the moment.
Lucien closed the flap when Nancy was finally out of view. He walked back over to the table, hovering over the empty tins. He could see a faint, red, lipstick stain leftover on her tin. He swallowed as he picked it up, turning it over in his hands, skimming his gloved finger over the stain, smearing it against the tin and his gloves in the process. He set the tin back down on the table as he examined his finger, before sucking it, taking in the remaining taste of her lips—a herbal note from the tea, a sweet, subtle, flavour mixed with some chalkiness, along with a lingering taste of bergamot. He sighed, as he closed his eyes in contentment, trying to lap up as much of the taste as he could. He released his finger from his mouth with a wet pop, after a moment of savouring her taste. He rubbed his thumb against the wetness, smearing the rest of the dissolved stain away with his saliva. It was titillating. He could practically feel his stomach knot in arousal over the thought of sharing this illness with her. He could feel himself getting warmer, anxious, in a way, over the mere thought of her contagious body pressed against him in her tent, alone, away from prying eyes.
Lucien looked towards the tent flap to confirm that he was alone before reaching into his coat pocket to produce her used handkerchief. He squished it, gently, between his fingers, watching as the saturated folds squelched together—clumps of mess shifting around the pressure. He held it in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world, and to him, it indeed was. It was a piece of her, taken from a place on her body that he had yet to explore.
He moved to sit in her chair, as he held the unfolded handkerchief in his hand, as the other began to undo his belt buckle. He brought the handkerchief up to his nose, pressing it firmly against the underside of it as he breathed in her scent, as he fiddled hastily with his belt. He could smell the faint scent of his cologne, along with a hint of her perfume that mingled in nicely with the sickly sweet smell of her mucus. He continued to huff in the scent as he unzipped his trousers, tossing another cautious look over his shoulder towards the tent flap, before producing his erect member.
He sighed, quietly, to himself as he brought the handkerchief from his nose to wrap it around his shaft. He looked down into his lap as he began slowly stroking his member; the mess she had left in the handkerchief became an excellent lubricant as his breath stuttered. He dipped his head back as he thought of Nancy—her red tipped nose, flushed cheeks, the heat from when his lips met her forehead, the small hitches and gasps she made before she sneezed in this handkerchief—his handkerchief. He closed his eyes as he stroked his shaft faster, his hips bucking slightly as his breath caught in his throat. He thought of her illness coursing through his system, how he would visit her later this evening in her sick bed, how he would breathe in more of her contagious air, how she could fill more of his handkerchiefs with her cold—leaving them fat and plump with mucus, how he would kiss her—regardless—just to feel her more of her, and how her wet, sniffly, nose would brush against his—and how he would savour it.
With one final touch, he climaxed into the handkerchief, his hips stuttering in bursts of pleasure as he relished in the thought of her, and what he would soon be able to do with her. He glanced down at his lap as he caught his breath; he would have to clean himself and his handkerchief before leaving this tent.
Sharing a cold, blessing each other, sneezing back and forth, passing the box of tissues when the other is itching/building up.
But in a platonic way
Wish I could that with my bestie but my shy ass can't even sneeze in front of him
Hello 👋 I made this doodle for @ktaaaashu ! 💚 I just had to draw his oc Angela. I’m trying to get the hang of drawing people sneezing… 🤧 and getting back into drawing in general 🫠
GUYS‼️‼️‼️ STOP EVERYTHING YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW
big strong sneezy butch himbo werewolf… x femme vampire gf….im havingf… oc ideas… 🫠🤔🫣
im thinking, im thinkingfh,,
havent doodled the gf yet but
also the design might change this is just a doodle but i like how she looks so far?? idk tho…
i love the inherent weaknesses of humans. we all need to eat, we all need to keep ourselves warm in the cold, we all need to sleep, we get injured, we get sick. we aren’t machines. in fact having weakness at all is what makes us human.
it’s a huge part of why caretaking and things like that are so endearing to me. it’s so specifically human. it’s a part of our culture as humans, regardless of where you’re from. it’s universal and yet somehow so unique to us as a species.
