#two pairs of fingerless gloves for another coworker

[the-crafting-gremlin]

I finally just set the mitts aside for the moment. I think I managed to fix at least the worst of the laddering on the test mitt but I'm not positive. I've been thinking about trying the magic loop method to see if that might help but that's something I'll have to test when I'm not at work.

Since I work in what is essentially a call center, I'm able to knit or crochet (or do whatever else I want at my desk that doesn't disturb others or interfere with my ability to do my job) on the clock which is fantastic. (It's the reason I was able to churn out five crocheted blankets in four months for Christmas presents one year. Never doing that again.) It just does also mean I can't work on anything that's going to require too much thought--so, new or complicated patterns or techniques.

I've also been working on a sweater for a co-worker's toddler. This one has finally forced me to learn to read knitting charts because it doesn't have a written version of the pattern. It's slowed me down a bit because I keep having to check the legend but I'm getting better. It's also the first sweater I've ever knitted in the round; I'm used to knitting socks but this feels like a whole different beast. It took me 4 false starts but I think it's finally looking how it's supposed to. The pattern at least is right and I like how it's looking.

What I think is throwing me is that even though the gauge swatch I did matched, the sweater still almost seems too big. The little one it's for is nearly the height of a 3 year old even though she's only a year and a half (I did get measurements from her mom) so the sweater should, according to the pattern, only be a bit big for her. It may just be that I'm so much more used to seeing my cousin's youngest, who's the same age but smaller, so it makes me feel like the sweater is going to be the wrong size.

I guess it doesn't matter that much since it's for a kid. If it's even bigger than I expected she'll just grow into it (the pattern's smallest size is for 3-4 year olds so I know it's going to be a smidge large for her right now which is fine. Kids grow fast).

This sweater is also my first time knitting in the round primarily without dpns. I needed them for the neck and I'll need them for the sleeves, but I switched to my interchangeable needles as soon as the circumference allowed because I knew my dpns weren't going to be long enough after a certain point and I only have one set of 4 mm dpns. It's definitely made a huge difference with my laddering issues.

I think I still prefer dpns overall, but now that I've had a chance to adjust to using my circular needles to actually knit in the round, rather than just taking advantage of the cord length for wide projects, I don't hate using them as much as I thought I would. They always felt a little awkward and almost unwieldy when I used them for blankets. Maybe it's the lighter yarn or the smaller project but I'm pretty okay with them, especially not having to worry about where certain parts of the pattern are landing on the needles.

If the magic loop method ends up working out well for the mitts I may use it to tackle some of the sock patterns I fell in love with ages ago but had trouble with because of loose tension between dpns.

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part I: A Matter Of Convenience

Description: An extraordinary man arrives to shake up your ordinary life Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: robberies and mentions of firearms, physical violence, mild depictions of bodily injury, blood and masturbation, profanity Word Count: 1650 words (~8 mins of action, drama and the start of a slow burn 🔥)  Author’s Notes: This multi-chapter fic is dedicated to the lovely @op-peccatori​​​, one of the winners of my Follower Milestone Celebration!  Thank you so much, Nana, for requesting a mafia AU story starring everyone’s favourite lavender-haired man 😆 This is actually my first time writing an AU fic, and the experience thus far has been incredibly eye-opening and lots of fun!

For this piece, I wanted to localize the AU to better fit the world of MLQC, so instead of using a traditional mafia setting, the events take place in the milieu of the triads and “black societies” that are more likely to be found in corresponding parts of the world.  For those who are interested, Wikipedia has an incredibly comprehensive article on triads and organized crime.

This piece turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and is still ongoing as of the time of this post!  That being said, I hope you’ll join me on this wild ride 😂 As always, wishing you all a very happy read 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

A black duffel bag is thrust onto the counter before you, panels wide open like a gaping maw.  You look up at the man in the bomber jacket and the only things you can process are:

One: his nostrils are flaring.

Two: why bother trying to be nondescript by dressing in all black if you’re going to leave your face uncovered during a robbery?

“I ain’t playin’ around, little girl.  Put the goddamn money in the bag right now or else I’ll shoot—”

WHACK!

The man’s eyes widen in the split second before his face crumples, teeth yellowed and uneven protruding in an ugly grimace.  His hand flies to his head, trying to stem the blood already streaking down his face when he collapses onto the counter, taking out a display of collectible miniature keychains next to the register as he does.  They scatter, some rolling across the floor before being stopped by a pair of purple Chuck Taylors tapping out an impatient rhythm on the linoleum.

You look up from those sneakers in a daze, eyes following the silhouette of a pair of jeans so worn in places you doubted the rips and tears were purely for aesthetic purposes.  And if you’d had to guess, you’d say that purple was your saviour’s favourite colour, given the lavender hair that fell over his eyes the moment he pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt, also in a shade of violet.  His other hand — clad in a fingerless leather glove — gripped the skateboard that had just connected with the head of the would-be robber, still groaning before you.

Pop!

You startle at the sound, heart slowing only when you see the pink bubble deflating between the young man’s lips before the gum is pulled back by the tip of his tongue.  And from where you stood — glued to the spot behind the counter — you swear you can detect the hint of cinnamon.  

He crouches, picking up the gun that had slid out of the thief’s hand when he was unceremoniously hit from behind, and when he chuckles — the sound dangerous and cocksure — it ignites something deep within you.

“Tsk, tsk.  Can’t very well go around robbing people with toys guns, now can you?  Especially not on my turf.  Piece of advice: don’t mess with Boss Li’s territory or else I’ll be doing more than just breaking your head the next time around.  Don’t let me catch you here again.”  

Letting out a pathetic whimper, the robber snatches the empty bag from the counter, running for the doors in such haste he almost trips over his own feet.  The electronic refrains of the door chime still ring in your ears when you realize the man has already made his way to the beverage dispenser, one long finger pressing the Pepsi button before switching to Coke, both drinks mixing in the same paper cup.

Smoothly stepping over the mess on the floor, he places the drink on the counter right next to a smear of blood.  Mind still reeling, your customer service instincts take over.

“H-hello.  Just this?”  

He nods, popping a purple straw through the plastic lid before fixing you with his amber eyes as he pays, a hint of a smirk on his face.  And that is when it hits you that he is actually…actually…

…incredibly gorgeous.

An intense wave of heat washes over your face and you can’t help but look down.  By the time you’ve worked up the courage to lift your head again, he is already at the door, merging with the dark night beyond.  He throws up one hand in goodbye, not even bothering to look back when he says, “Relax.  That guy won’t be bothering you again.”

You hear his skateboard hit the pavement, listen to it rolling away.  Only when the sound completely fades do you remember to breathe.

There was a certain tranquility in working late-night shifts at the 24-hour convenience store — aisles empty save for the occasional customer breaking the monotony: high-strung lovers grabbing last-minute condoms and overworked salarymen buying the beer and discounted meals they subsisted on.

And though your coworkers complained bitterly about the graveyard shift, they were more than happy to pass them on to you, making up every excuse as to why they were unable to show up during those times.  It was unnecessary, really.  You didn’t mind it, even preferred the solitary calm it afforded.

Until now.

Your peace has been shattered, replaced by something that made your hands ball into nervous fists — fingers gripping at the hem of your polyester uniform and wondering for the first time ever whether blue stripes made you look ridiculous.

Because for the first time in a very long while, there was something, someone, to look forward to.

Night after night, it’s the same.  Repeated glances at the clock above the magazine rack, your breath growing shallow to see it approach 1:30.  Heart leaping into your throat to hear the automatic doors slide open followed by the scuff of purple sneakers, tracing a path through the store.

Since the night of that foiled robbery attempt a month ago, he has visited like clockwork and you still haven’t figured out how to remain calm.  So you find contentment from behind the safety of the counter, watching the man with lavender hair — soft, even when lit beneath a harsh fluorescent glare as he stands at the drink dispenser, always filling a cup with Pepsi first, then Coke.

Only ever buying the same thing every time.

This strange ritual lasts all of ten minutes, fifteen at most.  And it takes just as long after he leaves for the hairs of your body to cease standing on end, as if electrified by the intensity of his eyes on yours.  

That gaze of molten gold stays with you even when you return home in the early morning hours, pulling blackout curtains across your window before falling into bed to pretend your hands were his: tracing the outline of your lips, caressing the swell of your breasts, dipping between your legs.

And when your breath falters in a quick succession of shudders, you wonder at your own sanity.  Because in spite of your suspicions about the guy with the purple hair, the warning signs that pointed to his obvious involvement with the triads that extorted money from local businesses as ‘protection fees,’ you still couldn’t help but think about the man who visited you every night without fail.

“You’re hurt—”

“I-I’m fine.  Just…just ring this up, will ya?  I’m…in a rush…”

One arm crossed over his abdomen, he places the cup onto the counter as if it took all the concentration in the world — his efforts squandered anyways when his hand spasms at the last minute to send dark liquid sloshing over the lip.  He hadn’t even bothered to put a lid on.

“…Emergency responders have just arrived on scene and are dealing with scores of injuries.  Eyewitnesses describe what appears to have been a violent clash between rival gangs in a longstanding feud over contested territory.  The police are seeking help from the public in locating several key suspects believed to have fled the scene.  Please do not approach them under any circumstances as they are considered armed and dangerous…”

The news anchor’s face on the wall-mounted television is replaced by another: that of a youthful man with lavender hair and multiple piercings on his ears — challenge exuding from amber eyes.  You scramble for the remote on the shelf behind you, mashing the power button until the screen goes black.  And in the eerie silence that descends upon the store, all you can focus on is the laboured breathing of the man slouched before you.

Skin pale, beads of sweat dot a face drained of colour save for the crimson protrusion above his left eye — soon set to transform, ironically, into his favourite shade of purple.  He tries to suppress a cough but it is too late: you’ve already caught sight of the blood spreading out from beneath the palm pressed to his stomach.

“It’s on me tonight.”

The words leave your lips without second thought as you make for the storefront, flipping the light switch even as you reach to turn the lock on the automatic doors.

“No, don’t…don’t get yourself involved…”

Ignoring his protests, you gingerly place his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to support his weight as you make an awkward attempt to hobble together towards the back of the store.

Suddenly, the darkened interior is lit by flashes of red and blue and you are pulled in the direction of the nearest pillar, a strong arm flexed as it tenses around your waist, holding you to him in an intimate embrace.

He is close…so close that your senses are flooded with him: the heartbeat thunderous in your ear, leather and sweat tickling your nostrils; the scent of blood thick enough you can almost taste it on your tongue.  The hand on your hip — grip firm in a way it almost seemed possessive, and you are ashamed to find that you can become aroused even in a situation like this.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at his face — seeking a sign in the tension dissolving from the firm set of his jaw that the police cruiser had passed — you are shocked to see his pale lips stretched into a smirk instead.

“You know...I’ve been coming here every day…for weeks now…and this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

He is still smiling when he passes out.

Thanks so much for reading!  Hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for part 2!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Updated): Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

[bosspigeon]

a permanent solution to a temporary insanity

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective, with a side of Adam/Nate (implied)

Words:  5257

Summary: Unit Bravo discover the detective has... a lot more tattoos than they would have guessed. Felix is delighted. Mason is intrigued. Nate and Adam are just worried this is going to cause issues with Rebecca, somehow. Tina and Verda become chaotic disasters when they’ve had some alcohol in them.

Takes place at the beginning of Book 2. Title taken from a quote my granddad likes to use whenever he wants me to know he disapproves of my tattoos.

AO3 Link | Ko-Fi <3

"Get your foot off the table, you fucking barbarian!"

Mason can hear the voice of the detective's coworkers from across the bar, but even if he couldn't, Chase's scent is easy enough to track. The muted bite of coffee, the sharpness of pine tempered with clary sage. The cooled sweat of a long day, and, just barely perceptible, the intoxicating undercurrent of his blood.

Mason's awareness narrows down to that stimulus, and he weaves his way through the meager crowd. He is only vaguely cognizant of his unit following behind him, so focused on finding--

He hears a laugh, low and husky, a bit of a scuffle, and he finds the detective sitting at a table with the pathologist, Verda, and the Bobblehe-- Officer Poname.

Chase's back is to him, and he’s sitting in a chair at the end of a table squished into a corner. Verda and Poname are opposite him in a booth against the wall, laughing, while Poname tries in vain to wrestle Chase's scuffed combat boot off the edge of the table. The smell of alcohol is strong between the three of them, but that is not what makes Mason stop dead.

Chase's leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and underneath, what Mason always thought was a full turtleneck sweater is actually completely sleeveless. The detective's arms are bare, save for intricate swirls and clusters of ink, mostly black, but with some pops of color here and there. Some of it is flowers, some words, a few bones and animal skulls. Abstract shapes and lines, a few sharp little designs, from shoulder to knuckles on both arms-- and Mason suddenly realizes Chase always seemed to be wearing supple leather palm gloves that matched his jacket, or, when it was colder, cozy wool fingerless gloves so he could still use his phone without trouble. Not tonight, though. Tonight his hands are bare, his arms are bare, and the ribbed shirt he’s wearing is clinging to him and really showing off the stout strength of his torso.

Mason grunts as Felix runs into his back, and time seems to pick back up to normal speed while his companion loudly complains.

Chase's head turns upon hearing the familiar voice, and Mason gathers his wits and offers a smirk and a carefully relaxed wave, sauntering up alongside the man, who raises a glass full of some dark mixed drink to him.

"There’s nothing we can do until we’ve got more information about our case, so I'm off tomorrow-- ask Rebecca," he informs Adam, who is looking disapprovingly between the detective's lax, sprawled posture and the half-empty glass held loosely in one hand, "so I don't want to hear you bitching about what I'm doing."

Adam's mouth pinches, Nate chuckles and tries to stifle it, and Mason coughs out a ragged laugh. But all that is lost to Felix shoving his way bodily around Mason to grab Chase's wrist (thankfully the one without the drink) and shout, "You've got so many tattoos!"

Chase gives Felix a lazy once-over, his brow quirked. "Yeah? And?" He looks a little bemused, as if he can’t quite figure out how this came as such as a surprise to any of them, much less a busybody like Felix. He obviously can’t say it in front of his coworkers, but Mason remembers Chase’s time with Murphy. The hospital gown and the needles and bandages. But even though they could all see in the dark just fine, there was a bit too much going on to really notice more than some smudges of dark ink on his neck and arms.

He thinks their minds might be going to the same place, for a moment, because Chase’s mouth twists from a lazy smile to a grim frown, dark, serious brows scrunching. It’s a slight gesture, barely noticeable, but he jerks his head once, as if to shake off the memories.

They’re both, thankfully, distracted by Felix whirling around to point accusingly at Mason. "Did you know he had this many?"

"If I did, would I tell you?" he sneers. Felix pouts mightily, but then pauses, and smiles. A slow, creeping smile, his eyes narrowed smugly.

"If you did know, you'd have been telling everyone you saw what the detective's got under his clothes any chance you got," he taunts. "So you must not have!"

Nate can't quite stifle his laugh this time, and Mason shoots him a dirty look.

Chase chuckles, low and smoky, and brings the glass to his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of tattoos. Almost more than bare skin by this point, I think?” He looks to Verda and Poname as if to confirm, though with an odd little smirk that makes Poname giggle helplessly and Verda roll his eyes.

“Verda would know best,” Poname teases. “How much of Chase have you seen?”

“Enough to know that, yes, the un-inked real estate is scant at best.” He takes a demure sip of his drink while Poname cackles.

“My boss fucking hates it,” Chase snorts into his glass, gesturing vaguely with the free hand he’s rescued from Felix for Unit Bravo to sit. He finally removes his boot from the edge of the table (which makes Poname throw her hands in the air) and uses it to push the chair next to him out, dark eyes flickering up to meet Mason’s for a fraction of a second, stoking a low sort of heat in his belly. He takes the offered seat before Felix can (to some very vocal complaining) and lounges back, angling the chair so he’s able to watch the detective without making it too obvious.

Nate slides into the booth next to Poname, who immediately turns her gaze almost reverently to him, and Adam sits stiffly alongside him, giving the both of them an unreadable look. Felix posts up alongside Verda, smiling with annoying cheerfulness across the table at Chase and Mason.

“If your boss hates them so much, how’d you get the job?” he chirps, still marvelling at all the inked skin on shameless display. It makes Mason feel a bit twitchy, and he swallows down the urge to bare his teeth at his teammate with two very ignorant human witnesses in front of him. He distracts himself by subtly eyeing a splash of color on Chase’s solid shoulder in the form of a wrought-iron lantern with a single guttering candle inside, wreathed in wilted and dying flowers that trails shed petals and leaves down his bicep to mingle with other patterns.

“Mum’s got connections,” Chase drawls, swirling his glass and impressively feigning nonchalance. The ice cubes inside clink softly. “As you all know.”

The quiet that follows is damning, and Chase breaks it by tossing back another gulp of his drink. This close, with his senses full of the detective’s overwhelming… everything, Mason can tell it’s rum and Coke-- rather heavy on the rum.

Nate is the first to speak, offering a politely neutral, “You told us you were given a choice between the police academy or prison.” His tone lacks any judgement, but his brows are furrowed just a bit. Beside him, Adam’s expression is carefully blank. Good for both of them, because even clearly, comfortably tipsy and oddly candid, Chase’s gaze is sharp and analytical, his shoulders just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, well,” he goes on, staring past Nate more than at him, “Rebecca’s influence goes a long way, I learned. So after I graduated from uni-- top of my fuckin’ class, thank you--  I went off on a bit of a wild tear, you know, acquiring cars under mysterious circumstances,” Poname sputters into her drink and laughs, and Chase just gives her a dry look before she regains herself enough for him to continue, “and selling them for scrap, I miraculously didn’t wind up going to straight to prison, thanks to Rebecca pulling some strings and dragging me back here by my ear.” His lip curls faintly, and there’s a flash of something in his expression that seems to drop the temperature in the bar by a few degrees. Felix meets Mason’s eye and visibly shudders.

“That doesn’t really explain the tattoos,” Mason says, offering an easy segue to something… else.

“Sort of does,” Chase says with a shrug, eyes heavy-lidded. “I had a pretty wild childhood up to that point. Got my first stick-and-poke when I was, what? Thirteen? I think the kid who gave it to me is working at the bank now.” He snorts. “My point is, it was the one thing about my life I ever got to control. I had to be perfect, but so long as I did well in my academic pursuits and set myself on exactly the path my mother wanted for me, in my free time I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.” He rolls his shoulders again and knocks back the last of his drink, setting the glass down just a little too hard on the sticky tabletop.

“I drank, I partied, I fucked around. What else do you do when you’re a kid with no parental influence in your life save for a picture on the mantel of an empty house? You go off the fucking wall is what you fuckin’ do. Anything for even a shred of attention. And I still managed to graduate with honors, right? First in my class in secondary school, and in uni. Didn’t matter, did it?” His face goes hard, brows furrowing. “She didn’t bother to congratulate me in person. I got a card on her office stationery that I doubt she even wrote herself. My graduation from uni she didn’t even respond to the invite I sent, but I still stupidly hoped she’d show. She didn’t care until I snapped and she actually had to step in. Take a break from her job and come collect her errant brat.” He scoffs, and it sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence that follows.

Nate looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening, but Adam touches his wrist and it snaps closed. Even Felix is stunned silent. Verda and Poname just exchange twin looks of familiar distress, but before anyone can say anything, Chase stands up so suddenly his chair shrieks across the floor. Mason, Nate, Adam, and Felix all wince at the sound.

“I’m going to get another drink,” the detective mutters, stalking off into the crowd. Mason looks over his companions, eyebrows raised, decides he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and gets up to follow.

Chase is leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for “something stronger than a rum and Coke, holy fuck,” and doesn’t even look up when Mason moves to stand beside him.

“I get moody when I get drunk,” he says by way of greeting.

“So you’re always drunk, then?" Mason drawls. "Not very professional of you, Detective." 

Chase snorts and turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything-- just closes his eyes and rubs his hand over the rough fuzz of his shaved head. Mason’s gaze is drawn to his hand, and he spots a ouija planchette inked into one knuckle, a pentacle on the next, then an eye, and a crescent moon. They look old, faded and a bit blown out. When Chase opens his eyes again, the bartender has given him another drink, and from the smell, it’s a highball with a hefty pour of whiskey. He takes his first sip almost gratefully.

“Those the stick-and-pokes you mentioned?” Mason asks.

Chase holds up  his hand. “Hm? Oh, yeah, a couple of ‘em. Not the first ones.” He turns his hand palm-up, and gestures with the glass. “There on the wrist.” Along the inside of his forearm is an intricate dagger with thorns twisted along the blade, but a few centimeters below the point, there is a tiny, blurry skull with a black forked tongue. “Toby Doherty, year 8. We put together a tattoo gun in his dad’s garage by pulling apart his little brother’s RC car. Think we got into more trouble for that than the tattoo.” He huffs out a rough little laugh. “I just think his mum was too nervous to actually shout at me, but I was never allowed back to their house afterwards because I was a bad influence.”

Mason reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it a bit closer so he can study the skull more closely. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, though he doesn’t think he’s fooled, and he doesn’t think the detective would be either. Especially when he rubs his thumb over the raised lines. He can feel Chase’s pulse through his thin skin, blood pumping hot and steady. This close, his pine-and-sage scent is stronger, and it fills Mason’s chest. "It's cute," he says, little more than a breath between them. He leans in, pulls the detective's wrist close to his mouth. He can feel the heat of his skin, almost taste the warmth just beneath, and Chase's breath is soft and quick and deafening in his ears.

“Chase!”

He drops the hand as if burned, and looks away from the detective before he can see how he reacts. Poname is toddling up to them, swaying a bit, and she wiggles her way between them to toss her arms around Chase's middle. He raises his highball in the air to keep her from spilling it, and she giggles.

"Chase, come back, you've got to show them!"

He groans. "Show them what?"

She only giggles louder and starts pulling him back towards the group, using the much steadier detective as a bit of a crutch to keep from stumbling through the milling crowd. When they arrive back at the table, things aren't really more comfortable than when they'd left, but they're not less so either, which Mason supposes is more than they could ask for. He takes up his seat again, but when Chase moves to do the same, Poname keeps hold of his arm.

"Wait, wait, you should be standing up for this," she giggles. Verda doesn't say anything, but he does snicker quietly into his tall glass of something that smells cloyingly of fruit syrup and sweetened vodka.

"Tina, what are you on about?" he sighs indulgently.

"You have to show them King Kitty!"

Mason’s interest is immediately piqued. Felix’s is too, clearly. He sits bolt upright and leans forward with that bright-eyed little imp grin he likes to give his teammates whenever he’s teasing them about… well, anything, really. “King Kitty?” he asks with eyes sparkling.

Chase groans, sets his drink on the table, and pushes Poname away, sending her stumbling into the table while she laughs brightly. “Don’t call it that, Tina. Christ.”

“You have to show them! He’s so good!” she insists, swaying towards him again. He dodges, and damn near skitters around the table to press into Verda’s space, which would have given Poname the means to corner him if she could figure out how to move around Chase’s abandoned chair as well as Mason (side-eyeing her cautiously) without getting tangled or falling over entirely. Verda continues to laugh at their antics, pushing Chase’s hip as it crowds into his space and threatens to make him spill his drink.

“Come on, now, what could it hurt?” he chides playfully, slipping his finger into the belt loop of the detective’s cargo pants and tugging playfully.

“Hey!” Chase barks, shifting away. All that manages to accomplish is tugging down his waistband the slightest bit, exposing the edge of his black underwear and a thin sliver of skin-- inked with designs Mason can’t properly parse, though he can’t help but lean forward a bit for a closer look. “I’ll have both of your asses for harassment, don’t test me!”

“Chase, our precinct is tiny,” Verda hiccups, finally making the decision (though it clearly pains him) to set his drink aside, since it seems Chase is perfectly willing to clamber over him to escape Poname’s grabbing hands, “I’m the HR department. You haven’t got a case here.”

“Show theeeeem,” Poname whines, putting one hand on Mason’s shoulder to steady herself. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but one sharp look from Nate (who is trying very hard not to smile at the scene, while Felix is outright giggling, and Adam simply looks confused and uncomfortable) quiets him. She smells strongly like some sort of bubblegum perfume that tickles the back of his tongue and leaves it feeling itchy and thick.

“I still have to work with them,” Chase protests, but his resolve is visibly wavering, especially with the lack of options to escape.

“We won’t tell anyone!” Felix blurts, leaning across the table. “Promise!”

Mason doesn’t chime in, but it’s a near thing. The last few weeks he’s tested the limits of both Adam and Nate’s patience with his innuendos about the detective, and he even thinks Agent Kingston might be one lewd joke from stabbing him with a fountain pen.

But Chase is weakening, he can tell. Mostly because he can’t seem to figure out how to climb over Verda, and Poname’s hands have found his belt. “Fine! Fuck, fine, you menace!” he exclaims, pushing her off with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering his tone. “Just get off me!”

Poname backs off obediently, but she’s still giggling up a storm, flushed with the effort, her hair a bit mussed. Verda looks entirely unbothered, and he takes up his drink again with a smug smile. Chase returns to his chair but doesn’t sit, and Poname returns to cozying up to Nate and being entirely oblivious to Adam trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Chase takes a deep, bolstering breath, snatches up his drink, and downs about half in one swig. “You’ve all got to swear you won’t breathe a word to Rebecca about this,” he says with grave, if faintly slurred, severity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mason agrees, quickly enough that Felix shoots him another infuriating smirk.

“Scout’s honor!” Felix blurts, nearly bouncing in his seat.

Nate smiles and nods, looking for all the world like he’s simply indulging the shenanigans, but he’s clearly curious himself. Chase isn’t terribly secretive about most things-- he’s actually pretty fucking blunt-- so this has to be… interesting, for him to put up such a fight. Adam looks like he’s bolstering himself to look away as quickly as possible so he can have some plausible deniability should Agent Kingston find out regardless.

Chase’s hands go to his belt, and Mason’s stomach clenches, heat rushing under his skin. The detective unbuckles with practiced ease, flicks the snap open, and tugs the edge of his cargo trousers and briefs (are they briefs? Mason would certainly like to find out) down just a bit. His other hand goes to his fitted shirt, tugging it up.

The hair beneath his navel is thick and dark, and the trail leading down into his trousers is very, very inviting, but Mason’s attention is drawn inexorably to the design inked into the soft, brown skin. He supposes he should have expected the name “King Kitty” to give it away, but he couldn’t have predicted what he was in for.

It’s a snarling black cat, cartoonishly stylized, wearing a jauntily cocked royal crown. Underneath, spanning from hipbone to hipbone, are the words “BOW DOWN” written in bold, jagged script.

“Everyone, meet King Kitty,” Poname proclaims with a sloppy, grand gesture to Chase’s pelvis.

“Yeah, yeah, are you happy now?” Chase groans, hiking his waistband back up and buckling his belt. He tugs his shirt down and flops into the chair, taking another slog of his drink. It’s almost gone already, and he’s sure to be feeling it soon.

“Absolutely tickled,” Verda says primly.

“Oh, completely,” Poname chimes in.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Mason rumbles, and Chase’s eyes flick to him for a split second, dark and sparking, brows quirked. Nate sighs audibly.

“Well, are you going to tell the story too?” Verda presses. “Share with the class?”

Chase drops into his chair and kicks his feet up again, and Poname makes a vague sound of protest. This time, at least, a sharp glare shuts her up. “Might as fuckin’ well, right?” he snorts. “So, I had this ex in college--”

Both Verda and Poname make strange noises, and when Mason spares them a glance (still a bit caught up in eyeballing the detective’s lounging about like a lazy cat-- which is oddly appropriate, all things considered) they are both looking somewhere between annoyed and downright angry. Chase actually looks… guilty, for a split second, before he waves it away and continues.

“Anyway. He wasn’t, uh… Very good in bed. But I loved him or some nonsense,” he scoffs and gestures vaguely with his glass, “so I put up with it. Because I couldn’t tell him he hadn’t gotten me off to his face, right? He was a sex god, according to him, always hit the marks,” he takes a sip and snorts a bit into his drink. Verda barks out a sharp, sudden laugh that seems to startle even him.

“He did not say that! Chase, please tell me he didn’t say that to you!” he squeaks out between ragged, uncontrollable laughter.

Poname is collapsing against Nate’s side, consumed by a fit of wheezing giggles.

Chase rubs a hand down his face and huffs out a laugh of his own. “He fucking did and I have to live with the fact that I continued to sleep with him after that, every day for the rest of my life. Point is, after a lot of general university stress, I got tired of faking orgasms to save his ego, and I finally told him he hadn’t gotten me off once since we’d started dating. Crushed him, of course, and we did break up for a bit because of it. And in the interim, I thought it’d be a good idea, to, ah, ensure that the next one wouldn’t be so… lost. I had a bit of liquid courage, lied admirably to my favorite tattoo artist when she asked if I was sober, and King Kitty was born. Then when I inevitably made the bad decision to get back with my ex, the next time we tumbled into bed, I just pointed at the instructions and told him to get to work.”

He finishes off his drink, puts his foot back on the ground with a heavy clunk, and leans his elbows on the table. “Turns out, he worked best when I was a bit mean to him. Apparently it’s a thing he wasn’t aware of. Go figure.”

“Christ, no wonder he only bothers you more when you’re a prick to him,” Verda scoffs with a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve trained it into him!”

"That is… quite the tale," Nate offers magnanimously, eyebrows threatening to make a break for his hairline. He looks to Adam, who is looking away and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't listening at all. Mason gets the idea he knows well enough that if he opens his mouth, what comes out is likely to piss off their dear detective.

Felix about falls over cackling, which is a fine distraction for Mason to lean in close, snagging Chase's attention and murmuring, "Wouldn't mind you bossing me around a bit," with a sly little smirk.

The look Chase gives him is dry as a fucking desert, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "You have proved on multiple occasions that you absolutely do mind," he fires back.

And that's what delights him about the detective, he thinks. He's sharp-tongued, and he doesn't try to dull it. Prickly, but clever, unafraid to say what's on his mind. And he's never once rebuffed Mason's advances outright, just… Spiked them back with sly smirks and raised eyebrows. Challenging, a sort of unspoken, "Oh, so you think you can handle me?"

Mason would very, very much like to handle him.

"Well, I think I'd be a lot more willing to follow orders if less clothes were involved," he slyly remarks, and Chase's dark eyes brighten just a bit.

“You have to earn that privilege, pretty boy," he murmurs, lips curling on one side.

Mason is a breath away from leaning closer, when Verda's phone goes off and he stands up, startled, and bumps the table. Mason has to snap one hand out to grab Chase's empty glass before it goes careening to the floor. Poname looks a bit astounded by his (far too fast) reflexes, but she's also more than a bit foggy with liquor and likely to forget quickly.

"Shit, sorry," Verda offers sluggishly, blinking a bit behind his smart browline spectacles. "That's Eric," he explains, grabbing his coat. He's steadier than Poname, but not by much, and he leans heavily on Chase's chair when he bends to press a kiss to his bristly scalp. "Come on, you reprobate. Time to get you home." Chase grumbles and halfheartedly swats at him, a bit of red creeping up to his ears from beneath his high collar. “You too, Tina!” Verda calls, “Leave the poor man alone, would you?"

Poname, who was beginning to list against a somewhat bemused Nate's shoulder, sits bolt upright and blinks, then pouts a bit. "Hm? Oh… okay." She pushes unsteadily to her feet, helped in no small part by a few gentle nudges from Nate, and she turns to give him a giggle and a wiggly-fingered wave before Verda’s put-upon sigh spurs her to totter towards him. Adam watches her go, making a face he likely thinks is impassive, but Mason knows well enough the tense pucker between his eyebrows and the grim tightness around his mouth.

“Remember what I said,” Chase offers, heaving to his feet with a low groan that immediately drags Mason’s attention from Adam’s silent simmering, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slinging it over his shoulders. “Not a word to Rebecca about any of this.” He gives Adam a long look in particular. “My options are limited in terms of retaliation, but I can be pretty damned creative. Don’t test me.” His eyes flicker almost instinctively to Mason, and his lips twitch, but he says nothing more before he swaggers with surprising steadiness after his coworkers.

“Bye, Detective!” Felix hollers, waving enthusiastically. Mason winces, but comforts himself with staring unabashedly at the detective’s retreating backside. The second he’s out the door, Felix rounds on Adam with a bright laugh. “Look at you! You managed to be in the same room as the Detective and you didn’t get into a fight!”

“Because he kept his mouth shut the entire time,” Mason snickers. “Looked like it was killing you not to talk shit.”

“I don’t talk shit,” Adam snaps, and Nate helpfully slides out of the booth so he can escape as well. “I just point out when the Detective is being…”

Mason raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to come up with a word that’s not an insult.

“Difficult,” is what Adam settles on, giving Nate a sidelong look.

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about being difficult,” Felix chimes in helpfully. Adam scowls at him and adjusts his jacket. Nate is clearly trying not to laugh and make Adam even more annoyed.

“You’re the one who felt the need to hassle the detective on his off time,” Mason hums not-so-helpfully. “Can’t blame him for being annoyed.”

“And you can’t say anything either,” Felix chirps, “Since you just went right along with it.” He’s grinning, wide and wicked, and he sways into Mason's space and gets shoved for his trouble. He totters dramatically for a second, then pops back up and snickers. "You're not as smooth as you think," he taunts. "I saw your eyes almost pop out of your skull when you saw those tattoos!"

Mason shoves him again, and Nate chuckles. "There were a lot more than I would have guessed."

"And I bet there's a lot more where we couldn't see," Felix adds, sticking his tongue between his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. Mason glances around the bar, the crowd having thinned in the last half hour or so, and decides he can get away with putting the little brat in a headlock.

Nate sighs at them. Adam rolls his eyes skyward, but they let Felix flail and squawk for a bit before Adam barks out, “Enough!” and Mason obediently releases him so he can tug his fancy scarf forcefully back into place and adjust his beanie. “Let’s just go.”

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” Nate offers with a bit of genuine cheer as they file out the door and leave the bar behind. “Getting out? Talking to people?” He nudges Adam when he doesn’t respond, and gets a faint grunt for his trouble. “Seeing the sights?”

Mason lights up the second they’re outside, inhales, and exhales a long plume of smoke, and smirks a bit around the filter. “I enjoyed the sights, at least.”

“I had fun!” Felix chirps, having already moved on from Mason’s rough treatment. “We should spend more time with the detective outside work stuff. He’s cool when he’s not all--” He makes a face, stiff and frowning with a crinkled brow, that looks pretty damned similar to the face he makes when he’s mocking their illustrious leader. Mason almost bites down on the filter of his cigarette to stifle a laugh.

“It was nice to see him unwind a bit,” Nate chuckles. “His friends seem… fun,” his mouth quirks a bit, somewhat uncomfortably, “Friendly.”

Adam makes a disgruntled noise. “Too friendly,” he mutters. Mason is about to lose the fight with himself and start snickering.

Ah, hell, he can’t resist. “I dunno, I think Natey might have a chance with the Bobblehead.” The look Adam gives him could kill a lesser man, but he just gives a lopsided grin in return. Felix, however, loses it to the point he almost falls over in the street.

Nate, ever the diplomat, just chuckles a bit and says, “Officer Poname is lovely, but she’s a bit… young for me, I think.”

 Yeah, about eight-hundred-something years too young, Mason thinks, rolling his eyes. But, unlike Felix, he’s made it a point not to get involved in the love lives of people he’s got to work with. He’s already got his hands full trying to figure out the detective. Though, he supposes, he’s got to work with the detective, too. On a more permanent basis, now, it seems. But Chase is a lot of things-- stubborn, headstrong, blunt and honest-- but he’s not the type to let a bit of fun get in the way of his job, and neither is Mason. The second they stop dancing around each other, Mason will lay it out plain for him, and if he’s not on board with a bit of fun between co-workers, then that’s it. No problems.

He takes another puff of his smoke and lets the others get ahead of him, Felix still chattering happily and Nate fielding it with his usual calm enthusiasm while Adam manages to both sulk and stalk admirably alongside them both. Their voices fade into the background, and he allows himself a private little smirk, thinking about those fierce dark eyes, that stout, compactly muscled body with its bold ink, and privately wonders how much more is hidden under the detective’s clothes, and the best way to see them all.

[sparkie96]

If you have the time. I’m curious about a soulmate AU whereLeon is soulmates with Dante and Vergil you can add any other verses to it if you want just to spice it up even more. :D

(Okay, so this is a sort of AU from a Soulmate Idea I had in my head for a long ass time (though originally, it’s for a Chreon Fic). Pretty much, you have the same tattoo or marking as your soulmate, say, a specific marking on your hand. Your soulmate would have the same exact mark on their hand as well. The color is that of a birthmark until you get close to one another. Yours glows a red, and theirs glows blue until you two touch. Then the colors “Blend” and make violet/purple.

Same concept here: Except both of Leon’s forearms are marked up with two different marks. Not Omegaverse, and no incest. 

But now I might write a whole fic for this idea XD)

______________________________________________________

When one is born, they are born with a tattoo. Apparently, their soulmate bore the same exact mark in the same exact location on their own body. The coloration matches that of a birthmark...until they either meet their soulmate or are close to them. When that happened, the mark would glow the color of their soulmate’s, well, soul.  If the soulmate died before they could meet face to face, the mark would fade and the person would be considered “blank”. 

Leon had seen all of that happen in the past, from seeing Claire’s mark fade to seeing Ada’s own blank body. Sherry and Jake’s twin marks glowed a beautiful green when their hands met in China. And then there was Helena at the DSO who’s mark glowed a specific color, glowing a bright yellow when she met Nadia of the BSAA, who’s own mark glowed a bright red when she and Helena danced at that conference last year. When their hands met, the colors bled into each other and made their marks glow a harmonious orange. 

Oh, how Leon envied them, or anyone who had “normal” markings. 

When Leon was born, he had odd markings that ran up both of his forearms. They looked like the bodies of snakes or dragons that snaked their ways down his arms, the heads sitting on the backs of his hands, smacked dab on his wrists. Though the dragons looked to be twins, there were distinct differences between them. 

The one on his right arm had a scarier looking face than its twin. Its teeth and claws were noticeably sharper but its scales were smoother in shape, not jagged like the left one. The eyes were intense, staring into Leon’s very soul. The left dragon had more jagged scales, but the teeth were not bared in anger. The claws were also noticeably duller in appearance. Its eyes were softer, kinder even, but they didn’t meet his own like its twin did. It was like the left dragon was more shy but welcoming. 

What they meant? Who the hell knew, but according to several matchmakers and even readers Leon visited for the hell of it...the markings were unlike anything that they had ever seen. One reader was in awe, saying that he was special. Another had scoffed at their appearance, saying that Leon was either indecisive...or a whore. Leon merely laughed aloud at that before leaving. 

Regardless of what anyone said or thought, Leon was unable to get any real answers for his troubles, left even more confused and conflicted than before. Above all of those emotions...he admittedly was upset. 

What did these strange markings mean? Why did he have not one, but two markings? Did he have two soulmates? Was it just one with strange markings of their own? When would he meet them? He was turning thirty-eight next year...would he meet them before they perished? Before he inevitably fell to this never ending battle against BOWs and the bastards that made them? Chris’s mark had faded on the plane after New York...would the same happen to him? To his own soul mate or mates? 

The thoughts and questions made his stomach churn and the stress got to him after New York, so Leon extended his vacation, despite Hunnigan’s and Adam Graham’s pleas and negotiations. Leon’s excuse was that he was next to useless in this stressful state, so he wouldn’t be able to help them. That, and the BSAA rudely interrupted his vacation, so it was only fair that he take back the time lost. 

So, here he was; in a quaint little diner in a small town called Redgrave. Although the sign on the front had said “Restaurant Fredi”, it looked and felt more like a nice little diner. They had equally nice food, Leon all but devouring his simple breakfast of sunny-side-up eggs, buttered toast and bacon. He also had a cup of orange juice turned into mimosa after sneakily pouring some alcohol into it from the flask in his coat pocket. 

After looking around and surveying the place, he noticed that he was one of few occupants in the diner. Granted, it was still early in the morning and the place had opened up not too long ago, but it was Leon’s cup of tea, so to speak. He preferred the quiet. 

Well, the quiet lasted the equivalent of five minutes until an odd looking crew of ragtags pushed through the doors of Restaurant Fredi. The agent perked up slightly, more so out of pure curiosity more than anything, mainly because he wasn’t one who liked surprises very much. His brain started taking in details once he laid eyes on them mainly because they looked a tad out of place.

The group consisted of five people in total; three men and two women. Two of the men were freakishly tall and wore leather jackets that nearly brushed the floor when they walked. The one had a rugged look to him, a mop of messy white hair atop his head and scuffy, unshaved facial hair on his, well, face. Tired blue eyes merely gave the restaurant a careless once over. He looked like he didn’t sleep much. His jacket was blood red in color, wearing a loose navy blue top and tight jeans that ended at booted feet. 

The other tall man wore blue everything, from his jacket to his vest and even his pants and boots. His own snowy white hair was slicked back and well kept. His face was clean shaven and he looked like he got sufficiently more sleep than the other man. If Leon didn’t know any better...and he didn’t, he could only guess that they were twin brothers due to their uncanny resemblance. 

The third man, younger than the other two, wore a leather coat of his own, but wasn’t as tall as his companions. He also had white hair that was scruffy but clean cut, much like his bare face. It kind of reminded Leon of Chris’s hairstyle of choice, but white. He wore a torn up red shirt and equally torn jeans. He too wore boots and fingerless gloves, Leon noticing that all the guys wore them. He looked like the other two, so Leon could only guess that he too was related, possibly a son, cousin, or nephew to one, or both of the men. Well, a son to one of them. 

The women were equally as odd as the men, though, very good looking. One woman wore all black and leather, wearing a corset with what looked like a lightning bolt shape cut through the middle and tied together with string. Golden locks cascaded down her shoulders and back before ending at her rear. 

The next woman had chopped black hair that was above her shoulders and had the most interesting eyes Leon had ever seen; one eye blue and the other brown. She wore a dress shirt that had either been purposely styled to be cut right before her stomach, or accidentally. She wore black pants and boots too, wearing her own pair of fingerless gloves. 

All in all, they certainly were interesting, at least in Leon’s perspective. The other diners didn’t seem to notice them, or were so used to them that they paid them no mind. So, regulars then, or at least locals. 

“Hey, Dante. Party of five?” The waitress greeted and then asked cheerfully. 

“Dante” was the scruffy looking guy, who merely smiled a friendly smile and gave a nod, “Hey, Cindy. Yep. Decided to treat my coworkers for breakfast.” 

The black haired woman scoffed at that, “More like we’re treating you to breakfast, Dante.” 

“Can it, Lady.” Dante replied, wrapping an arm around her neck affectionately as the waitress led them to the booth across the diner. 

Leon’s brows furrowed at the exchange. Coworkers? What the hell did they do for a living? He feigned interest in his cellphone, occasionally stealing looks at the group as they sat in the booth while also eavesdropping on their conversation. Whether it was out of boredom or genuine interest...Leon would decide later. 

While he continued to eat and scrolled aimlessly through his phone, he picked up little conversations here and there. He gathered that “Lady” was indeed the black-haired woman’s name and not a generic title, the blonde woman was “Trish”, the youngest white-haired man was “Nero”, and the blue clad man was “Vergil”. They talked about different things, but mainly “demons” and other seemingly ridiculous things had Leon not had the experience that he had. 

Were “Demons” code for BOWs? Did these people run a secret group that hunted them like Leon did? 

When Leon looked up again, he noticed that “Vergil” had taken his coat off...and was staring at the blue glowing mark on his right arm. Leon’s eyes all but bugged out of his head. No fucking way…

Vergil nudged Dante, who noticed the glowing mark before his brother even needed to grab his attention, taking off his own jacket and noticing that his own mark, on his left arm Leon noted, was glowing the same shade of blue before looking around at the other diners. 

Leon’s eyes immediately looked down at his plate, his heart beating loudly in his ears like the drums of war. While doing so, he could see that the markings that peaked out between his jacket and gloves glowed as well; the left one glowing red and the right one glowing dark blue. His mouth suddenly felt dry, so he took a swig of his OJ. 

Well, the motion caused his jacket to slide down and expose his left arm, exposing more of the glowing red mark…

...coincidentally at the same time Dante settled his eyes on Leon. 

[softjeon]

A second request for drabble game please (I will keep it to 2 and not be greedy!), would be yoonmin (or Yoongi x other member of choice if you don't like the pairing) and coffee shop AU; barista and regular customer who is very particular about their order. Thank you again my sweet dears! ^-^

— GENRE; fluff | — PAIRING; Yoongi x Jimin | — DISCLAIMER; none— Wordcount; 1,8k  — written with @cassiavioletblue 

Yoongi looked up with a frown when the door opened. It was icy outside and every time someone came in he felt the cold rush of air hitting him full force. The cotton uniform he was wearing did nothing to keep him warm and all he wanted to do was snuggle up with three layers of clothes and some hot tea at home. Before he could do that he would have to pass another 6 hours though. 

Yoongi suppressed a sigh and took the girls order. She was wearing a skirt and just looking at her made him feel cold - even though he wished he could snatch her cozy scarf away or the fingerless gloves she was wearing. Apparently he had zoned out a little while dreaming of knitwear and warmth because only someone clearing his throat brought him back to earth. he flinched a little when he saw that it was a regular customer that he had ignored. 

“Oh, I’m.. I’m sorry!” He quickly apologized. He straightened himself with flaming cheeks and tried to be professional again. ”Will it be the usual?”

The young man with the washed out pink hair nodded his head, “Yes, don’t forget the one and a half scoop of sugar though.” He bit his lip, cheeks blushing in a light rosé color when Jimin saw the smile on the baristas face. Although he was here often, not many of the workers here got his order right, or thought of it as weird. In his opinion, he was just really particular about how he liked his coffee. “Half of the strong coffee and half of the usual, please and…”

“I know, I know!” Yoongi chuckled. He had said ‘the usual’ because it was way shorter than repeating what Jimin had said to him the first time he had been here. Yoongi had blinked at him in confusion, pretty sure that the other was joking or doing some silly dare. However he came back two days later to order the same. And the same after that. “It’s half a cup of coffee, the strong brew and the one with the mild taste mixed together. It’s one and a half spoon of sugar, level ones, not heaped spoonfuls. it’s one pump of vanilla syrup, the sugar free stuff and 100 ml hazelnut milk, the organic one. The rest of the cup will be filled with fresh water. As I said: the usual.” He winked at him cheekily.

Jimin’s smile grew even brighter, when Yoongi was listing down all the ingredients that made the perfect cup of coffee in his opinion. “Thank you,” He mumbled and moved along to the side, while the barista turned his back on him and started doing exactly what he had listed only moments ago. On days, where Yoongi wasn’t working, Jimin always had to interfere to make sure it was done right, but with him – it was much easier. He still observed how he was preparing his coffee closely, but he did it way more relaxed.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jimin said softly, glad there weren’t many people in the café as he took the steaming cup from Yoongi. “I’m really sorry I’m making you do this each time. You must think I’m the weirdest person you’ve ever met.”

“The weirdest? Oh, if you think that you obviously never worked in a coffee shop before!” Yoongi chuckled when he remembered his latest encounter with “weird.” Two days ago there was a guy who wanted to get his coffee in a tupperware container because he ‘wanted to take it home’. When I tried to tell him that the ‘to go’ sign at the door means he can actually take them home without bringing a box he looked at me as if I’d insulted him. In the end he wanted me to use the tupperware nonetheless. Oh, or that one group of teenagers who made a bet of how many espresso shots it would take before someone would get a heart attack. Or that girl who asked me to pee into the coffee because she had found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her and she told me she ‘couldn’t aim like a guy’.”

“So, I’m not number one on your weirdest customers-list?” Jimin felt relief, chuckling at all the scenarios Yoongi was talking about. He had hoped in his heart that Yoongi really didn’t think of him as weird, because he thought of him so differently. Yoongi was everything but weird. He was cute, kind and always nice to him. He never laughed once about his order and always made him feel warm and welcome. And when he winked Jimin’s heart did a jump each time. Taehyung had said that he had a crush on him and with each visit, he had to admit that he really did. Jimin smiled, taking his cup in his hand as he thought of asking Yoongi out. It was just a flicker of thought, before he pushed it deep down again.

“No, you’re not.” There was no one else in line and looking to long at Jimin made him nervous so he grabbed a damp cloth and started to shallowly wipe the counter. He had been so interested in the unusually strict order that he had actually made himself a cup of coffee like that once. It had tasted.. interesting. As if he had only tasted coffee in black and white so far and had suddenly taken a sip of colour. He had gone back to drinking his coffee black after that because he was lazy about how he was getting his caffeine but he liked making Jimin’s. His coworker had complained before, murmuring angrily about the ‘people who have to make everything about them and try to steal as much of your time as possible’ but Yoongi was pretty sure that that wasn’t it. Jimin didn’t order this specific to make himself feel special or make the baristas work for him as long as he could for the sum of a few dollars. He was just really specific about tastes.

“That’s…that’s good.” The younger could have slapped himself for that stupid answer as he stepped away awkwardly. There was nothing much left to do as he had his coffee in hand, but to walk away like he always did. So, Jimin turned around, carefully took a sip from his drink as he smiled. “It’s perfect,” He said and gave Yoongi a thumbs up, internally cringing at himself as he pushed open the door with his shoulder. “God damn it, Jimin, you dumb fool.” He murmured to himself, whining quietly as he stopped.

It was now or never, Jimin thought. 

He wanted to be brave for once, so he just downed the hot coffee in one go, ignoring the burn. The moment it was empty, Jimin grabbed a pen from his notebook that he had carelessly thrown in his bag and wrote down his number. If Yoongi liked him coming back, maybe…just maybe he was okay with meeting up sometime…somewhere… Jimin gulped heavily, ignoring how rough his throat felt right now and instead turned back around. He opened the front door with a little too much force (very much glad now there weren’t many people around but Yoongi behind the counter) and put his cup on top. 

“T-thank y-you.” His voice was just as shaky as his hand when Jimin turned around on his heel quicker than he came in and rushed out again. There he stood a little awkwardly for a moment, looking left and right from him, not really sure what to do next. His heart was hammering hard and when he glanced over his shoulder, Jimin’s gaze met Yoongi’s for a second. Biting his lip, Jimin could have slapped himself for being so awkward. Wasn’t it usually the other way around? The barista being the one writing down phone numbers. Quickening his steps, Jimin took a turn to the left and hurried to get away from the coffee shop too scared to know what Yoongi would think. 

Yoongi looked after Jimin who had run off as if he was followed by a swarm of bees. He furrowed his brows at the empty coffee cup. There were three trash cans scattered at the coffee shop so he wondered why Jimin had placed it in front if him. He picked it up to throw it away when he saw the hastily scribbled number. With a shriek he almost dropped it, too afraid his fingers might smudge the numbers and make the number unreadable. He had been lucky (or Jimin had used a waterproof pen because despite their shaky form they were still clear). Quickly he took out his phone and saved the boy’s number so no accident could interfere with their flirting.

…

Jimin was about to head inside the dance studio when he felt his pocket vibrating and instinctively reached inside for his phone, not even sparing the screen a glance. He knew very well who it was. Or at least he thought so. “Tae, I’m already outside, didn’t we say we meet…”

“Jimin?”

His heart stopped at the sound of the familiar voice, knowing immediately who was calling him. “Oh fuck,” It slipped from his lips before he could take it back and Jimin blushed furiously, even though no one could see it. 

“I take that as a yes. And I hope your surprise doesn’t mean you’re already regretting giving me your number?” He was only half joking because he was a little nervous. But if the way Jimin’s breathing had changed was any indication then he wasn’t the only one. “I just wanted to know it you’re only particular like that with coffee or if there are other rules I should keep in mind while trying to find a nice place where I can ask you to go on a date with me.”

“No, no, I’m cool…about other stuff. It’s just the coffee…and you, I mean..i’m particular about you…,” Jimin was rambling, hopelessly trying to calm his heartbeat and his brain to work again but it seemed like it wasn’t connected right to his mouth. He let out a squeal, “A date? You mean with me? Like after your shift? Y-you want to…I didn’t mess up?” Jimin’s eyes widened in panic as he spoke quickly, “I messed up now, didn’t I?”

Yoongi chuckled with amusement. “You didn’t, but if you want to make it up to me anyways then say yes to that date, please. You have found the perfect coffee but have you also found the perfect burger? Because I could totally help with that.” He knew a small restaurant that served all kinds of burgers, including vegan or veggie options. Their spinach-cheese-patty was heavenly.

Jimin sighed in relief and nodded his head – until he realized Yoongi couldn’t really see him. “Yes, I’d like that. D-do you want me to pick you up?” He bit his lip, pressing the phone against his ear to not miss a word. 

“Yes please.” Yoongi was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt from it. “My shift ends at 8.”

[kathyprior4200]

Helluva Boss (Remix)

Not too far away from Pentagram City lay a shady place in the bowels of Hell. “Welcome to Imp City: est. 1981” was posted on a worn wooden sign with a white painted eye toward the top. Under a crimson sky, a wide array of buildings made up the city, some with spikes on the roofs. Downtrodden imps of various colors and sizes mulled around the streets and ghettos. Mugging, sex, drugs, poverty, and murder were common aspects of their everyday afterlives. Indeed, being considered “lesser demons” and the “lowest of the low,” not very many had opportunities granted to them.

Well, save for a unique family of imps, trying to get their business running.

 Just who were these imps?

   A nearby screen showed old fashioned numbers ticking down, 3, 2, and 1. Blitzo, a red and white faced imp, appeared on stage in front of purple open curtains. “Hi there, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent, and I’m the founder of I.M.P.” He put out his hand and the logo appeared above it. The “M” in I.M.P. looked like imp horns, black and white in color. Down below were the words “Immediate Murder Professionals.”

Blitzo spoke again. “Are you a piece of shit who got yourself sent to Hell?” A picture of Blitzo with a mustache and two black top hats over his horns was grinning evilly as a building burned in the background. The sign nearby read “Orphanage for elderly, blind, and newborn dogs.”

“Or are you an innocent soul who just happened to get fucked over by someone else?” The next image showed Blitzo in a white angel costume, throwing away a Styrofoam coffee cup in the garbage in an office.

In the next shot, Blitzo held up a sign which read “Some guy who hired us!” A buff horned red demon wearing a white Ohio shirt stood not too far from the camera, a 666 News billboard in the background. He punched one fist into his hand.

“After lovingly killing my wife for fucking a delivery man, you can imagine my surprise when I wound up here, after the state of Ohio killed me. I really wish I could stick it to that yapping charter who saw me hiding the body!”

Blitzo appeared again, this time with his fellow imps Millie and Moxxie in the background. A white-clothed altar with a mirror and skulls on it was in the very back. White candles were spread around the room. The two imps were sitting at a pentagram drawn on the floor. Blitzo held a blue Satanic ritual book in his hand.

“Well, luckily for you, thanks to our company’s special access to the living world…”

He waved his hand and a flaming portal appeared in the center of the room, causing Moxxie and Millie to scatter.

“…we can help you take care of your unfinished business by taking out anyone who may have screwed you over when you were alive!” He happily fell through the portal on his back.

 Then the musical jingle started:

 “When you want somebody gone

And you don’t wanna wait too long

Call the Immediate Murder Professionals”

  “Whether grenade or cyanide

We’ll make it look like suicide

The Immediate Murder Professionals”

 “We do our job so well

‘Cause we come straight up from Hell…”

 “We’ll kill your husband or you wife

We’ll even let you keep the knife,

 The Immediate…Murder…Professionals.

 Kids die for freeee!”

  A white person appeared with a thought bubble of his enemy with a red x. A demon fell to the floor and the person looked up. The I.M.P. logo appeared, Millie with a spear, Moxxie with a gun and Blitzo in the middle, spreading out his arms to make an “M.”

Fast paced shots flashed through the ad.

 Moxxie throwing a grenade out a window as his companions grinned.

Blitzo hanging a person in an office building while Moxxie watched. Millie held a piece of paper in her hand.

 Then more killing scenes flashed: Blitzo electrocuting a person, Millie using a mace, Moxxie choking his victim.

 Blitzo led the way through a portal to Earth, Millie and Moxxie following. Moxxie tripped on a book and landed on his face while the others posed. They then stood shocked…at the people in a church staring at them.

Millie killed a naked couple with a chainsaw while Blitzo looked greedily at a woman’s underwear.

Blitzo repeatedly stabbed someone else tied up.

The three imps used more methods to kill Earthlings: Medieval torture racks, shark attacks, fire and gasoline, pillow suffocation, crushing someone to death with a grand piano, electrocution in a lab…

 “Kids die for freeeee!” ended the ad.

 Moxxie and Millie sang a murder love song in their living room before the meeting. Moxxie played on his purple guitar as Millie watched him with love in her eyes. It reminded them of the good times when they would shot at demons together in the streets, drag a bloody sack behind them and when Millie got a grenade as a present and used it to blow up a building.

  “Oh what a thrill when the crimson starts to spill

And my Millie goes in for the kill

She takes away my breath

She’s the angel of death for me

Oh Millie

Queen, it’s like a dream

When I hear her victim start to scream

Get him out of the sack

She’s a maniac for me

Oh Millie

When the blood starts dripping down the sides

And the bodies start to fall from the skies

My heart skips a beat

When my Millie’s guns a blazing in the night

That’s in love

She makes the murdering fun for me

A lottery for all the wins of Hell

It’s for her that I fell…”

 Both of them hummed before Moxxie finished,

  “Of all the imps in Hell…

Millie joined in, “It’s for him that I fell…

“Oh Millie.” They leaned in for a kiss.

  They paused. Moxxie yelled, while looking out the window. His boss, Blitzo was pressed against the window with a video camera. “Are you fucking filming us right now?!”

Moxxie sighed, as a smiling Blitzo held up a sign which read “Meeting in 20 min: nice job banging yo’ wife!”

     Just before the meeting, the head imp, Blitzo walked into the receptionist room.

“Blitz!” called Loona, the hellhound, holding a bone shaped phone in her hand. “That clingy rich asshole’s on the phone! Says it’s urgent and wants to talk to you!” Then she added in a lower voice, “Sounds a little DTFy.” (Down to Fuck)

Blitzo spilled water on himself as he talked with Moxxie by the water cooler. “Oh god that was one time! We wouldn’t have access to the living world…if I hadn’t slept with that privileged asshole!”

“You what?” Moxxie asked in disbelief.

“Blitz!” Loona barked in outrage.

“I heard you already!” Blitzo yelled. He stomped into his office and picked up his red cell phone. He played with little bobble heads of his imp coworkers, Moxxie and Millie. Signs were tacked to the wall, reading: “The Incredible Blitzo! One night only! Tickets now at the Big Top!”

 “So…” Blitzo beamed nervously, “What can I do for you, Stolas?”

The owl overlord replied, lounging on his couch in a royal red robe and a crown.

“Remember that time when I told you that a political candidate was causing problems on Earth? That he tried to convince the world that global warming existed?”

“Yes?” Blitzo answered.

“And that it does, but more people die when nothing’s done about it? Oh, how lonely I felt.”

“That make sense,” Blitzo said.

“But now…” he hooted in laughter. “There are tons of new sinners coming down here every day! I just had a feast and a murder party several nights ago. I wondered why a horde of people arrived and it’s because of a disease called the coronavirus! My, it’s the best thing to ever happen since my wedding with my queen Melody and my darling daughter Octavia’s graduation from flight school. Oh, how marvelous!”

“Well…I’m very happy for you, sir,” Blitzo said. “I hope that…corn-ah virus does its thing.”

Stolas sighed. “My wife wasn’t happy with me, though. She said you fell onto a cake in the middle of a lunch with the queen and the royal officials. What did you say to her?”

“I said…sorry I fucked your husband.” He gulped.

A tense silence.

Blitzo examined his chest and arms. “I still have the talon scars and peck marks to prove it.”

“And she also said that you stole one of my books, is that true?”

“No! No way!” Blitzo lied, with a nervous laugh. “That was another imp long ago. Can I tell you how great it felt…sleeping with you?”

“Indeed,” Stolas agreed with a contented sigh. “Your sharp horns and claws ruffling through my feathers, and my talons and beak exploring your multicolored flesh…”

“Oh fuck a dick…” Blitzo muttered.

Stolas’ eyes grew red. “Don’t get into trouble, Blitzy. When I’m angry…or excited…which I am…I become hungry. Want to know what happens? I want to choke on your ****lick your *****, tear through your **** leave you screaming as I ***** as you scream like a fucking baby!”

Blitzo hung up the phone, the words reading “creepy mouth: aka one night stand bird dick.” and smashed it with another old phone. He threw the pieces into a blender and mixed it up.

“Here, eat this,” he told Loona who walked in and drank the red liquid.

“And you know that bridge over the freeway?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Shit off it. It’s time for the meeting, let’s go.”

   The imps currently resided in a tall office building that seemed to stand out among the other structures. Along with spikes jutting from the roof and sides, there were a pair of giant black and white imp horns attached to the sides of the building for decoration. The lights inside near the top floor were on.

Posted on a door were the words “IMP Headquarters” with “IMP Meeting in Progress” written on a piece of paper taped to the door, a smiley face off to the side.

On a white board was a bar graph and a line graph, the line graph pointing lower at a drawing of a raging horned demon. “Fix this shit!” was written in big bold letters that took up much of the board. “Blitzo is the best, by Blitzo” was scribbled off to the side. Several tall chairs with spikes jutting from the top boarders were set near a brown table in the center of the room. A white pentagram was drawn in the center of the table.

 Up front, a black, white, and red colored imp paced back and forth, sprouting long curved striped horns: Blitzo. He wore black fingerless gloves with what looked like a yellow eye design on each glove. He was dressed in a slender navy blue business suit with light red buttons. A small round pink pin with black eyes and a stitched mouth was attached onto a red undershirt below his slender chin. What looked like a black two-clawed print mark lay over his red forehead. Along with sharp teeth, the imp has red iris eyes with yellow sclera. Like a typical devil, he also had a red pointed tail. He had four red finger-shaped claws on each hand.

Blitzo began to speak, pacing back and forth. He looked toward his audience of two imps and a hellhound sitting on chairs around a table.

“All right, now I know business has been…a bit slow, lately.”

He mentioned to the board at the downward sloping line. “In fact, there seems to be less people seeking out our services; 1,056 in comparison to the 1,066 from last month. We’ve basically spiraled from the True Blue Market to that of the Raging Bull.” He pointed at the roaring demon head drawing on the board.

“Shouldn’t it be the Bull Market is good and the Bear Market is bad?” said a voice.

“Loona, nobody cares,” Blitzo said. He continued.

 “Any decrease could spell disaster for us, not to mention how lots of people use our services and yet look down on us.” Blitzo cleared his throat and spread out his hands. “Now, I’m not saying it’s, *cough* Moxxie’s or anyone’s fault…”

Moxxie raised his eyebrows. The serious imp had a red face, yellow eyes, white hair framing his face and stripped horns jutting off to the sides in slight curves. He wore a large red bow-tie and a navy blue suit. White freckles were present under his eyes.

Blitzo continued, “…but let’s discuss how we can improve. Now does anyone have any ideas on how to get business drumming up again?”

Millie, the bubbly demon raised her hand. She had a red face, messy black hair with a white flower patch near the top, and short black horns with faint white stripes. Her eyes were also yellow and she wore a black top, black torn pants, high heeled shoes and a little black choker around her neck. Her eyelashes extended past her face.

Millie waved her hand and beamed, eyes shining. “What…about…a car wash?!”

“This is Hell, Millie, no one cares about cars being clean here, okay?!”

 Just then, there came a coughing from the other room. A small cyclops demon with hot pink hair with a patch of yellow opened the door and walked in. She brushed off soot from her hot pink skirt and waved at the group, who stared in surprise.

“Hi, I’m Niffty! It’s nice to meet you. Are you part of I.M.P.?”

“Uh yes?” Blitzo replied, unsure of what to make of this random maid.

“Oh great, because one of my friends sent me here to investigate, he’s a busy chap, you know, and oh so dreamy!”

She darted around the room and began removing cobwebs from the windows. “It looks like there are two men, a woman and a dog here, a nice balance.”

Loona, the grey hellhound glared at Niffty, narrowing her red eyes. “What was that, you little shit?”

Loona had a red cell phone in her clawed paws, the back of the phone displaying a black upside down cross. She wore a grey top with black strings in the shape of an inverted pentagram. A spiked collar was around her neck. Her pants were dark and torn, with a white crescent moon on them. Her feet were bare and her hair and tail were thick with white and dark fur.

 Niffty stopped in her tracks. “Now, did you guys need any cars to be washed?”

 Blitzo shook his head. “We don’t have any cars here, we’re broke as fuck.”

Millie stared at Niffty and cupped her own cheeks with her hands. “Oh my Satan! She’s so adorable! Can we keep her?!”

“No!” Moxxie and Loona said at the same time. The two workers then glared at each other.

Moxxie crossed his arms. “We’re in the middle of a meeting right now. Do you mind?!” He pointed to the door.

Niffty laughed nervously, “Oh okay, sorry about that, hehhehheh. I’ll be outside if you need me!”

She scurried out of the room.

 Blitzo paused for a moment, then said, “Oh right! Ideas for our company!” He waved his hands, his eyes shining. “How about a billboard?!”

Moxxie crossed his arms. “We can’t afford a billboard, sir.”

Blitzo rushed over and held Moxxie in a headlock. His voice was rushed and sarcastic, “So helpful, Moxxie, I’m really glad you’re in the room right now.” He shoved Moxxie away.

Blitzo stared in frustration. “Have you guys forgotten what service we provide?!”

He picked up a remote and turned on an old fashioned TV.

After static appeared on screen, the footage showed the group killing off individuals.

Blitzo bashing a red demon’s head with a mullet.

Moxxie shooting a blue person tied up to a chair.

Loona grabbing a red person in her mouth and shaking the person side to side like a wolf.

Millie beheading a blue person with a spear and laughing.

  Blitzo watched with a relaxed smile on his face, holding up a blue bowl of popcorn. Loona sat on the table, popping popcorn pieces into her mouth. Millie perched on the table, enjoying the show, but Moxxie stood off to the side with a grumpy face.

Posters hung from the walls, one showing Blitzo and his two sisters, Tilla (an imp with long black hair) and Barbie Wire (a smiling imp with ram-like horns.) It was a picture of them at a circus, the banner reading “The Amazing Imp Siblings!” Blitzo remembered the good times he had with them when they performed on stage. Barbie Wire would balance on a tightrope, holding a pole with flames on either end. Tilla tamed and evaded manticores, dragons and other beasts that were released into the arena. Blitzo would sing songs about murdering people and they would all pose and bow at the end as the crowd cheered.

That was before Blitzo moved on to form I.M.P. recruited Moxxie and Millie, and adopted Loona.

 Blitzo moved his hand toward his chest and sighed with content. “Ah, those were good times.”

Moxxie spoke up as Millie ate a piece of popcorn. “We don’t need any reminding, sir, considering you blew most of our salaries on an obnoxious TV ad last week, one that you then additionally paid to have run for a full three hours on a channel, nobody watches!”

Blitzo turned his head, insulted. “Hey, uh, excuse me?” He stood up. “What’s “obnoxious” about a super fun jingle, all right? It’s a fun distraction when an advertisement’s spitting bullshit.” He walked across the room.

“People love musicals, sir,” Millie added.

Blitzo smiled. “Exactly, Millie, and we’re basically doing a musical.” Blitzo did jazz hands before pointing rapidly at Moxxie with a scowl.

“Are you gonna crush my musical theater dreams like my dad did?” He lowered his head.

“Sir…” Moxxie began, but his boss cut him off.

“Because right now, all I see is just my dad’s asshole talking to me, crushing my dreams of being, who I truly am inside.” He turned his head away.

Millie leaned in toward her husband and spoke with a teasing tone. “Are you trying to crush his dreams, Moxxie?”

“I…what?” he asked, looking at her. Millie leaned in close and stuck out her tongue, tail curling. “I thought I knew you.” Moxxie rolled his eyes; his wife loved to annoy him.

Blitzo turned back to Moxxie, tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe you, Moxxie. And after I made you Employee of the Month.” He held a picture of Moxxie with his mouth open in a roar, snake tongue showing.

 Moxxie threw up his hands, “Okay, sir, I’m sorry, but a commercial jingle is not comparable to musical theater. Nobody actually likes the jingles.”

“I liked it!” Millie pipped up.

Moxxie turned to her, finger shaking, “Do not…do not agree with him in front of me.”

 Loona sat, bored, playing on her phone. Moxxie’s head appeared on the screen but was crushed by a weight and then blown up by a bomb. At one point his face was sliced in half as “boom!” flashed across the screen.

 “Remember that actual scene we shot for our commercial on Earth?” Blitzo asked.

 Moxxie got a flashback. “Oh, right. I shot that boy who was walking around licking strawberry ice cream. It was an accident.”

 “And did you know those human nurses and the doctor who beat up the kid on a stretcher and shocked him?”

 “Yes,” Millie said rolling her eyes. “I still remember my line as that pink haired nurse. “Doctor, he’s not responding.”

“Who ordered a stat?” Moxxie repeated, dressed up as a blue-haired man.

Millie laughed, “Then I beat him up and Moxxie said, “It didn’t do anything.”

Blitzo added, “Then I walked in and said “Damn it! We’re not losing another one! “Clear!” Then I shocked him and he somehow survived. I was like “Wow that actually worked.”

 Millie then explained that the three of them sat in the waiting room, with their costumes off. In a separate shot, Blitzo had imitated the human doctor by saying, “He appears to be in stable condition, but he’ll need surgery. Now what kind of insurance do you freaks have?” Then Blitzo said, “The fuck is insurance?”

 Moxxie sighed, “…and then the real doctors came in and kicked us out and we fell back into Hell. Personally, I felt like those scenes were confusing and very risky!”

 “It was brilliant!” said Blitzo. “We all did a great job, and it was in the human world. Why not cover up Moxxie’s mistake with a theater scene?”

 “You’re so dead!” Moxxie seethed, clenching his fist.

 “I know. We’re in Hell. No big deal,” Blitzo replied.

 “But are you sure the doctors were us or where they actually dumbass humans who didn’t know what they were doing?”

 “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Blitzo replied. “How did that kid manage to survive being shocked so much? Why is it that music logic works on some and not on others? Why even have a Hell that’s a modern paradise and a shabby shithole at the same time? We might as well be in a large cartoon circus being mocked at by other beings.”

 Millie gasped. “Did you just break the 4th wall?”

 Blitzo winked. “Gotta practice my theater skills at some point.”

   Moxxie spoke, hands forward in front of him. “I’d like to go on record and say that incident with shooting the kid was Loona’s fault. Dispatch is supposed to give us the right info on the target. It’s very simple.”

 “Oh sit on a dick, Moxxie,” Loona replied without looking up.

 Moxxie stuttered angrily, looking for a comeback. “You sit…sit on a…a…do your job!” He slammed his palm on the table.

 Blitzo scolded him. “Hey, now we don’t blame our screw-ups on Loona, okay? She didn’t do anything wrong.” He hugged her and nuzzled his head against her cheek, the hellhound growling at him to get off.

 Moxxie stared in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, sir? She’s awful!”

 Lonna looked at her phone. “The other day, right? I answered the phone and said “Hello, I.M.P.” Millie was yelling, “My husband got stabbed!” and then I hung up. Wasn’t my problem. My Hellhound Monthly magazine was much more interesting.”

 “Don’t forget about my adoption anniversary gift I gave you,” Blitzo said, scratching his neck.

 Lonna seethed. “Don’t remind me. It wasn’t a cure for syphilis, I didn’t want it, and it so happened to be black spiders, crawling all over me!”

 “Again, I’m sorry about that,” Blitzo said.

 “God damn it, apology not accepted.”

 “You should be thankful that I rescued you after your hellhound family kicked you out,” Blitzo remarked.

 Loona’s ears twitched. Millie stared nervously. “I was perfectly capable of fending for myself,” barked Loona, looking up from her phone for the first time. “There was nothing special about them, other than all the alcohol, meth and drugs they took. My parents never cared about us. I mean, they sent off my other siblings to work for other overlords and were never seen again. Perhaps I was fortunate enough to not have to deal with them.”

 Blitzo had tears in his eyes. He hugged her again. “Well, at least you’ve got me, Moxxie, and Millie as your new family!”

 Loona hid a smile and just bared her fangs. “Get off of me before I bite your face off!”

Blitzo stepped back.

 Loona then smiled and looked at Moxxie, a look of mischief in her red eyes. “At least it was funny when Moxxie got that weight loss ad.”

 “Why would anyone send me that?!” Moxxie argued.

 “Come on, you know why.”

 “I’m not chubby, thank you very much! Not to mention, you were the one who ate my avocado salad lunch! How rude.”

 “But why would you drink on a workday?” Millie asked.

 “I was hungover from that morning, dumbasses!” Loona said to Moxxie and Millie. “I already told you that. I was getting tired of your petty talks and assaults. I kicked a baby in a carriage and caused some destruction to let out some steam. Felt good afterwards.”

 Blitzo mentioned to Loona. “Look, back to the topic. The point is, Loona is a valued member of our family and we don’t get rid of families.”

 “We aren’t a family, sir,” Moxxie pointed out. “You are the boss. We are the employees. You treat her like she’s some troubled teenager. She’s more like a meth-addicted homeless woman you let man the phones.”

Loona flipped him the bird.

 “That is offensive,” said Blitzo, walking to the window, pulling open the blinds. “Without homeless people, I wouldn’t have half the joy and laughter I do in this life.”

  Outside, a homeless imp with a broken horn and ragged grey clothing held up a sign that read “Monee helps. Satan Bless.” An imp woman with black clothing and little bat wings blushed at Blitzo who waved and did a playful raise of eyebrows before closing the blinds.

 Moxxie crossed his arms. “While we’re on the subject of “family,” can you stop finding me and Millie outside of work?”

“Come on, it’s not that big a deal,” Millie said.

 Moxxie’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me…what?! He was in our fucking fridge! He was spying on me while I was asleep. And worse, he fucking filmed me and you while we were singing and about to kiss!”

 Blitzo giggled. “I still have it on camera.”

 “It’s fine, honey,” Millie replied to Moxxie, patting his shoulder. “The “spoiler alert, butter’s spoiled!” was a funny use of wordplay Blitzo used.

 “No way,” Moxxie countered. “I had a great dream about my parents being murdered and Blitzo interrupted it.”

 “I was just curious,” Blitzo responded.

 “Just…stop…doing that,” Moxxie growled.

 “I don’t see what the issue is,” said Blitzo. “Something you don’t want me seeing?” A mischievous silly look crossed his face.

 “No!” Moxxie spat.

 “Your baby weiner havor?” Blitzo asked, another term for a small dick.

 Loona giggled under her breath.

Moxxie was fed up. “Sir, what you say and how you act is totally INAPPROPRIATE!”

 Millie pulled him down gently. “Calm down, Mox, you’re gonna have another panic attack!”

 “I AM CALM!” he yelled.

Millie rubbed his head and soothed him. “Shh, there, there.” Moxxie whimpered.

 Blitzo spoke again with a childish grin, making a hole with two fingers and tapping the opening with one finger. “Look, I don’t judge the boring couple stuff you do outside of work hours, so don’t judge me.”

 Veins popped out of Moxxie’s yellow eyes. “Oh I do judge you, sir. Quite a lot, actually.” He crossed his arms as Millie gasped in horror.

“Mox, he’s our boss!”

 “No, it’s fine, Millie,” said Blitzo with a wave of his hand. “Your husband is just…how do I say this without being offensive…retarded.”

 “Does immaturingly insulting me make you feel better about your sad, single, life?”

Blitzo leaned in toward Moxxie. “Yes it does, actually.”

 Loona appeared to agree, because she added to Moxxie, “The only reason you have a wife is because you’re easy to manage.”

Moxxie gasped. She had called Moxxie submissive.

“No he’s not, you turd!” Millie yelled, holding up two middle fingers.

 “Do not talk to my assistant that way!” Blitzo demanded. “She’s sensitive!”

“Yes I am!” Loona barked.

 Then a squeaky voice sounded from nearby: “You guys are fucking assholes.”

Everyone turned and stared at a boy wearing an orange shirt with a planet on it. He had brown hair, a blue baseball cap on and was connected to a monitor.

 Blitzo pointed at him. “Oh shut up, kid, you’re lucky to witness this.”

 Moxxie pinched his nose and sighed in frustration. “Ugh, this company’s such a mess!”

 “Did someone call me?” Niffty’s voice rang from the hallway. She opened the door a crack. “I can clean up any messes you may have!”

 “No!” Moxxie called. “Go away!”

 Niffty slowly closed the door.

 An awkward silence…

 “Alright, let’s get back to talking about my outfit!” Blitzo said out of nowhere.

“Nobody was talking about that,” Loona mentioned.

“Which is why I’m trying to get that ball rolling, so how does it look? It’s good, right?”

 The kid pointed his finger at Blitzo. He ripped off the wires from his stomach.

“It was hell pretending to be paralyzed so you fuckshits wouldn’t kill me, but now? I want that. I want death. You!” he pointed to Blitzo. “You’re a selfish, greedy clown. And I’m a kid! We’re supposed to like clowns…even the creepy ones!”

 Moxxie scoffed. “Hey now, that’s not very…”

 The kid cut him off. “If I wanted to talk to a spineless jackass, I’d rip out your spine and ask you some shit.”

 Moxxie shivered in fear.

 “That’s my husband you’re talking to!” Millie yelled.

 The kid snickered. “That’s your husband?! I figured you for a slut, but I didn’t know you needed it that bad!”  

 Millie fumed at her husband being called ugly and weak. To think that she would have sex with anyone else at random…

 “And you!” The kid pointed at Loona.

 “Yeah? What about me?” Loona asked.

 The kid crossed his arms. “Nothing. I don’t talk to dogs. I’m a cat person.”

 Loona whined.

 “Wow,” said Blitzo. “You know, kid, you kind of are a piece of shit.”

 “Oh you gotta admit, he’s good,” Moxxie muttered.

 A ding came from Loona’s phone. She smiled. “Oh fuck guys, I just got a text from our client. Guess he was the right target after all.”

 “Who?” Blitzo asked.

 “Him.”

 “Me?” asked the kid.

 “Yep,” she confirmed.

 “They wanted us to kill an actual child?” Blitzo asked.

 “That’s what they’re saying,” Loona said.

 Blitzo grinned and twirled a gun in his hand. His job just got more fun and easier. “Well Christ on a stick, I guess there is a god!” He fired and shot the boy in the chest. He flopped down dead in a pool of blood, smoke and sparks lingering in the air.

 Blitzo spoke about I.M.P.: “You know folks, with this company, I really wanted to prove that we’re capable of doing the same things anyone else can, like killing people. So from us here at the Immediate Murder Professionals group, we promise to settle your unfinished business or your money is gone and you’re never getting it back and you can write us a bad review but we’ll play dumb to it because it’s Hell and no one fucking cares.”

 Blitzo, Moxxie and Millie kicked the dead kid on the floor, enjoying themselves. Loona snapped a picture with her phone. After the imps left with the body, Niffty came in and gasped.

“Well, time to clean this up. What a mess!” She hummed a happy tune as she mopped up the blood at rapid speed.

 Blitzo and Moxxie wore gas masks and green suits as Blitzo sawed off the boy’s arm and Moxxie sawed his chest, organs spilling out into a sack below. Millie tossed an arm into the sack and Loona helped hold open the sack. Moxxie dropped the boy’s severed head inside and shared a loving smile with his wife.

 Etched in red graffiti on a dumpster behind them were the words “Devil,” “Hell,” “Happy Hotel,” and “I’m always chasing rainbows.” A pentagram, and wide smiles were also doodled on the surface.

 Blitzo embraced the entire group in a forceful hug, knocking the phone from Loona’s hands.

“You know, even though this kid was a target, he’s still a child. It’s important that we’ve handled this going forward, respectfully.” He wrapped his long tail around the group, all of them smiling genuinely. For despite all their problems, they were still a company family.

   Back in the human world, a crying blonde mother wearing a pink shirt and a necklace held up a paper saying “missing boy.” Below in large letters read on the news: “Mom sucks at drawing own kid!”

 The mother spoke into the microphone, “Please, if anyone has seen my little Eddie…”

She gasped as a sack dropped into her hands. She and the news reporter looked up to see a smiling Blitzo, Millie, and Moxxie through a portal up above.

 “You’re welcome!” Blitzo called with a wave before the portal closed.

The mother looked inside the bag and screamed. “My son! He’s dead! NOOOO!”

   Back in Hell, the three imps laughed out loud.

 “We did the right thing,” said Millie.

 “Yep, at least now she knows what happened to her kid,” said Blitzo.

 They turned around and spotted Niffty finishing up mopping the floor and walls. The water in the bucket was crimson red.

 “What the…?” Moxxie asked in disbelief. “Why is she still here?!”

 “Oh, hi, your back!” Niffty said. “Just in time too! I’ve talked with my friend and he’s coming over to chat with you.”

 “We don’t have time for any more chit-chat,” Moxxie spat. Loona sat in a chair, staring at her phone. “Whatever.”

 There was a knock on the door.

 “Oh here he is!” Niffty squealed and opened the door.

 Blitzo and the others saw a black and white scowling cat demon with red wings. He wore a small top hat and a large red bow tie. His wings had card symbols on it: diamonds, hearts, spades, and clubs.

 “Oh hello, Husk!” Niffty greeted as Husk slouched in.

 Husk narrowed his eyes at Niffty. “Alright, you said that these imps had an underground stash of cash and booze. Where is it?”

 Blitzo shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re broke.”

 “Husk,” said Niffty. “Don’t let this shabby town fool you. There’s loads of treasures hidden in plain sight.”

 Husk looked around as the imps shook their heads in confusion.

“You’re a fucking liar! You thought it would be a big ho-ra to trick me into following you? To meet these clown imps and to find there’s no booze at all? You think I’m some kind of fucking joke?!”

 Niffty just shrugged. “Well, it got you here and that’s the important thing.”

She darted around and shook the imp’s hands. “It’s so nice to meet more friends. It gets a bit boring at the hotel.”

 “What hotel?” Moxxie asked.

 “The Haz…Happy Hotel, of course! The one that princess Charlie runs to help redeem sinners.”

 Blitzo and the others looked at each other, then burst into laughter, while Husk scowled.

 “What? That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard!” Blitzo giggled, pounding on the desk. Even Loona howled in laughter.

 Blitzo wiped tears from his eyes. “You’re telling me that Hell’s princess decides to turn sinners into do-gooders? Next thing you know, she’ll make the homeless rich. And I like homeless people too much to let that happen.”

 Moxxie face-palmed. “Why would royalty do something so pointless? If the princess wants to help out, then she should help us imps and hellhounds. We may be hellborn and above sinners, but we’re still treated like scum based on where we live and how easy it is for others to get us into service!”

 Loona nodded. “For once, I agree with him. And I could care less about what she does.”

 “Well, if you ever want to visit…”

 Moxxie glared at Niffty. “No. Thanks.”

 Millie sighed in defeat. “Aw, Blitzo, are you sure we can’t have her around? Or at least visit the hotel?”

 Blitzo stared into her wide pleading eyes and shook his head with a sigh. “I’m afraid Moxxie is right. As fun as it sounds, it’s too risky for us to go there by ourselves. At least not without weapons. Besides, we have work to do here.”

 Niffty mentioned to Husk. “This is my friend, Husk. Though he wasn’t the one who wanted us to come here.”

 Husk scoffed. “I’m no one’s friend. It was annoying enough to get dragged out of the bar and into this shady shithole of a city. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Niffty and that crazy…”

 Husk paused and stared at the hellhound, with wide eyes.

 Loona took out a dark brown bottle marked with three xs on it and took a drink.

 “Is that hard booze?” Husk asked.

 “Yep,” said Loona.

 “Can I have it?”

 “No.”

 “Hand it over, bitch!”

 Loona growled, “Shut it, pussy!”

 Husk hissed. “Fuck you!”

 Loona held up two fingers.

 “Oh you did not just go double on me!”

 “Sure did.”

 “Okay then,” Husk said, swiping the phone from Loona’s hand.  

 “HEY!” Loona barked, spitting out her drink. She got up from her chair and chased Husk around the room. The sounds of cat screeches and dog barks filled the room.

  Hey, Husk!” Blitzo yelled. “Do not insult my assistant!”

  “What ya gonna do, boss man?” Husk called, leaping onto the table, Millie jumping out of the way. Loona threw a book at Husk, who ducked. The book instead hit Niffty in the face, sending her flying across the room and against the stripped wall. “I’m okay!”

  Moxxie face-palmed as he watched the chaos. “I might as well quit, but I don’t have any other means to support myself.” Millie embraced Moxxie who whimpered again.  

 Everyone yelled, adding to the chaos.

 “ORDER IN THE OFFICE!” Blitzo yelled, pounding his hand on the table.

 “MY PHONE BACK, JACKASS!” Loona snarled loudly.

 “GET ME RICH OR I’M LEAVING!” Husk added.

 Niffty cleaned up the room, muttering to herself.

 Millie practiced singing out loud, trying to drown out the noise. “INSIDE OF EVERY DEMON IS A RAINBOW…”

 “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW THAT SONG?” Loona asked her.

 Moxxie covered his ears. “WOULD EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP FOR ONE…”

 A sudden screeching sound brought the yelling and erratic activities to an abrupt halt.  Everyone winced at the sound, which vanished as quickly as it came.

 “What was…that?” Blitzo asked, shaking his head.

 “Dunno,” Loona said. “Sounded like somebody testing a microphone.”

  A very slow “Shave and a Haircut” knock filled up the silence. It came from behind the door that led to the hallway.

 Loona and Husk froze, maws open in mid-brawl. Moxxie raised his eyebrows and suddenly started to shiver. Millie and Blitzo suddenly felt an oncoming sense of dread. Husk crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Niffty, however, clapped her hands in excitement. She took some steps forward, but froze at Moxxie’s glare.

 “Do not answer the door,” Moxxie whispered in a harsh tone.

 Niffty stared in confusion. “Why not? He’s my friend.”

 Moxxie narrowed his eyes.

 “From the other side!” Niffty emphasized.

 “Just don’t go any further.”

 Niffty grinned and tiptoed closer to the door.

 “No, no, no,” Moxxie breathed, moving his hands across in a signal. “Stop right there.”

 Niffty stopped and slowly reached her thin black hand toward the round handle.

 “Oh for Lucifer’s sake!” Blitzo announced, walking toward the door. “It’s Niffty’s coworker. How bad can he be?”

 He opened the door and grinned. “Hi I’m Blitz…”

 His eyes widened and his face fell.

 “…o.”

 Blitzo stared at a towering tall demon wearing a tattered red dress coat with vertical thin stripes. Burgundy colored pants covered his legs and ended in red patches along the ends. He wore black dress shoes with red deer print marks on the soles. His undershirt was red and had an upside down black cross as part of the design. A black bow tie was displayed below his slender neck. One of his four clawed hands held a red vintage microphone staff.

 Blitzo stuttered, at a loss for words. Fear was constricting his throat. He stuttered as he looked up at the man’s face, “Welcome…”

 Blitzo stared at the man’s red and black hair, with large deer ears and antlers. His large red eyes blinked to life from a pale face. A monocle gleamed under his right eye.

 “…to…”

 The man displayed a grin of sharp yellow teeth, his smile too wide to be considered natural.

 “…I.M.P…”

 The demon opened his mouth, “Hell…”

 Blitzo slammed the door, catching his breath. He opened it a crack…

 “…o!”

 Closed it again. “Guys…” he began.

 “What?” Moxxie asked in frustration.

 “I think we need to move away. Niffty, could you please send your friend away? He’s giving me the creeps.”

 Niffty shook her head.

 “Don’t let him in, sir!” Moxxie said. Husk nodded in agreement.

 Millie gasped, “That’s a rude way to treat a guest!”

 “Okay then, do you want to open the door?”

 Millie gulped.

 Blitzo sighed and opened it again.

 “May I speak now?” the man asked.

 “Sure, whatever,” Blitzo muttered.

 The overlord swooped into the room. “Greetings fellow sinners! I’m Alastor but people call me the Radio Demon. I heard from my little darling Niffty that you imps are part of an assassination organization, yes?”

 Blitzo took a deep breath and cleared his throat. A smile appeared on his face, now that he was feeling confident. “That’s correct, good sir! I’m Blitzo and I’m the founder of the Immediate Murder Professionals, I.M.P. for short.”

 Alastor laughed. “What a clever name! I.M.P. run by imps! And who are your associates?”

 Blitzo mentioned to the other imps, “This is Moxxie and Millie.” Millie waved and blushed while Moxxie glowered.

 Loona looked up from her phone.

 “…and this is my sweet daughter, Loona,” Blitzo finished.

 Loona growled and snapped her teeth at Alastor, causing him to take a step back. Retaining his composure, he continued. “That little maid is Niffty, and that cat over there is Husk. I saw your commercial on the picture show and was intrigued. Murdering people in gruesome ways…a classic form of entertainment! It even makes my methods look standard. All thanks to Niffty for finding your location.”

 Niffty smiled and waved.

 “Next time, don’t mention Imp City in the ad,” Moxxie spat at Blitzo in a low voice.

 Alastor walked slightly closer to Blitzo, leaning in. “Is it true that you have access to the living world?”

 “Uh…yes?” Blitzo answered. He felt Alastor’s fingers make their way along his curved horns. Despite himself denying it, Blitzo felt his cheeks go pink.

 “And you can create portals? Splendid, indeed. There’s no other being in Hell who can do that.”

 “Smooth liar,” Husk muttered from a distance.

 “That’s right!” Blitzo replied. “Our company has special access to the living world due to our abilities. I may have also stolen a Satanic ritual book from a bird dick overlord several days ago. Top secret.”

 Moxxie’s face turned purple, he made the hand signal for “zip it!” to Blitzo, but of course, he wasn’t paying attention.

 Alastor smiled and put a finger to his lips. “Rest assured, whatever happens here, stays here.”

 He waved his hand and two bottles of booze appeared in front of Husk.  

 “You might think you can keep getting away with bribing me like that…” Husk said, narrowing his eyes, “…but we both know you can!” He picked up a bottle and started drinking. Loona snatched the other one.

  “What exactly are you doing here, anyway?” Moxxie demanded to Alastor.

 “Why I’m here to help out your company, of course! I’m already involved in helping Charlie with her hotel, so I figured I could expand my horizons.”

 The Radio Demon walked over to Millie. “Hello, dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 He gently kissed her red hand, making her giggle.

 Moxxie slapped his hand away. “No one touches my wife, you got that?”

 Alastor just shrugged and walked toward the table.

  “Don’t you walk away from me, Mister!” Mooxie stood from his chair and walked over to him. He pointed at his chest, making the demon’s smile more strained. “You look like a shady showman to me, so listen here. You have no business whatsoever in interfering with our company. Or messing around with my coworkers and my boss. So, don’t go around harming anyone here, or we’ll kick you out of our office…or just slice you to bits, Dapper Deer!”

 Alastor just laughed softly. Millie and Blitzo walked over to calm Moxxie down.

 “If I wanted to hurt anyone here…” Alastor said…

 He then spoke in a creepy tone: “I would’ve done so already.”

His eyes turned into red moving radio dials and the air filled with radio static and floating red voodoo symbols.

 He shook his head and the sensations ceased. His eyes returned to normal. “So, now let’s talk about how I can help you out.”

 “What?” Millie asked.

 “How can I be of assistance? You want donations? Promotion? An upgraded outfit?”

 Blitzo scoffed, “My outfit is great enough as it is. But… you said something about promotions?”

  Alastor nodded. “You ever feel like your work goes unrecognized?”

 “Yeah,” Blitzo replied. “People do come to us a lot to murder people, but…”

 Alastor tilted his head…

 Blitzo continued, “…but the imps and residents here look down on us. Not to mention even the sinners brush us aside like we’re trash. That’s why we’ve kept to ourselves a lot. We imps have to stick together…and hellhounds, too.”

 Loona rolled her eyes.

 “But your company is so unique, and with such special access, I don’t know why others would look down on you,” Alastor mentioned. “Whoever those horrible people are…who are they?”

 “My asshole father,” Blitzo said. “He’s kept me from achieving my musical theater dreams.”

 Alastor placed a hand on Blitzo’s shoulder. He spoke in his sympathetic tone, reserved for making others feel at ease.

 “Oh, believe me, I’ve been there. I’ve loved singing and music ever since I can remember. And my dad…well it’s a long story, too tragic to go into. Have you ever thought of…killing the person in your way? It’s surprisingly simple, and you of all people should know.”

 “I…um…”

 Moxxie nodded. “I had a dream that my parents were being murdered, and I wanted to get back to that.”

 “What if I told you…there was a way for your dreams to come true?”

 “That’s impossible,” Moxxie scoffed.

 Alastor appeared behind him, from his shadow form, making him jump. “I don’t think so! I can do so many things for your cause.” He stood in front of the three imps. A flaming bag of money appeared in Alastor’s outstretched hand, in front of Blitzo’s eyes. It changed to fiery silhouettes of Blitzo, Moxxie, and Millie dancing to the clapping of a crowd coming through his microphone. “This may seem like a bit much, but so far, you’re a well-established company.” The I.M.P. logo appeared in his hand before he closed it. “I could improve you ads, extend your business to Pentagram City, all under my protection. Imps won’t have to be the lowest of the low ever again.”

 Blitzo and his associates looked at each other, lost in thought. Alastor’s grin grew wider.

  “Do you really want to give up this golden opportunity?”

 Moxxie paused. Blitzo found himself shaking his head. Millie smiled at Niffty and Husk nearby.

 Alastor turned to leave. “Well, it was worth a try. I could give you some time to think about it…it was only a suggestion.”

 He slowly walked toward the door. “3…2…1…”

 Blitzo’s eyes went wide. “No, no, wait! Don’t leave.”

 Alastor turned his head, smile wide. He turned back to them and held out his right hand. “So, do we have a deal?”

 “No deals!” Moxxie yelled, pulling Blitzo away. “There’s something shifty about this guy. The stuff he says is too good to be true.”

 “You sure about that?” he asked. “Perhaps I need to persuade you a little more…”

 He snapped his fingers and the table and pictures vanished. The room turned a dark purple and the floor became wooden like dance floor. Deer antlers and voodoo symbols lined the walls in neon colors. The posters now showed deer with black bloody circles in place of eyes. Alastor’s outfit changed into a red suit, with a red top hat with pins sticking out. Soon, everyone was wearing attire from the early 1900s: dapper dresses and round hats of purple, green and yellow for Millie, Niffty, and Loona, and suits of light blue, white and black for Blitzo, Husk and Moxxie.

  “Take it boys!” Alastor called, snapping his fingers. Shadow spirits emerged from a newly created portal in the ground. One played a saxophone, one a trumpet, and the other played the drums.

 A jazzy remix of the I.M.P. jingle played. Moxxie and Millie danced and spun around in the spotlight as the music played. Husk and Moxxie glared at each other in a corner. Niffty smiled and danced along, while Loona stared at her phone again.

 Alastor mentioned for Blitzo to come on stage and sing with him. Blitzo blushed and slowly made his way next to him.

  Alastor sang through his vintage microphone, which lit up.

   “When you want somebody dead,

And you wanna poke fun at their head

Call the Immediate Murder Professionals

 Whether homicide or genocide

We’ll make it look like suicide

Immediate Murder Professionals

 We do our job so well

‘Cause we come straight up from Hell

We’ll kill your husband or your wife

We’ll even let you keep the knife

 The Immediate…Murder…Professionals

 The song was followed by an electro swing solo and a repeat of the verses.

Blitzo was lost in a blissful trance as he and Alastor spun around in a dance.

 They both stopped to catch their breath as the music slowed to a relaxing jazz melody.

 Alastor held out his right hand. “What’d you say? Won’t you shake a poor sinner’s hand?” The area around him glowed an eerie green and a strange wind gusted.

 Millie ran over and eagerly shook his hand. “I accept! Thank you for your help!” In the shadows, Moxxie was pulled toward Alastor by black tentacles wrapping around his waist.

 Blitzo stared at Alastor’s hand in front of him. Common sense told him to stay far away from this demon.

 But Millie had shaken his hand already…and he did offer to help them…

 Blitzo’s musical dream was just beginning, and so was his company. Why back out now?

 He slowly moved his hand closer, hovering over Alastor’s fingerless glove- covered hand.

 Loona’s eyes grew wide. Her fur stuck on end and her instincts kicked in. She could smell deceit and evil coming from the demon. She hadn’t thought it would go this far. For the first time, she placed her phone down on the ground. “Blitz!” she called.

 Blitzo briefly looked behind Alastor…and saw his adopted daughter…with fear in her eyes for the first time. He was sure he was dreaming. There was no way magic like this could exist, and surely his daughter wouldn’t show this much concern for him.

 But then again…Blitzo could create portals to Earth, so anything was possible.

 “Anything is possible,” said Alastor, as if reading his thoughts.

 “Don’t do it!” Loona barked. She raced over to Blitzo…only for Husk and Niffty to block her. Husk’s eyes and Niffty’s eye glowed red. “Ahh, the fuck?!” Loona exclaimed, in shock.

 Blitzo’s shaking hand inched closer…

 Moxxie’s hand was forcibly guided to the demon’s other hand by the tentacles…

 Loona growled and swatted Husk and Niffty aside with her paws.

  Blitzo’s hand touched Alastor’s at the same time Moxxie’s did.

“Noooo!”

  The Radio Demon cackled in triumph as Blitzo and Moxxie shook his hands. All three imps briefly opened their eyes wide, all glowing red. Small streams of evil black energy from their souls traveled from each of their mouths and into Alastor’s staff. Husk and Niffty stood up and stared at each other…for this had happened to them as well. All five of them stood still like soldiers, each with too-wide grins on their faces as static and symbols filled the air. The static was overwhelming to Loona’s ears, and she soon passed out.

   Then suddenly, the room and everyone’s outfits returned to normal. Everyone’s eyes cleared, and the portal and tentacles vanished.

Moxxie and Blitzo removed their hands.

 “What…just happened?” Blitzo asked.

 “Something amazing,” Niffty said.

 Loona sat up and rubbed her head. “I think I just had another hangover.”

 Husk had already thrown up after all the dancing and spinning.

 Niffty sighed. “Let me clean that,” and rushed off.

 “Well, I’ll say that was quite entertaining!” Alastor said. “Look.” He pointed to a radio which hadn’t been there before. Blitzo listened and he could hear the jazzy version of the I.M.P. jingle being played. A low announcer voice said, “Call the Immediate Murder Professionals! Founded by the Incredible Blitzo, and his associates Moxxie and Millie….and Loona too.”

 Loona raised her middle finger.

 “Call 1-800-666-Hell or go online to I.M.P. .com today!”

 Alastor grinned. “It’s now been broadcasted all over Hell…and it should appear on the Picture Show very soon!”

 “Wait, Picture Show?” asked Millie.

 “He means the TV,” Blitzo replied.

 Alastor grinned. “Well, I’d love to stay, but I’m a busy man. Good luck with your business. Come along, Niffty, Husk.”

 Niffty scurried over and opened the door for Alastor. Husk gave one final “fuck you,” to Loona and Moxxie before leaving.

 “By the way…” Alastor said as he reached the door. “Since I’ve helped you out, it only seems fair that you help me out as well. Don’t be alarmed if you’re suddenly summoned to help me out in my various conquests of Hell.  Loona, your services are not required.” Loona grunted in response before he finished, “Consider my deal as an inevitable new career for you…”

 His eyes turned into dials again…

 “…as my slaves.”

 His eyes turned fully red once more. “Ta-la for now!”

 He waved goodbye and the door closed behind him, everyone staring wide-eyed. No one noticed that the Satanic book had disappeared…

  The imps didn’t believe that was the case…

 …until one day, they were transported outside near the Hazbin Hotel. Their auras glowed red and their bodies became dark shadows. They surrounded Sir Pentious’ blimp, giggling as dark power flowed through their veins. The tentacles wrapped around the blimp and the shadow imps scattered before the vehicle exploded in a cloud of pink smoke. Charlie, Angel Dust, Husk, Vaggie, and Niffty watched in horror as Alastor stood with a sinister grin on his face.

 The group walked back to the hotel as Alastor talked about his mother’s jambalaya. With a snap of his fingers, the “Happy Hotel” words on the roof changed to “Hazbin Hotel.”

 “Stay tuned,” Alastor finished with low laughter.

[sanctuaryremix]

The version of me from 5 years ago was a quiet high school junior who was just joining crew and learning to be confident in my own body. I read books, had like 2 friends, and was terrified of the concept of college because I had no clue what I wanted to do. The boldest thing I did with my hair was dye the tips burgundy in support of a family friend with Multiple Myeloma, otherwise the only thing I could do was put it in a ponytail, I had two piercings in each ear that were always empty, and I could never wear shorts that were higher than my knees. I had no social skills, no social life, no life skills, and thought I was going to live in my parents house forever with no future.

The version of me today is a nurse supervisor for the peds office I’ve been working at since I graduated nursing school 3 years ago. 3 out of the 4 days I work next week, I will be there open to close as the only nurse. That means in office triage, answering the phone, giving shots, taking care of documents, for 10 hours, all alone. And I know I can do it. Because I’ve done it before. I did it last week. And the week before. And the week before that. I like having another nurse to work with and help balance, but I know I have the skills and knowledge to do it by myself. I have to remember to order some vaccines on Monday. Because I can do that, it’s part of my supervisor duties.

In the summer I also am a coxswain for the local adult crew league. I don’t race because I prefer crew for fun, so I usually Cox novice or intermediate boats, which are new rowers, and returning rowers looking to improve their skills to advance to the racing teams, respectively, but I have coxed, and won races. I’m primarily a coxswain, but when I first started crew I was a rower. I can row both sides. I can scull. I can bow Cox. I’m certified to drive a launch. I can do pretty much anything but coach, but only because I have no desire to coach.

Every month I take a kitchen stool and sit on the deck so my mom can trim down my undercut. Every few months we cut the rest of my hair short again. As short as I can, as long as I can still put it in a ponytail and a French braid. Do I still have a ponytail almost daily? Yes, but I don’t like the feeling of my hair on the back of my neck, so I don’t leave it down often. But when I do, I like to part it a certain way so it’s very wavy and pretty. I can’t dye it anymore because if work, but I would if I could. I have a huge box of earrings, an accumulation of a few years. I have three piercings on each side now, and wear full sets of earrings almost every single day. I plan to get more. Do I still wear mostly cargo shorts? Yes, they’re comfy and have pockets galore. Do I have a pair of rather short shorts that I feel fantastic in and wear when I’m in the mood? Also yes. I can wear leggings and athletic shorts without feeling self-conscious. I’m short and solid and not skinny. But there’s muscle. I know this because my novice year of high school crew, we did a plank test, and I outlasted all the girls and all but two of the boys. Because I am strong, even if it doesn’t show.

I bought my first car last year. A good car, completely new, with my own money. Tomorrow I plan to spend the day hanging out with my brother and knitting. My mom, who had just learned to knit herself, taught me the basics of knitting on New Years Day 2021. It’s April, and I can make a pair of fingerless gloves in a day. I’m currently working on a headband my coworker asked me to make. I have friends that I texted when I went to get yarn, saying I was probably going to leave with way more yarn than I went to get, friends who texted back to laugh with me when I did exactly that. I’m bi and ace, and fuckin proud of it.

The version of me from 5 years ago wouldn’t just be proud of me.

She would be in fucking awe of the person I am now.

And I sure as shit don’t plan on stopping now.

[deadsy-doodle-blog]

 PUNK ROCK RUINED MY LIFE

SECTION TEN

      “Grim.” He heard Sara say quietly, tapping his arm.

      “What?” he asked rolling over.

      “Will you help me build a snowman?” she asked.

      “No.” he said quietly. He burrowed deeper into his blanket and turned his back to her. She pushed his back and he grunted trying to scoot away from her.

     “Please?” she asked looking sad.

     “I guess.” He groaned as he barrel rolled out of his blanket and popped his back as he sat up. She smiled and handed him his coat. Grim smiled. “Let me get dressed first.” He said scratching his bare chest. He pulled his gray thermal shirt on and his green pants, then tossed the tan coat on and pulled a beanie over his mop of hair. He dug into his drawer and found some fingerless gloves. He followed his little sister out into the deep snow. He helped his little sister roll the snow and stack up the balls into t snow man. He told her to go find some rocks for the eyes and face. Grim pulled some sticks off the tree and stuck them into the sides. He lit up a cigarette and puffed on it as Sara finished their snowman.  About five minutes later he stuck the filter end from his mouth into the snow man’s face and Sara laughed.

      A few hours later their mother came home from work with another guy toting on her arm. She had eggnog in her arm and some brownies from a coworker.

      “Mom! Look what we made!” Sara said smiling at her as she was walking up the driveway.

      “Wow.” She said distracted. The guy looked uncomfortably toward Grim. “These are my kids.” She said with a little smile.

      “How old did you say you were?” he laughed looking at Grim kind of awkwardly, Grim’s glare shot through him. She thumped the stranger’s chest and kissed the neck of the guy and whispered something to him before they headed inside. Grim lit another cigarette and started walking down the road.

     “Where are you going?” Sara said sounding distressed. He ignored her. “It’s Christmas Eve.” She said sadly.

      “It doesn’t matter. It never mattered, Sarah.” He said turning as he kept walking. He showed up at the house after night fall, the snow was falling heavily and his nose ran, numb fingers. He opened the door and saw his little sister frosting some cookies.

      “Did mom make those?” he asked.

      “Yeah, they’re in her room now.” She said putting some sprinkles on the cookie. Grim picked one up and took a bite out of it. He sat it back down and took his coat off. He blew his nose in a paper towel. Grim and his sister watched tv for a while, until their mother was showing her friend to the door.

      “Nice.” Grim scoffed as she shut the door, she glared at him.

      “I don’t tell you how to live your life.” She said abruptly to quip.

      “I thought you said you were trying to be better.” He snarked.

     “I am. I’m only human, Grim.” She argued.

      “you sleep with every guy you meet. I’m surprised we don’t have another sibling as often as you whore yourself out.”

      Sara cried “just stop!” Grim and his mother stopped arguing and looked at the floor.

      “There’s Christmas movies on tv.” Grim said quietly sitting back down, feeling sorry for his little sister. Their mother cleared her throat.

      “Let me go take a shower and I’ll come watch a few.” She said quietly. Grim curled up on the couch with a blanket as his little sister colored some coloring pages from the free coloring contest book for businesses. Their mother came back a little while later in her spaghetti strap nightgown, which was a little too revealing after a few movies Sara went to bed. Grim stared into space on the couch quietly.

      “You wanna polish off that bottle of tequila?” his mother asked after a moment.

      “What kind of mother are you?” he asked sitting up.

     “we’re both miserable.” She said shrugging. Grim got up and brought the bottle and two shot glasses out.

      “might as well be drunk and miserable, right?” he asked setting them down on the coffee table. She took a shot and poured him one.

      “How well can you hold your alcohol? Think we can finish this?” she asked swishing the bottle.

      “Oh yeah.” He said nodding his head. He took his shot quickly and she poured more. “Do you need a chaser?” he asked getting up again.

      “Yeah” she grimaced with her shot. He brought two sodas out and knocked another shot down.

      “Whatever happened to that one girl that you were hanging around a lot a while ago?” she asked starting to feel the alcohol.

       “We broke up, or called it off, whatever, we didn’t get along as well as we thought.” He said shaking his head taking another shot.

     “I liked her, she was cute.” She said looking disappointed.

      “We’re still friends. She’s the bassist in my band. But I’m getting kind of serious with another girl in Grandma’s town right now. She’s really nice and has her life together.” He said awkwardly.

     “Good. She sounds out of your league.” She said taking her shot.

     “I thought so too. She must have a thing for bad boys I guess.” He shrugged.

      “She probably doesn’t know what to do.” She said taking a long drink of her soda.

      “Not really, but she’s trying.” He said nodding his head. “It’s been four months with her coming up soon.

      “Don’t knock her up. Don’t be shitty.” She said lounging back.

      “Mom, close your legs or put some underwear on.” He said averting his eyes from her. She pulled a blanket over herself and rolled her eyes. After they drank the bottle Grim stumbled to his room and passed out on the bed. A few hours later his little sister woke them both up with excitement. Grim’s blood rushed to his head and as he sat up his stomach flipped. He bolted for the bathroom across the hall and hung his head in the toilet vomiting up tequila and soda. After getting cleaned up Grim went into the front room and they sat down to open gifts, which was usually money from their mom and clothes from their grandma. Grim opened up a new coat and a pair of jeans from his grandma, and Sara a new pair of pajamas, shirts, pants, and a new handmade blanket.

      Grim handed his gift to Sara, she opened up a new stuffed animal from him and hugged him tight, excited to have something for herself that wasn’t his old toys passed down.

      Grim opened up a pack of cigarettes and fifty dollars from his mom. He smirked. “Thanks.” He said in cynicism.

     “What. It saves you a bribe.” She said with a smile, still a bit drunk. 

      That day Grim dawned his new coat and went to practice with Shade. It had been about a month since he had last seen anyone from the band. He was excited to play some music that his grandfather had wrote and see what they thought of the sound of some of the guitar riffs.

     “How’ve you been?” Crue asked hugging him thoughtfully as he walked into the old abandoned house. He embraced her hug and squeezed her tight in a friendly hug before putting his arm around Orion as well.

     “I’ve been doing okay, actually.” He said with a grin between her and Orion.

      “How’s your mom?” Morty asked quietly from the back of the room on his drum kit. The other two looked at him.

      “…What?” Grim asked seeing their reaction. Crue’s ears dipped and she glanced over at Orion. He nodded his head to her, his brows were scrunched and he looked genuinely pissed, which was rare for him.

      “Just wondering.” Morty added quietly.

      “Grim…can I talk to you, in private.” Crue said giving him a very serious look. Her eyes looked like they could be smoldering with unspoken rage. He nodded and followed her outside into the snow. “we weren’t going to tell you, but I think you have the right to know.” Crue said holding her hands together and then unclasping them to scrub the short side of her mane as she sighed and hesitated.

      “What?” Grim asked confused, growing impatient and anxious

      “Morty fucked your mom.” She finally blurted out. She watched as Grim’s shoulders grew ridged and his ears flattened back. His breathing became heavier and he clenched his fists.

      “Are you fucking kidding me?” Grim asked feeling that damn migraine again. He looked up at Crue.

      “You’d have to ask him for the full story, but he’s been bragging about it at school, Orion and I were pissed when we heard. There’s some nasty shit being said, I’m glad you don’t go to our school anymore.” She said shaking her head and lighting a cigarette. Grim slumped down further on the icy ground and lit one for himself, he held his head in his hands as he puffed at the cigarette, fighting off some angry tears. Crue touched his back, trying to comfort him.

      “Don’t fucking touch me.” He snapped. “I’m so pissed off right now.” He said jerking away from her. He got up with the cigarette still in his mouth, puffing out smoke like a locomotive. He stormed inside the abandoned building full of band supplies. He handed the cigarette to Orion as he brushed past him then pounced on Morty, tipping his drum kit over. The drums clattered and thumped with their struggle

       “How the fuck could you?” he yelled with his hands pinning his throat down to the floor. He held his fist up ready to start pummeling the chestnut pony.

        “She came on to me.” Morty choked, he squirmed under the band’s front man. Grim lifted his leg over the drummer and straddled him, pinning him with his entire weight. He started bringing his fists down onto his friend’s face and chest.

        “You fucked my mom? I thought she couldn’t get any lower and she does this? And you went with it?” Grim said punching him repeatedly.

       “I wasn’t going to pass up on free pussy. She asked me to shovel your driveway a while ago, and she said she’d pay me off. I went inside and she just went down on me.” Morty said in rhythm with the blows delivered by Grim’s fist. Morty was able to wriggle out from Grim’s legs, he stood up and tried to scramble back until Grim pinned him against the wall. ortyfought back a bit after a while, clipping Grim’s chin and nose, Grim started beating him harder with more rage until Morty was about to pass out in pain, starting to slump against the wall as his eyes rolled up a little bit.

      “Grim!” Crue said trying to pull him off the drummer.

     “Fuck you!” he said still punching, blood spattering the wooden floor boards.

     “Grim! That’s enough!” Crue screamed as she and Orion started pulling him off of their drummer He pulled away from Crue’s grasp and kicked Morty in the side. Grim heaved for a moment looking at Morty curled up in a bleeding ball. Crue’s fist popped Grim in the eye and he turned his attention surprised, he held his hand over his swelling eye and looked at her fuming.

      “Stop. You made your point.” She said standing up to him. Orion timidly went to the drummer and cared for him. He was badly injured from the kick in the side. Morty grabbed at his side and wheezed, blood seeping from his nostrils and gums.

      Grim’s mouth bled and he shook his head, he grimaced and spit a part of his tooth out, from Morty’s struggle. Grim was shaking and literally steaming in the cold as he was licking the blood from his bottom lip. He looked from Crue’s face to Morty and Orion against the wall.

      “You probably broke his ribs.” Crue said feeling that he was being excessively violent. She turned and helped Orion gather Morty to take him to a hospital. Grim stormed out shaking his head as Orion lifted Morty onto his shoulder and Crue ran to open the car door.

      By the time Grim got home his eye was watering badly, it was already deep purple and swelling shut. He approached the trailer house that caused so much of his pain and baggage. His brain coursed with a mishmash of punk eulogies, suicidal thoughts, violent tendencies as he approached the door. His hand touched the cold door knob and his thoughts left and all he could feel was blood. Blood rushing inside his head, blood flowing from his face, blood throbbing in his hands, blood stinging in his busted knuckles.

      “What happened?” his mother asked when he returned, he heard her in a foggy distorted cloud. He took a deep breath and his eyes slowly tracked to her, feeling the fog. I was like being high on everything at once. His heart raced but his head was slow until catching up to that sentence.

     “Why don’t you fucking tell me? I just kicked the shit out of my friend Morty because he was bragging about something you did.” Grim said confronting her. He sounded so calm, he even surprised himself.

      “You know how boys are, he’s making it up.” She said shaking her head.

     “I’m not so fucking sure, mom, you’re such a fucking whore. If it has a dick you’ll suck it.” He said as the blood build up and the words spat out with it.

      “I felt bad because I didn’t have any cash on hand.” She said angrily. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She said growing irritated. “He’s eighteen, isn’t he?”

      “Pretty bad when your seventeen-year-old son is more responsible and can keep it in his pants! You throw your vagina around to get what you want, just like it’s fucking international currency! You don’t care who gets in the crossfire!” He said screaming. Sara peeked out of her room afraid. There it was, the rage, the migraine.

      “Stay in your room Sara!” Their mother screeched down the hall.  

      “Ya know, I’d tell you to suck my dick, but knowing you, you probably would!” Grim screamed storming off to his room. “Fucking puta.” He added as he flung the door open. 

      “Don’t fucking talk to your mother like that!” she said following him into his room. He started aggressively shoving everything he could into his backpack.

      “You’re not a mother, you’re just the person who gave birth to me.” He said glaring up at her.

      “Oh Saint Grim, he can do no wrong.” She said crossing her arms.

       “Excuse me for falling out of your vagina and living in this hell for sixteen years! You’re such a bitch.” He said shaking.

      “Run away to grandma’s again, go mooch off her.” She said as he brushed past her with his back pack. He went to the phone and called his grandmother, she said she’d pick him up. He ignored everything his mother was yelling and throwing at him as he stormed out the front door. He walked about five miles by the time his grandmother drove by and picked him up. He was freezing, his pants were soaked wet from the snow and ice, his hat frozen and his hair starting to become crisp. He flung himself into the car and turned the heater on full blast.

      “What happened?” she asked worried looking at his black eye and the blood on his lip and hands.

      “She fucked my best friend.” Grim said shaking his head.

      “Language.” She said looking at him. That was the word she really hated.

      “I don’t care right now, grandma, I’m still really pissed off.” He said looking out the window and folding his arms. “Soy un hijo de puta.” He sighed. Tears started to silently leak from his good eye, he carefully wiped them away so his grandmother didn’t see him crying. She looked at him sadly as she shivered and sniffled.

       “calm down, you’re out of there.” She said handing him a pepsi. He took it in his hand and held it up to his eye, the cold relief.

       “I’ve gotta go to school with a shiner.” He said looking at himself in the mirror after a few minutes of silence.

      “Did she do that to you?” she asked looking worried.

      “No, my friend Crue did, I was beating the shit out of the friend that slept with my mom…Crue made me stop.” He said quietly. “My mom was throwing shit when I was leaving, I honestly don’t even know if anything hit me. I just feel numb.” He sniffed.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Halloween prompts No.3: “You should have made sure I was dead.” for ConHayth, of course!

@balsaminaceae

Pairing: ConHayth

word count:1,481

warnings: Modern AU, Father/Son Incest

summary: Connor is at a costume party, thrown at work when he’s accosted by a masked, handsome vampire while dressed as a Vampire Hunter. What is he to do?

Connor was really pleased with how his costume had come together. He had decided to get the pieces individually, as he had found that most of the pre-packaged costumes were… At best, really cheesy and at worst not at all the look that he’d been going for. He was wearing thigh high leather boots, black leggings that fit under the boots well. His shirt was a light tan tunic. He had taken off the knee length leather coat that he’d been wearing, as it was rather warm at the party that he was at. The brown satchel contained some supplies - a wooden stake, a vial of water with a holy symbol on it and a couple of other things. He tugged a little at the black fingerless gloves that he was wearing, scratching the back of his palm. He had decided not to wear a hat, as he felt that most hats didn’t work too well.

It was a work function, so all of them had been warned not to wear anything too revealing or risqué - although several of his coworkers were obviously just barely wearing enough to not be wearing the Outfit of Shame - which was a white sheet with two holes for eyes cut into it, just in case anyone did come in clothes that were too revealing. He had attached to the belt he was wearing a replica of a eighteenth century pistol, which was holstered in a beautiful holster that he’d spent over a week hand etching himself to match the bracers he was wearing. They were pair of leather bracers, and a gift from his grandmother. Apparently they’d been in his family for a very long time, and had blades attached to the underside that could extend outwards if the mechanism was hit. Connor had carefully removed the blades, as he really doubted that he would need something like that, although the blades were beautifully forged Damascus steel.

As required on the invitation that they all had been given, he was wearing a mask - it covered half of his face and was made out of matte black cloth that felt very soft. He had found several of his work friends already, and the three of them were talking animatedly - Connor had been working at this place for almost a year - having joined the research team in early November, and had missed the previous year’s Haloween party/ball thing which had apparently been a rousing success.

“And Connor - Vampire Hunter, I mean, as I’m pretty sure it’s you Connor… Given how tall and broad shouldered you are, I’m guessing it’s you.” One of his coworkers murmured, causing Connor to tune into the conversation, as he had heard his name being spoken.

“Hmm? Yes? Is there something you wanted to ask? I… I hadn’t meant to get distracted from the conversation it’s just…” He looked out at the glittering sea of people - many of whom were in vibrant costumes - a few of them lit up, while others were wearing outfits with gossamer wings or rather realistic looking scaled make up and clothes. They were in the main foyer of the building that all of them worked in, and though Connor had known that more than their team of researchers would be attending this party - he hadn’t entirely expected so many people here. “There are a lot of people…”

“Yeah, I get that feel. See every year, Abstergo throws a Halloween party and Ball for its’ employees… And most people do go for some really flashy outfits, but you look great in the leather. Tall, dark and brooding. Although where did you get a holster that looked like that? I’ve been looking for something like it for ages. Everyone who works for Abstergo in this city is here, so yeah… There’s kind of a lot of people here.”

“Hmm? Oh, I etched the leather myself, actually. Before I came to work for Abstergo I lived and worked in a tiny town in the middle of the rural side of one of the heartland states. I really don’t miss the tornados, but regularly there would be downtime at the clinic, so I was able to keep practicing my sketching. One of the ranchers offered to teach some of us how to work leather, in partial payment for helping them with a sickness that could have killed half of their cattle and the head of the clinic agreed, which is where I learned it.” Connor responded cheerfully.

“It’s really good!” They responded with a bright grin, before noticing someone headed towards where the four of them were not quite hiding in a corner “Uh-oh~! You might be in for a bit of trouble. Be careful.”

“Why do you say that? Who are you saying that too?” the other three responded, including Connor, as they looked around the room, trying to spot the trouble. Connor’s companions were dressed as a Priest, an Angel, a Cowboy and the one who had correctly guessed that Connor was in the Hunter outfit was wearing a jester’s outfit.

“Vampire Lord at eight o’clock and he looks like he’s headed straight for you, Hunter. Good luck~!” The Jester responded with a teasing grin as all four of them pushed Connor towards the person dressed like that who was headed straight towards their little group.

“Ack, that’s rude! You traitors.” Connor huffed playfully, pouting at the four of them before turning around fully to face his supposed enemy.

The other was wearing a black and red ensemble, and was carrying a cane in one hand. They looked thoroughly intimidating - especially as the wine red vest looked great, framed by the black and gold cape he was wearing. The white cravat that the other was wearing drew the eye - and Connor spotted a flanged red cross that seemed to be a clasp that held the cape at his throat. The other was wearing a black mask as well, but it seemed to be much more elegant than his own.

The Vampire lord’s eyes were a striking, familiar blue and Connor found himself drawn towards the other, having a guess as to who this was. He had to stop himself from grinning as he moved closer to the other, dark brown eyes shining in delight. The two of them had agreed to keep their costumes a secret from one another, but it was interesting that their costumes seemed to match in an odd way. “Good evening, vampire.” He said, a lightly teasing note in his voice.

“Good evening, Hunter.” The vampire responded, and his father’s familiar voice filled Connor with love and happiness “I see you look just as edible now as you did when last we met. It’s a pity that you were so terribly rude last time we met.”

Connor huffed a little, staring at the other accusingly, a teasing smile appearing on his face, though it might appear challenging “Given what you were up to, it wasn’t as if I could let you keep doing what you were up to, nefarious vampire!”

Haytham chuckled as he moved closer to Connor, wrapping an arm around his waist as he purred “You should have made sure that I was dead. I shall have my revenge upon what you did to me~! And I shall be taking it now.” Before Connor could tease the other back, Haytham pressed loving kiss to his lips, voice dipping into a low, seductive purr once they parted “And now I have you under my spell.” The other lightly brought up the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his waist up to Connor’s face, just below the edge of the mask, brushing one of his cheek lightly.

“I… Oh… What have… What have you done to me?” Connor responded back, voice breathless, and the blush on his face quite obvious. he could feel the shocked and slightly concerned stares of his coworkers on him before he cleared his throat, breaking character and lightly swatting Haytham on one shoulder “I didn’t realize you’d be at the party too! Come meet my coworkers!“

Haytham chuckled softly and allowed himself to be dragged along by Connor, bright blue eyes sparkling playfully “Ah, but I like surprising you, love.”

“This is my mysterious boyfriend! And if you’re about to ask if we coordinated outfits, we didn’t… Although it does kind of seem that way.” Connor remarked lightly, introducing Haytham to each of them, though as per the rules of the party, didn’t name anyone else’s names.

Haytham nodded politely to each of them, murmuring “I work for the legal section of Abstergo. It is a pleasure to meet some of Connor’s coworkers, he’s said quite a bit about all of you.” They started to talk with Haytham, Connor contentedly leaning into his father’s warm frame as they did so.