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Now their in a secret relationship with each other. Well, they assume no one knows, but Mitzi has her suspicions. Then there is nosey Ivy...

Ivy is confused but asks tons of questions like...

Ivy to mordecai: Why were you and Viktor holding hands and kissing in the garage?

Mordecai: ...

Also, over time, Ivy figured it out and called Viktor and Mordecai her adopted gay gang dad's. Mordecai and Viktor and their adopted daughter Ivy, whom Mordecai never agreed to take the dad role, but Viktor would have wanted it. Mordecai and Ivy do get along (for the most part) because fashion is one of their favorite topic. Lol.

his knees hurt :(

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Old man, yaoi is my favorite. :3

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Sometimes you get into a depressive spiral and nothing you make feels good except for when you draw the gay cat crackship from a really cool webcomic

anyway y’all should check out lackadaisy

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I really liked two of the panels of a scrapped Halloween comic idea I had, so I decided to salvage those at least, hah.

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modecai!! he’s (gently) reminding you to support the lackadaisy campaign on backerkit

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Personal Headcanon: Viktor has obviously never liked wearing formal attire, but he has become outright hostile to the idea since the kneecapping incident as it reminds him too much of his suit obsessed ex-partner

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I love this image of these two so much!

These two butt heads like siblings.

This image I feel takes on a different story, one that may be a sad one.

Despite them constantly butting heads, they knew each other pretty well.

I wanna say Atlas wasn't always kind and loving to Mitzi. Mordecai got a good look into their marriage over the years. How he knew that it was falling apart. This image is heartwarming for someone like Mordecai to do.

Mordecai grew up with only sisters. He took care of them and his mama. Having that kind of big brotherly background, he has a soft spot for people who remind him of his sisters. Mitzi.

His fixing her eyeliner after she had been sobbing because Atlas was being a heartless man. Mitzi not feeling she's good enough overly burdened with emotions can't bring herself to fix her makeup without shaking with emotion. Mordecai, who has witnessed Atlas and Mitzi's relationship hiccups becoming bad and end up badly. Felt for Mitzi.

So he offered to fix her makeup.

Because his big brother side kicked in.

So he's careful and with perfection fixes her eyeliner. So she doesn't look like a mess after spilling her feelings out her eyes, but because he couldn't bear seeing someone like Mitzi be in such a state.

They are like siblings. They may butt heads, but deep down, they knew about Atlas' good and bad sides and felt probably the same. Not good enough, not perfect enough. Mordecai would be damned to see mitzi not looking perfect and good enough despite it all.

Mordecai has a soft spot. It's very rarely he ever shows it, but when he does, it's heartwarming.

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OBTUSE ONESHOTS

Inspiration Art by Tracy J Butler

ASYMMETRICAL ATROCITY

Mordecai Heller has done a lot of dastardly things in his line of work. He murdered the competition, tortured information from the mouths of gangsters and threw numerous bodies into both rivers surrounding Saint Louis, all at the behest of his savior turned employer. Atlas May is a discerning man of many accomplishments, one who knows when to conduct a business intervention to protect his investments, and when a massacre is the only way to send a message, which is what Mordecai manages alongside Viktor, his cohort.

The tom tuxedo appreciates swift, decisive action as much as the entrepreneur who owns the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. As such, he rarely finds grievance with expectation, carrying out every assignment with extreme prejudice and efficiency. Alongside Viktor's sheer strength and bulk, they form a formidable partnership that's seen the underground liquor spring swell in popularity, creating quite the business for the ever-ambitious Atlas May.

This is work Mordecai excels at, even prefers despite the moral ambiguity most would consider troubling. What he doesn't enjoy are the languid, supposedly quiet stretches of time between jobs, where he is forced to attend Mrs May's exhaustingly raucous parties. Sometimes, he can convince Atlas to let him work instead and buries his nose in the Little Daisy Cafe's books, changing expenses and stock to hide their underground extracurriculars.

But not tonight.

Atlas is out of town collecting his goddaughter - why anyone would want responsibility for a child that isn't even theirs is beyond Mordecai - and taken Viktor with him, meaning other than the band and Horatio, everyone to step foot inside the Lackadaisy that evening would be a potential threat to his wife's life. Atlas has specifically ordered his sharpshooter to stay close to her all evening, so there is no escaping it.

Tonight, he's Mitzi May's bodyguard.

While he never needs an excuse to dress properly, the tom had taken time to dress correctly for tonight; a black three piece suit over a crisp, white shirt, his trademark blood red tie pressed and carefully secured about his neck before it's tucked into his waistcoat and secured with a silver pin, a holster on each shoulder each containing loaded pistols (obscured under his jacket, for security), a knife in each garter beneath his slacks and of course, the piece de resistance - a pocket square matching his tie.

His wayward hair carefully smoothed down and pince-nez shined to perfection, he'd reported to Mrs May's rooms at precisely six, as requested. He at least feels at home dressed up - poor Viktor always looks ridiculously uncomfortable in a suit - even if he's dreading the actual party. He takes a moment to check his pocket square is properly placed before rapping his knuckles on her door. 

"Come in, door's open."

The reply is immediate, but Mordecai hesitates on the threshold, hand still curled and raised uselessly in the air. He assumed she'd be ready on time. As such, the possibility of entering her room was not considered. He hangs in purgatory for a long moment, trapped between refusal and potential repercussions should anything happen to her in the next few seconds, then sighs and pushes the door open.

"Good evening, Miss May," he greets upon entry, closing the door behind him before surveying the room. Not one to keep a clean house but hardly a slob either, Mitzi's room is clean but in general disarray; her bed isn't made, the closet hangs open, and her vanity table is cluttered with numerous vials, pots, lipsticks and more he doesn't care to identify. "It's time to welcome your esteemed guests into the Lackadaisy Speakeasy."

Mitzi sits at her vanity, leaning close to finish her makeup. She doesn't look over when Mordecai walks in, but an eye does track his reflection. "Of course," she says, pausing to dab her finest brush into the liquid eyeliner bottle. Satisfied it's sufficiently soaked, she raises it back to her face and returns her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm just finishing up, sweetie. Take a seat if you like."

Pale lips curl into a grimace. "No, thank you," he refuses, as politely as he can manage. Mordecai has no idea when she last changed the sheets - he prefers to change his weekly, when possible - nor if she's ever dusted. He doesn't intend to find out by coating his pristine suit in dust. His tail flicks slightly in agitation as he stays by the door. "I'll wait here."

"Suit yourself," Mitzi responds, accustomed to the odd tom after years of his service. She once tried to loosen the man up by asking about his family, but that only seemed to make him more distant. Since then, she's left Mordecai to his own devices, allowing Atlas to handle his peculiarities. Her own interactions with the tuxedo cat are more for entertainment than friendship now. "Are you going to dance tonight? I've invited plenty of young ladies who'd love to-"

"I'd rather not be in attendance," Mordecai answers flatly, his chin listed very slightly as he grimaces. Mitzi suppresses a sigh as she sits back and studies her eyeliner. Makeup is such a chore sometimes, but a necessity when you have an image to keep. Satisfied, she screws the cap back on the bottle and wipes the brush off on cotton wool, an ear turned to her bodyguard as he continues. "However, Mr May has requested my attendance, therefore it is unavoidable."

The dolled-up feline hums in agreement; Mordecai isn't an enthralling party guest, unless you wish to listen to a man describe the main differences between monocotyledons and dicotyledons in excruciating detail, all in a flat monotone. If she had a choice, she'd have kept Viktor. At least could be loosened up with a drink or ten. "Well, I'm ready. Why don't we take our delightful conversation down to the-"

Glancing at Mordecai's reflection, she sees his eyes narrow, and Mitzi releases a tired huff. "What?" She asks as she turns around to face the pedantic accountant. An ear twitch and a deeper frown is the only response she gets, to which Mitzi glares right back. Atlas might enjoy his nonverbal communication, but she finds it irritating. "Come on, spit it out, Mordecai. The guests aren't getting any younger."

"Your eyeliner," the tom responds flatly. Mrs May turns back to the mirror and scrutinizes her reflection closely, checking for drips and smudges, or misplaced drops on her otherwise flawless skin and outfit. She's practically going insane trying to find the problem when Mordecai finally finished speaking. "Is asymmetrical."

She almost groans. Almost. Why does the man have to be so peculiar? "Is that all?" She asks, waving off his concern to instead fluff up her hair some more, running fingers through the freshly washed waves. They slide effortlessly from root to tip, as perfect as Mitzi planned. "No one will care if it's a little crooked once they taste the liquor, sweetie. My darling Atlas secured the best from Canada in our last shipment. They won't be sober long enough to notice."

"I've noticed," Mordecai asserts, finally stepping away from the door to approach his employer's wife. "Respectfully, should I spend the majority of your precious event distracted by symmetrical sacrilege, my efficacy will be compromised."

Mitzi turns in her seat and regards her employee tiredly, only to shrug a moment later. "Eyeliner is a fine art, sweetie. It could take hours to get it entirely even on both sides. We can't leave our guests waiting that long, can we?" Thinking she has him dead to rights, the feline woman opens both eyes and smirks at her husband's golden boy confidently. "Unless you can fix them in five minutes, it'll have to do."

If she's expecting some kind of emotional reaction, Mitzi is sorely mistaken. Mordecai glances at the discarded brush on the vanity, then the uneven lines framing her upper lids. He's fairly sure a child could do better, but for once, the tom decides to keep that thought to himself and instead looks around the room. Locating a small chaise, he pulls it over to the vanity - much to Mitzi's dismay. "What are you-"

Turning over the seat cushion before sitting down to avoid the dust, he then raises his hands, palms open expectantly. "Your brush and face paint," he requests with his expression set seriously, flexing his fingers for emphasis. "And erase your attempts of both eyes entirely. I prefer a blank canvas."

For the next seven minutes, Mordecai leans towards the other feline, coaching her which eye to close, where to look and sometimes, informing minor technique corrections he suggests for the future. Mitzi stays quiet and complies with his requests, mostly from pure curiosity if he'll be able to paint eyeliner as cleanly as he aims a pistol. She's not met a man who can frame an eye right yet, so she might even forgive his arrogance if he does a good enough job. 

The few times she does look at Mordecai directly, his gaze is intense and focused, fine lips pressed into a finer line in the depths of focus. Mitzi isn't sure he's ever been so close before - even when she was having him tailored for fresh, tidy suits and had to measure his neck ad-hoc for the collar. It's honestly disconcerting and she quickly looks away.

"There," he finally states after what feels like a year. Entirely uninvited, Mordecai takes a gentle hold of her chin and turns her head from side to side to inspect his handiwork. Taken by surprise, Mitzi allows him to do so until he hums in approval and releases her, only to grimace at the powder residue now on his fingers. "I will never understand the need to slather your face in chemicals, but it is now symmetrical, at least. I'll wash my hands, then we can go."

Taking the brush and pot when they're offered, Mitzi turns to the mirror to inspect his work and is pleasantly surprised to find he's framed her eyes beautifully. He even added a small whisper of eyeliner off the lid and extended it slightly to her cheek, giving the impression of fuller lashes when her eyes are open. Mrs May blinks, tilting her head from side to side, marveling at how fine it is and indeed, how symmetrical the quiet sharpshooter has managed to make them.

"Let's get this over with," Mordecai mutters as he re-enters the room, adjusting the cufflinks beneath his suit jacket. His eyes land on Mitzi, once again staring in the mirror, and an irritated murr slips through pursed lips. "Miss May, while I admire your devotion to setting an immaculate visage in your husband's absence, there is only so much superficial modification careful artistry can achieve. Let's go."

It was in that moment, as Mordecai stalked for the door to hold it open like the gentlemanly type he certainly had not just spoken like, Mitzi decided she'd convinced the girls that dancing with her reclusatory bodyguard was the pinnacle of high society.

Insert the ficus comic here…

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I have another theory... what if Virgil had witnessed Atlas' death by happenstance and saw who killed him, but wound up drinking heavily as a coping mechanism?

This has been overlooked about Virgil's character:

Virgil used to be a quarterback with sharp reflexes. He used to be one of Lackadaisy's frequent consumers, Virgil was well enough by the time Wick began joining Lackadaisy.

So what happened to Virgil that was so bad that his life turned in a complete 180? He became broke and homeless due to alcoholism.

Why is Virgil referred as a Spectre that hangs around Lackadaisy? The only apparition that haunts Lackadaisy would be Atlas himself.

Virgil is no longer affiliated with Lackadaisy so why is he still there?

Virgil became a panhandler because he had no other way to sustain himself. He could barely scrape by when he could barely attack (or intimidate) passerbyers with a can opener.

He even got floored at a street fight with Mitzi over a damn pearl. Was his alcoholism so bad that he got disarmed in a blink of an eye? Did he forget that he used to tackle for sport?

How did he survive in the streets for so long?

Was his alcoholism so bad that it ate away bits of his memory? Or was it the alcohol poisoning so bad that it altered his memory?

How did he survive in the streets for so long?

Supposing that Virgil was an eyewitness who showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time. If he had witnessed the murder of Atlas by accident or was the missing link that could lead to Atlas' killer.

Even though in the comic not much is known about Virgil, but he wound up detained with Zib. Virgil may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but what if he remembered something peculiar about Atlas' killer.

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I always felt Mordecai had a type. That's definitely big men. Here is my take on it.

He grew up being the man of the house at a very young age. He was the only male left in his family. He grew up poor in sickly conditions.

Why does this have anything to do with his type of men?

Well, big men seem to give that "powerful, strong" vibe. Mordecai didn't have a powerful, strong male in his life. He tries to make himself more older, powerful, and strong, with how he carries himself. So someone like Viktor who towers over him, has brute strength and is powerful enough to make other dudes turn heel because "damn he's HUGE!" Don't wanna mess with THAT guy!

Mordecai would seek some kind of comfort around bigger guys. They would make him feel safe but also make him feel fragile, and deep down, he probably feels powerless and small.

His frame is smaller than Viktor, Gracie, and Nico.

Someone like Viktor would and has saved Mordecai and has kept him safe. He's probably the only big guy Mordecai flet comfortable with. That said, Mordecai would seek comfort from Viktor and also safety.

Gracie and Nico are big men, but they don't give Mordecai comfort more of a threat because he's small and doesn't hold that kind of power, thus making him feel fragile and weak. (He hates this)

Why he recoils around Nico and literally tells Gracie to "hold up, let me take my glasses off so you can punch me...or you don't..."

Viktor is the only big guy Mordecai feels attracted to.

excuse to draw viktor shapes

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Good times for a change

See, the luck I've had

Can make a good man

Turn bad

So please, please, please,

Let me, let me, let me,

Get what I want

This time

~✨The Smiths✨~

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Mordecai: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Viktor: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks,

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QUEEN!

Mitzi May Appreciation Post. ❤️🌹

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funky little guys

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Rocky: My dad taught me not to rely on any man.

Rocky: Including him.

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The people who police your gender will police your gender even if you're cis.

Eat them.

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Reminisce

// I'm no stranger to writing canon characters, but writing one with little to no material is something I've been trying. Have my rendition of Atlas May, a very short one.

The man stood silently near a footpath, near a bunch of buildings that closed off the street from the main road. He’d been here multiple times before, the same spot with the same corner with the same exact pose. His cane almost denting the stonework beneath him, as cars drove across every aspect of the busy main road. His focus for the roads diminished as much as his awareness for the time; after all, the clock that was up ahead were just off by a few seconds. Amidst the burning fuel and rubber, he stood still with an unexplainable expression. It was neutral, but with every passing moment he seemed more and more mysterious. Untethered to his consciousness, but rather absorbed in his subconscious.

The traffic didn’t seem to help him out of it either. He had been standing out in the street adjacent to the speakeasy with the specific intersection being near the bridge that turned towards street just by the Little Daisy Café. A lot of traffic from Illinois towards Missouri goes through here, and he observed vehicles like birdwatching. Sometimes, some trucks with his supplies will turn at his road without hesitation. Other times, he’d watch the busy road towards St. Louis as passersby go on with their lives, unaware of the person whose hobby is to observe.

Although he indulges his time alone, inevitably something will come up that will distract him, and tether him back to reality. It’s only a reward for what he’d done for the business he’s keeping alive with his partner, and his wife. Work, however tiny it is, had been his focus for all the times he’d been here, and he’s not letting anything stop it. As the traffic slowed, his hearing picked up two pairs of footsteps that walked towards him, his ears slightly twitched as his eyes reeled towards the source of the sound.

“Atlas!” A more than excited, gruff voice came up behind him. He immediately turned around, and saw his companion walk up to him with a glass of sparkling wine in his hand. “Where’d you been? The party inside is much warmer than out here!” He puts his hands on his shoulder that had him holding his cane, nothing too rough so that they lost balance. Atlas quickly looked at a brightly smiling Asa, alongside a concerned Mitzi that he turned his attention to. 

“Let’s go back inside, darlin’. You’ve been out here for too long.” She spoke up, reaching out for Atlas’ free hand and holding onto it. Her hand, however, showed a different warmth in comparison to Asa’s. 

To Mitzi, her hand on his was a way to show her love to him. Normally at events like this, Mitzi wears gloves to not let her hands be dirtied by anything. This time around, however, he saw her other hand had the glove that she took off. Her white dress was dimmed by the night’s light outside, and for her to dredge through the dirty roads and footpaths was dedication. She held her hand out to him, and his reluctant hold turned into a much more assuring one. 

Yet Asa felt cold. His voice reeked of alcohol, foods, and everything in between that contradicted his surname. Although they both helped each other to achieve this status and where they are now are held together by their alliance, his breath was shaky at best, and his hands didn’t have the same amount of togetherness that he had thought. His smile didn’t seem genuine either, it’s as if he only wanted him to be back in there for his benefit and showing off instead of letting him be.

Although both had intentions that were the same, the sincerity of each of them was a massive difference. He didn’t want to say much – as if he had much to say – so he nodded, taking Mitzi’s hand and slightly batting away a tipsy Asa. Mitzi smiled at him, as they all turned back into the street towards the speakeasy. His observations, however, lingered in his mind. He’d never been wrong about anything that he’d suspected before, and this time he’d still be right. 

Albeit it’s the last truth he’d ever find out.