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[vikalynnssnzblog]

The View From 3B - Chapter 3, Part 1

this fic is almost entirely self indulgent nothingness, and it's not entirely finished yet, but it's over 7k words and i wanted to post what i've got so far (fic is under the cut if you want to skip my rambling)

summary/info: J/ayce and V/iktor get stuck in an elevator together while J/ayce struggles with one of the worst colds he's had in years. It takes place about a month after V/iktor moved into the apartment complex, so it's their first "real" introduction to one another.

It's from J/ayce's POV (i'm an awkward, nervous J/ayce believer -- also an audHD J/ayce believer). I haven't written from his POV in a long time, so if anything feels OOC feel free to let me know :)

CW for mess!! I don't describe it in a lot of detail, but it's definitely present in this fic, so be warned! Warning for contagion as well, I plan on writing a followup where V/iktor catches J/ayce's cold

I don't love the introduction/first page (I was impatient to get to the snz and rushed through it), but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :3 anyways, if you read all this ily, here's a treat:

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. It’s felt endless, obnoxiously long in that particular way that makes every small inconvenience feel personal. Jayce is running on fumes, his head aching, throat raw, and nose so stuffed he can barely draw a full breath. He’s been impatient to get home for the past hour, but his bus had been delayed three times, it had started to rain, and his plans to pick up more tissues had been entirely forgotten. 

By the time Jayce steps into the lobby of his apartment complex, he’s running on autopilot. His limbs are aching and heavy, his body having forgotten how to function without discomfort hours ago. He barely manages a nod towards the security desk; he’d usually stop to chat, especially with the woman working tonight, who always engages in friendly conversation. He must look as shitty as he feels because she just gives him a sympathetic look and allows him to pass by in silence. 

Jayce quickens his pace as he notices the closest elevator shutting, just barely managing to slip through the narrowing gap in time for the doors to shut with a loud PING! Once inside, he lets out a stuffy breath of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing them slowly. It’s not the most hygienic move, sure, but considering that he’s already sick, he allows himself the small comfort. That is, until he registers a presence beside him, immediately dropping his hands to his sides and glancing over. 

‘Just my luck.’ Jayce thinks as he recognizes the man standing beside him, their eyes meeting for the briefest second before both of them glance away. 

He should’ve just waited and taken the other elevator, another minute of standing there wouldn’t have hurt him. But it’s too late now, especially after slipping in at the last second and making direct eye contact with none other than his next-door neighbor. They’d only ever had a few brief conversations – polite, out of necessity, and highly-performative on Jayce’s end. Afterall, he’d been taught to put on a well-mannered mask and adapt, so he did exactly that; at least he tried to, but his anxiety makes him far less calm and collected as he’d like to think he appears. 

‘Thank God we live on the third floor and not the sixth’ Jayce thinks, trying his best not to sniffle audibly as he feels an unwelcome trickle of moisture slip over his upper lip, ‘And thank God I’m wearing a mask.’

PING! They pass the first floor. 

Jayce is certain that he looks worse for wear, even with the bottom half of his face covered with not one but two medical-grade facemasks. It might be overkill, but his mom had raised him with the understanding that “just because you’re sick doesn’t mean everyone else has to be”. Besides, he doesn’t find it all that inconvenient to wear a mask, aside from those moments when he can no longer deny the itch that constantly lingers in his sinuses whenever he’s congested. 

He’s no stranger to sneezing in masks, but he’s certainly not a fan of it. The sensation alone is enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort, not to mention the either disgusted or pitying looks he receives from anyone nearby. 

Jayce feels his nose continue to run, the moisture beginning to collect on his upper lip and risk slipping further down, but he knows if he sniffles, it'll sound disgusting. The last thing he wants is to gross out his neighbor, who’s politely ignoring him and focusing instead on a loose string dangling from his sleeve. 

Jayce chances a glance at Viktor, feeling his heart thrum a little at the sight of him. He looks tired too, but Jayce ignores the prominent eyebags of the shorter man, drawn instead to the light freckles cast across his face. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his moles, but still, Jayce finds himself rather endeared by them – light, small, decorative things. He only realizes he’s staring when Viktor turns towards him, meeting his gaze wordlessly. 

Jayce blushes crimson, his mind stuttering to a halt as he’s caught staring. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking anywhere aside from Viktor. First it's his scuffed sneakers, then the wristwatch his friend had recently purchased for him, then the smudges on the elevator door. 

Is the elevator moving slower than usual? Jayce swears it is, time dripping by like molasses as he tries to ignore the embarrassment swelling in his chest. ‘Great job Jayce’ he thinks sarcastically ‘what a stellar impression you’re making. Why don’t you just go ahead and–’ his internal spiral screeches to a halt as he feels the buzzing in his sinuses shift, prickling up to the tip of his nose and making the sensitive appendage twitch. ‘No… no no no no no–’

“hh–,” his breath hitches before he can do anything to stop it, the prickling swelling to a full on itch. Desperate for a solution, Jayce decides to do the thing he’d been dreading the entire elevator ride. He sniffles, feeling the moisture that had slipped over his lip shoot back into his nose and cram itself in his sinuses with a loud SNRKkk! 

For the second time in just two minutes, Jayce feels his face burn scarlet. He does his best to swallow his embarrassment, silently reassuring himself that a little sniffle was much better than him sneezing into his mask. Still, that thought does very little to dissuade the anxious voice in his mind. He stares fixedly at the elevator doors, trying to will them to open fast. Anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Jayce glances at Viktor again, only for a split second, and to his surprise, this time he catches Viktor staring at him. ‘Oh God.’ Jayce’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusions: ‘This is it. Caitlyn’s never going to let me hear the end of it if I lose a chance with my crush before we even exchange more than five sentences.’

His fever’s certainly not helping with his mind’s anxious ruminations, causing him to spiral illogically without any end in sight. He barely registers the feeling as his nose begins running again, intent on making a mess inside his mask. 

PING! Only one floor left, Jayce can handle that. He glances at his watch again… odd… he must’ve misread the time before, but he swears, it’s been almost three minutes since he first entered the cramped elevator. It shouldn’t take more than two minutes for him to arrive at the third floor… he must’ve misread it. Afterall, he’s feverish and hopped up on dayquil and–

THHHHUMP! 

Without warning, the elevator jolts violently, lurching with a mechanical groan. The sudden motions throws both of them off balance, tossing Viktor straight into Jayce’s side. There’s no time to react, no chance for either of them to brace themselves, just a blur of motion. 

Jayce reaches out reflexively, arms wrapping around Viktor as the floor seems to drop beneath them. The two of them topple over, Viktor landing half on Jayce’s chest as Jayce hits the floor with a dull thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but he barely notices. His only thought (aside from ‘What the Fuck!’, that is) is that somehow he’d managed to catch Viktor before he could hit the floor too hard. Realistically, he would’ve tried to help anyone in that situation, but the fact that he can feel Viktor against him makes it a bit more satisfactory. 

Viktor’s breath is short with surprise, his body tense as it registers the impact. For a second, neither of them move, staying frozen in place as they listen to the elevator groan. Neither of them dare to move and risk plummeting down to the ground level. 

Jayce blinks up at the flickering light overhead, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He can feel Viktor’s hand pressed awkwardly against his ribs, the unmistakable pressure of the smaller man’s weight on top of him. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor detangles himself from Jayce, doing his best not to make any sudden movements – both due to the elevator's instability and an aching in his hip. He’s only semi successful before the elevator groans again, and he stills. 

As Jayce’s mind finally catches up to reality, his voice stumbles over itself to fill the shocked silence, each word more useless than the last, “Sorry! I didn’t– I wasn’t–” His face burns, heart racing from both adrenaline and the sudden proximity. His flustered apology grinds to a halt as his breath catches painfully in his throat and he jerks forwards with a wet, scraping cough.

It bursts out of him before he can stop it, crackling deep in his chest and forcing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. His nose and mouth are already covered by two layers of medical-grade masks, so whether the action is a desperate attempt to muffle the noise or simply muscle memory, he doesn’t know. 

The cough blooms into a small fit – tight, rattling, as if his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out. His whole body shakes as he desperately tries to muffle the sound, though he knows it’s a useless effort. Viktor is still pressed awkwardly against his side, cautiously leaning away, but remaining still enough that he won’t risk jostling the elevator. 

And Jayce? He’s one humiliating cough away from begging the elevator to just drop him through the floor. 

He finally manages to catch his breath, his coughing tapering off into shallow, shaky inhales. His eyes are glassy, bleary with fever and exertion, but he still forces himself to look over at Viktor. He’s half dazed, half mortified at the disgusted expression he’s sure he’s about to see. But instead, the smaller man looks at him with sympathy… No. That can’t be right. Jayce really must be out of it, because there’s no way Viktor wouldn’t be looking at him with anything but outright revolution at this point. He opens his mouth, preparing himself to stammer out an apology. 

And then the elevator shudders. And not the nice “wow the elevator is fixed!” kind of shudder, but rather the kind that causes the floor to drop a few inches with a dull, stomach-churning THUD!

Jayce freezes, his heart lurching up into his throat. How has his bad day somehow found a new level of awful? He’d already had a parade of delays, illnesses, and public displays of humiliation. But this takes the cake. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything aside from stare wide-eyed at the flickering overhead light and prepare to plummet to his death. He doesn’t even register his hand half-curled around Viktor’s arm. 

Caitlyn has always teased him for his so-called irrational fear of elevators, rattling off statistics about how rarely they actually malfunctioned. Afterall, he’d been in elevators hundreds of times and never had any issues aside from having to make awkward conversation. 

This, however, is starting to make his fear feel very, very rational. 

Jayce takes a little breath, trying to keep his cool. He looks at Viktor, who doesn’t seem to be any happier about the situation than he is, but significantly more calm. There’s no visible tension in his shoulders, no wild look in his eyes. He seems far more controlled than Jayce feels.

Jayce wants that, needs that – or any semblance of calm or comfort. So he takes a shallow breath through his nose, ignoring its congested squeak and focussing on not freaking the fuck out… Even though his chest aches, his fever simmers under his skin, and he’s sitting in a half-crumpled pile on an elevator floor with the guy he’s been admiring for weeks. 

But Viktor isn’t freaking out, so Jayce won’t either. 

He lasts all of one minute before his thoughts start amping up again. One silent, dreadfully long minute in which neither he or Viktor dare to say a word.

‘It’s fine, right? Elevators stall all the time, it’ll start moving again in a few seconds…’

Jayce shifts uncomfortably, trying not to let his anxiety build into panic as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He’s stuck in an elevator with none other than his nextdoor neighbor, who just so happens to be one of the most jawdroppingly gorgeous people Jayce has ever seen. And he has the worst head cold he’s had in years. It would almost be comedic, if it wasn’t happening to him. 

He clears his throat, hesitantly asking, “should we… uh… press a button?” 

In all his years of higher education, not once had anyone covered what to do if you get stuck in an elevator with your ridiculously attractive neighbor while sick and semi-delirious. There’s no syllabus for this, no instruction manual, no messy notes or annotations for him to reference. 

So, the most logical – panicked, deeply flawed, and purely adrenaline driven – solution he can come up with is to press the third floor button again; maybe the elevator just needs a gentle reminder of where it’s supposed to be going. 

Viktor doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he just nods, his expression unreadable as he watches Jayce slowly shift onto his knees and press the bright white 3. And then press it again. And again. And once more for good measure. 

And a fifth time because his panic is gaining momentum and the only thing keeping him from thoroughly embarrassing himself is the vain hope that maybe the fifth time is the charm… No? Okay. What about a sixth?

After Jayce presses the button upwards of ten times, Viktor finally pipes up, “It was probably disabled when the elevator…” he gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure what to say other than “fucking broke,” and that didn’t seem like the most suitable option, given Jayce’s evident panic. So Viktor lets the sentence trail off, doing his best to remain calm in an attempt to ground Jayce. 

Jayce sinks back down to the floor, nodding a little and saying, “Right… so we just… wait.” His voice is strained, resigned to the fact that he can’t do anything aside from sit and do his best not to completely freak out. He leans his head against the cold metal wall behind him and exhales through his mouth stuffily. 

Viktor nods, shifting so he can lean back against the wall and relieve some pressure from his hips. The motion is practiced, subtle, like he’s done this before – and he certainly has, he knows exactly where the strain lives in his body. 

Jayce taps his fingers nervously against the floor, taking a steadying breath and doing his best to ignore the steady thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body. It’s fine. This is fine. Except realistically, it’s anything except fine. Jayce must’ve done something truly horrible to deserve whatever karmic shit the universe was throwing at him today. 

As if the situation just had to get worse, Jayce feels his nose twitch, the lingering itch making itself known again: persistent, teasing. He scrunches up his nose beneath the mask, moving it from side to side in an attempt to lessen the itch, but it only serves to make it run more. He can feel a drop of mess slipping over his upper lip and towards his chin, and once again he attempts to sniff – afterall, it solved his problems last time, why wouldn’t it work again?

SND-RKk! Jayce’s attempt at containing the mess is all but humiliating, halting halfway upon entry into his nose and resulting in a soggy, congested squeak. The sound is deeply unflattering, breaking through the stillness of the elevator and doing nothing to help relieve the irritation in Jayce’s nose. 

His eyelids flutter as the buzzing worsens: a sharp, needling sensation that blooms right behind the bride of his nose. His eyebrows knit together in a grimace, and he clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to stop himself from hitching. 

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, holding his breath and repeating ‘I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze’ in his mind, as if he could mentally block the sensation prickling through his nose. He can feel his nostrils flare beneath the mask, wet and sensitive against the fabric. At the risk of making things worse, Jayce rubs his finger along the base of his nose over the mask, but it barely provides him any relief. 

‘Please. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him,’ He begs internally, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Despite his best efforts, Jayce can feel the itch worsening. He clamps his jaw shut stubbornly, refusing to draw a breath, but his head still snaps forwards with a pitifully stifled runt of a sneeze, “h’nNGKSXgTCHh’uh!”

The stifle (if you can even call it that) is harsh enough to jolt his whole body; his shoulders hunch, his legs twitch involuntarily, and his torso forcibly curls in on itself. It’s muffled into the fabric of his masks, but messy all the same – wet and uncomfortable and clinging to both the fabric and the base of his nose. Within seconds, he feels the heat of it seep through the first layer of the material.

‘Oh. My. God.’

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything aside from sit there dazedly, his eyes fluttering half-closed as the itch lingers. 

Then, a mortifying sense of shame burns through his chest, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He downright refuses to look at Viktor, desperately trying to think of some solution aside from the obvious one. He has to clean himself up somehow, and he has to manage it with the few tissues he has shoved unceremoniously in his pocket… but in order to do that, he’d have to remove his mask and risk Viktor seeing the absolute mess he’s made. 

Jayce’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft, almost tentative “Bless you,” from the man sitting beside him, and he feels his face flush an even deeper shade of red from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

He doesn’t dare try to speak; he doesn’t trust his voice right now – he doesn’t trust anything about his body right now – so he just dips his head in a quick, polite nod. He can feel the mess sitting inside his mask, humid and awful and clinging uncomfortably to his lips and skin. But the thought of taking off his mask, of drawing attention to himself, makes his chest tighten with anxiety. So he just… endures it. Miserably. 

Within seconds, Jayce’s nose twitches again, and this time he doesn’t even have a moment to prepare before a harsh sneeze grates against his throat, “hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

He takes in a shaky breath, realizing in horror that there’s no possible way for him to avoid removing his masks. They’re already soaked anyways, and Jayce is almost certain there’s a visible damp spot where the mess has been clinging to the inside of the fabric. 

“Sorry,” Jayce apologizes sheepishly, holding a hand over his masked-mouth out of habit, “do you mind if I -sNDFf- tagke off my masgk for a secgond?”

His voice is so congested it’s almost incomprehensible, but somehow Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted with Jayce, in fact, he seems almost fascinated by the sickly man. No, Jayce must be misreading the signs… maybe Viktor just happens to be a very good actor, and his disgust is merely hidden behind a neutral expression. 

“Not at all,” Viktor responds, his voice heavily accented and softer than Jayce remembered it, “you seem quite uncomfortable.”

Jayce blushes once again, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly and saying, “Yeah… id’s nodt the ideal scenario,” before realizing how that sounds and quickly trying to recover, “nodt that you’re– idt’s mbe. I’mb… uncomfortable,” he finishes lamely. 

Somehow he earns a smile from the smaller man. An actual, real smile, the kind that makes Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the sides and reveals thin but visible smile lines along his cheeks. 

For just a moment, Jayce’s hatred of the situation lessens. 

But then his body reminds him of the circumstances, forcing him to clear his throat as he feels phlegm start to build at the base of his throat. Now that he at least has Viktor’s permission, he feels slightly more comfortable with the prospect of taking off the masks (and besides, he really can’t handle the sensory discomfort of them while they’re coated in mess). 

He turns away from Viktor slightly, pinching the material around his nose to try and contain as much of the mess as he can as he removes the bands from around his ears with his other hand. He shoves the masks unceremoniously into his pocket, making a mental note to throw them away as soon as possible. 

As soon as he takes off the masks, his nose twitches, apparently upset at being exposed when it's in such terrible condition. With the barrier removed, Viktor can see just how sensitive Jayce’s nose is: bright pink, chapped, and twitching in irritation. 

Jayce fumbles to pull a mostly-intact travel pack of tissues from his pocket, noting that he only has a few left. He can’t quite sum up the confidence to blow his nose, so he just does his best to wipe away the residual mess while sniffling wetly against the tissue. 

He knows he’s being gross. He feels gross, but he seems to have caught a cold that downright refuses to be tamed. Usually, he’d hole himself up in his apartment with a bottle of NyQuil and do his best to sleep it off, but the universe decided otherwise.

Viktor, who’s been respectfully quiet, shifts slightly beside Jayce before saying, “I don’t think anyone looks particularly dignified when they’re sick.”

Jayce glances at him in surprise, the dampened tissue still pressed to his septum. Viktor doesn’t look directly at him, instead choosing to pick at the same loose thread on his sleeve again. Neither his tone nor expression reveal his intention in saying that… but Jayce has a feeling it wasn’t meant to be an insult, though it certainly could’ve been interpreted that way. 

“Whadt, you don’d thingk this is dignified?” Jayce tries to joke, tucking the used tissue into the same pocket as the soiled masks and offering Viktor a tired grin. 

“Do you?” Viktor replies, his lips curling up ever so slightly – just enough to reassure Jayce that it’s okay, he’s not intending to be an ass, he just comes off a bit harsh. 

“Ndo…” he admits, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat again as it protests against its use, “so… we’re neighbors.” Admittedly, smalltalk isn’t one of Jayce’s strongsuits, not with strangers anyways (especially strangers who he happens to be attracted to). But Viktor seems to find Jayce’s awkward blunders amusing, huffing out a little breath and agreeing, “yes. We are.” 

“Righdt. I mean, you already knew that.. Because of the teas and–,” Jayce internally groans, thinking ‘why am I still talking’ as he tries his best to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. Between his fever, his anxiety over the elevator’s malfunction, and his infatuation with Viktor, he can’t quite compose himself. His voice trails off, letting his sentence hang in the air unfinished. 

His nose gives a sudden, traitorous twitch and he presses the back of his wrist beneath his nostrils, sniffling thickly in an attempt to stop the mounting itch. Instead, it worsens, buzzing up through his sinuses and causing his nostrils to flare against his sleeve. His brows furrows, his eyes starting to shut as his breath catches in his chest, “hh-”

He barely manages to stutter out, “S’cuse mbe,” before sucking in a desperate breath, “hhHHHh–” and pivoting into his elbow, “hhHG’GDSXCHhew’hgh!”

The sneeze tears out of him, wrenching and wet, his shoulders jerking forwards with the force of the expulsion. He snuffles wetly in the aftermath of the sneeze, turning away from Viktor again as he fumbles to pull another tissue from his pocket with his free hand. His pocket resists him, the crinkled plastic of the tissue pack catching on the fabric, so by the time he manages to get a tissue free, he can already feel a damp splotch forming on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Blushing crimson, Jayce removes his nose from his elbow, quick to fold the tissue over his nose in an attempt to clean himself up. To make things worse, his nose doesn’t seem to be done yet. 

A slow, unmistakable tickle crawls up through the bride of his nose, and he draws a breath through his mouth as his eyes flutter half-shut again. 

“hhHHhh… huhh-HHh’…”

He pauses, waiting. His nostrils flare. His lips part. The tickle worsens into a full blown burning, testing his already worn patience. 

“hhihh… huhh’HHhh—”

Within seconds, he goes from wishing he wouldn’t sneeze to wishing he could just let it out. Embarrassment eats at his chest as he feels Viktor shift next to him, reminding him of his close proximity. 

Jayce attempts to rub his nose through the tissue, pinching it shut with a squelch before moving his fingers up and down. It only results in another desperate series of hitches. 

“huh-hHhhuhh…! H-hhhHHh-huhhh… hhHHH–” and then nothing. “Oh c’mbon,” he breathes hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t even care that he’s humiliatingly desperate to sneeze right now, he just wants to get it over with. His chest swells with another inhale, “HHHhhuhhhh–!”

By this point, his eyes are watering, his mouth hanging agape, and his brows pinched tight in pure, itchy suffering. The tissue sits uselessly between his fingers, fluttering as each hitching breath catches its surface. 

After what feels like ages, Jayce sucks in a shaky breath, “hhHHHihHh-” before he finally snaps forwards, “hh’HGZZSCHhtCHhuh!” and a second follows right on its heels, “hhRRZZSCHhh-uh!”

He stays there, bent at the waist and keeping the soaked tissue pressed to his nose as he sniffles experimentally, letting out a breath of relief as the itch dies down. 

“Gezundheit,” Viktor murmurs breathlessly from beside Jayce, watching as Jayce holds the mess of a tissue to the base of his nose. 

“Thangks,” Jayce rasps in response, doing his best to wipe his nose and snuffle back the moisture threatening to drip from the appendage, “Sorry… thad was preddy gross.”

He cringes at just how congested his voice is. He desperately needs to blow his nose, but he only has two tissues left and there’s no way in hell he’s using them now. They’ve barely been stuck in the elevator for five minutes, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll start moving again any time soon. The tissue he’s currently holding has lost all structural integrity, and he resigns himself to shoving it into his pocket along with the other. 

“It’s fine,” Viktor dismisses simply, “you’re sick.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. Jayce had tested for the flu and strep just to be safe, and both tests had come up negative, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Whatever cold he’s managed to catch is doing a number on him. 

“Yeah, budt thad was excebtionally–,” his breath stutters out of nowhere, catching him by surprise and barely giving him enough time to half-cover with a hand before, “Hh’DTSSZCHhgh’uhh!” 

Despite his best efforts, some of the spray makes it past his broad hand, glinting in the luminescent light before falling lamely onto his lap. He snorts back as much mess as he can, certain that Viktor is getting a full on view of the most humiliating moment he’d experienced in years. His palm glistens with moisture, uncomfortably wet and probably less sanitary than the floor of a New York subway. 

Jayce groans softly under his breath, his chest twisting in embarrassment as he weighs the pros and cons of using his second-to-last tissue. He lowers his dripping hand, fishing in his pocket for another tissue as he admits defeat. He’s absolutely fucked. 

After taking a minute to clean himself up, Jayce resigns himself to apologize again, sounding a bit like a broken record at this point – sneeze, apology, sneeze, apology, and so on. 

“I’mb so sorry,” he mutters, his voice even thicker with congestion now, “Thadt was… I swear, I’mb usually a lod less digdusting thand this…” He doesn’t dare look up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, instead dabbing his nose with the sodden excuse of a tissue held in his hand. 

“I’m sure you are,” Viktor replies, almost sounding amused by Jayce’s predicament. Jayce can’t even begin to fathom why Viktor isn’t entirely disgusted by him, especially when they’re trapped in such a small, confined space. 

Viktor breaks the silence with a blunt, but not unkind suggestion, “You should blow your nose.”

Usually, if anyone had suggested that to him, Jayce might feel like a child, but something about Viktor makes him appreciate the comment slightly. It’s obviously not coming from a place of judgement, but rather much needed advice (Jayce doesn’t even notice that his nose has begun to run over his upper lip again, but Viktor has a clear view of it). 

The sick man gives a pitiful laugh, which turns into a short bout of coughing, before admitting, “I only have two tissues lefd… and I clearly need themb. I don’d wanna -sNNFf- use themb yet in case we’re stugk here for hours.” 

“That is… an optimistic estimate, is it not?” Viktor replies simply, casting a doubtful glance at Jayce, knowing the tissues won’t last another five minutes. Again, he’s not rude, but upfront. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in dancing around the subject of Jayce’s illness. 

Jayce tries to come up with a response as his ears burn bright pink again, but he’s interrupted as Viktor shifts, reaching into his coat pocket. There’s a quiet ruffling of fabric before Viktor wordlessly extends his hand, holding a neatly folded dark-gray handkerchief. Its edges are soft with wear, but it appears to be well maintained. 

Jayce blinks, “Waidt… seriously?” He’s always surprised when people extend small kindnesses to him, despite Caitlyn reassuring him that he’s just as deserving of them as anyone else. 

“Well,” Viktor finally meets his eyes, “You seem to need it more than I do.”

When Jayce hesitates to accept the fabric, Viktor adds, “I wash it frequently. It’s clean.”  It’s a simple gesture, small and likely insignificant, but it unspools something knotted in Jayce’s chest. 

He grins, enough as to wear Viktor can see his tooth-gap and dimples, and says, “thangk you, really. I owe you one.”

Viktor shrugs, politely averting his gaze as Jayce wipes his nose with the cloth, “technically, I owed you for the tea. We’re even.” 

Jayce settles for nodding in response, unfolding the handkerchief and wiping at the moisture clinging to his septum again. No matter how much he tends to the appendage, it seems intent on running. Thankfully, the fabric of the handkerchief is soft, but it still does little to soothe his raw, irritated nose. 

Jayce glances down at the cloth in his hands, folding it carefully along the seams out of habit. He usually carries a handkerchief, especially when he’s sick, but he’d managed to soil all of his in the past two days since catching this cold. It’s not like he’s been in any condition to do laundry, so he’s been surviving off of whatever half-empty tissue packs he could find around his place. 

Jayce’s breath suddenly catches mid-thought, his chest swelling with a loud hitch, “hhHh’h–” and he tents the handkerchief over his nose just before he shudders forwards with a poorly muffled, “hhH’HMPDTSCSHHuhh!”

He doesn’t have time to mutter another apology; the elevator lurches, stuttering down a few inches before there’s a mechanical whirring. The two men stay perfectly still, Jayce’s hands still holding the handkerchief over his nose. The whirring continues, but the elevator doesn’t move, for better or for worse. Jayce wipes his nose against the dark-gray hankie and snuffles once the coast seems clear. 

“If we’re going to die in an elevator, you might as well blow your nose first,” Viktor suggests again.

Jayce can’t decide whether to laugh or panic at Viktor’s comment, so he just settles for swallowing his pride and blowing his nose. It sounds pathetically clogged, but it allows some of the congestion in his sinuses to shift, giving him a moment of relief. 

A very, very short lived moment of relief. 

His nose twitches, the sensitive appendage downright revolting at the congestion having moved, and Jayce barely has time to cup the handkerchief over his nose again before his breath catches, “hhHh!”

“hhhHHR’DZSSHh’CHhgh!!”

The sneeze bursts out with a damp, desperate force, caught into the folds of the hankie, which is quickly becoming wet from overuse. Jayce draws another uneven, desperate breath, another sneeze already building, “hhHHhh’ihhh… hh’DZGXTshhhuhh!! Huh’GXSSHHhhuhf!!”

The second part of the double takes him completely by surprise, leaving him breathless. A quiet groan slips out before he can stop himself, and despite his breath hitching again, he mutters, “Hh’uhh… fuhhck– I’mb–I’mb s–hhhhhuhhh… sorhhh.”

His voice trails off, his eyes fully closed as his breath hitches in uneven, pitiful gasps, “hehh–hhHHHHuhhh… hhh-” his head tilts back, his adams apple bobbing with each desperate breath, “hh’DdZZSSCHHguhh!!” 

Jayce can’t remember the last time he’s sneezed like that, and it takes him a second to catch his breath. He winces as he swallows, his throat aching as a result of the fit. Despite the handkerchief having caught all of the mess, Jayce is still beyond mortified. If he had thought he had no chance with Viktor before, he sure as hell doesn’t now. 

He sits there, stewing in his embarrassment as he blows his nose as quietly as possible. Once he’s cleaned himself up, Viktor offers a “bless you. Again.”

“Sorry… againd,” Jayce replies, trying to offer Viktor an awkward grin, but it ends up as more of a grimace, “I shouldn’d habve lefd mby apardmend today, bud -snNFf- I had to tagke an exam and… and you don’d ndeed to know this… Sorry.”

Viktor shrugs, once again playing with the loose string on his sleeve as he dismisses the apology, “You said that already. Several times.” 

Jayce feels a bit of the anxiety sitting in his chest dissipate, and he nods a little. He’s generally talkative, and he tends to ramble when he’s anxious, but it doesn’t seem like Viktor minds all that much. 

He rubs the nape of his neck, noting the way his skin seems to radiate feverish heat, trying to change the subject away from his incessant apologies, “So.. you jusd moved in a few weegks ago?”

Viktor nods, shifting his position once again, wincing ever so slightly with the movement, “Yes. Almost a month ago now. This complex is much closer to my university’s campus than my previous one,” he explains conversationally. If it was anyone else, he’d probably ignore any attempt at smalltalk, but Jayce is… an exception to that. 

“Universidy?” Jayce asks, perking up a little, “Where do you go?”

“Piltover Technological Institute,” Viktor answers, glancing at Jayce and noting his smile. How someone so sick still manages to smile like that is beyond him, “I take it you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah!” Jayce’s voice catches in his throat, a bit too enthusiastic and forcing him to cough into his elbow. After taking a second to catch his breath, he continues, “I’mb a junior there. I’mb sdudying engineering with a fogcus on Aerospace engineehhring … hhh- and thhihhermo–” he blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring outwards as his breath starts to catch, “thermodynamihhHihcs–” he barely manages to stutter through the word before, ““hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

Luckily, he covers the sneeze with the handkerchief, catching the splurge of mess and muffling the sound as best he can, “Ugh, sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor interrupts him, waving his hand dismissively and leaning back against the elevator wall again, “it’s rather redundant at this point.”

Jayce swallows, nodding and trying to ignore the growing fondness in his chest. Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by him, or irritated with his ramblings and blunders – maybe his chance at becoming closer with his neighbor isn’t completely blown. 

“Right. So uhmb, whadt are you studying?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going, if anything just so he can hear Viktor’s voice. He wants to ask where the other man is from, he assumes somewhere in Russia, but there’s an aspect of Vitkor’s accent that he can’t quite place. 

“Chemical engineering and biotechnology, though I prefer the ladder. It has more opportunity for innovation,” even from the simple response, Jayce can tell that Viktor’s passionate about the subject. He has subtle, but noticeable mannerisms that give his interest away – a slight upturn of his eyebrows, a glimpse of smile lines along his cheeks, a little shift in his posture, as if he’s drawn in by the topic. 

“So you’re – sNDDFf’gh – inderesded in STEM?” Jayce’s question is dulled by congestion, but sounds excited nonetheless, “we habve thad in common.”

He’s forced to press the handkerchief against his septum again, wiping away a bit of moisture that was threatening to drip over his upper lip. He tries to find a relatively dry section of the cloth to clean himself up, though most of it is already sodden. 

Viktor nods in response to Jayce, “We do,” he agrees as he looks over at the sick man again, “so Aerospace engineering, this is what you want to have an occupation in?” he asks. Jayce grins at the way he phrased the question. His grammar isn’t wrong by any means, but after growing up in Piltover Jayce had become well accustomed to the “speaking-norms” – norms which Viktor seems unaccustomed or uninterested in. 

“Yeah, I thignk so ad leasd. It’s the mosd realistigk field I can go into,” he pauses, swiping his wrist against his septum, “budt we’ll see. I always wandted to be an invendtor.”

Why exactly Jayce is telling Viktor he wanted to be an inventor, he’s not entirely sure, but once it comes out of his mouth, he realizes just how childish it sounds. He opens his mouth to try and say something, anything that makes him sound like a functioning adult when Viktor notes, “me too.” 

“Really?” Jayce’s surprise must be written all over his face because he earns a little laugh from Viktor, making his chest flutter. 

“Yes, really.” Viktor sits up straighter, correctly his posture with a quiet, concealed breath of discomfort before continuing, “Biotech is very interesting, but I would like to have my own lab. Unrestricted research, without the guidelines and paperwork.”

Jayce grins, finding Viktor’s evident dislike of paperwork amusing. 

“I mean it is useless. Why waste time with regulations?” he continues, his accent a bit thicker as he grows more comfortable around Jayce. In an attempt to impress Viktor, Jayce desperately tries to remember a quote he’d read from one of his coursebooks. His fever-addled brain takes a moment to piece it together; he knows it’s from Iven Maren, one of the founders of the Piltover Institute for Radical Inquiry (PIRI). 

Something about disobeying rules… science knows no limits. It's from Maren’s most recently published book; he tries to remember the page he’d read it on, vaguely picturing the image of the founder beside the quote. 

“You kdow, Iven Maren said that “science isn’t meant to be polite, or convenient. It’s meant to – hhhh –” his breath hitches, but he tries to continue, “to ask the hHihh– thhhheh– hh’DZSSCHhhuh!!” He catches the sneeze against his wrist, keeping it held there as he stubbornly keeps talking, “the questhhhions – hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!”

The second one is considerably messier, and he keeps his wrist pressed against his septum to contain the mess. The fabric of his sleeve dampens, clinging unpleasantly to his skin as he fumbles to grab the handkerchief off his lap and clean himself up. He gives a wet little groan in the back of his throat, blushing crimson once again. 

“I do not think he said that,” Viktor teases, his tone dry, “bless you,” he adds, his lips curling into a grin. Despite his blushing embarrassment, Jayce laughs, feeling a sense of comfort at Viktor’s teasing, “thangks.” 

After a moment, Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, “it’s meant to ask the questions no one wants answered, especially the ones that threaten the rules.” He finishes Jayce’s quote with ease, grinning at Jayce’s impressed expression. 

“You’ve read Theoredical Pathways ind Modern Engineering?” Jayce asks excitedly, his tooth gap once again making an appearance as he smiles. 

“Who hasn’t?” 

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of them talk about the various texts they’ve recently read. Jayce does most of the yapping despite the aching in his throat, but he can’t help it. His wallowing misery over being so sick is temporarily put on hold, replaced with an opportunity to talk about his interests. Viktor is equally as engaged in the conversation, noticing when Jayce wears out his voice and taking it as a cue to talk more so the sick man can rest his throat for a moment. 

Jayce listens intently whenever Viktor speaks, making a mental note of every new thing he learns about him: he prefers natural sciences over mechanical engineering, he recently conducted an experiment with the aid of a professor, he’d like to design his own experiment in the future… and there there are things like the fact that his eyes have little golden specks throughout them, making them change color ever so slightly as the lights flicker. Or that his hands absentmindedly play with the bit of threat hanging from his sweater sleeve, twisting it just enough as to where it won’t fall off. 

His internal observations are interrupted as he feels the itch in his nose return, interrupting Viktor with a sudden, “hhhHHuh–”

Viktor pauses, recognizing the sound and knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Despite it being rather obvious, Jayce insists on stuttering out, “shhsorry I’mb gonnahhh… hHHHh snhhehH– sneeze– hhH’RRSZSCHhhuh!! hhhK’TSSCHhh’uhgh!!”

The expulsions come back to back, spraying the already sodden handkerchief and leaving Jayce a little breathless. “Whew,” he exclaims quietly, 

“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor murmurs, the Russian blessing slipping out without him fully intending.

i know it ends suddenly, but there will be more!! if anyone has any ideas/requests for the second part feel free to send me a message or DM :) i plan on keeping them trapped in the elevator for quite some time... sorry J/ayce...

as always, any comments or tags are so so so appreciated!! thank you to anyone who read it, i'm doing my best to spread the j/ayvik agenda

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Absolutely; like her sick husband/wife in the background all while she’s doing her chores and such. Suuuuch a cool pin ☺️☺️☺️

gotta make some ye olde vintage cold n flu ads that all have this film of 1950s gender roles layered over them, idk whats come over me

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Friendo I can’t help myself, but I keep having the passing thought of him getting more and more frustrated that his cold isn’t getting bad enough to skip until the last day before the seminar 🤣

Tfw you get to skip out on going to a "hugging and team building" seminar held downtown after successfully catching an absolutely awful cold.

[vikalynnssnzblog]

It’s just the image of this though….mm~

someone shuffling slowly around the house in pajamas, slippers, and a fluffy bathrobe with the hood pulled up, their lips parted to breathe around the congestion, a full box of tissues under one arm, their voice low, stuffed, and gravelly. they usually wear contacts but today have on their glasses, and their eyes are droopy, watery, and ringed purple; they clearly didn’t sleep well last night. their nose is red and a little perpetually wet around the nostrils. and they’re sitting at the table trying to breathe in steam from a pot of boiling water. or answering the door. or they’re at the corner store or doctors office with a coat thrown over it all because they’re too sick to care what they look like. they’re at the stage in their bad cold/flu where they feel like they’re moving through molasses with cement in their head. they’re quiet and don’t talk much but their coughing, sneezing, and sniffling is loud. or they’re walking around with tissues stuffed up their nostrils just to try and catch a break. they clearly feel disgusting and exhausted and just want to be in bed or listlessly on the couch. their body is battling it hard and they can’t even breathe or speak right, forget sleeping.

[vikalynnssnzblog]

👀👀👀

Bestie you’re doing us a good thing here ~~ ya should write the thing~~

You know what’s a fun silly caretaking thought?? In the pre-instant-communication era, like a nobleman and his trusted butler, having to use one of those little brass bells when you need service. Like make it as domestic or not as you want, it can be simply like a spouse, or noble + servant or old fashioned hospital and nurse/attendent/nun. Whatever the scenario, the patient has lost their voice and is too weak to call out or make any other kind of alert.

A few hours go by without any notice so the caretaker goes to check up on them only to find that the bell has been knocked onto the floor and rolled a distance away from the bed and the patient is curled up in their covers, very uncomfortable, but relieved that someone is finally here. Being too weak to pick something up after it’s fallen off the bed and having to suffer on their own for a while and then to be pampered to make up for it, aaaaaa 😫💕

Whump is overtaking my brain again

((Don’t reblog to non kink blogs thankssss)

[vikalynnssnzblog]

👀👀👀👀

fantasy based potion that mimics the symptoms of a cold or flu , depending on the dosage and the persons immune system , often used spitefully .. sort of like a non lethal poison or spiking ? to take down an enemy , or delay an ambassador or hurt the royal family without actually hurting them because it’s not illegal , nor is it attempted murder it’s just .. a cold, induced by a potion …

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Maybe I’ll have to write something~

okay stupid lil idea BUT

a royal (king/queen/princess/prince etc) Coming down with a god awful dreadful head cold, and having to sit through their duties. Maybe its a meeting. maybe its combat training, or dress fitting, or a dinner. But they are definitely under the weather. Poor thing can barelly go a minute without sniffling back their congestion or sneezing.

[vikalynnssnzblog]

👀👀👀👀

New sickfic / hurt comfort fic idea inspired by real events which just happened like ten minutes ago: A person coming down with a cold or being genereally cold, a little bruised and dishevelled after they were trapped outside in a sleet storm event. The storm literally flinging the sleet in the person's face as they try to walk home to safety.

Aka me grocery shopping just now...

[vikalynnssnzblog]

I LOVE THESE OMG

Demon-to-Demon Ch.2 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, Vale/nti/no (he doesn't do anything, but I know some people aren't into his general...existence), and mess

Word count: 4,329

Chapter two is finished, right before I have to leave for work, funnily enough ^^, this chapter is even longer than the first, including some more setup because I love my porn with some plot, some structure. I don't know how many chapters this thing will have...I'm aiming for at least 4 or 5. Hope you enjoy!

“Hh’KZZHhshew! Hh’Tszchiiiew! HIH’TSHHEW!”  

Niffty dove to catch Alastor’s coffee mug before it hit the floor, placing it back on the end table next to the armchair that he’d slept in all night, waking up the next morning with itchier sinuses and an awful sore throat. 

“Got it! Maybe you should wait until you’re done sneezing before you drink your coffee, Alastor,” Niffty proposed. 

“Mby… snff!- My coffee would be ice cold by the…H-heh…HEH’KZZHHT! HEH’KSHIEW! Heh’KTSCHIEWW… by the time I’m done sneezing,” Alastor replied, his voice noticeably hoarse as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“That’s true,” Niffty said, wiping her hands on her dress skirt. 

Alastor held his handkerchief with both hands, loudly blowing his nose until he had to pause and catch his breath, scrubbing under his nostrils to try and fend off the building itch, “This is ludicrous,” he grumbled to himself, “How did this happen? H-huh’KSCHIEW! Hh’KZzhht!” 

“For fuck’s sake!” Husk groaned from his station behind the bar, wincing at the droplets that sprayed into the air with each unruly sneeze, “Same way it’s gonna happen to the rest of us if you don’t cover your damn mouth!” 

Alastor rolled his eyes, “You seem to have survived a direct hit to the face just fine, Husker,” he said with a knowing smile. 

Husk shuddered, thinking about the previous day and instinctively wiping his face off again, “Don’t remind me,” he said with a huff, “I hope whatever this is knocks you out again so I don’t have to hear your smart ass mouth.”  

Alastor lowered his eyelids threateningly, “Excuse mbe?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, reaching for his microphone, only to be thwarted by the scratchiness of his throat, coughing into his wrist. 

“I could get used to this,” Husk chuckled, “You bein’ too sick to threaten me.” 

Alastor- still coughing- angrily stuck up his middle finger in Husk’s direction. Eventually, the coughing fit let up and Alastor was able to take a deep breath, leaning back in his armchair and briefly shutting his eyes. 

“Morning everyone!” Charlie said with a smile upon arriving downstairs with Vaggie. 

“Mornin’,” Husk replied with a wave, taking a swig from a bottle of cognac he kept underneath the bar counter. Niffty broke her focus on sweeping the floor around the bar to give Charlie an eager wave before returning to her task. 

“Hh’ptshh! Hh’kzZHht! HNK’Tshhieww!” Alastor sneezed, wiping off the underside of his nose with his damp handkerchief, the constant friction leaving his nose irritated, twitchy, and shiny, “Pardon mbe- Snff snff!- I can’t stop… HH’KSchiiew!” 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling any better, but I think I know the answer,” Charlie said, cautiously holding out her hand, “Can I feel your forehead?” 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Alastor muttered, staring at Charlie’s hand while he gently pushed it away with his microphone. 

“That’s fair… can I at least take your temperature with this?” Charlie asked, holding up an ear thermometer and flashing Alastor a pleading smile, “It’ll only take a second.” 

Alastor’s left eye twitched, but he relented, “If you insist… snff… make it qui-ih…IH’KSHHIEW!” he said, wrenching his eyes shut as Charlie slid the thermometer into his ear. 

The thermometer beeped, and Charlie quickly pulled it out , “Almost 102… how do you feel?” 

Alastor ignored the heat that had risen in his cheeks, answering Charlie’s inquiry with a shrug until the prickling sensation in his sinuses returned, “HNK’TSHHEW! HH’KSSHHIEW!... Messy is probably the most notable word I’d use…snf-snf!” 

“Fair enough,” Charlie replied, only to jump when Angel rushed into the parlor, draping himself over the back of the sofa, visibly out of breath, “Oh, hi Angel!” 

“Hi, yeah, G’Mornin’, watch this-” Angel said hurriedly, turning on the television in the parlor and glancing at his phone before a 666 News bulletin interrupted whatever had been playing before it. 

“Good Morning Pentagram City, I’m Katie Killjoy!” an all-too-familiar voice greeted from the other side of the screen, “Breaking news from scientists in the Doomsday district: A viral infection is sweeping its way through The Pentagram. While completely harmless, it is said to be incredibly contagious, and researchers say that they are uncertain of how long the infection lasts.” 

“Well, that explains what happened yesterday,” Charlie sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa and reading the text on the screen, “It’s already infected 16% of the entire city? That’s almost impressive…” 

“Don’t think the virus needs your encouragement, Princess,” Husk piped up from behind the bar. 

“Sorry, force of habit,” Charlie chuckled, silently reading the list of symptoms that appeared on the screen, “Huh, these are basically just your symptoms, Alastor.” 

A silence filled the room, all present individuals shifting their gaze to Alastor, and then to each other. 

“Ohhhh,” Charlie said, finally connecting the dots, “Shit.”  

Alastor blew his nose, tucking his handkerchief away when he finished, “I should have skipped that accursed meetii-IH’Kschhiew! Hih’KShhew! HIH’KSCHIEWWW!” he said, swiping his wrist underneath his nostrils after his last explosive sneeze, wincing at how the wetness of said sneezes was beginning to make his irritated nose look shiny. 

 “It’s okay Alastor, hey, nobody else is sick yet, that’s a good sign, right?” Charlie asked. 

Alastor shrugged, taking another cautious sip of his coffee and wincing at how the harsh texture against his scratchy throat made him want to cough, “I suppose so,” he said, pushing himself out of the armchair and attempting to brush off the way he swayed on his feet, “I’m going to spend my confinement getting caught up on some correspondence… best of lu-huh…HUH’KSHHHEW! Hnk’TSHIEW!...luck, best of luck.” 

In a blink, Alastor’s armchair was empty, leaving nothing behind except an invisible radiating aura of germs that made everyone nervous about approaching it. 

“Alright, I’m heading out with Vaggie to go do some more field recruiting, have fun while I’m gone!” Charlie announced, walking out of the front doors, her left arm linked with Vaggie’s right. 

Angel checked his phone before stuffing it into his chest fluff, “I gotta bounce, today’s shoot is in two hours but makeup’s gonna take at least 30 minutes, see ya!” he said, waving goodbye to the group, shooting Husk a wink on his way out the door. 

“I’m gonna… Gonna go make another mural, yeah… found a bangin’ wall to paint on the other day, hope to fuck it’s still blank,” Cherri said, bouncing on her heels. She’d only recently exchanged her bombs for brushes, after Charlie’s recommendation of a more ‘constructive’ hobby, and it was going well as an outlet for her emotions and destructive urges. 

Once Cherri left through the front doors, Husk and Niffty were alone in the parlor. Husk breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the bar counter, his nose twitching. 

“Niff… d-do me a solid, hm?” Husk asked, tapping his claws together as he struggled to resist rubbing his nose. 

“Okay! What is it?” Niffty asked, scrambling over to the bar and standing on the counter. 

“I-ih… I need you to h-hih… hit me in the face w-whhihhth your feather duster,” Husk pleaded in a hushed tone, fanning in front of his face as his nose twitched faster, “P-please…Hehh…h-hihhh” 

“Why?” Niffty asked, blinking innocently as she pulled her feather duster out of the loop in her skirt’s waistband. 

“I…Iihh… Hihh… H-hihh!... I gotta sndeeze…snf!” Husk muttered, “It’s st-huhh…Huhh!- stuck.” 

“Ohhhh! Okay!” Niffty said, smacking Husk on both sides of his face with her feather duster, before brushing it up against Husk’s twitchy, sensitive nose, dust clinging to his sinuses with each desperate inhale. 

“H-HUHH’KSCHOO! HUH’KSCHOO! Huh’KSCHUHHH!!” 

Niffty blinked, watching Husk’s violent sneezing fit practically double him over, his fur standing on its end and a slight trickle of moisture beginning to leak from his perfect feline jellybean of a nose. 

“Mmbh…SnFFF!...guhh,” Husk groaned, running the back of his hand under his nostrils with a damp sniffle, his typical alcohol-induced flush shifting from grey to pink, “Fuck I ndeeded that…SNrkk!” 

“I thought you’d sneeze cuter,” Niffty huffed, flicking another puff of dust from her feather duster into Husk’s face with a pout. 

“hHRR’KSCHUHHH! Hhn’KSCHEWWW! HNK’SCHUHHH! H-hUH’KSSHHOO!...SnRKK!...Snff-snff!” Husk sneezed again, his eyes growing irritated and his eyelids getting puffy, the patch of skin above his nose turning an itchy pink as he scrubbed it with the heel of his palm, “Shit, Ndiffty, quit it…snffff!”

“You sneeze like an old man,” Niffty teased, giggling as she held out her feather duster again, only for Husk to grab hold of it and gently push it away, “Awww…no fun!” 

“News flash, I amb an old man…snff! Shit…” Husk grumbled, grabbing a paper towel from the roll behind the bar and noisily blowing his nose, tossing the soiled paper into the trash and attempting to wipe the congestion-induced moisture out of his lower eyelids. 

“You’re good at hiding,” Niffty said with a smile, “I almost didn’t notice you were sick… I don’t think anyone else did at all.” 

“How the hell did you notice?” Husk asked, raising a fluffy eyebrow. 

“You kept pinching your nose, rubbin’ it and pushing up on it… you tried passin’ it off like you were just grooming your face, but I know you,” Niffty whispered, poking Husk’s nose, “You use the other hand for that.” 

“Well ain’t you a clever bug,” Husk scoffed, shooting Niffty a warm smile, “This stays between us until I get shittier at hiding, got it?” 

“You may ndeed to expand your definition of ‘us’,” 

Husk felt his heart jump into his throat, and lunged forward out of panic, nearly slamming his head against the counter, “HHK’SSCHHHUHH! Shit!” he exclaimed, letting out a hoarse cough, “I dunno what to be angrier about, you gettin’ me sick by sneezin’ in my face or you being a nosy fuckin’ creep!” 

“Why not both?” Alastor chuckled, his laughter taking on a wheezy undertone and threatening to turn into a cough until he suffocated it with a harsh swallow, “I’m almost impressed, you’re better at keeping up appearances than me… I suppose after all our years together I’m rubbing off on you.” 

Husk dodged Alastor’s attempt to pet him between his ears, snarling at his boss with an unamused glare, “Don’t you have letters to write or some shit?” he hissed, the plumage on his tail fluffing up as he flattened his ears in frustration. 

“Oh, I have all the time in the world to finish mby letters, eavesdropping is mbuch more fun- snFf!” Alastor replied, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose, rolling his eyes at the heavy rumble of congestion in his sinuses, “Uch…snff!... disgusting.” 

“Tell me about it,” Husk grumbled, staring at Alastor’s flannel pajamas and shooting him a teasing smile, “You look ridiculous.” 

Alastor smacked Husk in the back of the head with his microphone, “I will not take pot shots from someone who looks like they use a giant litter box,” he said through clenched teeth, feeling a familiar tickle in his sinuses when Husk poked his nose, “H-hihh…Hih… HIH’Tshhiew! Hihh’TShhhewww! HIh’TSsHiew!” 

“I could get used to you havin’ an off switch,” Husk said with a smirk. 

Alastor sniffled, wrinkling his nose and wiping around his nostrils with his handkerchief, annoyed with how often he had to pull it out and tuck it away in his pockets again, “You… I…” Alastor blinked, swaying a bit on his feet and steadying himself by pressing his palms against the counter, “I completely forgot what I was going to say…” 

Husk noticed the beads of sweat trickling down from Alastor’s hairline, the glassy quality of his eyes, and the sudden uptick in effort he was putting into breathing. If those weren’t enough to signal that their playful banter was over, twenty seconds later Alastor silently lowered himself to the floor, stretching out on his back and covering his eyes with both hands, still smiling, but noticeably drained. 

“I am going to lie here… until everything stops spinning,” Alastor said breathlessly, holding a hand over his mouth to cover a violent cough, the crackle of congestion audible in his lungs, “Euch…” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he quietly joined Alastor on the floor, curling up next to Alastor’s reclined form and purring, in spite of the fact that purring aggravated his runny nose.

Niffty resolved to leave the two alone, hurrying away from the bar to finish her daily cleaning checklist, completely oblivious when a message on Husk’s phone popped up from Angel. 

[Might be back earlier than I thought… today’s shoot’s goin’ weird] 

Across the pentagram, in Valentino’s porn studio, Angel found himself on his hands and knees, filming B-roll material for the studio’s current work in progress. The floodlights had been turned off, and the air conditioning in the studio was cranked, making the filming space so cold that Angel could practically see his own breath. 

“He’s shakin’ too much, the DP can’t get the camera to focus,” Travis whispered. 

“Angel, baby, the more you shake, the longer you have to stay like that until we get a good shot of your pretty little ass,” Valentino crooned, blowing a plume of smoke into the air and fanning himself off with a copy of the script, “What’s the matter? You nervous? Need something to calm you down?” 

“I’m n-not nervous,” Angel retorted, running the back of his hand under his nostrils, “I’m cold… snff!... it’s freezin’ in here.” 

Valentino groaned, massaging his temples and snapping his fingers at two members of the film crew, “Turn the lights back on,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off, his pectorals and abdomen slick with sweat, “Fuck, I’m gonna melt, why is it so hot in here?!” 

Angel’s shivering subsided slightly with the heat from the large floodlights returning, and he managed to hold his position long enough for the camera to capture what it needed to capture. 

“Okay Angie, roll onto your back and open your legs,” Valentino instructed, wincing at the bright lights, which were beginning to give him a headache. 

Angel rolled onto his back, spreading his legs open, “Hhh… Val… I uhb… Uh..Huhh…-” he attempted to ask for a moment to pause, his breath beginning to hitch, the tickle that seemed to randomly appear in his sinuses building to a quiet crescendo- 

“Hih’kshuu! Ih’kshuu! Ih…h-ihhh… ‘Kshuu!” Valentino’s squeaky, quiet sneezes caught Angel off guard, so much so that he forgot about his own need to sneeze, “I-IHH’KShuu!” 

Angel sat up, leaning forward and hugging his knees as he watched Valentino pluck a handful of tissues from a box next to his chair, holding them up to his face as Angel’s breath hitched again, “Huh…h-ihh…Hihh-” 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ihh’KSHUU! Hih’kshuu! ‘Kshuu! ‘KShhiew!” Valentino sneezed, throwing his damp tissues into a small trashcan that he typically reserved for dumping out his ash trays, “Fuck! I can’t s-stop sne-eezi’g- IHH’KSHUU!” 

Angel frowned, frustrated that his shithead boss seemed to be snatching his own sneezes out from under him. He swallowed, wincing at a dull soreness in the back of his throat, and basked in the warmth of the floodlights while Valentino emptied his sinuses into another handful of tissues. 

“Where were we?” Valentino asked Travis, who shrugged, “Dammit… snff… I can’t fucking focus with this itching!” 

Angel stared intently, watching his boss scrub desperately at his nostrils with the heel of his palm, his cool-toned skin looking hypersensitive and blotchy. 

Eventually, Valentino gave up, flopping back in his chair and motioning for Angel to approach, “Angieee, c’mere baby…snff!” he beckoned. 

Angel rolled his eyes while Valentino wasn’t looking, and slid off of the bed, sprawling out at his boss’s feet and looking up at him from between his long legs, “Yes, Val?” he asked, his sore throat giving his voice a husky overtone that made him feel sexier, even if it was slightly painful. 

Valentino paused as a shiver ran through his body, making him practically vibrate as more sweat trickled down his face, the previously sexual look in his eyes melted into something more vulnerable and subdued, almost frightened. 

“Uhm… n-nevermind,” he mumbled, massaging his temples and jumping when another shiver ran up his spine, “Fuck… now I’m cold.” 

Angel blinked, feeling heat radiating from Valentino’s body in a manner indistinguishable from the sensation of hovering your hand over a curling iron.

Not particularly concerned about the man keeping him on a choke chain, Angel did see how the current circumstances could get him off the clock earlier than expected, “Val, I think you’ve got a fever,” he said, laying on the faux-concern as thick as possible, cupping Valentino’s warm face with both hands. 

Valentino’s antennae fluttered at the soothing touch, leaning into it, “Really?” he asked, his tired eyes briefly closing as Angel stroked his cheeks. 

“Yeah…” Angel replied, pressing the back of his hand to Valentino’s forehead, feeling a noticeable warmth, but nothing particularly extreme,“You’re burnin’ up… poor baby.” 

Valentino seemed to wilt in his chair, snapping his fingers at the film crew to turn the floodlights back off and getting up from his seat, struggling to stand on his own two feet, “Okay, yeah, we’re done here… I feel like shit…IHh’kshuu! H-hih’kshuu!” he muttered, “Everyone out, I’ll let you know when we’re picking back up with the schedule.” 

Angel nodded, tugging on his shorts and jacket, “Bye Val, hope you feel better,” he said, waving goodbye and rushing out of the studio before Valentino could change his mind. 

“Bye Angiehh- IHH’KSHUU! ‘Kshuu! ‘Kshhieew!- Fuck! I’b gonna kill Velvette for getti’g mbe sick- IH’KSHIIEW!” Valentino hissed. 

Angel sprinted out of the Vees’ media tower, panting to catch his breath upon reaching the bottom, coughing into his arm when his ragged breaths caught in his scratchy throat, “Phew… made it,” he sighed to himself, finger-combing his fluffy hair to neaten it out. 

On his walk back to the hotel, it dawned on Angel that the streets seemed less crowded than usual, there were still people out and about, but it wasn’t the jam-packed squeeze it normally was… not by a long shot.  

“Wonder where everybody is,” Angel pondered out loud, scoffing at his hoarse voice. 

Suddenly, the familiar prickle that had built up in Angel’s sinuses while he was working returned in full force, with nothing distracting him, it built, and built, and built until Angel stopped in his tracks, fanning in front of his face and pawing around on his person for a tissue. 

“Hahh…H-hahh…Ah…!!” 

Angel sniffled faintly, trying to fight the urge to sneeze and failing miserably, by the time he got his hands on something he even thought was a tissue, it was too late. 

“Ah’tshhheww! Hah’tshew! HAH’KTSHIEW! A-ahh’KSHIEW!! ‘KSHIEWW!” Angel sneezed, polishing off his fit with a damp sniffle, thanking fate that no one was around to see the dense mist of droplets he’d just sprayed into the air, “Fuck mbe…snff! That’s probably where everybody else is… somewhere sneezin’ their heads off…AH’KSHHEW!” 

Angel winced, blowing his “nose” into the single tissue he found in a nearly-empty travel packet in his back pocket, tossing the soggy paper into a nearby trash can. Each spraying sneeze seemed hell-bent on scraping at his already-raw throat, swallowing growing more and more painful with every sneeze. 

An hour passed, and Angel walked through the hotel’s front doors with an exhausted expression painted onto his face, struggling to sniffle enough to keep the constant trickle of moisture at bay, his “nose” reddened from the constant rubbing. 

“Back early!” Angel announced, gently resting a hand on his throat and swallowing, frustrated that the husky, almost tattered quality of his voice had only managed to get worse on his walk home. 

“You’re back from a shoot in a good mood?” Husk asked incredulously from his position behind the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey into two mugs of steaming liquid, “Did your boss fall out the window?” 

“Fuck, I wish- snff!- he’s sick with whatever’s been goin’ around,” Angel explained, pausing to clear his throat, “Sorry… but it was ridiculous, he had the AC cranked up and the lights off cause he was too hot… snff-snff! I swear I could see my breath in there it was so cold.” 

Husk chuckled, “Don’t think keepin’ a porn studio ice cold is the best idea,” he said, carefully swiping underneath his nose when Angel wasn’t paying attention, “What’d he have you doin’ today? Normally your voice ain’t this wrecked without givin’ some giant head for an hour.” 

“Actually, I didn’t even have to do anythin’ today, they were just gettin’ B-roll shots of my body by myself… it was kinda nice,” Angel paused, “Mby…snff…sorry… mby throat’s just sore, it’s kinda pissin’ me off cause I feel like I’m losin’ my voice.” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he silently pushed one of the steaming mugs over to Angel, “This should help at least,” he said with a kind smile, both ears twitching when his fingers brushed up against Angel’s. 

The two demons took a sip of the hot substance in their mugs, and then another, before setting their drinks down. Angel licked his lips at the taste of black tea, honey, and whiskey, a blend of flavors that reminded him of his brief stint lounge singing back on Earth. 

“This is good, thanks,” Angel said, taking another sip and sighing at the warm liquid soothing his scratchy throat on the way down. 

“Don’t mention it, glad the pain wasn’t caused by someone else’s dick for once,” Husk laughed, clenching his teeth to stifle the cough that was building in his chest, and taking another swallow of his drink. 

The plumes of steam blooming from Husk and Angel’s mugs reached up to their faces and wafted into their sinuses, the steam loosening up the congestion they’d built up from hours of sniffling. 

“H’RrSCHUHHH! Hh’TSCHUHHH! Hnk’TSHOOO! hNk’SHEWWW,” Husk sneezed, hurriedly hiding the mess of congestion behind a handful of paper towels, noisily blowing his nose and trying not to wince at the abrasive paper towel rubbing his sensitive little jellybean raw. 

“Ah’KShew! Ah’kShiiew! Hah’kchew! Hnk’Chiew! Ah’KShhhew!” Angel sneezed, running the back of his wrist under his nostrils and wincing at the mess he’d made of his gloves by swiping at his “nose”.  

“Well, at least I don’t have to  hold ‘em in anymore,” Husk sighed, noisily blowing his nose and tossing the bundle of soiled paper towels in the trash, before turning to address Angel, “You too?” 

“Mmhm,” Angel replied, wiping tears from his watery eyes, “I don’t even know who I caught it fromb- A-ahh’KSHEW!- either Val… or Velvette, or Smiles… where is he, anyway?” 

Husk gestured toward the armchair in the parlor with his head, where Alastor was curled up, half asleep, staring at the television with glassy eyes, “The fever’s kickin’ his ass, watch this- Alastor!” he called out. 

“Hm?” Alastor replied, turning to face Husk. 

“How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Husk asked, sticking up his middle finger at Alastor, who could barely register shapes in his current state. 

“Uhmb…Hnk’Shhiew!... three?” Alastor replied, squinting at Husk’s hand from the negligible distance between the parlor and the bar. 

Husk snickered, “Yup, three,” he lied, turning back to face Angel, “He doesn’t even know where he is right now.” 

“Oh shit, that’s gonna be us,” Angel sighed, polishing off the last of his drink and clearing his throat, “I already feel a little woozy… I’mb gonna go change outta this, you comin’?” 

“Comin’ to change into mby pajamas, or comin’ to watch you change?” Husk inquired. 

“Both?” Angel offered, scratching behind Husk’s left ear. 

“Both it is,” Husk replied.  

Thirty minutes later, Husk and Angel emerged from Angel’s room, both looking noticeably more tired than when they vanished upstairs, and collapsed onto the sofa next to Alastor’s armchair. Husk positioned himself so that his head was nestled underneath Angel’s chest fluff, and Angel shuffled in place so that Husk was right between both of his legs, the large cat’s fever-heightened body heat keeping Angel from shivering. 

“I feel hot,” Husk grumbled, running a hand under his nose and wishing he had a box of tissues. 

“I feel cold,” Angel whimpered, hugging Husk closer to him in an attempt to fight back against his building chills, “a-AH’kSHEW!...’kSHeww! ‘Ksheww!” 

“I mbiss phonographs… snrkk!... It was always so interesti’g to watch themb spin,” Alastor rambled feverishly, his nose twitching, “Hnk’TSHhiew! HNK’TSHHEW!” 

Niffty draped a blanket over Angel and Husk, and wiped down Alastor’s forehead with a damp washcloth, before returning to her flurry of cleaning tasks, humming peacefully to herself while the three pitifully sick demons stared at the television. 

Eventually, Charlie and Vaggie returned from their work outside the hotel, “Guys, we’re back!” Charlie called out, “Cherri texted me saying that she’d be back tomorrow, she’s scouting out another mural space right now, but I wonder if Angel’s back from his shoot yet.” 

Niffty tugged on Charlie’s pant leg, “Look,” she whispered, gesturing toward the parlor, where Husk and Angel were snoring against one another, and Alastor- while awake- was feverishly rambling to himself. 

“Oh no,” Charlie sighed, “At least they look comfortable… the news wasn’t lying about this thing being contagious.” 

“Yeah, maybe we should be a bit more cautious around them and their germs before anyone else gets sick,” Vaggie proposed, inching away from the germy haze in the parlor, with her hands behind her back. 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ih’pshuu! H-hihh’kshew!” 

Charlie and Vaggie winced at the sound of Niffty sneezing from the other room. 

“I’ll go get her,” Vaggie said, “Whatever this is, let’s cross our fingers it doesn’t get any worse.” 

“Yeah… fingers crossed,” Charlie echoed, crossing her fingers while staring at her sick friends with wary concern, their congested snoring occasionally broken up by a hoarse cough from Angel, “Feel better, guys.” 

When Charlie walked away, Alastor drowsily looked up, following her with his eyes until she left the room, mouthing a delirious ‘Thank you’ in her direction before leaning back in his armchair and falling asleep. 

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.1 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, some mess

Word count: 3,763

I have no self control and wanted to smack a bunch of my favorite characters with the sick stick at once, so here's chapter 1 of my self-indulgent large-scale contagion fic, enjoy!

@onetrickponi Since I promised I'd tag when it was finished ^^

Alastor knew good and well that the day’s meeting would be trouble when he heard the audible strain in Ms. Carmine’s voice when she pointedly cleared her throat to get the other overlords’ attention. 

There was a grating, almost painful-sounding quality to it that made Alastor’s ears twitch, it reminded him of the hoarse undertones one would normally hear from a seasoned smoker.

The group of chattering overlords fell silent, turning their gaze toward Carmilla and awaiting the start of the meeting. 

“I just-” Carmilla paused, shutting her eyes and clearing her throat a second time, “-just wanted to apologize in advance for my voice. I’ve been fighting a sore throat since yesterday.”  

“You’re losing,” Velvette laughed from the opposite end of the table, rotating in her office chair and scrolling through her phone, her smug smile showing off her pearly white fangs, fangs made brighter when contrasted against her shimmering black lipstick. 

“I am aware, but thank you for that keen, mature observation, Velvette,” Carmilla spat back, swallowing and trying not to wince before blowing a tendril of her hair out of her face. 

“You’re very welcome,” Velvette replied, twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. 

Alastor flashed Rosie a knowing look with lowered eyelids,  before redirecting his attention to Carmilla. 

“We are meeting today to discuss the recent ‘smog’ problem, there appears to be a red mist lingering in the air in the Doomsday district, and it is approaching the district borders,” Carmilla announced, “Zillia?” 

“Uhm… nobody seems bothered by it, to be honest, but I can’t figure out where the hell it came from, it just appeared, and it isn’t goin’ away either,” Zillia explained, “Nobody’s complained about having trouble breathin’... or seein’ really, it’s just kinda weird.”  

“So there’s just a blanket of red mist hangin’ in the air, but it isn’t causing any trouble?” Rosie inquired, raising an eyebrow, “Nothin’ at all?” 

“Nope! It even smells nice,” Zillia replied, resting her head in her palm. 

“It does, I was visiting the district the other day and its fragrance is oddly pleasant…like freshly-picked flowers,” Carmilla said with a wistful sigh, wincing through another dry swallow only to smile when Odette handed her a glass of water, which she eagerly finished in three gulps. 

“So we’re here to talk about a non-problem?” Velvette asked, not even bothering to look up from her phone. 

“ ‘Twould be a wise decision for thou to refrain from such idle chatter whilst the adults are speaking,” Zestial hissed from his seat, staring at Velvette with unblinking eyes.  

Velvette complied, returning Zestial’s jab with a raised middle finger and a well-researched bite to the thumb. 

Zestial held back a gasp, “Insolent girl,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Dusty fuckhead,” 

“Senseless wretch…” 

“Spindly geezer,” 

“Overgrown infant!” 

“Senile shitstain!” 

Zestial and Velvette’s escalating squabble quickly died down, both turning to glance at Carmilla, who had two of her large fingers pinching the theoretical bridge of her nose, an area that had quickly flushed an irritated pink. She sniffled twice, before holding both hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to silence a hoarse, rough-sounding cough. 

A minute passed, and Carmilla fought every bone in her body to keep from flushing with embarrassment.  

“Carmilla?” Zestial inquired, only to receive an anxious glance in return.  

Velvette snickered, sliding a travel-sized package of tissues across the table and leaning back in her chair, “Have at it, old bird, sounds like you need one.” 

“Th-thank you,” Carmilla replied, her consonants sounding noticeably muffled as she picked a tissue from the package and held it up to her face, noisily blowing her “nose” until she had to pause to take a deep breath, “Excuse me…” 

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he nervously drummed his fingertips against the table, shooting Rosie another knowing look, practically blinking at her in morse code. 

“What’s eatin’ you?” Rosie whispered, “Quit battin’ your eyelashes at me and spill.” 

“We should leave,” Alastor whispered back through clenched teeth. 

“Why?” Rosie inquired, only to be interrupted by Carmilla loudly blowing her nose a second time, soaking another tissue and closing with a loud honk, which made Rosie giggle. 

“Unless you want that to be you, I suggest we make our exit,” Alastor whispered, his eyes looking desperate and frightful in spite of his wide grin. 

“Oh hush, don’t be so dramatic,” Rosie argued, playfully tugging at one of Alastor’s ears. 

“Uch… Clara, what else were we supposed to discuss? I’ve lost my train of thought,” Carmilla asked, the center of her face and the underside of her eyes looking pinkish-red and puffy from the irritation. 

“There’s nothing else on the agenda, Mom,” Clara said in a hushed voice, showing her mother the empty clipboard. 

“Oh for the love of-” Carmilla groaned, massaging her temples with her large fingers, “This is…ih… i-ih…” 

Alastor’s stomach dropped, he knew that sound, that sound may as well be the click of a pin being yanked from a grenade, the beeping of a volatile time bomb, the- 

“Ih’ktshhhiew! Ih’tshhew! Ih’ktschiew! IH’KSHHHUH!” 

A dense cloud of infectious droplets sprayed into the open air through a wide gap in Carmilla’s fingers, stretching across the entire table, if not the room. 

Alastor’s mind flashed with images of ailing neighbors and frazzled doctors, of boarded-up storefronts and oxygen-starved soldiers lying on tarps in the grass. It was a rough two years… a rough three, frankly. 

“Alastor, snap out of it,” Rosie whispered, gently tapping on the back of Alastor’s head. 

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, trying and failing to tune out Carmilla’s sniffling in the background as he thought about scrubbing himself down with lye and dunking himself in a tub of boiling water.

“Ih’tschhhiew! Hnk’tchew!... My apologies, I just- Ih’ktschhiew!- I didn’t think this would happen,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse and exhausted as she wiped the watery underside of her eyes with her thumb. 

“Gesundheit! Don’t sweat it, sweetie, but I think you should get some rest,” Rosie said, managing a knowing smile at Carmilla, who weakly smiled back. 

“I think so too… meeting adjourned- Hi-iih…HIH’TSCHHIEW!- ‘Scuse me…” Carmilla announced, loudly blowing her nose as she turned to exit the room with her daughters. 

Alastor hurriedly gestured at the door, begging Rosie to follow him, not wanting to breathe in the poisoned air of the meeting room for a second longer. 

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down,” Rosie chuckled, grabbing hold of her umbrella and following Alastor outside, “Goodness, a few sneezes and you turn into a maniac!” 

“Apologies, when you spend a year working as a volunteer ambulance driver in 1919, you learn not to be quite so relaxed when there’s germ-riddled moisture all over your face,” Alastor rambled, feeling a chill run up his spine at the damp fur on his ears, “E u ch!” 

Rosie rolled her eyes, “Go home and wash your ears, silly, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said with a nonchalant grin, twirling her umbrella in her hand as she headed back to Cannibal Town. 

Alastor sighed, vanishing into his shadow and resigning himself to heading back home. He needed to take a bath in some turpentine and light his clothes on fire, knock back a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, anything to keep whatever Carmilla sprayed across the meeting room out of his body. 

Hours later, Husk jumped out of his skin when his “keeper” appeared out of his own shadowy mist in front of the bar, grumbling to himself with an iron grip on his microphone. 

“You’re just too fuckin’ good to walk anywhere, huh? Poofin’ out of the shadows is just too easy… whadda you want?” Husk asked, cleaning a beer mug while he awaited Alastor’s response. 

“I need a shot of whatever you use to clean off the counter,” 

Husk blinked. 

“I’m sorry… what? Not that you can’t handle your liquor… but I don’t think I’d trust you with anything’ harder than a couple whiskey neats,” 

“Hand me the bottle,” Alastor muttered through clenched teeth, twisting the safety nozzle of the spray bottle of disinfectant that Husk kept behind the bar. He spritzed both of his eyes before liberally spraying the back of his throat, knocking back the residue with a harsh swallow before sliding the spray bottle back in Husk’s direction. 

“... The hell is wrong with you?” Husk asked. 

“Absolutely nothing, nothing I’d concern myself with telling you, anyways,” Alastor replied with narrowed eyelids. 

“Well then… suppose I’ll have to keep lemon disinfectant around for the next time you’re feelin’ adventurous,” 

Husk’s little comment and the laughter that followed irritated Alastor, and the radio demon considered beaning the cat in the back of the head with his microphone, only to be wrenched out of his thoughts by a sudden itch in his sinuses, forcing him to raise the back of his hand under his nose. 

‘Come on Alastor, you’re better than this, fight it, fight it, fight it-’ 

“Hnk! Hnk’tshh! Hhk’tshh!” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and his face stretched into a knowing smile as he zeroed his focus on Alastor’s nose, “You know-” 

“Shush,” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever-” 

“Quiet.” 

“Ever-” 

“Husk,” Alastor hissed, preparing his arm to reach for Husk’s throat, only to be stopped in his tracks by his itchy nose, “H-hihh…Huhh…h-huh..” 

“Heard you sneeze,” Husk whispered, knowing that he’d caught Alastor off guard, “Until now, anyways.” 

“Hu’hktschoo! Huh’ptshhhoo! Hnk’TSCHOO!... Huh….HUH’PTSchhiEWWW!” 

Husk grinned as he watched Alastor blearily pat around on his person for a pristine red handkerchief that was tucked into his front pocket, pulling it out and pinching it around his nostrils before letting out a dense, gurgling blow. 

“I take it that is what the disinfectant was supposed to prevent,” Husk laughed, “Whatever it is you managed to catch, it sounds nasty…shit.” 

“I could kill you with my bare hands,” Alastor hissed, pantomiming the act of strangling Husk, only to be caught unawares by another itch, “HNK’TSsschHIEWW! Hnk’Tschhiiew!” 

“I’m aware, but maybe put it off a few days, I’d rather not have snot on my corpse’s face,” Husk teased. 

“You are a mbiserable drunkard, and I hate you- Snff!- I really do,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose a second time and struggling not to scowl at how damp his handkerchief was beginning to feel underneath his fingers. “Right back atcha,” Husk said, poking Alastor’s nose with a sly grin, watching his boss’s nose twitch helplessly. “Nghh…Gh-hhuh…H-Huhh- HNK’TSCHOO! H-uh’tzZZShhOO! Huh’ktSCHEW! H-huh’TSCHOO! Hnk’TschhhiEW!” Alastor sneezed, only able to hold his hands loosely in front of his face, paralyzed by the fit. 

Husk winced, wiping off his face and wiping down the bar counter, “Fuckin’ hell, remind me to drink the rest of that disinfectant when I’m done cleanin’ this up, might be too late for you but I like breathin’ through my nose,” he grumbled. 

“Snff-snff! Uch… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… slimy or disorganized in mby entire life- Snfff!” Alastor said, blowing his nose again and trying not to think about how loose and wet it sounded, “I have no idea where all of it is even coming from.”  

“Well, make yourself scarce, I’m not trying to find out,” Husk replied, pausing and turning to the front door of the hotel upon hearing it swing open, “Welcome back, Princess.” 

“Hii, I’m so excited for some quality bonding time now that Cherri is staying with us! I haven’t been able to just relax and watch a movie in years,” Charlie said with a smile as Vaggie snuck behind her to head upstairs, “Is Angel back yet?” 

“Nah, he’s still at work, but he said he’d try and make it here in time,” Husk stated, checking his phone to see if Angel had texted him anything new, “How’d the recruitment effort go?” 

“Uhm, better! Some people seemed interested and actually kept the pamphlets I gave them, but a lot of people said they didn’t wanna touch my hand or get too close because they weren’t feeling well… which was surprisingly considerate for a huge group of sinners,” Charlie explained, rambling as she leaned against the back of the sofa in the parlor, “Half the people I spoke to either mentioned they thought they were sick or they looked sick… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many sick people in one day.” 

“Really?” Husk asked with a knowing smirk, “Somethin’ must be going around…” 

“I guess so, yeah,” Charlie replied, “Alastor! How was the overlord meeting?”  

“Oh it was alright- snff- a bit shorter than expected. Don’t think I came away with anything of note,” Alastor responded, holding his damp handkerchief behind his back and wrestling with the urge to rub his nose. It was so itchy. 

“I can think of something… ” Husk muttered playfully, seemingly unbothered when Alastor whipped his head around to stare daggers at him. 

“Has everyone thought about what movie they’re gonna suggest for movie night tonight?” Charlie asked, grinning and bouncing on her heels, “Because I have, and I’m so excited!” 

“Ooo! I did! I did! I’m so excited, I haven’t been able to see it since I was alive!” Nifty exclaimed, dropping from the ceiling onto Alastor’s shoulders, clutching a feather duster. She was so preoccupied with thinking about which movie she’d picked, she didn’t notice her feather duster brushing against Alastor’s nose. 

“HUH’PTSHOO! Huh’ptschiew! Hhn’ktshew! HHN’KTSHIIEW! Huh’PTSHHIEW!.... Oh mby goodness…snf-snf!...Ndiffty…” Alastor groaned, wetly blowing his nose and trying to avoid Charlie’s concerned gaze, “Don’t look at mbe like that.”  

“Sorry- not looking, not looking,” Charlie replied sheepishly, averting her gaze from Alastor by staring at the carpet, “That just sounded… uhm… a teeny tiny bit-” 

“Gross!” Vaggie called from upstairs, “The word she’s looking for is ‘gross’!” 

Husk flopped onto his back behind the bar, struggling to contain his laughter. 

“I was going to say ‘wet’... but I guess that works too,” Charlie said, shooting Alastor a nervous glance, “You feeling okay?” 

Alastor narrows his eyelids, his grin still stretched across his face in spite of his angry eyebrows and puffy, miserable-looking eyelids to match his irritated and streaming nose, “Would you believe mbe if I said yes?” he asked knowingly. 

“Not really, no, you sound awful,” Charlie admitted, quietly gesturing for Alastor to lean down, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to the Radio Demon’s forehead when he reluctantly complied, “You feel warm, too. You probably just caught whatever’s going around, don’t worry!” 

“I’ll try mby best not to,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose again and wincing at how wet the fabric was getting, “Snff-snff! Pardon me…” 

Charlie looked at the sniffling overlord with concern, before getting back her typical kind smile, “You should take a hot shower and change into something more comfortable if you’re sick! By the time all of us get ready, Angel and Cherri will probably be back, and we can pick the movie for tonight!” 

Alastor considered arguing, considered vanishing into a puff of shadowy smoke and reappearing in Cannibal Town to crash with Rosie, considered sprinting out the door and going into hiding… but he’d been found out, and all of the sneezing he’d been doing was definitely catching up to him, he was exhausted.  

“Alright, I’ll be back down,” Alastor said with a nod, vanishing upstairs, but not before catching a sharp “Hnk-Tchoo!” with his handkerchief.  

“I’m gonna go get ready, too,” Charlie said, turning to Husk, “You coming?” 

“Nah, Angel just texted me on his break, I’m gonna ask him how the shoot’s going for a little while, I’ll catch up,” Husk replied, leaning against the bar counter and tapping slowly at his phone, shooting Angel a message and waiting patiently for a reply. 

[Don’t forget about tonight… almost done filming?] 

On the opposite side of Pentagram City, Angel stared at his phone, attempting to think of a response, only to peek over at his boss from the other side of the cameras. 

Valentino was working through a plot hole that Travis left in the script- while lecturing Travis about it- and it was taking longer than expected. While they spoke, Valentino was also busy moisturizing and straightening Velvette’s hair to get her ready for an auction she was heading to that night. 

Velvette typically had her assistants help with her hair, but she wandered downstairs to the porn studio because she had a headache and the vibrant lighting in her studio was making things worse. 

Angel stared at the pair of overlords in silence while he tugged his underwear back on and tidied up his fluff with a hairbrush. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it, nobody’s gonna notice the inconsistency anyways, if they’re watching porn for the plot, they’re doing it wrong,” Valentino conceded, rolling his eyes at Travis and taking a deep drag from his cigarette, smiling at the hit of nicotine before blowing out a large heart-shaped plume of smoke, his smile fading when he heard Velvette start to cough from her position in front of his legs, “Oh shit, sorry pequeñita, I forgot you hate the smell of these.” 

Valentino took a second puff, blowing his next plume of smoke at the ceiling, only to stop upon hearing Velvette’s cough again: a persistent, hacking cough that forced Velvette to draw deep breaths in between bursts. Ashing his cigarette, Valentino used one of his hands to pat Velvette on the back. 

“Fuck, Vel, you good?” Valentino asked, his attempts to help dislodge what he assumed was just something stuck in his colleague’s windpipe getting more intense. 

“S-stop it,” Velvette wheezed, tucking her head into her knees and letting out a heavy barking cough that made her entire body vibrate, but seemed to alleviate the ticklish feeling in her throat, “Fuck…” 

“That was a rough ass cough,” Valentino said, running his fingers through Velvette’s freshly-straightened locks and wincing at the searing heat he felt upon touching the side of her head, “-Shit, Vel, why didn’t you tell me I burned you?” 

“You-” Velvette clenched her teeth to smother another coughing fit, “- you didn’t burn me…” she replied. 

“You sure? It feels so hot right here, I just thought…wait a second…” Valentino paused, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing his bare palm against Velvette’s forehead, “Yeah… tienes fiebre, I think the auction is gonna have to wait for another time… how do you feel?” 

“My head hurts, my throat hurts, I’m tired, and every time I breathe I feel like I need to cough,” Velvette complained, leaning back against Valentino’s legs, “This is horseshit…Hh’tshh! Hhn’tshh! Hnk’tshh!” 

Valentino frowned, running his fingers through Velvette’s hair, “Okay people, that’s a wrap for tonight, see you tomorrow!” he announced, clapping to dismiss the film staff and the actors before gathering Velvette in his arms and turning on his heel to leave the studio, “Let’s get you something hot to drink and some comfy clothes, hm?” 

“Put mbe down… Hnk’tshh!... I’b a grown woman,” Velvette hissed, pushing away from Valentino’s chest, only to lean against his shoulder after only a few seconds of protest, “Actually, nevermind…snff!... I’b too tired to walk. Fuck it.”  

“Mmmhm, that’s why I picked you up,” Valentino teased as he walked, eventually vanishing down the hall and leaving Angel in the studio alone. 

“Hell yes,” Angel cheered, hurrying to put on the rest of  his clothes and texting Husk that he’d be home earlier than expected. 

A couple of hours later, the group was gathered together on the sofa in the parlor, all cozied up in their pajamas. 

Charlie and Vaggie reclined against one another, Angel stretched out across Husk’s lap, Niffty was seated in front of the sofa on the carpet, Cherri was sat in the armchair on the right side of the sofa, and Alastor was reclined in the armchair on the left. 

“So, who gets to pick tonight’s movie?” Angel asked, petting Husk between his ears, listening to his partner’s satisfied purring. 

“We drew straws, and Niffty won, so we’re watching…” Charlie began, turning to Niffty to wait for her selection. 

“Singin’ in the Rain!” Niffty cheered, clapping her hands quietly, “It’s one of the last films I saw before I died!”

Charlie nodded, pressing play on the chunky CRT television in the parlor, and leaning against Vaggie as the film began to play. 

Alastor blew his nose into his handkerchief, glaring at the wet fabric and conjuring himself a dry one out of thin air, moving to put it away before feeling a familiar building itch. 

“Hnk’TSHH-iew! HNK’TShhiew! HNK’Tshh-iew! HNK’Zzzt!” 

Charlie peeked over from her spot on the sofa, mouthing ‘Bless you’ at Alastor before returning her attention to the movie. 

Alastor returned the gesture with a quiet nod, straining to avoid rolling his eyes at the idea of letting himself be so… vulnerable around these people. The Radio Demon silently thanked his lucky stars that Lucifer was on a brief whirlwind tour through the rest of Hell to get back in touch with the other sins, meaning that he wouldn’t be around to bear witness to Alastor’s embarrassing misery. 

“HNK’Tshh! Hh’kzzhht! Hh’Kshoo!” 

Alastor shivered, leaning back in his armchair and attempting to focus on the movie to take his mind off of the throbbing sensation in the back of his throat, or the incessant tickle in his sinuses. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why he suddenly felt so cold. 

Lost in his thoughts, Alastor barely noticed it when something warm and soft was draped over his shoulders, and a bundle of warmth gathered in his lap. Upon regaining focus, Alastor noticed that someone had draped a blanket over him, leaving his arms free, and that KeeKee was curled up in his lap, purring softly. 

Resigned to his fate, Alastor simply began stroking KeeKee’s back, the soft static in the background of the film and the cat’s blissful purring beginning to make him drowsy. 

“Ooo! This is my favorite part! Alastor, look, this is the actor I said you looked like when we met!” Niffty whispered, eagerly tugging on Alastor’s pant leg to get his attention, only to be met with silence, “Alastor?”  

Niffty looked up only to see Alastor relaxed and fast asleep, his back pressed against the armchair and his usual grin reduced to a soft, toothless smile. Congestion rumbled in his sinuses as he snored, his nose twitching every so often to fight the constant tickle threatening to disturb his slumber by making him sneeze. 

“I’ll show him later,” Niffty whispered, hugging Alastor’s ankles and going back to watching the movie, “Maybe he’ll feel better tomorrow…” 

[vikalynnssnzblog]

ur fave getting a cold and going thru the stages of grief and their loved ones observing

denial (no im not sick the sun was in my eyes or it's dusty in here and my throat is dry bc im dehydrated)

anger (i said im FINDE)

bargaining (if i can go two midutes without sdeezi'gg will you let it go)

depression (=I )

acceptance (...tea would be nice actually)

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Sitting at home …somehow caught a cold after the tummy issues….I think imma drag elwyne through the mud.

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Stomach issues aside I may have to use this as a plot for elwyne.

[vikalynnssnzblog]

I see it as retribution, woke up to a stomach bug this morning…did someone put some sort of curse on those who enjoy it a little too hard this year??

so like are all snzblr creators gettin sick at the same time bc its christmas or

yall out of inspiration so u do some method acting 💀

I think it’s actually divine retribution rather than method acting 💀 karmas a bitch

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Non snz…but I wanted to show you guys some of my work since I’m constantly like…working and never on here anymore , but a bit about me if anyone wants to know is that I am a tattoo artist in Groton CT~

If anyone wants to follow my work I have an Instagram that’s @Tats_for_thought 🩷 it would be stellar if some of ya’ll could support~

But below this cut is some of my work and flash sheets :) feel free to enjoy them and if any of you are in the Connecticut or Rhode Island Massachusetts area let me know! We can book an appointment if any of ya’ll like my stuff that much 🩷

So here are a few of my flash sheets I’m hoping to sell soon 🩷 I also do tickets if you’re not in the area for the design~ those are $40 to take to a different artist :)

And last but not least my tattoo work below~

If you follow me here just send me a dm and say hi!

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Lil oc comic inspired by this!!

Prompt by @dampsleeves hey shawdy

I LOVE THIS PROMPT SM RAHH it gave me their vibes so I knew what had to be done >:]

This guys live in my brain

[vikalynnssnzblog]

Reblog if all of these apply

You are a sneeze kink blog

You DO NOT allow minors to interact

You have your age or an approximate age listed (just 18+ doesn't count)