SneezeAce1

(between 18-25) Asexual sneeze enthusiast ✡️Chabad Lubavitch AM YISRAEL CHAI

[virtualprodigyunicorn]

[girlactionfigure]

[feverfcking]

I/lya my beloved

[silentsneezes]

and if i said photic il/ya… then what?

[sneezeace1]

Hey so...I wrote something! Itakes place on the Red Carpet of a charity event, hope it's what you were looking for?

The charity gala was supposed to be straightforward. Smile for the cameras, sign a few autographs, raise money for the foundation. Shane Hollander had done this a hundred times. Except this time, Ilya was beside him in a fitted tuxedo that made his chest tight, and that changed everything.

They'd kept it quiet so far—careful in public, deliberate in their distance. But tonight, Shane had insisted on walking the red carpet together. "It's 2018," he'd said simply. "No more hiding."

Ilya had been quiet about it. Nervous, maybe. And Shane understood why.

The first camera flash hit, and Ilya's entire body went rigid.

"Bless you," Shane murmured, barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the rapid-fire clicks of a hundred shutters.

Ilya's jaw clenched. "Hasn't started yet."

But it had. Shane watched as the second volley of flashes erupted, and Ilya's breath hitched. His hand flew to his face, muffling the sneeze into his sleeve with barely contained mortification. His shoulders hunched slightly, trying to make himself smaller—which was impossible for someone who took up as much space as Ilya Rozanov.

Another flash. Another sneeze, hastily covered.

"You okay?" Shane asked quietly, angling his body slightly toward Ilya's, trying to shield him from the worst of the light barrage.

"Fine," Ilya said tightly, his accent thicker with embarrassment. His free hand was curled at his side, and Shane could see the tension radiating through him.

Shane reached over and placed his hand flat against Ilya's back, feeling the tight muscles beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket. It was a small gesture—to anyone watching, just a supportive touch from a teammate—but for Ilya, it seemed to ground him. His breathing steadied fractionally.

"It's okay," Shane said, keeping his voice low, meant only for Ilya. "Just get through the next stretch. We move forward, it gets better."

Another explosion of light. Ilya turned his face away slightly, his sleeve coming up again, the sneeze rattled out of him before he could stop it. His face flushed red—whether from embarrassment or the physical reaction, Shane couldn't tell. Probably both.

Shane's hand pressed against his back, steady and sure. I've got you, the touch said.

They moved forward slowly, the crowd pushing them along the carpet. Shane kept his hand there, warm and reassuring, feeling Ilya gradually relax into it with each step. The flashes continued their relentless assault, and Ilya continued to sneeze into his sleeve with the grim determination of a man enduring a root canal. But there was something almost endearing about it—this powerful, controlled player brought low by something so innocuous, so biological.

"Is humiliating," Ilya muttered under his breath, after particularly violent sneeze.

"No one knows," Shane assured him. "They think you're allergic to something in the air or moved too fast or—"

"I know what they think," Ilya said, but there was a hint of wry humor there now, buried beneath the embarrassment. "They think I am weak."

"They think you're human," Shane corrected. He guided them toward a less brightly lit section of the carpet, where the intensity of the flashes seemed slightly reduced. "And you're with someone who thinks you're anything but weak."

Ilya glanced at him—a quick, vulnerable look that Shane wasn't sure he was supposed to see. His hand on Ilya's back felt essential suddenly, like the only thing keeping either of them tethered to reality.

Another few flashes, another few sneezes, but Ilya's shoulders had dropped away from his ears. He wasn't trying to disappear anymore.

"Almost through," Shane said, and it wasn't entirely clear if he meant the red carpet or something bigger—this moment, this risk they were taking by being here together, being seen together.

By the time they reached the end of the carpet, Ilya's sneezing had tapered off. The worst of the photographer mob had passed. Shane's hand was still on his back as they turned for one final wave to the cameras, and when Ilya's hand came up briefly to rest against Shane's hip—a touch concealed by the angle of their bodies—Shane felt something settle in his chest.

They weren't hiding anymore. And even with the photic sneezes and the cameras and the uncertainty, it felt like the right call.

"Come on," Shane said softly, guiding him toward the entrance. "Inside, there's better lighting. And significantly fewer cameras."

Ilya let out a short laugh—genuine, if slightly shaky. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Shane's hand never left his back as they walked.

[sneezeace1]

I also wrote another one a few days ago and my friend told me to include it AFTER i'd already reblogged my original. so, here ya go! Focuses a bit more on Shane as Ilya's support!

The charity gala was in full swing by the time they arrived, but the red carpet was where the real show happened. Shane knew what was coming the moment their car pulled up to the entrance, and from the slight tension in Ilya's shoulders beside him, so did his boyfriend.

Ilya looked stunning in his tailored suit—deep charcoal with subtle embroidery that caught the light just right. But Shane could see the faint set to his jaw, that tiny tells-all sign that Ilya was bracing himself. The flashes hadn't even started yet.

"You're okay," Shane murmured as they stepped out onto the carpet, keeping his hand warm and steady on Ilya's lower back. It was meant to be grounding, a silent reassurance before the chaos began.

Ilya nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He hated this part. Hated the automatic, involuntary reaction his body had to bright light. It was something he'd dealt with his whole life—the photic sneeze reflex—but that didn't make it any less mortifying when it happened in front of dozens of cameras and hundreds of thousands of potential viewers.

They took their first steps down the carpet, and Shane's hand remained exactly where it was, a constant presence.

The photographers immediately went wild. Shutters rapid-fired like machine guns, flashes exploding in brilliant bursts from every angle. Shane felt Ilya stiffen beside him, felt the exact moment his body betrayed him.

A sneeze hit him—sudden and unavoidable—and Ilya quickly turned his face into his sleeve, muffling it into the expensive fabric of his jacket. The sound was barely audible over the din of the red carpet, but Shane felt it more than heard it, felt the involuntary shudder that ran through Ilya's frame.

Shane's hand pressed a little firmer against his back, thumb making slow, soothing circles through the material of his suit jacket. I've got you, the touch said.

They kept walking, kept smiling for the cameras, but the flashes didn't let up. If anything, they intensified. The photographers loved them—hockey's golden couple, Canada's sweetheart and Russia's dangerous beauty, proof that rivalry could become something else entirely. They didn't know, didn't care, that each brilliant burst of light was slowly driving Ilya toward another sneeze.

It came in quick succession. One, two sneezes that Ilya couldn't suppress despite his clear embarrassment. This time, he buried his face against Shane's shoulder, muffling the sounds into the fabric of Shane's suit jacket. His arm came up reflexively, gripping Shane's chest for stability.

"Easy," Shane whispered, barely audible, meant only for Ilya. His hand traced gentle patterns across his boyfriend's back, keeping him anchored. The cameras caught the moment—what would likely be interpreted as a sweet, intimate gesture, two athletes comfortable with each other in the spotlight. They had no idea it was so much more than that.

Shane angled them slightly, positioning his body to shield Ilya's face from the worst of the flash bombardment, though it was impossible to avoid it entirely on a red carpet. It was a small kindness, but when Ilya's eyes briefly met his, Shane saw the gratitude there, mixed with lingering embarrassment.

Another flash erupted, and Ilya's whole body tensed. Shane felt it immediately—the warning signs of another sneeze building. He leaned closer, ostensibly for the cameras, but really to give Ilya a solid shoulder to work with. Ilya took the offer, sneezing softly into Shane's neck, one hand still gripping his jacket.

"I've got you," Shane said, louder now, meant to be captured by the mics, meant to be true. He turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the top of Ilya's head, a gesture so tender it made even the jaded photographers pause.

Ilya's face was flushed—whether from embarrassment or the exertion of trying to suppress his sneezes, Shane couldn't quite tell. Probably both. His dark eyes were a little watery, his hair slightly mussed from where he'd buried his face.

They made their way down the remaining stretch of carpet, and Shane never once moved his hand from Ilya's back. The flashes continued, relentless, and so did the sneezes—two more before they finally reached the sanctuary of the gala proper. Each time, Shane was right there, his body a shield, his touch a lifeline, his presence a quiet insistence that none of this was anything to be ashamed of.

When they finally slipped inside and the ambient lighting was gentle and soft, Ilya let out a long, shaky breath.

"That was—" Ilya started, voice rough and a little raw.

"Not a big deal," Shane finished firmly. He caught Ilya's hand and squeezed it. "You did great. And you looked gorgeous doing it, by the way."

Ilya's cheeks flushed deeper, and he looked away. "You're only saying that because you have to."

"No," Shane said, tilting Ilya's chin back toward him with one gentle finger. "I'm saying it because it's true. You think I didn't notice how hot you look when you're trying not to sneeze? All determined and flustered?" He grinned when Ilya's flush deepened to a shade that would've rivaled his jersey back home.

"Shut up," Ilya muttered, but he was smiling despite himself, the tension finally draining from his shoulders.

Shane bumped his shoulder against Ilya's. "Come on. Let's get you some water and find a quiet corner before they try to parade us back out there for photos."

As they made their way into the gala, Ilya's hand never left Shane's back, and Shane's never left his. By the time they found their table, the embarrassment had faded to something manageable, something that felt smaller in the face of the simple fact that they were here together, that they had each other, that Shane's hand on his back meant he wasn't alone in any of it.

And when the obligatory indoor photos came around later, and the camera flashes started up again, Ilya didn't even hesitate before turning into Shane's shoulder, knowing exactly where his anchor was.

[silentsneezes]

and if i said photic il/ya… then what?

[sneezeace1]

@silentsneezes Hey so...I wrote something! Itakes place on the Red Carpet of a charity event, hope it's what you were looking for?

The charity gala was supposed to be straightforward. Smile for the cameras, sign a few autographs, raise money for the foundation. Shane Hollander had done this a hundred times. Except this time, Ilya was beside him in a fitted tuxedo that made his chest tight, and that changed everything.

They'd kept it quiet so far—careful in public, deliberate in their distance. But tonight, Shane had insisted on walking the red carpet together. "It's 2018," he'd said simply. "No more hiding."

Ilya had been quiet about it. Nervous, maybe. And Shane understood why.

The first camera flash hit, and Ilya's entire body went rigid.

"Bless you," Shane murmured, barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the rapid-fire clicks of a hundred shutters.

Ilya's jaw clenched. "Hasn't started yet."

But it had. Shane watched as the second volley of flashes erupted, and Ilya's breath hitched. His hand flew to his face, muffling the sneeze into his sleeve with barely contained mortification. His shoulders hunched slightly, trying to make himself smaller—which was impossible for someone who took up as much space as Ilya Rozanov.

Another flash. Another sneeze, hastily covered.

"You okay?" Shane asked quietly, angling his body slightly toward Ilya's, trying to shield him from the worst of the light barrage.

"Fine," Ilya said tightly, his accent thicker with embarrassment. His free hand was curled at his side, and Shane could see the tension radiating through him.

Shane reached over and placed his hand flat against Ilya's back, feeling the tight muscles beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket. It was a small gesture—to anyone watching, just a supportive touch from a teammate—but for Ilya, it seemed to ground him. His breathing steadied fractionally.

"It's okay," Shane said, keeping his voice low, meant only for Ilya. "Just get through the next stretch. We move forward, it gets better."

Another explosion of light. Ilya turned his face away slightly, his sleeve coming up again, the sneeze rattled out of him before he could stop it. His face flushed red—whether from embarrassment or the physical reaction, Shane couldn't tell. Probably both.

Shane's hand pressed against his back, steady and sure. I've got you, the touch said.

They moved forward slowly, the crowd pushing them along the carpet. Shane kept his hand there, warm and reassuring, feeling Ilya gradually relax into it with each step. The flashes continued their relentless assault, and Ilya continued to sneeze into his sleeve with the grim determination of a man enduring a root canal. But there was something almost endearing about it—this powerful, controlled player brought low by something so innocuous, so biological.

"Is humiliating," Ilya muttered under his breath, after particularly violent sneeze.

"No one knows," Shane assured him. "They think you're allergic to something in the air or moved too fast or—"

"I know what they think," Ilya said, but there was a hint of wry humor there now, buried beneath the embarrassment. "They think I am weak."

"They think you're human," Shane corrected. He guided them toward a less brightly lit section of the carpet, where the intensity of the flashes seemed slightly reduced. "And you're with someone who thinks you're anything but weak."

Ilya glanced at him—a quick, vulnerable look that Shane wasn't sure he was supposed to see. His hand on Ilya's back felt essential suddenly, like the only thing keeping either of them tethered to reality.

Another few flashes, another few sneezes, but Ilya's shoulders had dropped away from his ears. He wasn't trying to disappear anymore.

"Almost through," Shane said, and it wasn't entirely clear if he meant the red carpet or something bigger—this moment, this risk they were taking by being here together, being seen together.

By the time they reached the end of the carpet, Ilya's sneezing had tapered off. The worst of the photographer mob had passed. Shane's hand was still on his back as they turned for one final wave to the cameras, and when Ilya's hand came up briefly to rest against Shane's hip—a touch concealed by the angle of their bodies—Shane felt something settle in his chest.

They weren't hiding anymore. And even with the photic sneezes and the cameras and the uncertainty, it felt like the right call.

"Come on," Shane said softly, guiding him toward the entrance. "Inside, there's better lighting. And significantly fewer cameras."

Ilya let out a short laugh—genuine, if slightly shaky. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Shane's hand never left his back as they walked.

[the-lesser-light]

What I don't think people realize is that the Jewish people as a whole consider themselves to be one community.

"But it was in Australia. You live in the USA. You didn't know any of them."

Doesn't matter.

"They were Chabad. You're reform. Aren't you on the opposite side of the spectrum?"

Nope. Doesn't matter.

"You are a convert. No one in your family was ever Jewish. You barely just got a handle on the holidays."

Still doesn't matter.

We are so few and community is such a big part of what being Jewish is.

If you wound one of us, you wound all of us. Those might as well be my brothers and sisters taking those bullets when they were just trying to bring light into an already pained tribe.

When one synagogue hurts, we all stand up and cry with them. We learned long ago what happens when we break apart into 'us vs. them'.

Some people will say "How can you publicly light candles after this? How insensitive to celebrate in this tragedy."

They do not know what it is to be Jewish. We light the candles out of defiance. We light the candles because hundreds and hundreds of years ago someone stood up and said "I'm tired of this bullshit" and took back the right to exist.

We will continue to gather. We will continue to celebrate. We will continue to join together and be one tribe.

[biglawbear]

Every Jewish holiday is like. Will someone try to kill Jews today? Who will it be? Will it be me?

Hanukkah is supposed to be fun and 11 people were killed in Sydney, Australia in the largest shooting in the country in decades. BDE. What horror to wake up to. My heart is in Sydney.

[biglawbear]

Go fuck yourself you victim blaming antisemite. This is no one's fault but a murderous Jew hater.

This happened all the way in Australia at a fucking Hanukkah party. The murderer targeted Jews. Not "good Jews" or "bad Jews" or "Zionists." Jews. At holiday party.

People who can't tell the fucking difference like you, who spread hate, who say that it's okay to kill some Jews and it's their fault for getting killed because they deserved it, are creating this environment.

[biglawbear]

I'm in grief and shock and you come on my fucking post and say "oh no, if only it weren't for those Jews."

If a queer person is killed, do you say "oh, if only it weren't for those drag queens, this wouldn't have happened?" Or if an innocent Black person is killed by police, do you say "those gangs are making the police kill people?"

And even if they were Zionists, do you think that means random people can be shot in broad fucking daylight?

Because that's fucked up.

How fucking dare you come onto my post you fucking Jew hater.

[sneezeace1]

HAPPY CHANUKAH!

Since I haven't seen a single post about it and it's literally almost midnight were I am, HAPPY CHANUKAH! To those who are celebrating I am wishing a season of warmth, light, health, and happiness! I am so lucky to have this amazing community and such good friends. My heart is heavy with sadness and fear after the events at Bondi Beach, Australia, but THE LIGHT WILL ALWAYS OUTSHINE THE DARKNESS! We are stronger together, so, light your menorahs, eat latkes, and have an amazing Chanukah!

[just-a-nervous-bean]

If anyone got links to fics for the following pls pls pls plsplsplspls send my way :3 I want to read and comment on all ur work and also bc I’m awful at finding fandom stuff here i have an awful memory of who wrote what and often snzblr tags are censored for privacy reasons which I’m totes behind on but it makes searching impossible)

-TOTK/BOTW LOZ (the same cinematic universe lol. I also really like it when authors have link as mute/doesn’t talk too much, it’s very endearing to me, but is by no means a requirement for enjoyment)

-HADES (I know they’re out there I’ve seen them!!! This is the most game ever to me so oUHGGhhh I wanna read them so bad it’s CRAZYYY)

-I haven’t seen any but I feel like there’ll be IWTV stuff out there, unless I’m the only one who’s done snz IWTV content which I find highly unlikely

Me on my knees begging the void to let me geek out in their fic comments PLEEAAAAAASE

[sneezeace1]

Hi @just-a-nervous-bean! I decided that since you are so right about there being basically ZERO IWTV snz content, I decided to change that! I wrote you a little snippet/scene! It takes place before the iconic LouMand season 2 fight in San Francisco, like a day before or so, I wasn't going for exact accuracy, mainly just a fun creative outlet. I really hope you like it! It's so cool to find a fellow IWTV fan on here! Any tips, criticism, or comment are greatly appreciated! Have a wonderful night!

ALL OF THIS WAS WRITTEN BY ME, A HUMAN BEING! IF YOU USE, SHARE, OR ENDORSE ANY SORT OF AI ART OR WRITING, GET OFF MY BLOG!

1970s San Francisco Apartment - Late Evening

The room was sharp with anger, furniture casting long shadows in the lamplight. Louis paced, hands gesturing in broad, furious arcs, while Armand stood rigid near the window, moonlight catching the edge of his profile.

"You did this," Louis said, voice low and dangerous. "You orchestrated the entire thing. Don't sit there with that look on your face like you're the wounded party."

"I am the wounded party!" Armand's voice climbed, desperation threading through it. "Everything I built, everything I sacrificed—"

"Heh—"

Armand's head tilted sharply. His hand flew to his nose, but he pushed through it.

"Everything I sacrificed was laid at his feet!" The words came tumbling out, faster now, heated. "Lestat. Always Lestat. Your beautiful, golden—"

"huh—" His breath hitched. He brought his shoulder up, trying to stifle it, but the sneeze came anyway, small and muffled against the fabric of his shirt. "Mmph."

Louis barely paused. "Don't blame me for your choices, Armand. You decided to let him in. You decided—"

"You decided to leave me!" Armand's voice cracked. He pressed the heel of his hand to his nose, eyes watering. "Do you understand what that felt like? To watch you—hngh—"

Another sneeze, this one catching him mid-word, his shoulder hunching inward. He sounded smaller this time, more fragile. He sniffled hard, jaw clenching against the sensation.

Louis stopped mid-stride. For a moment—just a moment—his anger flickered. "Are you—"

"Don't." Armand held up a hand, a warning. But his voice had gone thin. "Don't you dare stop because of—sniffle—because of this."

"You're sick." Louis said it flatly, moving closer.

"I'm fine." Armand's eyes were bright, feverish. He reached for the windowsill to steady himself. "I'm fine. We're not done. You don't get to—huh-nngh—mmph—"

This time the sneezes came in a small cluster, rapid and wet, his whole body folding slightly as he fought to contain them. When he finished, he kept his face turned away, breathing audibly through his mouth.

"Jesus, Armand." Louis was at his side now, hand reaching out before he seemed to remember they were fighting. He let it hover uncertainly. "When did this start?"

"This morning." Armand wouldn't look at him. His voice was stubborn, but underneath it was something raw. "And it doesn't matter because what I'm trying to say—what I've been trying to say for weeks—matters more than—sniff—than a cold."

"It's not just a cold." Louis's hand finally settled on Armand's back, feeling the fever radiating through his shirt. The skin beneath was hot, too hot. "You're burning up."

"I'm angry." Armand's defense was weak, contradicted by the way he leaned into Louis's touch, just slightly. The clingy way he always was when he wasn't well. "This is what anger feels like."

Louis didn't believe that for a second. He'd been with Armand long enough to know the difference between rage and genuine illness. Right now, Armand was trembling slightly, and not entirely from emotion.

"Come sit down," Louis said, already guiding him toward the couch.

"No. We need to—hh-nngh—mmph—" Armand's breath hitched again, and he pressed his nose against Louis's shoulder, stifling the sneeze there. The sound was small, almost childlike. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet. "We need to finish this conversation."

"We'll finish it," Louis promised, sitting down and pulling Armand with him. His earlier fury had transformed into something else entirely—concern, tenderness, the particular anxiety that came with loving someone. "But not like this. Not when you can barely stand."

Armand resisted for exactly two seconds before he was sinking into Louis, one hand clutching at his collar. His breathing was audible now, thick in his nose. "I hate being like this," he whispered.

"I know you do." Louis's hand moved up to Armand's nape, stroking gently. "Let me take care of you."

"You're supposed to be angry with me."

"I am." Louis said it simply. "I'm also not a monster. Well. I am, but not that kind of monster." He felt Armand's breath shake against his chest. "How do you feel?"

"Mmph—huh-nnngh—" Armand's shoulders hunched, his face burying itself in the crook of Louis's neck as he stifled several sneezes in quick succession. When he surfaced, his voice was tiny, defeated. "Dizzy. Hot. I don't—sniff—I don't like this."

"I know." Louis could feel the heat pouring off him, feel the tremor in his frame. His own anger seemed so small now, so irrelevant. "How long since you fed?"

"Yesterday. I couldn't... it felt wrong, and then I woke up like this and I just wanted to..." Armand trailed off, sniffling wetly. His eyes were fever-bright, his cheeks flushed. He looked impossibly young and impossibly vulnerable. "I wanted to fix it before you noticed. Before I had to burden you with—"

"Shh." Louis stood, his hand still firmly on Armand's back. "Don't talk. Just sit here."

He moved through the apartment with purpose, grabbing a blanket, retrieving the basin they kept for such occasions (Armand got ill more often than humans did—something to do with the emotional toll of centuries, perhaps, or the particular way vampires of his age and make sometimes deteriorated). He poured water from the kitchen pitcher, felt the temperature of it. Not ideal, but it would do.

When he returned, Armand was curled into himself, looking small against the couch cushions. The moment Louis settled beside him again, he was reaching for him, clingy and feverish.

"I'm sorry," Armand whispered. "Sniffle. I'm sorry I started the fight. I'm sorry I—huh-nngh-mmph—" His shoulders tensed, but this time Louis could catch the sneeze happening, the quiet, muffled sound against his own shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Louis said firmly. "We'll talk about all of it when you're better. Right now, you're just going to let me take care of you. Understood?"

He felt Armand nod, a small, submissive gesture that would have been striking under other circumstances. Louis pulled him closer, cradling him against his chest, and for the first time in hours, their conflict receded to something secondary.

Later, when emotions weren't running so high, when fever wasn't clouding Armand's judgment and rage wasn't clouding Louis's—later they could finish their fight. They could rage and argue and hash out all the old wounds that kept surfacing between them.

But right now, in the dark of the San Francisco apartment, with Armand fever-sick and clingy and vulnerable, Louis simply held him and let his caretaking speak the words that anger had made impossible to say.

"I've got you," he murmured into Armand's hair. "Just rest."

Armand's breathing gradually steadied, still thick and clearly uncomfortable, but calmer. Louis sat there through the small, muffled sneezes that came occasionally, through the times Armand reached for him when the dizziness got bad, through the long hours of fever-sleep that eventually claimed him.

Their fight would wait. Some things were more important than being right.

END.

PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-SNZ SPACES OR BLOGS, THANKS YA'LL HAVE A GOOD ONE!

[professional-rat-eater-deactiva]

A fictional character getting cancelled in real life and the people who make the show he’s on forcing him to issue an (incredibly disingenuous) apology might go down as one of the funniest things to happen in fandom history.

Twitter got mad at him. They made him say sorry. He was a dick about it the entire time. Daniel Molloy, the icon you are.

[clarkkent102000]

I don't know if you are still taking asks, but worth a shot?

My ears don't work like they used to but if you could just sneeze are hard as you can? like as loud as possible? I'd freaking melt, I have been along time fan.

Hope you have a wonderful day!

Hello @sneezeace1 🫶🏼

I'm always taking asks, I'm just not very quick at getting around to answering them! 😂

I tried to add a little extra (ch)oomph when releasing these sneezes for you, I hope your ears can tell the difference? They lifted me off my seat and then bent me over double lol

Thank you for your lovely, kind words. It was fun to let these rip for you! 💪🏻

Take care ❤️🤸🏻‍♂️

[sneezeace1]

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

[beastliness]

hate it when the people who I love are suffering due to circumstances beyond my control 👎 there should be a sea monster that I can slay to fix the problem

[beastliness]

nobody ever gets locked in a tower or chained to a rock at sea anymore - it's always some shit like chronic illness or ptsd related depression

[slyandthefamilybook]

all the Jews on my dash I'm giving you a big group hug

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

i got a fucking. advertisement on youtube. from google ai. saying. without sarcasm and with complete sincerity. "if shakespeare is too hard for you, you can always have our ai explain it to you." im gonna throw up. im gonna throw a molotov cocktail. if i see that ad again im reporting it for hate speech. how fucking dare you. i will kill you with my bare hands. with my exit pursued by a bear hands. i will tear google headquarters down brick by brick. im going to start biting people.

[sneezeace1]

As a huge lover of Classic Literature, and a Shakespeare nerd, y'all better PRAY I do not stumble upon this ad. I'd spontaneously combust. Ai is RUINING reading comprehension and I cannot stand it.

[reydeyflummyx759z]

Bathroom sneezing at work.

Did I mention that I hate ragweed?

[daystar428]

I can't ehHhh holdback HEH'Tishhhhhiewww!!!!

🥵holdbacks and classic announcements are a perfect pair. Hitchyyyy talking so much funnn🫠

Here's the classic announcement poll that helped me pick this.

Visit Original Link

Other classic announcements wav quick links: I'm gonna, I need to- , Sorry I can't stop -, you're making me-, Hang on..I'm about to snee-

✨💚Cheers! If you have other ideas for audios feel free to send me an ask. Can't promise I can do everything but suggestions are welcome. Let me know what you think of this one above👆 and DNI if your not a sneeze blog and 18+.

[just-a-nervous-bean]

Literally got so stoked about you being into IWTV I had to take 48 hours recover, I feel like a kid in a candy store rn hold on!!

Sneezy Louis in Lestat’s coffin… with Lestat… also in the coffin👀

Two vampires one coffin.

And any hc’s you may or may not have about any of the characters (snz or not!)

Im going to leave that there for now but I promise you I have a billion feral thoughts running through my head and when I manage to form full coherent sentences out of them, you will be the first to know👹

>:))) Ohhghghhh louis i adore him!! Everyone in this show has my whole heart its hard to choose a fave

[sneezeace1]

STUNNING AS ALWAYS! I hope your pillow is always cool on both sides and that you have an amazing week!

@just-a-nervous-bean