hi, i'm jas! yes, this is a sneeze kink blog. with that out of the way, welcome to my cozy weirdo corner. stay a while and watch the sunset~
below you'll find links to my oc bios, all my fics so far, my 'about/before you follow' and a list of my main tags.
❗️ please do not reblog ANY of my posts to non-sneeze blogs/non-kink blogs, regardless of their content ❗️
my ocs | my fics | about me/byf
tags index:
• my art: #sunset draws
• my writing: #sunset writes
• my ocs: #sunset ocs (oc-specific tags are in my oc bios + in my featured tags!)
• general kink stuff: #snz / snz scenarios: #snzario
• anything nsfw: #nsfw (usually additionally #nsft)
• art/fics that are not mine: #other ppls art / #other ppls writing
DNI: minors (under 18s), terfs, racists, homophobes, ableists, zionists, antisemites, or if you use/support the use of generative AI. if you interact without an age/age range on your blog, you will be blocked permanently on sight. (and yes, i do check every blog)
someone spritzing their wrists with their their new luxurious scent, rubbing them together, and then delicately taking the face of their enamoured, allergic lover in both hands
(Please excuse the random bit of blanket over his butt - covering that up for Tumblr's sake.)
Previous Fic | Below are Edwin’s journal entries between his encounter with Ambrose, and receiving his letter. He got sicker :( I also left some blanks instead of inventing names for minor characters and places - just seemed more convenient for now. CW: contagion
January 3rd - The New Year’s Ball was a disaster. If not for Ambrose, I hardly know what I would have done. He found me in a back room, already delirious and - But I can’t speak of it, even here…partly because of its disgusting nature, and partly because of the affection it brought out in me. Which is more mortifying? All I can say is how grateful I am to Ambrose. Things could have been much worse.
At any rate, I must be stronger. Will return to work tomorrow. I am wanted in L____, where there is a land sale to be arranged. I am quite well enough to go. Healthy exertion will put all these thoughts out of my mind.
January 4th - Trip to L_____ brought nothing but misfortune. All the household there was sick with congestion, and Mr. ______, in addition to driving a terribly hard bargain, coughed every other word. But the real troubles began on the return journey. The left front wheel of the carriage sank into a concealed hollow under the snow. The sky was very bleak, and bitter cold seeped into the carriage interior until my nose ran in complaint. We were stuck in the snow for hours and did not reach home until after sundown. I’m afraid I cursed at everyone, and kicked the side of the carriage like a child in tantrum. My driver is a good man, but he will like me even less now than he already did. The devil take my temper…
But how could I help it, in the midst of panic and frustration? I was so close to being well again. Feel unusually tired now, but hopefully that will be mended by morning. I cannot afford to be ill again so soon.
January 5th - Awoke late, with a sore throat and a feeling of great dread. I did my best to overcome any weakness by persistent activity. I went for a short ride, and chopped wood until I came over faint. Nonetheless, I only found that the cold moved from my throat to my head and nose. Servants finally persuaded me to take supper lying down. They will talk. I refuse to call for Dr. _____, though. That will only confirm the gossip, and further damage my reputation. Half of E_____ County already thinks of me as fragile.
January 6th - Attempted to work from bed. At least correspondence can be attended to. However, I blotted the ink so many times due to ill-timed sneezes that I soon gave up the effort. Am now lying in bed alone. Everything is dull and I feel unconscionably sorry for myself. Fever has set in - I know myself well enough to say I will likely only worsen from here. Will sleep again. [Page has clearly been sneezed on.]
January 7th - Felt utterly pathetic and miserable all day. All I can think about are Ambrose’s arms around me. I physically ache with longing to be held. How can I return to my lonely existence after being shown such kindness? Such a happy memory…it torments me because it can never be repeated. He was a saint, but no one is saint enough to want to know me after I’ve spent a whole night sneezing myself silly into their hand, an absolute mess. And I said such needy, adoring things…I hope I am misremembering…what an embarrassment.
Must stop writing or I will go to pieces again.
January 8th - Oh Ambrose, Ambrose, Ambrose. There is light in the world after all! How do these gifts fall into my lap? He feels as I do. That he could forgive me, even want me, after seeing me this way…I am overcome.
I wrote a few short lines to answer his request in the affirmative - everything else must be said in person. I’ll busy myself with making a guest room ready for him, and doing what I can about my appearance. Patient as he is, the last thing I want is to greet him with total dishevelment and a sneeze in the face. Though I might not have a choice. I feel so very weak even sitting up at my mirror, and my hair is not obeying me. Maybe I’ll just rest a little while longer…
As promised in Part 1, I'm introducing Edwin's Caretaker, Ambrose! Because I make shameless self-inserts, he is transmasc and a little gender non-conforming. He found Edwin crying and descending into fever, and looked after him. This experience awakened his interests in the kink, as shown by the following letter:
Dearest Edwin,
How can I convey what is happening to me on your account? What you initially called "the most undignified experience of [your] entire life" was, to me, a strange and illicit honeymoon. And perhaps it became that way for you as well, given how sweetly you parted from me, with so many words of gratitude.
Ever since I found you sniffling in that parlor, and locked the door against every prying eye to create our own little world, I have been wracked with a constant urgency. There has been, continuously, a burning inside my veins. Especially when I heard (forgive me for listening to the gossip passed so rudely from your servants to mine) that you are already ill again, so much as to be bedridden, and that you are generally this way all winter. How I pity you, sir! I pace and I pace and I think of you. I cannot sleep through the ravages of memory. I think about the way my heart battered the inside of my ribcage trying to crawl closer to yours. I think of the warm flush of your skin radiating into me. I think of your tears shimmering like pearls that I so gladly collected with my own sleeve, and how wasted they will be if you cry alone. I think, most scandalously of all, about how your delicate, miserable sneezes shook your body as you leaned into my touch, and how you will shake yourself to pieces without me.
I have never been charged with someone so tender and in need. It tore at my heart to think that you would never return the strange feelings blooming in my chest. But when, in your fever, you called me "angel" over and over, "my light, my angel..." even as you struggled to speak through many fits of the sinuses, my hope and my desire each grew overpowering. Something has awakened in me, and it is consuming me from the inside out.
Do you even remember what passed between us? You were so ill...if this is devilish lust running away with me, then censure me, burn my letter, and never speak of this again - I certainly never will. But if you feel the same, send for me at once and I will pack my bags, say my goodbyes to my own lodgings, and tend to you until April at least. Affairs are very settled here and can all be handled by post, so you need have no fear of any inconveniencing factors. If you are willing, I will soon be...
[ Image Description: Two pink-tinted sketches of the same scene. First: Edwin splayed out on a divan on his back, head on a pillow, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes and his nose very pink. Ambrose is kneeling on the floor by his side, caring for his nose with a handkerchief and a very tender expression. Second: A close-up of the same scene, showing more detail. Description Ends ]
tattoo artist is allergic to the scent you’re wearing (unspecified gender)
cw for needles and being poked, descriptions of being sneezed on
-
emphasis on this being fictional, don’t intentionally combine sneezing+tattooing if you can, be safe when handling needles and long term ink
-
You’d chosen the right side of your upper back, just a few inches off from your shoulder blade. In a sectioned off corner of the studio belonging to your artist, you take off your jumper to reveal a tank top, one you’d chosen for easy access to the shoulder. They gently clean the area with rubbing alcohol and apply the stencil. After checking the position of it in the mirror, you’re told to lie down on your stomach on the straightened out leather chair.
The artist pulls a small rolling chest of drawers nearer, the top of which is covered with a clean paper towel. Out comes a round cap of ink, richly opaque, a couple of popsicle sticks, and a bottle with a straw-like protrusion, filled with a clear liquid.
“Alright. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” You rest your chin on your other arm, and gaze at the framed designs hung up around the artist’s walled studio section.
A soft buzzing starts.
A warm, gloved hand gently rests on your back. It begins like a stroking of stiff brush bristles. You’re unsure if the process so far is particularly gentle, or if your pain tolerance is high.
“How long have you been tattooing for?” you ask, just as your back begins to tense a little.
“Me? About… five years…”
The strokes pause. You breathe out. You feel the gloved hand give the area a smooth caress with their thumb, and the tension eases a little.
“Sorry if I’m squirming,” you breathe out, as they begin to reposition.
“You’re fine… I’ll just…” Their voice is soft as they’d been getting a closer look, then you hear them draw back. You peek sideways. They appear calm and collected, but strangely quiet - you trust them to do this, and they haven’t given you a reason not to. “*snff!* I’ll just hold you down, if that’s okay.” they say with a bit of a chuckle.
“Fine by me,” you allow, with a grin.
The fingers of their gloved hand gently rest upon your back, their index finger and thumb of their non-dominant hand framing the stencilled area. It becomes a little rougher, like scraping. Your fingers curl, pressing together, wrapping around your thumb.
“You’re sitting pretty well,” they murmur softly, continuing with sharp focus.
There’s a pause. As you hear a bit of movement behind you, you hear a small sniff. With your gaze hovering over the framed artwork on the walls, you hear a soft, shallow gasp. What follows is a rather restrained-sounding sneeze, a desperate vocalization forced through clenched teeth. “rrRR’ESSCHHh-!!”
The chair jerks a little beneath you - they must have been leaning on it. “Bless you,” you say, and peek around at them. They’re facing away, an elbow held over their face.
Another reflexive gasp- “k’hiH-!” -and exhale. “-g’hhh… *snrf!*” Their arm lowers. “Thank you. So sorry.”
“It’s all good.”
You hear another sharp sniffle. You feel their hand gently pressing on you again. It stings as they continue, but you’re distracted by other things… “*hsnnnrk~*” Toward the end of a particularly hard stroke, you tense and then loosen when it stops. “You good?” they ask gently.
“Yep,” your eyes shut as they start again, one hand keeping you from moving.
You follow the sound of their voice, which every few words, “*snrf!*” is split up by sniffles, getting progressively wetter and *sdrff!* slowing the pace of their calming speech.
“*ak'hm! snf!* What's the story of this tattoo?"
...
"I used to, uh... *snNrfh* Uh, I used to go to this ode shop, to this ode guy... *hsnrf!* He agreed to train me."
...
"...And y'know what, I did get my heart broken. *sndrf!* But- *snNRFF!* That's just life. I just kept doing me. Doing my strange little projects..."
…
“You’re doing really well, *snrffh!*”
The needle pauses. You’re tempted to peek back, as you hear the wheels of their chair roll backward. “Oh gosh…” they mutter softly.
When you turn to look, their face is frozen - eyes shut, their brow slightly pinched.
“Sorry, hh-!” Quickly, their elbow flies back up to cover their face. “hAHt’TDSCHhh!! *snrk!* d’EEISCHHhh!! *snnrgk!* Agh, excuse mbe.”
“Bless you. You okay?”
“Yeah, I…” they begin, blinking shiny eyes. “Uh, would you happen to be wearing a scent of some sort?”
You pause. Then, “Yeah. Oh no, I’m sorry.”
“Ndo, it’s okay. I mean, if you’re cool with it, *sdrf!* I cad keep going, but…”
“Are you sure?”
“I cad, it’s almost dode. *ahem!* But I, *hsdrff!* I deed to blow mby dose first. Sorry. *hsnrk!*”
“Okay,” you hear yourself say, as they get up to grab tissues, pulling off their gloves. “I mean, you sure you’re good to continue?”
“Yeah, *snrf!*” They raise a folded tissue and blow their nose. “I think I just get more sneezy when my nose is stuffy. Be right back, I need to wash my hands,” they say, stepping out.
“You gonna try not to breathe?” you joke lightly as they go, eliciting a small chuckle.
“You betcha,” they play along. They reappear a few moments later, shaking out their hands a little. “Whew. I’m fine. You still cool?”
“As ice.”
They pull on another pair of gloves and sit down. You feel their fingers gently rest on your side again. “I hope not actually,” they breathe.
“Nope,” you exhale in a soft chuckle. You rest your head on your arms and go back to staring at the framed tattoo designs.
“That would suck…” they breathe, preparing to start again. “Just let me know if… Ooh. Wow. *hsnff!*”
“Still bothering you?”
“A little.” This, and they’re still going. You’re about to suggest another pause when one arrives abruptly - the strokes come to a stop, as does the buzzing, and their hands lift away from you.
“yY‘ISSCHHhhioo-!!”
The prolonged period of focus and determination culminates into one wrenching, desperate expulsion without a preparatory breath, again causing the chair to jerk slightly as they jackknife to the side. Mostly to the side - you feel a cool, ghostly mist on your back, and almost immediately feel heat rise to your cheeks.
“*snnrff!* Sorry, oh mby god.”
“No, it’s my bad,” you start to say, turning to look at them again. “Bless you.”
They’re wiping their eyes with their wrists, looking a bit at a loss. They have to stand up and remove their gloves again, then reach for more tissues. With little hesitation, they blow their nose hard, as if it really itches.
“I really tried,” they say, still sniffling, drying their teary eyes. “But I think I might need to reschedule. *snrff!* Is that cool?”
How do you prefer your fetish work (art/wavs/fics) to be complemented?
This is a non-judgmental question, I’m just curious! This probably is so nuanced and varies depending on the type of art and also the audience so I’m not sure if this is something that can be captured in a poll. But if you’d like to participate then choose the highest level of comment on your work that you are open to receiving (on a scale of SFW to NSFW)
Completely non-sexual: “This is so good”
References sexuality: “This is really hot”
Specifies sexual reaction: “This turns me on”
Specifies sexual physical reactions: “This made me hard/wet”
not to discourse on main but i think maybe the biggest problem when it comes to people reblogging snz kink content to non-kink blogs hinges on a poor understanding of boundaries
this is not to call out anyone specifically, but keep in mind that the overwhelming majority of us do regard this material as sexual. this is why our blogs are designated as kink/fetish blogs. since we interact with kink content as intended, and given that a lot of this stuff can be very much wrapped up in how we navigate sex and sexuality in general, we have a more vested interest in being low-key due to the personal nature of it all. so if your blog is not explicitly labeled a kink/fetish blog and has overlap/contact with various communities by virtue of who you follow (general writing and prompt blogs, for example), and who follows you (which in many cases is a LOT of non-fetish blogs), you’re taking content out of this sphere and displaying it for the consumption of people it’s not intended for
this, naturally, has the effect of opening our community to increased scrutiny and ridicule, which many people are - understandably! - uncomfortable with, and because most of us take care to keep things centralized, this phenomenon is obnoxious, invasive, and makes people feel unsafe. many blogs have deleted because of this. granted, the nature of this platform means you can’t entirely control what goes where, and i’m not saying we should try, or that it’s even remotely realistic to expect everything to remain among us considering just how much this community has grown over the years. i’m also not blaming any snz kink blogs for having ‘vanilla’ followers or for the occasional post that blows up for reasons that may or may not be related to what’s being talked about here
what i am saying, however, is that if you’re not actually a snz/illness kink blog, then you need to be more aware of how the community operates on this level and that “do not reblog to non-kink blogs!” directive is not a suggestion. that’s a boundary. i think also, if a kink blog doesn’t have anything on it regarding how it wants people to interact with its own content, and you’re not a kink blog, the responsibility is on you to ask whether the owner is comfortable with you reblogging their content. this is a common courtesy people exhibit all over this website, and it should also apply here
in sum: if you don’t regard this material as sexual, then it’s not primarily intended for you, and you need to exercise greater awareness and consideration when disseminating it
