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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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I would like one shot on the rocks with mordecai as a werewolf as he gets insecure about being a werewolf as us the gn reader conforts him. But deep down mordecai werewolf inside of him burns as he looks at us lovely as the werewolf takes over and give us all the love he hold dear for us

Ooooh this is gonna be fun. Mordecai's pride we hardly knew ye

(CW for a little bit of gore and a descriptive werewolf transformation. Generally, there is a lot of pain and a bit of derealization at the end of it. Everything works out fine, though, try not to worry about either of them)

Mordecai was never a fan of canines. He was even less of a fan after a feline/canine amalgamation chased him down away from support and almost ripped him in half before the Savoys found him. He was lucky to be alive.

It was a month later and he was fine, having miraculously survived the attack. However each passing day had him grow fearful and more hungry. He honestly had not noticed until Asa commented on him ordering from the waiter three times in the same evening.

Nico and Serafine had also clued in, judging by their ears flicking back as they shared a look Mordecai couldn't read. It left him bristling and thankful that they weren't the ones who stitched him back together this time; though that also left him at a loss as to why he was so ravenous and fearful.

This couldn't have happened at a worse time. He had just found it in him to take in a partner, a lovely (h/c) cat named Y/N; and less than a week into their relationship he gets mauled and starts acting weird. Lord knows what goes through their head nowadays whenever he snaps at them a little too harshly or gets seconds and thirds after supper.

He takes out his turmoil in anger; fighting with a dummy until it literally falls apart on him or daring to verbally prod the twins a little bit harder when they start teasing him. It used to take the edge off, but this week he's started feeling the strong urge to bite someone as hard as he could. Teeth in flesh, hitting the bone, soaking his muzzle with their blood.

The mental demand disturbed him and disgusted him. But it kept coming up, to the point that he was so distracted people had to shout his name to get his attention.

"MORDECAI!"

Such as now.

Y/N was giving him a concerned look when he was yanked out of la-la land. He roughly cleared his throat and resisted the urge to pull at the collar of his starched shirt. "Forgive me, Y/N. My mind must have wandered. Could you repeat yourself?"

"I'm worried about you, Morde." Y/N shook their head slowly, their tail fluffed up ever so slightly. "You've been zoned out for 20 minutes. Are you okay? Do you need to go back to the hospi-"

"No."

"Then what's gotten into you?"

Mordecai would rather take a mud bath than admit he didn't know. His expression must have said it for him, however, as his partner sighed heavily and sat down on the couch beside him.

"I know that you don't like talking about personal issues," they said carefully. "But please, Mordecai. If you're getting sick or feeling off-kilter, you need to tell somebody. It could be me or Asa-even one of the twins, god knows they'll do anything for you."

Mordecai scoffed. "I'm sure they would."

"They will. They were worried sick when you were out of action for so long."

Mordecai gripped the couch so roughly his claws sank in. It wasn't in response to Y/N, however; it was to stop his hands from shaking. (Also not a cause of Y/N's words.) "I am fine, Y/N. Nothing is wrong."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

His eyes shot towards the open window. A full moon shone back at him, illumination what his smattering of lamps didn't.

Mordecai's heart started pounding in his chest. He wrote it off initially-he's been feeling stifling fear for so long that he learned to ignore it-but it was going at a spiteful pace now, so quickly that it physically pained him. Y/N moved back slightly when he gripped above it.

"It is-merely my heart," he said shakily. "I m-may have to go to the hospital after all."

"Oh, shit. Okay, hold on, I'll call for a ride. Try to stay calm, okay?"

Mordecai nodded. They left with that, searching the room for a phone. They had ducked into the kitchen when Mordecai's heart lurched and the pain spread from it to down his spine and tail.

Mordecai's body lurched with it, sending him to the floor. He ground his teeth until he tasted blood, having likely bitten his tongue; yet he was more distracted by the pain threatening to rip him apart bone by bone. A desperate purr rattled within him as he managed to open one eye and watched his hand painfully turn into something more akin to a giant wolf's paw.

"I called a friend," Y/N said, walking back in. "They're on their way to-oh my god!!"

They crouched in front of him, their hands hovering as if too afraid to touch him. "Mordecai, what's happening--how do I help?!"

"It's hot," he gasped, shivering from the pain. "It's hot."

"Water. Okay, let's get you some water. I'll cut your shirt off too, okay? I know you won't like it but you matter more to me than it does."

'Water sounds nice.' It was a childish thought, but Mordecai's brain was so clouded with pain that it was a wonder he was keeping it together at all.

By the time Y/N came back, the pain was gone and so was Mordecai. Instead the wolf was stumbling around, surprised to find himself existing in such a nice place (or even existing at all). The harsh intake of breath from them caught his attention and he snapped his head towards them. 'Prey!'

'NO!!'

The wolf lunged and crossed the room easily, pinning Y/N to the floor. There was a brief mental battle as what was left of Mordecai's consciousness wrestled the wolf to the ground and made it very clear that if he so much as put a nick in Y/N's ear Mordecai would put a gun under his chin and end them both the next time he was back in control. Drastic? Maybe. Mordecai wasn't entirely sure he would dare to go through with it.

However the wolf was sold, scrambling off Y/N like they'd burned him. He had just started existing, thank you very much, he really didn't want to go back to wherever he came from.

"Mordecai?"

The wolf slammed his ears back with a whine. Y/N wiped some slobber off their face, took one more look at him and bolted out the room as soon as they were back on their paws.

---

Thirty minutes later, Y/N had Mordecai on the couch again with his chin in their lap, his tail (a weird fusion of a cat's tail and a wolf's one) wagging full throttle as they patted his head. His ruined clothes were in a pile on the floor next to the deep gouges caused by Morde's claws mid-transformation.

"I thought werewolves were just a silly legend," Y/N mused, looking down at their boyfriend. "An' now I'm dating one. Funny how that works, hm?"

Mordecai gave them a wolfy grin, making Y/N snort a laugh. "Oh man, if only you had a camera. The twins would get a kick out of this."

Mordecai frowned at the mention of them and plopped his head down again. Y/N scratched his ruff. "I'm joking. This must be terrifying for you. I'm glad I was here, what if you'd gotten out?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't, of course; they had long since discovered that he can't speak anymore. Y/N sighed and leaned their head back.

"Tomorrow you're gonna wake up and think it's all just a bad dream," they muttered. "That's if you remember this at all. No wonder you've been acting so off for the past week, the curse was working its way in. Do you know who bit you?"

Mordecai scoffed. Y/N snorted a laugh. "Sounds like there's still a bit of you still in there."

Their claws dug into his ruff again, scratching the nice itchy spots. The wolf heaved a heavy sigh and went to sleep, feeling safe around Mordecai's mate.

'Excuse me? They're not my 'mate'.'

His mate, the wolf insisted.

'This is humiliating. I'd like to be back in control soon, please.'

---

He got his wish hours later. He felt physically smaller, there was no giant overwhelming blanket of fur around his mind and when he rubbed his eyes his own fur was considerably softer.

"Good morning, Mordecai."

And Y/N was there, thankfully in one piece without so much as a scratch on them. Mordecai coughed to force away a relieved purr and pushed himself upright on the couch.

"So you're a werewolf, hm?" Y/N cut right to the chase, putting a cup of tea on the windowsill and sitting next to him again. "Looks like a ball of fun."

"I can assure you it is everything but."

Y/N's ears flicked back. "I'm sorry. Do you know how this happened?"

Against his stubborn wishes, he slowly nodded. "I was...Attacked by a similarly afflicted feline, a month ago exactly."

"Holy..."

If Y/N wasn't covered in fur, he was sure they would be pale. An unfamiliar feeling jabbed Mordecai in the chest. He was too dangerous to live with now. Were they going to leave?

Why did the thought bother him so much?

'Mate,' the wolf whimpered. Of course the stupid creature is the reason as to why.

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, drawing both his and the wolf's attention. Y/N was clearly unsure, yet forced a small smile for them him.

"I can't imagine what it's like having to live with this now," they said. "But I'll be here for all of it."

"Y/N, I am a danger to you now. I could maul you at a moment's notice."

"You would not," Y/N playfully scolded, a foil to the wolf's insulted grumble. "You're a sweetie as a werewolf. I've never been kissed so much in my life!"

The wolf's insulted grumble turned into a low whine when Mordecai snapped his eyes shut to mentally glare at the stupid animal as hard as he could. Despite the whine, the wolf stood firm. 'Mate.'

'My PARTNER is not your MATE.'

'Partner. Mate. Same thing.'

"Morde?"

Mordecai shook himself out of it and turned to his partner again. They took his hand and threaded their fingers together, black and white mixing with (H/C) that somehow fit perfectly.

"I know it's going to be scary," they started. "And...God, my heart breaks just thinking about seeing you in so much pain again. But I'm in it for the long run, Mordecai. We made a promise to try and I'm holding on to it. I met the wolf. He seems to like me. He's not a dumb killing machine any more than you are."

(Mordecai pushed away the wolf when it sent him a strong feeling of "I told you so" satisfaction.)

"If I stuck by you through the twins putting me through 'initiation'," Y/N continued, "why would this be any different?"

That was the final push the wolf needed. Mordecai was thrown out of control of his own body and the wolf lunged, pinning Y/N down and licking their furry face while they laughed uncontrollably. They took a minute to free themselves from the wolf and held its chin in their hand, lightly booping its nose to reprimand it.

"Bad boy!" They teased. "I was talking to Mordecai, not you!"

Unfortunately for Y/N, they were supposed to be one and the same. But for that to happen Mordecai would have to come to terms with the fact he is now, in a weird way, essentially half wolf.

That metaphorical mud bath was starting to look pretty good.

#🖋 mod ille #Mordecai Heller #Oneshot on the Rocks #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy x reader #werewolf #werewolf transformation

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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40+ requests once again, holy cow! You guys just flooded the place! This join hasn't been jumping like this since the first week we opened!

#🖋 mod ille #scrap heap #Not A Request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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What age rating is Lackadaisy and is it for teens/young adults? Sorry if this sounds dumb to ask.

It's not at all dumb to ask!

Lackadaisy depicts:

Violence, including gun violence.

Some bloodshed. Not especially graphic.

Characters engaging in criminal activity.

Characters consuming alcohol and smoking.

Mild language. The characters curse, but usually use colorful 1920s-isms instead of your conventional four letter words.

Mild innuendo, but no sexual content.

It falls into a teen and up, or roughly PG-13 category.

#Lackadaisy #scrap heap #Not A Request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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hi, the way this blog is formatted and the menu is written is so creative and fitting! i had a great time looking through it

may i request some fem reader w rocky? maybe him playing the violin or reciting poems in a public space to himself and reader is the only one to react (positively) so he immediately is struck in awe. please and thank you :)

Good evening, Anon!! First off, thank you very much for the compliment. Two things you should know, however...

This ended up over three thousand words long somehow. (For the record, it was gonna be a scenario.)

It's the cheesiest meet-cute I've ever written, so I advise you all to brace yourselves, folks-

That being said, enjoy!! <3

When you heard it, everything else quieted.

The thunder of cars bolting down a busy road, metal armor bobbing upon four wheels as they broke past and left smaugful clamor clashing against the monstrum business blocks, softened to but a distant skitter of shiny black bugs ambling self-importantly about. The cacophony of pedestrians, indiscernible faces in square suits and tasteful pastels spewing bits of language into one converging mess, each voice independent yet competing for dominance until they clawed at your eardrums and suffocated your thoughts now felt no graver than the meek rustle of forest foliage when coddled by the summer breeze; a humming chorus to a beautiful solist’s serenade, and when a bycicle trilled inches past normally skittish, city-dweller you it didn’t even occur to step aside as you were far too absorbed in the one delightful sound that made the greys of asphalt’s reign seem greyer and dulled even the most striking women’s daywear to sun-worn cleaning rags in comparison.

It was a melody the color of blue, matching his eyes.

You hadn’t a chance to admire them for long when you spotted him in the crowd. They drifted closed for long stretches of time as their owner’s features suggested a deep, gentle focus on the music, his whole being smoothing into the instrument. There was something bewitching about the violin, you found; seemed even its players could seldom resist its particular pull, fingers dancing across the strings as if possessed by magic. The rosined bow dipped to and fro in a hypnotic sequence that pulsed like the rise and ebb of the tides; sometimes the pace changed, slowed to but a meandering, peaceful ponderance before it flew from the threads of catgut like nimble sparks of lightning, with the ease and comfort of at least a thousand hours of practice.

Must’ve been a classical piece, if not improv; but for that far too complex. Vivaldi? Mozart? You hadn’t heard it before, so you couldn’t confirm, however it proved the enchanting stranger to be both talented and educated. He looked up from his divine craft to initiate eye contact with passersby and, yes, he had the bluest eyes indeed, seated under emphatic brows, and he gave a hopeful smile of such integrity to those undeserving strangers who walked past in indifference as if he’d been an smaug-borne ghost, a trick of the light invisible to all but yourself and when he turned in resignation and his gaze caught upon you, playing still, your breath hitched in your throat.

How long had you been gawking there, frozen on the sidewalk like a dimwit? Oh, no. He must have thought you such a creeper; a notion which you had to rectify, and rectify it quick. Puff your chest out, march up, tell him you liked his playing and leave a dime; you took off at once with this very plan in mind.

In doing so, you forgot you had stood on opposing sides of the road.

Heels clicked across hot concrete in a headlong hurry. You realized that the cars were still coming midway through when his eyes widened in horror and a spontaneous screech of tires replaced that joyous melody. You stumbled back, blinded by car polish and a pair of glaring headlights you profusely apologized to before skittering away from a second car in the right lane when it came to an angry halt likewise. Loud honks scolded you along your path whilst you yelled back sheepish sorries.

Well, talk about making an entrance.

As you reached the paved edge, a hand manifested to help you up on it.

“Are you alright, miss?”

And blue eyes. You felt yourself sink further into the road with the transient wish those cars had hit you after all, nonetheless took the offer and tottered along with the stranger’s help. He held bow and violin in his other hand, by the neck, and you narrowly avoided stepping on their rickety case with a meager amount of coins and a crumpled up bill inside.

Ah, right. He’d been busking, after all.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he reiterated, scanning you, and you realized you’d missed the previous question. “It’s hardly safe to cross this thoroughfare without looking both ways first, you know. You ought to try that next time.”

“I know, I know– I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

You weren’t. Not when this handsome vagabond with the most radiant blue oculars you’d ever seen and enough of a musical gift to put you in a trance kept observing you from such proximity whilst implicitly chiding you for being a tunnel-visioned idiot.

“Well, great news, then!” he grinned. Oh. That’s a lot of teeth, you noted with slightly raising eyebrows. “I doubt I’d have been able to sleep tonight had you met an undue fate under the stampede of these motorized beasts all for just trying to reach me.”

An odd penchant for metaphors, too. When you didn’t respond right away, he withdrew his gesturing hand in contemplation.

“You… were careening specifically my way, yes?”

“Yes!”

You snapped out of your appreciation for his endearingly boyish timbre and thereby commenced a frantic battle with your purse as you attempted to pry something from it.

“Right, I was heading this way– just give me a moment–”

He watched in intrigue as you counted something he couldn’t see under your breath, then produced the intended amount of what he identified to be cash and reached to hand it over to him, near breathless.

“I really loved your playing.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye yet hardly missed his astonishment when he conceived the sum.

“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”

“Yes,” you affirmed curtly. “What of it?”

“I can’t accept that.”

Hearing which, you did finally face him with a frown.

“You’re a very kind soul,” he asserted in a hurry, smile never faltering, “and I’m thoroughly humbled by your contribution, but I cannot rob a lady of her hard earned pay in good conscience for that frivolous noise–”

“It was beautiful noise,” you interjected with knitted brows, “I really did enjoy it, and you deserve much better audience than the pedestrians of some drab street corner who’ll never bother to pay your music the attention it deserves.”

You pointed curtly toward the flow of people. Some in turn spared you a glance, but then you blended into their scenery again like another pair of shop mannequins.

“So take it from a lady,” you enunciated, all but shoving the money in his chest, “and I sincerely hope you end up in a concert hall someday.”

You exhaled and waited. He stared at your extended hand, then you, then at your hand and back again and gorgeous as you found those gleaming sapphires you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your arm muscles trembled, and you contemplated whether sparing yourself from the awkwardness of further playing statue might be worth giving up anyway.

Finally, he seized your wrist with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice your startlement as he was busy beaming at you bright enough to put celestial bodies to shame.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh…”

God forsake it, that smile alone was turning your heart into a fluffy, overripe dandelion inside your chest. If he kept up, you feared he might just blow it apart.

But you managed to tell.

“Well, miss…” he began, implementing your surname, and you would’ve bolted on pure instinct had you not taken root at your spot, “your generous praise is, by far and large, the most invaluable gift I could’ve received on this brilliant morning.”

You took a deep inhale, acutely aware of his touch tingling across your skin even though he meant nothing by it… you supposed.

“You have certainly made a lowly troubadour’s day with your gracious approbation,” he patted your knuckles, at the same time gently shoving your offer away. “You see, I could tell from the moment our gazes locked across the street that I would enjoy the pleasure of meeting someone positively extraordinary… right after she ambled through the active traffic. Call it a concise connection of kindred souls, if you will. You, miss, have proved yourself a true appreciator of the arts.”

When those blue eyes were holding yours hostage so intently, you almost did believe he could see into your very soul. You tried to brave it, however.

“Thank y–”

“Which is why this won’t be needed.”

You held the rejected money against your chest, where he had guided it.

“You’ll be better off forfeiting it to charity,” he suggested, “if aiding the honest predicaments of your fellow citizens in need is a cause dear to your heart. Like orphans! Those poor, unmothered things, always caught in the throes of some quintessential lack or other; surely they could put your benevolent funds to good use… that is, in case you are looking to make a charity. If you’re not interested in, erm, providing for the orphans, that’s still quite fine. You just seem to me the sort to care for children. But that doesn’t make it your obligation, of course, to feed the orphans… no one is about to force that duty upon you… in equally sound conscience I suppose you could just as well keep the money…”

He proceeded along his mildly morally concerned tangent, but any of it beyond the lip movements you ceased to process. Some convoluted cliché about personal indulgence over supporting the waifs of the world, you reckoned. In terms of lifting your spirits it achieved a ludicrous heap of nothing, and amidst your silent marinating in this strange and unexpected failure of your strange and unexpected encounter, you continued to clutch the bills to yourself.

You didn’t figure that may have looked like dismay on his end until he trailed off, fidgeting vaguely as he probed your expression. The warmth of his hands on yours still lingered.

“My attempt at a point is,” he resumed at a slower pace, “you’re awful generous, but to tell you the truth, I’m quite comfortably off without the help. I am employed, after all.”

“You are?”

Rude as it sounded to gape the question so, you hadn’t considered that possibility. He was… well, not badly dressed, but his clothes appeared worn and a tad oversized on his comically skinny limbs, granting him a ragamuffin sort of appearance.

Though you still found it quite charming.

“Sure am!” he grinned in earnest, and you’d soon come to accept that his face simply looked that way when he did. “This is only some nifty supplemental income for a craft I spend day and night honing anyway. Really, I play out here to preserve my associates’ peace of mind more than anything. The other day they got so peeved with all the melodic caterwauling my boss had to fetch a broomstick and chase me out into the great wide open after failing to quiet me down.”

A chuckle escaped you at the joke, and it’s like his eyes gleamed brighter.

“What can I say,” he admitted with a theatrical shrug, “a musician’s ichor pulses to the ever-flowing rhythm of higher realms beckoning. That can hardly be helped. When my eager heart doesn’t sing Apollo’s odes from the strings, it reaches for the lyre, however… but they don’t deal in stanzas and limericks on the job market in contemporary times.” He glanced off into the distance wistfully, as if envisioning an ideal future where they did. “Miss M, our aforementioned lady-in-charge, says it’s only since our customers can’t exactly do the Lindy Hop to recitativo verse form.”

“So that means you’re a poet?”

“Indeed!”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He gave his vest a proud little adjustment as part of the performance, not that it served to make him look any more presentable.

“Vivacious vicinal versificator,” he expatiated with a playful half-bow, “humble herald of numinous inspiration, eulogizing the beauties of this peculiar earthly life to the cobblestone and the stars for a passtime. Old Muddy Miss herself has proven to be my most faithful audience… and for lack of substantial competition, in her listening skills she remains unexcelled.”

“Not for long, I should hope.”

That made him pause. Your nerves struck you alert as you rushed to explain.

“That is, well, I would be curious to join said, um, audience… mayhaps… sometime. I mean– you have a fascinating vocabulary, sir, so I can only imagine…”

He listened on with perplexed blue eyes; you mentally smacked yourself for the honorific. No one so refreshingly unrefined as this overeager stray puppy of a man could even remotely qualify for a ‘sir’, and you were happy about that, because had you made so many social blunders with any other stranger in succession you would’ve craved death.

He took his sweet time providing a readable reaction, but when he did he laughed. Not with a mocking edge, as you had feared; the sound tinkled as melodically as his trusty violin.

“Oh, miss, you’re just a bundle of pleasant surprises.”

You came to chuckle along, too, a nervous smile stretching your lips. He took your hand again.

“I’d be delighted to deliver a private recital,” he dipped forward then paused, perhaps contemplating whether a kiss on the back of it would be appropriate, peering up at you in a bluest display of rapt attention that made your heart leap, “if that’s truly the case.”

You averted your eyes. The vague unease as if you’d given your name to a fae in a stroke of recklessness minutes prior melted into the bustle of sluggish, smoke-ridden traffic.

“So where is it that you work?” you switched the topic.

Attuned, he let go of your hand as if it had burned him, adjusting his hat like an excuse.

“Little Daisy Café,” he responded quickly, perpetual cheer intact. “It’s just an ambitious spit from here, actually, a few blocks down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where you’d been headed. “Awful cute little gem of an establishment. Perhaps you’ve been to?”

“No, not that I recall.”

“Well, I can only recommend that you drop by. The pancakes are to die for.”

“And there’s live music?”

You both glanced at the violin, then back at each other. He gave you another grin that you couldn’t help but detect as somewhat complicit.

“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”

You let your eyes linger on one of the boutique windows in the background; a closed one under construction. The ample light struck it at an angle which obscured the debris-filled darkness and activity inside, flawless glass surface glimmering at front in gorgeous deceit. Its reflective sheen conjured an alluring vision; deep azure sky dotted with fringed, fluffy lamb-clouds.

Suppose you offered it.

“Well, if you won’t let yourself be tipped,” you sighed, putting your money away, “may I treat you to breakfast, at least? A plate of those fabled pancakes, even?”

Childlike delight flashed across his face before the metaphorical reins were pulled back with a frantic grip.

“Why, miss, you’re spoiling me,” he lamented, “but I really shouldn’t–”

“I was heading for the bakery myself,” you continued with a pacifying gesture, “but now with your recommendation in mind, I might as well try a treat from that ‘little gem’ of a café, no? You could show me the way there, and… I suppose I could listen to those stanzas of yours, if you’d be willing to share…”

The words intended to compose the rest of your reasoning kept tumbling from your grasp before you could string them together, and someone in the crowd of pedestrians laughed. A snooty, feminine laugh. He kept watching you and you only, however, engulfing you in that mysterious blue once again.

“…granted that is okay with you, of course.”

He began to smile like the sun itself and dove with startling momentum for the violin case.

“Why, it’d be most uncouth to refuse the benevolent offer of such lovely ladyship,” he concluded while packing away his instrument then slapped the lid over the case once finished, money withstanding, “and I don’t reckon I’ll make two more pennies to rub together this morning, so I’d be more than happy to escort you along.”

He grabbed the handle and sprung up, beaming at you with the energy of a couple additional suns before he got an idea and moved to offer his free arm toward you like the smoothest of gallants. Clearing his throat, to boot.

“Mademoiselle?”

You put a hand to your chest, accentuating the action with a playful once-over.

“Chivalrous,” you chuckled before locking his arm with your own. The two of you would set off this way not unlike lovers, which he stiffened at the realization of.

“Too much?” he questioned.

“No, it’s quite alright.”

The cracks in the sidewalk became very interesting all of a sudden, however. You could feel his skinniness and lack of musculature thus far only guessed through the rolled-sleeved shirt; not that you minded.

Must have not gotten treated to meals often.

“About that poetry,” he piped up a bit quieter than before, “granted you won’t tire of my voice ahead of time…”

“Don’t be silly.”

You gave him a look, then caught yourself.

“Well, alright,” he resigned with an evaluating pout when you turned away, “but, uh… unfortunately, most of my limbs are occupied. And the fervent gesticulation makes up half the performence.”

By that point, you found yourself believing him. You all but burst into laughter at the mental image.

“Maybe you can gesticulate it to me after the fact,” you quipped.

“…Fair enough.”

You reached a street corner together and turned it. From the corner of your eye, a young couple were teasing each other by a flower shop on the opposite side of the road with a posy gift of piquant red tulips, blushing and giggling. You matched the bouncing steps of the stranger you were intertwined with in newfound giddiness.

“Let’s see,” he pondered, scanning the rows of buildings in an absent-minded manner before his eyes lit up. “Right! As fortune would have it, there does happen to be one I’ve been itching to inflict on a willing pair of ears for the past week…”

He made a big show of clearing his throat before he began; you were eager to let the mesmerized flow that had brought you to him in the first place take you along, absorbing the dramatic inflection and animated spirit oozing from his entire complexion as he made the widest gestures he was capable of in his inhibited position nonetheless.

A stranger indeed…

“Wait!”

Before he could proceed with any experimental odes to clay and calicos, you cut him off. He turned to you right away, magic put on hold.

“I never caught your name.”

He glanced around in recollection before those notorious brows sprung up.

“I never passed it,” he exclaimed, bewildered, and wriggled from your hold haphazardly as he scrambled for his hat. “Oh, foolish I! Forgive me this horrendous discourtesy, milady, if you might find it in your heart.”

You simply observed him in amusement.

A zephyr swept along the length of the street, bringing where you stood a nectarine fragrance which, though delicate, transcended the heavy smoke and for a delightful moment let you smell nothing but itself. With his hat now off and held politely to his chest, the breeze ruffled his tousled hair as it did yours. His blue eyes shone in the urban grey like diamonds.

“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”

And when he said it, you already knew you wouldn’t tire of that voice anytime soon.

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#{fun fact!! I did a bit of research on how much ten dollars would've been worth back then}#{and I came out of it still not understanding how dollars work}#{anyway this is finally finished!! keep feeling like there's something weird or historically inaccurate here that I can't quite identify}#{if that's the case feel free to point it out to me!! I don't rlly write historical fiction like. ever}#{Lackadaisy fics sure are a challenge for that reason hahah}#{but I do love it}#lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky lackadaisy #lackadaisy rocky #rocky rickaby x reader #lackadaisy x reader #reader insert

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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Hi I just wanted to say that I personally adore it when you guys play along with the bar/speakeasy thing in requests it makes me so giddy and I have no idea why

Back to work

#🖋 mod ille #Not to say everyone has to do it it just #Makes me so happy!! And I don't know why!!#I need more sleep #scrap heap #Not A Request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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welcome back! could i request a headcanon homebrew with mordecai x a gender neutral reader who's kind of deceptively smart? they're chatty and jokey but have a secret passion for literature and art or something. they have more in common than they think basically (thanks in advance!!)

Comin' right up!

"I'll get something out before the end of the weekend I promise" they say as they immediately go back to their GenLoss fic after smfh

Mordecai usually doesn't like cats talking his ear off. He's pretty quiet by nature. However with Y/N it's less they're talking his ear off and more filling the space between his answers. They aren't a motormouth, just very enthusiastic.

This along with their mutual distrust of the Savoy twins means that he grew close to the new hire faster than he would like to admit.

Y/N's opinion of him is best described as ambiguous. They will sometimes use Rocky-level vocabulary just to get out of talking about things; this is one of those subjects they desperately prattle on about to dodge. In an odd way, they get out of talking about Mordecai by talking incessantly about Mordecai.

This frustrating way of weaseling out of the conversation works like a charm as it turns cats off from talking to them altogether. ;v;

Y/N frustrates Morde sometimes. They have such insightful comments about things, he knows there is a brain in there, and yet often when they start talking they can't stop. Their odd friendship is held together with duct tape, linguistic friendly banter over bullet holes being patched up, mutual interests, mutual agreement to let the other go on about their special interests and Y/N's damn insistence on seeking him out whenever they get lonely.

#🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Mordecai Heller #lackadaisy reader insert #headcanon #It's a bit short; my apologies #Yes Y/N is ND-coded why do you ask

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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Also sorry for the holdup guys we opened this and then immediately got distracted (or at least I did)

I'm gonna crank something out before the end of the next week I promise I'm digging through the inbox as we speak-

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

HELLO???

#🖋 mod ille #scrap heap #Not a Request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

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☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

HELLO???

#🖋 mod ille #ASINJFSDF THANK YOU #scrap heap #Not a Request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 10 months

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Are crossover-ed drinks of foreign lands permitted?

Translated: Are crossover stuff with other fandoms allowed?

Yes, absolutely! If we know what lands you want a taste from, that is.

(i.e. if we know the fandom. Feel free to check our accounts for what we're into/know about! (For me personally since my list isn't pinned nor immediately visible you may look here))

#🖋 mod ille #Scrap Heap #not a request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 10 months

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Our doors are open once again!

Hey, all. We've more or less caught up with all the drinks waiting on our tab, so we've opened up shop (i.e. the inbox) once more!

The support from you all during the wait has been amazing, impatient few eggs be damned. I'll be happy to serve you all again.

So what'll it be?

#🖋 mod ille

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 10 months

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Pardon me, I just stumbled across this classy little joint, and I'm feeling a little adventurous. I'd like to order a Oneshot On The Rocks, Nico Savoy flavor.

(Gender neutral, fluff. Nico gets into one of his romantic flings with a fellow coworker he's done a few jobs with, but he realizes he likes them too much to let them go.)

I know you have other patrons here, so take your time. I'll be here all night.

Nicodeme Savoy had always been cold.

It had started right from a young age: in the cold stone halls of the convent orphanage; in the stiff wind during the first night he spent on the road with his sister Serafine; in the mud of the marshes they trudged through, only to just get away and be together.

The cold continued through the years, in the cold shoulders people would give him when he asked question—no one wanted to talk to two run away orphans and get in trouble with the cops. It was cold like all the dinners they had to have. It was cold like the glares people would give when they tried to buy something with the little money they tried to scrape together, because they assumed they'd steal anyway. By refusing to let them be honest, they ended up committing more crimes by the age of eighteen than most. It was cold like the slithering bodies of snakes that crawled over them while they slept, like the alligators' thick skin when they found a carcass or came too close to a sleeping one. Everything was cold: the nights, the days, and eventually Nico himself.

Like a reptile, he had cold blood. Empathy was relatively unknown to him. The few jobs he did were those no one would have accepted in a million years—murders, thefts, even hijackings. He did them all with no problems and no moral qualms either. That coldness stayed throughout his life and leaked into things more personal.

He had never been truly lucky in love, or at least lucky enough to keep the ones he had. His conquest list consisted mainly of one night stands, or three months at the most. When they realized it wouldn't work out, many of them turned to anger. They called him cold hearted, just as his enemies called him cold blooded.

Nico paid attention to none of it. He was fine with what he had always had. He didn't need warmth he had spent all his life in the cold he wasn't about to stop now.

But then one day there was something else. Someone else.

At first it, Y/N was just a simple new hire that the Marigold had bought into its liquor circles. It wouldn't be the first time Nico had gone and done a few jobs with a rookie, however it would be the first time that he would become friends with them. There was something about them that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way they matched his skill, or how they proved they were so much cleverer than him, strategized better, truly showed how much of an asset to the Marigold they were.

It surprised him, so he gave it a shot, and as most of his rare new friendships did, banter turned to flirting. Oftentimes, it was one-sided but this time Y/N responded to his advances. That was indeed a surprise too. He played along and so did they.

It was a strange thing between them, something that tiptoed on the line of friendship. Again, Nico had seen something like it before. He knew where this would end and he was right when one night, drunken from an evening spent at the hotel bar, the two of them went back to his room together.

He thought that would be it. They would both get on with their lives and that night would be forgotten, swept away with all the others.

It was far easier said than done. For the first time in years, Nico felt something in him. He wouldn't call it a fire, it was more a single spark somewhere deep in this chest. He thought it would be some sort of heartburn from a poor diet. He ignored it for the most part, and then while looking for medicine he stumbled across Y/N again.

Before long, the burn became bearable. They were his medicine.

Nico didn't understand it, but he knew what made it better. He asked Y/N out on the proper date. They took him up on it and it went relatively well.

So he asked them on another one, and soon they were asking him.

A week turned into a month, a month into two, two months into three. It was when a six month anniversary passed by in a blink of an eye that Nico truly knew something was off.

He couldn't fathom moving on in any way, and that was strange. He was happy where he was romantically. The job was always the same but somehow it became easier, more fun by his partner's side, and then he couldn't ignore it anymore.

There was the warmth.

The hot, delicious feeling that spread throughout him whenever a kiss landed on his cheek, or when their hands took his, or even when a joke turned into shameless flirting. He felt like he was getting wrapped in a large blanket, something unfamiliar but still addicting and comfortable.

More importantly, it was warm.

Very warm.

So warm, he thought his heart might burst.

He had rarely felt anything like it before, except towards his sister. Still, this was different. This was burning with another passion.

He knew something was off, but somehow, for once, he couldn't bear to try and put it right.

He liked this heat, this residue of mistake as some people might call it. His whole body was searing fire and he was too happy and intrigued to try and put it out.

#🦉mod iphiko #lackadaisy #lackadaisy reader insert #nicodeme savoy #lackadaisy nico #oneshot on the rocks #nicodeme lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #twb mcc event #yep #that's the event that gave me enough motivation to write this

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

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aaAAAAAAAAAAAA OKAY!

after locking myself away for days, .. . . The character creator + preview for Under the Devil's Moon is complete! Download here, open in any browser that reads HTML. Works for both mobile, PC and Linux.

Please take a look, and perhaps plan a character or two! I'm very proud of it and def spent way too long agonizing over it, lol. There's also a ~4.5k preview for the story itself~

While there shouldn't be any major bugs or issues, please tell me if you come across any. And if there's any suggestions for additions or changes, please also let me know~ I can't add big things like more occupations, but most physical appearance stuff should be pretty easy to add in? We'll see!

okay im gonna go keel over now! peace.

#Y/N; You Got A Moment?#Lackadaisy #not a request

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

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Hiiii!!!! Can I please request a headcanon home brew with the reader being friends with rocky? It can be angsty or fluffy or whatever you prefer! Thank you 😁

Took a more lighthearted direction with this, to offset a particularly angsty romantic oneshot that’s eventually to come… One must maintain a balanced diet of their illicit beverages and all. It also ended up a bit specific. Hope you enjoy!

So you’ve become friends with the notorious poet, eh? Congratulations! There likely wasn’t much effort needed on your part.

He’s naturally talkative (and how) as well as sociable (though lacking the skill), but you had to have bumped into him several times in the same setting before a true habit was formed of it.

Being a regular at the café or the speakeasy is the setup that most easily lends itself… maybe one before the other, though he wouldn’t bring you downstairs unless you were explicitly interested. The criminal scene might not be everyone’s cup of tea, after all.

You’re less probable to find out about the Lackadaisy from him, either; it’s likely Ivy told you first, seeing how much you two get along as well as finding you genuinely personable and interesting. But if you end up undeterred by the revelation that he works for a bootlegging operation and would like to take that trip downstairs some night, he’ll be glad to have you see him play with the band!

Speaking of, if you were also an artist, he’d be elated.

The stanzas shall flow like water from an overly tenacious tap regardless of your expertise, of course. Uneducated listening ears are better than none, and he’ll appreciate even surface level analysis and positive feedback if you bother with such. Don’t fret if you don’t understand all of the words or get tangled up in an abundant array of alliterative allegories. You’ll learn to adjust accordingly. (Or so he assures.)

But! If you’re a kindred creative soul, it’s a common ground he’ll hop onto with utmost eagerness.

A fellow poet or writer? He’d hinge on your every word of appraisal. How did you like the flow of this one, (Y/N)? You could practically feel the expressionistic scenery enveloping you with this picturesque wording, could you not? What about that one metaphor about the stars, (Y/N)? Surely it conveyed his message on the sweet transience of life? (Y/N)? Oh, (Y/N)! Please answer him, (Y/N), he’s begging to know.

Don’t worry, it’s not one-sided. He’s always all up in your literary business and half-finished drafts in return, asking plenty of questions and insisting on being your first audience for everything. He’ll listen to you talk yourself out of plot holes and come in handy as a sentient thesaurus whenever you get stuck on the synonyms.

(Though I cannot guarantee he’s capable of providing a distraction-free environment. Any environment truly free of distractions is one where he is absent.)

A musician? Oh boy! Your instruments may not be the slightest bit compatible, but that could never stop him from making the most splendorous harmonies together with his dearest chum!

Teaching each other songs you know is a must. Beloved classics like Vivaldi as well as local tunes from either of your lands of origin; he’s an extremely quick learner, as you’ve found out, with a keen ear and significant thirst for knowledge, especially when it comes to things dear to your heart.

You’ve observed how deeply serene he appears to be when playing a certain song or two with a gentle folk-like ring, as if in a trance of reminiscence. He claims not to understand what you mean when you bring it up… so you play along in silent understanding, earning a smile back when your eyes meet that is, for a change, admittedly softer.

Or perhaps a visual artist? Painter? Comic strip illustrator? Cartoon animator?

He would so brag about having an animator friend (even if only aspiring). To the surprise of no one, he’s a great fan of those whimsical hand-drawn moving pictures. Some may find them silly, but in his vocabulary that’s a staple of high precedence.

Yes, he has been to the movies several times, and a shared interest would provide a stellar excuse to accompany you there. Unfortunately, he both refuses to let you treat and is perpetually penniless, so he has the two of you sneak in by less than rule-abiding means. You’ve gotten thrown out before. (Likely not the first time when going out somewhere with him, and neither is it the last.)

But let’s suppose you’re a painter instead. Likely you’re creating in the chiefly popular styles of the era; impressionism, surrealism, the like. Even if not, he still praises you for sticking to your individuality. If you’re a misunderstood artist like him, he reassures with genuine conviction that you’ll make it into the galleries someday, current trends be damned. (Maybe you both are simply ahead of your time.)

The contents or perceived quality are entirely negligible, because he will find a way to compliment your work. Usually his criticism is focused less around your technical skill and more so his emotions and ideas sparked by the sight that are occasionally heavily abstract or several degrees of detached from your original intent. Still, the different perspective can be… well, interesting to hear out, at least.

When you’re coloring or shading certain parts in certain ways, like circularly or with a soothing curve of the brush, he’ll trail off in whatever he was doing or prattling on about and watch quietly for a bit as you work. It’s only embarrassing when he was in the middle of telling you something; he might even lose that line of thought. (Far from the only time that ever happens to him, so you’re forgiving by now.)

Listen, stimboards didn’t exist in the 1920s. He’ll take what he can get.

As for him, well, his personality isn’t the only thing that stopped substantially developing at the age of twelve. His visual art skills might begin and end at silly-looking scribbles caricaturing himself and the people he knows, but he’s satisfied nonetheless. Ambitious rhymes and ornate metaphors are more his department.

He’s still gotten a chuckle or two out of you with his humorously misshapen efforts at drawing you, so he considers that a win as well.

I’ve mentioned lands of origin. If you’re from a state he’s yet to have visited, he’ll surely ask a number of questions about your experiences living there. But if you’re from overseas? Another continent? Nation he’s scarcely heard of? Square that number and multiply by ten thousand.

It’s exciting to hear about different cultures, alright? He likes to understand you better. In any case you make an easier job of it for him than the other way around.

He’d likely have a lot of respect for you for learning English so well, even more so if mostly by yourself. (Viktor’s intimidating disposition and inclination to punch him at the slightest provocation are not the only reasons he never corrects his phrasing.) If he’d said some difficult or rare word you don’t understand, he wouldn’t have to hesitantly accept your complaints of confusion as exasperated mockery for a change and instead could take the time to kindly explain. Probably in an even more troublesome way. You go through like five overcomplicated synonyms before one of them finally rings a bell… but he’s patient.

Expect spontaneous “hey, how’d you say that in your language?” inquiries in the middle of a conversation, out of sheer curiosity. You may only laugh at his clumsy mimicking of your pronounciation once, because he adapts to the unique sounds of a foreign tongue scarily fast. He greets you with the everyday words you’re rather used to hearing around your hometown thousands of miles away and it’s downright uncanny how natural it sounds. (Which is why you’ve asked him not to do it without warning.)

You can’t quite hold conversations like that yet, but you reckon it’d be fun to annoy everyone else around you with if you ever got him to that point.

The others at the speakeasy are mostly baffled by the fact you’re willingly sticking around, especially if you’re not a colleague, for Rocky’s company. Not many people can, well, tolerate him. He’s honestly a bit much sometimes.

But you liked him when you were running from the cops together in scant apparel covered head to toe in dirt as the flames digesting some poor sod’s patio crackled distantly and you wondered how a starry night walk by the riverside had so inexplicably devolved into acts of incidental vandalism, and you continue to like him nowadays.

He’s your friend, after all. The adventures born of questionable choices are part of the deal. And like his soft-spokenly reluctant cousin (except less so motivated by guilt) you’re there with him through it all to make sure he doesn’t get himself in serious trouble… much.

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#headcanon home brew #lackadaisy #lackadaisy & reader #lackadaisy reader insert #reader insert #lackadaisy rocky #rocky lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby & reader

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