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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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I'm so glad I found your account! You guys are very talented <33

I know canonically Mortdecai isn't, uh, amazing with kids but what if a Marigold members daughter started hanging around the building (like Ivy did when she was younger) and she reminded Mortdecai of one of his sisters (Esthers moodiness or Roses cheeriness)? I'd love some headcanons about the scenario^^

I wasn't going to write this until later but I absolutely had to jump ahead of schedule and write this because it nagged at my mind almost all week. You even started an AU for the other mods and I, anon. This little idea is so tasty and adfghfgferhrj

You are the biggest brain and I hope you don't mind that me and Iphiko (and maybe even Rory!) had a little taste of this drink ourselves first. Different bottle, don't worry, we haven't touched any of what's in your hand right now

Also thank you so much for your kind words! I'm really glad you guys are enjoying these things (as if the inbox flooding wasn't proof enough), it makes us Lackadaisy Moonshiners so happy and gives me an excuse to keep writing. You're all awesome!

At first, it almost stings. He still remembers Ivy, after all; her wandering around following Viktor or whoever caught her eye whenever she could. It was cute. Adorable, even.

But Mordecai seems to be the target of this little beast's attention. And no amount of waving her off, gently pushing her away with his foot or annoyed threats will get her to pick someone else.

The Savoys are enamored with the little bugger. Serafine started calling her "Bébé Couteau" (Baby Knife) after being allowed to teach her some knife tricks (why Asa let them put a knife in the hands of a kitten, Mordecai will never know) and Nico picked up the habit of startling the little girl by picking her up and spinning with her...Which slowly evolved into throwing her across the bloody bar into Serafine's arms after an accident that resulted in the kitten getting yeeted by a distracted Nico (apparently she loved it (and to Serafine's credit, she ran like Hell to catch her); so it's not exactly safe but it's okay??)

Several speakeasy attendees mistake her to be Mordecai's kitten since she's always hanging around him (and especially so if she's a Tuxedo cat). It probably doesn't help that he loudly objects to the twins throwing the kitten back and forth like a football and has even ripped her out of their arms once or twice

They also (correctly) assume that he calls the shots when it comes to her. If she's making trouble or is heading somewhere that she shouldn't be, someone has to work up the courage to tell that ferocious shadow of Asa's. It's him, the queen cat that looks like she's constantly considering stabbing you or the heartthrob at the bar vicious son of a bitch who always looks like he knows that he's better than you

It's an unspoken rule between the three that Mordecai's word is law when it comes to the kitten. He hates this and is sure that they just use this as another excuse to tease him.

Asa scares the Hell out of the poor little thing. He tried greeting her once and she burst into tears and ran to Mordecai so he could protect her. The twins thought this was hysterical: the kitten adores the ground Mordecai walks on, laughs at Serafine's threats and thinks Nico throwing her at a soft target as hard as he can is the bee's knees; but Asa Sweet-the big fat cat with the softest features out of all of them-scares the living daylights out of her.

Mordecai thinks the kitten has a good judge of character sometimes. If it wasn't for her love of the chaotic duo he'd say that out loud

They brought the kitten along to a "meeting" once when she were sick with a fever. She cried when Mordecai left the car and Serafine refused to leave until she was comforted or at least sleeping, so (after some arguing and sweet-talking) Mordecai went back for her. When he didn't leave the vehicle for a few minutes, the Savoys went on without him.

They came back to find him reading a book, the kitten snuggled up against his side and sound asleep tucked under his coat and arm. The soft look in Morde's eye told Nico that maybe this wasn't the time to be teasing him.

This didn't stop Serafine. Mordecai hasn't heard the end of that event. (Asa also gave him some Hell for leaving the twins to do the dirty work, but Serafine and Nico shut him down pretty quickly-they found whatever crate he wanted, no witnesses are around to tell the tale, the job was done just fine and the kitten needed him more than they did. Shut up, Mr. Sweet.)

Whoever's daughter the kitten is, they'd better learn to deal with Mordecai becoming her guardian angel of death. If she doesn't have a parent and just wandered in somehow, she's gonna end up with something better: an aunt that'll teach her to kill and how to stay strong, an uncle that'll toss her around like a hot potato and teach her to be fearless and another uncle that'll pretend to not care for her until someone looks at her the wrong way.

Mordecai, Serafine and Nico. Probably the worst-fitting cats to be any kind of parental figures, yet ones that will guard a mutually-adopted kitten until their final breaths-whether they'll admit to it or not.

#🖋 mod ille #Mordecai Heller #Serafine Savoy #Nicodeme Savoy #Headcanon Home Brew #headcanon #Lackadaisy #Feel free to ask any of us for more because I adore this concept so much you have no idea #Anyone asking for a continuation will get it on the house if I pick it up

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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Yeah could I get a fuckin' uhhh, scenario (romantic) with Rocky and Mordecai (separate) with a gn reader? (If you're still taking requests, that is)

Basically the reader is a musician/singer who writes their own songs; usually the songs are about anything and everything, but not often about romance of any sort. Then, one day, the reader starts singing more and more love songs. The song is actually about them, but the reader keeps the lyrics juusst vague enough for plausible deniability. How would the boys react to discovering this?

Fuck kinda headcanon? /ref

Anon later specified that they meant headcanons, but I read it as scenario anyway. So Mordecai's are Oddly Specific Headcanons, I guess. We gotta stop amalgamating drinks

MORDECAI

He likes to believe he is nobody's fool. (And he is...Most of the time.) Being subtle doesn't work with him, either be upfront or you're wasting his time.

Y/N, however, seems to be able to play him like a fiddle. The creative musician always caught his eye when he was out running errands (either literal ones or ones that ended in death). It got to a point that he would sometimes go out of his way to pass by them or even stop by to listen to them, just for a moment. Something about their music, be it light-hearted, eerie, haunting or just plain sad; appealed to him. It helps that they were good at what they do.

Over time, they started to recognize him. This worried him at first, until it was shown that all they would do is give him an acknowledging nod and proceed to ignore him. Then they started trying to catch him after a number, going so far as to end a sidewalk performance just to try and catch him before he vanished into the crowd. Their music, likewise, changed; with a "feline made of shadow" being the main focus of a few concept songs.

This built up into "a cat with emeralds for eyes". Never in the same song, mind you. Say what you will about Y/N but they know that Mordecai is a bright son of a bitch and he'd catch that easily. How many black cats with green eyes are their in Saint Louis, they may not know; and gotta play it safe so they don't out themself.

The spaced-out alternating songs about a black cat and a green-eyed cat become their daily song routine, Mordecai notices. Barely a week goes by before they're mentioned. It's nice that Y/N has found a love beyond music, he supposes.

To this day, he kicks himself for not catching on early. However Asa thinks it's both heartwarming and hilarious that he somehow pulled a cat by being the most oblivious and avoidant feline possible.

(AKA 'Y/N and the Bitch They Pulled by being...Musical?')

ROCKY

Y/N and Rocky sometimes would perform together during his (admittedly rare) time off from the Lackadaisy gig. They wrote the music and sang, he'd play along on his violin if he came by, the performance was enhanced.

Y/N was with someone at the time, but it was more like a fling than anything truly serious. They and their S/O were mostly in it for the thrill of living with someone more than anything else. When the S/O broke it off, there were no complaints. They were happy to be a free runner for a little while.

They moved closer to the Lackadaisy when crowds were really picking up there. This also brought them closer to Rocky, who always seemed to be hanging around there for one reason or another. The duo started playing together as a result and Y/N got closer to Rocky and those damn blue eyes that they were so infatuated with.

So naturally, they wrote a song about them. But they went out of their way to never name-drop the owner of those nor even their fur colour or texture. They dare not even call him a "silver" cat in the song lest it tip him off as to who they're singing about.

Turns out, Rocky is completely oblivious regardless. They slip up at one point with a line about fine grey fur and he just punctuates it with a violin stroke, a wink and a grin.

Hold on. They are being subtle about their affection for him...Right?

Turns out Rocky is a lot brighter than he ever lets on. Not a lot of cats have blue eyes and grey fur, after all. He thinks it's funny, but Y/N burns alive with embarrassment and picks apart their wording to be even more vague.

It becomes a game for them. Y/N edits their songs to be vague, Rocky tries to catch them admitting how they feel about him. When he starts pausing in his playing to listen, Y/N feels like they're winning.

They both win, in the end...But Rocky decides to court them by being as vague as they were with him. Ivy calls them the most obnoxious secretive lovers she's ever seen, and they're both fine with that.

Being vague is a game to them. If you don't know how to play, then you're not part of the game.

#🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Lackadaisy #Mordecai Heller #Rocky RIckaby #headcanon #lackadaisy #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy x reader

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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 · 1 year

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Can I request Mordecai with a dead gn crush who can visit him in his dreams and can appear as a ghost if he's near/in a near death situation?

And let's say he's in a situation where he would have died but then the reader is like "You're not supposed to be here, I'm sending you back." And he wakes up alive. I think that'd be pretty cool

I wound up putting these two together. I hope neither of you mind.

TW for described gore and brief character death

"MERDE!" Serafine slammed the driver's side door shut and threw the clutch into reverse, the screeching of tires making her pin her ears back against her skull."Merde, merde, MERDE!!"

A large paw gripped Mordecai's own when he tried to speak, to ask her to stay quiet. "Shhh, cher," Nico whispered. "You're gonna be alright."

The constant pain in his abdomen begged to differ. Against his better judgement, he looked down at his stomach—or what was left of it—and groaned as it churned when he was met with the bloody mess of his innards. Nico's paw tightened on his own and the tomcat had a rigid set to his jaw when Mordecai looked to him again, though he still managed an easygoing smile.

"Keep 'im talking!" Serafine snapped. "We all know it's what he likes to do. Ask 'im about 'is—ah...His—'is home life!"

"I'll keep 'im going." Nico's voice was surprisingly level. "You focus on getting us back home."

The car ran over a bump in the road. Mordecai ground his teeth and hissed in anger and pain. Nico steadied him with his free hand, let Mordecai let go of his paw and almost pulled him into his lap.

The car was either much more steady on this side or this cat had enough body mass to make up for the pitiful amount of shock absorbers in the vehicle. Mordecai raised his head and made it onto Nico's shoulder to look out the window. "Where 're we...?"

"Home, cher." Nico's bandaged paw stroked Mordecai's head like he was a frightened kitten. "We're takin' you home to patch you up some. Sit tight, okay?"

Another bump in the road. Mordecai's confused brain tried to grab on to his stomach, to literally hold it in. He moved his head off Nico's shoulder just to lean against it. Everything felt heavy. He was so tired.

"Don't close those green eyes!" Nico's harsh pinch made him flinch. "You stay awake! We're almost there!"

"Wake m' up when we arrive."

"Serafine, pull over! We're losing 'im faster than you can drive!"

Car tires screeched again, this time to a stop. The lights started going out as Nico gathered him into his arms and tried to open the door with his elbow.

Mordecai made it to the grass outside before the world around him disappeared.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't to just suddenly exist in a white void. He could see his paws in front of him, he could feel his cufflinks when he adjusted them, but that was about it: this place was as empty as empty could get.

At least he wasn't in pain anymore. What a way to go; gored and confused. What an ending. Embarrassing.

"Fancy meeting you here."

He glanced around at the familiar voice, his eyes finally landing on a H/C cat standing with their arms crossed. "Y/N?"

"Hey, Heller. What're you doing here?"

Mordecai cleared his throat, then winced and rubbed it. Funny how that started hurting. "Yes, well...Ahem. I had—unfortunate and unforeseen circumstances arise-"

"You died."

"Yes. Like I said, unfortunate and unforeseen circumstances."

Y/N chuckled and walked closer to him, running their claws through their fur in playful exasperation. "Still talkin' like a dictionary, eh?"

"You can still "decode" what I say, it seems."

Y/N shook their head with a smile. For a moment they stood merely eyeing him, a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow in their expression. They looked much more lively from the last time he had seen them in person.

Probably because the last time, they weren't actually alive.

"You're not supposed to be here," they said with a shake of their head. "It's too early. Way, way too early."

"What are you going on about?"

"Your death, Morde." Y/N heaved an exasperated sigh and rubbed their temples. "Augh, I'm getting such a headache just talkin' to you. He's not gonna like this."

"What is—"

"I'm sending you back."

Back? Back to the bloodthirsty Savoy twins who would throw him under a train for a dollar? Back to walking on eggshells, trying to rein those two in with a roll of his eyes and sarcastic quip?

Back to his background mission. Y/N was right, he had to go back.

But first...

"Y/N. May I speak with you for another min—"

"Later." Y/N grabbed his upper arm and almost yanked him off his paws. "Come. Now."

Their no-nonsense tone told him this was not negotiable. The two walked in a hurry, Y/N sometimes glancing off to the side at something Mordecai couldn't see. What where they so afraid of?

They stopped suddenly, making the Tuxedo cat bump into them. They heaved a sigh and turned to him. "There's your way out. Go. Now!"

"I don't see anything."

"Of course you don't. Because why would he make this easy?"

Y/N shoved him ahead of them. His paw caught a doorframe and he braced against it. "Just one more moment! I need to ask you something."

"You're sister's not here, no. You're in Limbo, the in-between bit. Now please would you-"

"Before you passed on," Mordecai spoke over them. "Before the accident. You pulled me aside, you told me there was something urgent that needed my attention. What was it?"

Y/N hesitated. Their ears moved about like little radars before they sighed and folded them back.

"I love you, Mordecai." Their voice was low. "I had for a long time. At that point I finally worked up the nerve to tell you this, but, well...I died before I could. I spent a year waiting for us to meet again, even too early like now; but it's not there anymore, so don't worry about it. Now go home, I'll be watching over you."

They stepped forward and gave him a shove, making him stumble back through the invisible-to-him doorway and start falling.

Good lord, everything hurt. Everything from the abdomen up pounded, throbbed or crackled like electricity. His chest and stomach felt particularly weird, though considering he had died for an unknown amount of time there was small wonder as to why.

Mordecai carefully moved his left arm underneath him and pushed himself up, wincing and biting back a hiss at the discomfort rippling through his stomach when it squished. He rubbed his eyes to get read of the fog clouding his vision, finding himself in a familiar hotel room. A chicken clucked it's way past him, bones hanging from the ceiling glinted in the early-morning lighting and the smell of something he couldn't place was strong enough to make him sneeze.

The Savoys brought him to their apartment. The thought gave him a single drop of relief before he was gripped with fear. What the Hell had Serafine done to him while he was gone?

A fuzzy head suddenly poked into the room from the doorway. Nico gave him an easy smile and opened the door all the way. "Ah, cher, you're awake. How you feel?"

"Fine." Mordecai roughly cleared his throat. Talking was a chore all of a sudden. "Where are my things? I am heading home now."

"Oh no you are not, mon ami." Nico made his way further into the room, closing the door slowly and shoving the chicken away from it with his paw. "You die for twenty minutes, sleep for hours and think you can just leave?"

Mordecai felt his ears press against his head. Nico took a step back, so he either looked like he was going to bite him if he got closer or fearful for his life. The larger tomcat raised his paws in an "I'm innocent" gesture, so Mordecai pinned his hopes on the former.

"Settle down now, cher." Nico moved across from him to sit on the arm of the couch Mordecai was currently taking up residence in. "I am over de moon that you're feelin' fiery, but there is no need to try an' take my head off. My work is around your body, after all. Your filling is nice and snug now."

'My filling?'

Nico smiled wider. His smile faltered when Mordecai's eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the couch again.

Maybe it was a bit too soon to start teasing him about his brush with the maiden of death.

#🖋 mod ille #Oneshot on the Rocks #Mordecai Heller #Serafine Savoy #Nicodeme Savoy #Lackadaisy #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy x reader #mordecai lackadaisy

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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how do all the lackadaisy characters react to getting sick/how do the handle the situation. Thanks!! :3c

Lumping these two asks together as they are the same request. Ask and ye shall receive! (A collaborative effort between multiple of our authors as it does involve the whole cast.)

ROCKY

Sick? What do you mean sick. In his over twenty-two years of living thus far he's never been sick once. He has the immune system of a titan, what are you talking about.

Questions he whilst leaning heavily on the bar counter for support lest he is knocked to the ground in a feverish pile by this sudden earthquake that apparently no one else is noticing like seriously you guys shouldn't we evacuate the place?!

In his defense, he's right about one thing: illness seems to avoid him as prevalently and miraculously as death itself. He could get stuck in the rain, take cold mud baths, sleep outside in winter snow, hug someone with Spanish flu, taste the pavement of a rat-infested alley and drink raw sewage and still come out of it all fit as a fiddle.

(Whether he carries anything is a different question, though with the various microorganisms inside him he seems to live in an overwhelmingly peaceful coexistence.)

But every rule has exceptions. And since he frequently does end up in all those situations, when once a millennium he comes down with something it's hard to tell the cause.

How he handles it can be summed up in a short answer of: he doesn't. He refuses to acknowledge it until he's physically incapacitated. If asked about it he keeps insisting that he's fine, a-okay, dandy as can be, never has existed a more invigorated healthy young man on Earth. At best he may invent a perfectly unconvincing excuse, like allergies acting up. (Inside underground caves. In winter. When he's never been allergic to anything in his entire life.)

Aside from perhaps unsuccessfully forbidding him from causing more grievous disturbances than usual, people usually opt to just leave him to it, because once he's set his mind on being "fine" logical reasoning and sound advice are only breath wasted. Ever well-intentioned, Mitzi still tells him to get some rest every now and then, yet keeps stumbling into the boy as he's fumbling through whatever that unresting intent has currently possessed him to be doing.

This wouldn't be such an issue with, say, a cold, because regardless of his masochistic eagerness for activity it inevitably does pass, but if it's something that necessitates any amount of bedrest... well, good luck.

For one he hasn't really a place to rest. I mean... there's the car. No one but Ivy at the Lackadaisy seems to know he technically lives in there, and he's not too enthusiastic to disclose it himself; besides anywhere else actually suitable, like in Mitzi's apartment, he'd just feel like a capital nuisance.

But let's suppose a scenario with the ideal location and someone who cares enough to stick by and ensure he actually does stay put. Shouldering such a responsibility, they must be prepared for a minimum of two things.

For one: he's going to be even more unbearably talkative than usual. Because what else is there left for a restless spirit if the flesh is restrained? Nothing but to complain and lament and versify and prattle on incessantly about whatever comes careening hither along a changeful stream of consciousness. Albeit unwittingly, driving others insane with his aimless rambling is how he keeps himself... well, something.

It's like if his mind had to stop running at maximum speed for just a few minutes it would promptly crash for good. Which, for all we know, may really be the case.

(This is just my two cents, but: I think giving him drawing implements and a coloring book or just plain paper might keep him very nicely occupied, as well as relatively quiet. Be sure to provide plenty of paper though, if you don’t want him to start drawing on other things not meant to be drawn on when the supply runs out like an unsupervised kid... unless you welcome the idea of your walls and furniture being covered in doodles.)

The other, possibly more arduous challenge is keeping him inside the room in the first place. Not understanding nor agreeing with his special treatment largely experienced as imprisonment on his end, he seizes each arising opportunity to attempt to weasel away somehow.

And he's a trained escape artist.

Watch him closely but look away for even a second, and you'll find no trace of him left in the room when you look back. Lock him in there, he'll pick the lock in a pinch - or attempt the window, which depending on the floor number may carry various levels of risk. Tie him down (because you're getting desperate by now) and you're likely to stumble into him minutes later by the front door, having already wriggled his way out. Doesn’t matter which knot was used, he knows most of them by heart. (And even if he didn’t happen to, he’s resourceful enough.)

Like I’ve said before, he perseveres in resisting his confinement for as long as he's capable of moving his limbs around and some vague semblance of coherent thought. Even with his brains cooking with delirium one may have to rescue him as he's crawling along on the floor dragging with him the tangle of blankets he was last left swaddled in, not entirely clear on what direction he's headed but by all means dedicated.

He's not above manipulation either, in order to divert his warden’s attention or make them relinquish his firm supervision rooted in concern for his well-being. Because it's not like he's concerned about it; so why should anyone else be? In addition he's unshakably certain that his role in the Lackadaisy's rumrunning force as well as there in general is absolutely vital and requires that he always be available for employment regardless of if he’s even in a proper state for it. (Just look at the latest comic arc, for crying out loud.)

But psst. Here's a little personal tip, for (Y/N) specifically. If reasonable advice hits deaf ears, and cuffing him to a bedpost yields little results other than another mildly baffling escape attraction, there remains one other thing to try with better chances of success... a more hands-on approach, if you catch my drift.

(Cuddling. I'm talking about cuddling. If you've got a good grip on this string bean of a man he is certainly not going anywhere so long as you're vigilant. Doing so, of course, means risking your own health, which he won't fail to coyly point out either; but he'll otherwise put up minimal resistance and ultimately cave in because God knows he’s touch deprived and doesn't get held enough otherwise. Well, by not enough I mean not at all, ever. But that's exactly why it's a good thing you're here, isn't it?)

Overall, as amusing of a story collection to recount as his commonly absurd ailing escapades might provide later down the line, the fact that they very rarely happen is no doubt for the best. He engages in enough troublesome shenanigans as is.

FRECKLE

Surprisingly pragmatic about it. Yep. He's getting symptoms. Looks like he contracted something.

Best be careful about it... mostly because Nina wouldn't allow him running himself ragged anyhow.

Along with other moral virtues he's had honesty drilled into him from kittenhood. And although it's not always an option in... other matters... he's upfront about how he's feeling physically if not much else, and eventually does come to terms with it. (Once he’s confirmed with certainty that it’s not just the general nauseated feeling he gets whenever he thinks too deeply about his “work” nowadays.)

He doesn't want to infect other people, or incur the stern concern of his mother, so at the very least he stays around the house, doing small, mostly undemanding chores. He's aware it's not expected of him nor recommended, but he has a bit of restlessness to him too.

Mostly because, were it bad enough to confine him to bed in a blanketed bundle of suffering incarnate, all he'd be able to think about is that God's wrath finally caught up with him for being a horrible person and this was part of his rightful punishment. Even worse if he got a nasty fever; it's like he's already burning in Hell.

Distractions may be scarce, but if he's been told off from chores for sneezing on the washing-up or exhausting himself with much too overzealous hammering, he opts to read instead. Over the years he's amassed quite the collection of books, renowned classics and youth literature, and most of them still give off the fluttering remnants of a good kind of nostalgia when flipping through the pages.

And besides, immersing himself in someone else's story is far more pleasant than fretting over his own current predicaments.

Some company, from a safe distance of course, will do him wonders as well. Nina is not the most conversational woman around, and aside from checking on him regularly and ensuring his wellbeing they don't make much meaningful contact.

Rocky likely pops in from time to time however, forever enthused to just run his mouth for as long as allowed, and although he may get a bit too bombastic for Calvin's comparative lack of vitality sometimes he appreciates the distraction more than he's able to express it. And, believe it or not, it's not entirely one-sided either. Rocky has developed a keen sense for his quiet cousin's intent to contribute and will more than gladly listen to what he has to say.

He’ll also forward Ivy’s wishes for Calvin to get well soon as she’s just dying to be able to meet with him at the speakeasy again. (Definitely also attaches a teasing remark or two to the message.) Then he’s eventually ushered out by Nina and as soon as his hasty goodbyes are swallowed by the outdoors Calvin finds himself missing the noise already.

The paralyzed stillness of being sick gets to him a lot more than it shows… seeing as it leaves him a little too alone with his own mind. So he sinks into the comfort of old books until he’s incapacitated by a headache and sore eyes, and diligently rakes those seven leaves that had gathered across the back lawn since he last attended to them two hours before, and lingers outside in the garden until warmer hues overtake a sun-painted sky and the evening chill starts to bite, taking in all things green and alive and in motion to remind himself that he’s not a walking corpse. Not yet, anyway.

Due to his mom’s supervision as well as his own eagerness to follow instructions in order to escape his personal limbo as soon as possible, he does tend to recover fairly fast; and he’s a pretty hardy young lad, thank goodness, so it’s all quite uncommon of an ordeal. In short it’s back to the ol’ grindstone in a jiffy; you know, the kind of grindstone that pulverizes mortal lives and churns out dripping blood.

But hey, best not stop and mull over it too long.

IVY

Oh, it's a nightmare for her.

You mean she can't go out in the evenings anymore? Can't go shopping with friends? Can't procure booze with her criminal coworkers? Can't attend dates with her cute new boyfriend? (Well, those last two are one and the same, really.)

These are all vital activities for a young woman like her to pursue! What else is she supposed to do? Rot in her room and steer clear of all fun whilst everyone else keeps going on with their lives?!

Some flimsy cold is nowhere near enough to keep her away from the beloved Lackadaisy. She can still man the café counter with a little sniffle (taking care to sneeze on no one's food) or look absolutely gorgeous on the dancefloor decked in glimmering pearls and feathers with a slightly paler constitution. But if it's bad enough that she simply must stay put...

During classes the still life of an empty dormitory fills with upbeat contemporary tunes from her bedstand radio as she lies upon crumpled bedsheets, clad in her prettiest pajamas, surrounded by an almost ritualistic circle of tissues and magazines whilst flipping through one of the latter with her legs girlishly dangling in the air. This is likely the scene any visitors are greeted by as well.

She looks like she's coping rather well... until verbal contact ensues and she begins her long string of complaints about how she's feeling utterly miserable. Runny nose, sore throat, grating cough, an unshakable sense of fatigue and she can't even go anywhere! Her classmates are off studying or having fun themselves (as well as deliberately avoiding contact with her for obvious reasons), and she's got nothing to look at but patterned wallpaper and pictures of pretty clothes she currently can't even visit the boutiques for.

But once the grievances are shared she promptly guides the spotlight in their direction, upon which they are to share every last bit of information and news about all most recent ongoings in the world of the healthy. It is a requirement (she will not let them go until they oblige), but also an opportunity; they're welcome to spill the beans on how their week has been and any noteworthy things that happened to them and also to just chat with her about whatever else comes up in the process.

Another way she keeps herself involved with the outside world is through the telephone. The local operator can already tell if she's under the weather by the prevalence of hearing her slightly weathered, juvenile voice squeak for connection to mostly one line throughout the day.

Her calls may also be scheduled to a certain hour so that everyone can come up to Mitzi's office and say hi. That "everyone" overwhelmingly ends up being Rocky, who lingers around there a bit more insistently than usual nearing that time frame and never fails to make his presence known by shouting his own greetings and cheerful encouragements of perseverance into the receiver.

She always asks him about Viktor and Calvin since the former disappointingly refuses to engage with her calls, and the latter doesn't visit because boys aren't allowed in the dormitory... and because he's afraid of catching her sickness. (What a chicken.)

You’d better believe they both get a scolding once she’s recovered for not contacting her at all… though you can’t really stay mad at sheepishly apologetic, babyfaced Freckle McMurray, now can you

Supposing the presence of company who’s emotionally close enough, she may also get clingy in the physical sense. Yes, she knows it’s not very courteous to rub your germs all over someone, but oh, her head is just killing her and she’s exhausted and achy and utterly sick of being sick, hence she desperately needs to rest her chin on someone’s shoulder and latch onto their soft warmth. Really, they brought this upon themselves by daring to enter the sniffly lion cub’s den. Now they’re likely not allowed to move for… let’s say the next two hours. Alternatively, until she has to go to the bathroom or ask them to get her something to drink.

Yes, she’s a bit of a princess; and especially when she’s miserable she may occasionally indulge in showering a willing servant with her various requests. Fetch her this, throw away that, bring hot chocolate and snacks, take out the trash, give her attention. But how could you say no to those big, innocent eyes?

If it’s a schoolmate she will absolutely persuade them to skip their classes for the day and spend time with her instead, offering cuddles and gossip. Forgetting, or ignoring rather, that not everyone can afford to be so lax about their education. Though surely, full-time service as a personal maid slash stuffed animal is making a much better use of their time. She promises to do the same when they inevitably catch the illness themselves, if that’s any consolation.

Nightly adventures and consequent loss of sleep aside, she takes decent care of herself overall, so the understimulating agony of quarantined solitude luckily isn’t something she suffers more of than the average person… albeit that little she’s an expert at suffering luxuriously.

VIKTOR

No, he's not sick, you're just lying. The great, the indomitable, the fierce Viktor Vasco never gets sick.

Denial is definitely a big part of it. He will not admit to getting sick until he's too weak to stand, and even then he'll fight anyone who tries to get him to rest.

The boredom is somehow scarier than actual health concerns. Staying at home and being too ill to do anything except think means he'll think. And thinking leads to a whole load of other things that he doesn't want to get into.

Essentially, getting sick is a liability to everything, from his job to his sense of self.

However, good luck on trying to make him better. He will also stubbornly refuse any help that comes his way, will slam his door in the doctor's face and threaten to tear apart anyone who so much as suggests getting him medicine.

His colleagues from Lackadaisy have taken to asking Mrs Bapka, his neighbour, to administer anything they want to give him themselves (he will draw a line at punching an old woman and fellow Slovakian immigrant), or Ivy (no one can successfully dispose of Ivy and her headstrong attitude. No one.)

The last person he had actually listened to when he was sick was a certain Mordecai Heller. Needless to say, that's not the case anymore.

Maybe that's what really makes him so grumpy and reluctant.

ZIB

His immune system is either rock hard or absolute dogshit, there is no in-between. He can go through a crowd of cats with nasty 'bouts of the flu without catching it, but gets bedridden by something as small as a head cold.

Said wonky immune system may be because he tends to drink stuff cut with the most ridiculous ingredients (radiator fluid, coffin varnish, paint, water, mud, you name it he's probably tasted it)

When he gets laid up, he gets laid up hard (innuendo not intended). He has to drag himself out of bed during the worst parts of it and may not even bother, electing to curl up and shiver/cry from the pain/die where he's comfortable. His band members have to literally drag him out of there on those days and force food down his throat so he doesn't wither away

Goddammit you lanky noodle bitch look after your sick ass don't make everyone do it for you

MORDECAI

He hates falling ill with a passion. It's one of many reasons he drinks tea so often: if he does get sick, it won't hit him so hard.

He tends to try and shrug off small stuff (runny nose, mild to moderate headache, aches and pains) to go to work anyway; but he's no fool. If he really feels icky he'll stay at home and look after himself. As much as he hates to do it, he's only got one body and somebody has to look after it.

The Savoys bash/tease him relentlessly whenever he comes in sick. If the mild headache becomes something worth staying at home for, they'll go as far as to try and visit him (or get him to come to them). Is it guilt about ragging him about it, them missing him or just boredom? Hard to tell with those two.

Serafine once teased about playing as his "mama" and looking after him until he's better. Mordecai, in his sickness-muddled mind, flew off the handle at her...Though all the Savoys saw was him almost break a glass in his paws before telling them flatly to get out.

Neither one realized Serafine had hit a nerve until he refused to let them in for a few days after. Whether it was something about his past or Serafine betraying his trust to get him into her group, they let it go and pretended nothing happened once he was back in action (though there was a noticeably thicker wall between him and them)

SERAFINE/NICODEME

Meet the "clingy" duo.

They don't get sick often and have impressive immune systems, what with their past roaming the swamps and other dangerous conditions, but when they do? Oh boy...

They'll either cling to each other in private, or play it up and annoy a hapless colleague.

And by "hapless colleague", I mean Mordecai—because of course it is.

Sickness is less of an actual, preventive ailment, but rather an excuse to show off some dramatic acting skills.

"Oh, cher, I simply cannot move until you bring me some nice warm tea and chocolate!"

"If I die, tell the world I was warm and safe, because of our dear ami, Heller..."

"For crying out loud, you've both got nothing but a cold."

They'll still play it up.

Just because your nose is stuffy doesn't mean the rest of you has to be.

The show must go on, mon cher.

WICK

He gets sick really, really easily. He stays up late at night often, so he doesn't get much rest and his immunity suffers for it.

(Licking rock walls probably doesn't help with that. Muffinhead (affectionate))

He still does work and goes out when he's sick, which results in papers with shitty writing and his friends urging him to go and rest up, "we can go with you another day".

When he's not thinking straight he'll whine to Lacie about how no one wants to see him when he's sick; ignoring the fact that she's either making him food, putting a cold cloth on his head or literally came by just to say hi to him

He's a bit dim sometimes, but he's a loveable dim.

The easiest way to see how sick he is is to mention putting the work on pause or crack a joke at his expense. If he rapidly objects to not working or good-naturedly shrugs off the joke, it's a small thing, nothing to worry about. If all he has to say in response to not working is "I can't" and he tries to defend himself from the joke (or even worse, agrees with it), he's feeling god-awful.

Lacie tends to hide the alcohol away until he's feeling better. During the week or so he's really feeling foggy this actually works, since in his addled state he can't properly look for them.

MITZI (BONUS since she's been getting a fair bit of attention)

Mitzi doesn't get sick. She becomes inconvenienced.

She's also a real bitch when she's sick. It's less of a slipping mask and more of a "I can't be nice when my brain feels too big for my skull"

She'll still grin and bear it for Rocky. He's positively devoted to her, after all; the least she can do is swallow her nasty remarks and come up with something softer for him.

Some cats swear that she never falls ill or has anything happen to her...Usually because once it does happen she locks herself in her office and won't open the door if you're not Horatio or Viktor.

If another cat somehow gets through her door, can put up with her attitude swings and goes out of their way to help her through her illness, she may very well open up a little and talk to them easier. Something as small as a cup of tea during a ravenous headache will convince the then-bitchy queen that you're not all bad-and later that since you put up with her ravenous insults and still helped her, maybe you're worth swallowing her pride for and confiding in.

#{ahah!! hello!! Rory here!! so you may notice the slightly uneven distribution of (Y/N) here}#{even in my own parts I left Calvin out of it. the poor boy}#{and Rocky's easily goes over 1k because I got a bit excited. as you may guess he's my favorite}#{but reminder that (granted that requests are open at the time) we're more than happy to provide further servings of any of our concepts}#{more specialized or in-depth or what-have-you}#{although this IS a brew of headcanons. which are usually brief. I just got a tad eager with my first contribution here I suppose}#{hello to our lovely readers by the way!! :3}#{💌 mod rory 💌}#🦉mod iphiko #🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Rocky Rickaby #Calvin “Freckle” McMurray #Ivy Pepper #Viktor Vasko #Dorian “Zib” Zibowski #Mordecai Heller #Serafine Savoy #Nicodeme Savoy #Sedgewick “Wick” Sable #Mitzi May #headcanon #lackadaisy

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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what do you think the cat's favorite foods are, obviously excluding rocky and his syrup drowned pancakes?

I don't speak for all the mods, but for me personally...

Ivy has a hankering for sandwiches with lettuce in them. She likes the cronch. (She also used to chew on chicken bones when she was really young (for the same reason), which drove her parents mad.) She's also a really big fan of BLT sandwiches--bonus points if the bacon is really well done and brittle. MORE cronch!

Freckle's got a major sweet tooth, especially for strawberry ice cream. He doesn't react to sweet things as strongly as Rocky reacts to syrup, but he can get sugar highs fairly easily.

Zib just likes food. If it's edible he'll eat it. (He does have a preference for coffee cake, however.)

Wick, surprisingly, doesn't like rock candy. His weak spots are wine gummies and omelets (with or without generous amounts of whiskey in them).

Mordecai, like Zib, doesn't have an outward favourite; yet if he had a choice between breakfast options he'd go for french toast without fail. French toast + morning tea = happy Morde.

(Mordecai also likes ginger tea, yet he tends to avoid it in present days since it holds a stinging reminder of his mother.)

Viktor is a vegetarian. He will eat meat, but he won't be happy about it. (His favourite dish is Caesar salad.)

Mitzi likes eggnog with nutmeg and a pinch of whiskey in it.

The Savoys are ridiculously picky eaters after having to go several days (or even weeks) having to eat whatever they could get their hands on. Nico will only eat deer unless he really has to "look polite", Serafine rejects anything that doesn't have Winchester Sauce on it. If they don't have a choice, they leave. Simple as that.

#🖋 Mod Ille #Lackadaisy #Lackadaisy Cats #Ivy Pepper #Calvin McMurray #Freckle McMurray #Dorian Zibowski #Sedgewick Sable #Mordecai Heller #Viktor Vasko #Mitzi May #Nicodeme Savoy #Serafine Savoy #Headcanon #headcanon home brew

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 9 months

Text

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 · 1 year

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I have a craving for a oneshot on the rocks, with a hint harsh, a drip of tagic, a taste of spice, and an after taste as sweet a sugar.

For flavoring, I was thinking about of a Nicodeme "Nico" Savory or a Mordecai Heller, which ever the Bardtender think's will taste better.

Two characters, two authors! Enjoy your flavourful drinks. (Just make sure you have a designated driver to take you home, since this is gonna be a Hell of an experience. Maybe you should sit down. No passing out in my bar!) -mod Ille

At last, my bilingual ass has been summoned for something! -mod Iphie

(CW for semi-descriptive headshot, a nasty gash to the arm and implied character death)

Mordecai’s head pounded from the blow against the brick wall. The cat who had roughly shoved him there was now practically headless, their skull shattered from a point-blank side-of-the-head shot.

Y/N was panting slightly as they both eyed the corpse. Mordecai taking off his glasses to clean the blood splatters off the lenses snapped their attention towards him and relief flooded their eyes. “Thank god, you’re okay…”

“‘Okay’ is subjective,” Mordecai grumbled, not at all surprised when a curious hand came down with blood when he checked the back of his head. “I may require medical assistance.”

“Shit. Let me see?”

On a normal day, he would have objected. He would’ve shied away from his partner’s touch and insisted that they merely get going in case the bloodthirsty felines they had the unfortunate luck of working with killed the cat they were tasked with questioning. This time, however, he reluctantly yet obediently turned around.

Y/N carefully moved his pinned ears up, mumbling an apology as they knew he didn’t like them getting touched. “It doesn’t look like much,” they said after a moment. “I think your fur’s picked up the worst of it. Once you get cleaned up you can probably get a better idea of what to do with it. Does your brain hurt?”

Mordecai shook his head slowly. It didn’t feel like anything got knocked loose, nor did his brain loudly object by spinning or pounding. “No.”

“No headache, no…?”

“Nothing, I appear to be fine.”

Y/N didn’t respond to that, instead moving around Mordecai to check his eyes. They visibly relaxed when they made eye contact. “You’re fine. Your eyes are clear. You’ve got a thick head, Morde.”

Mordecai rolled his eyes in response. Y/N snickered and held a blood-soaked hand out to him as gunshots started up again somewhere a little ways away from their alleyway.

“C’mon,” they whispered. “I think the twins are having too much fun without us.”

Mordecai pointedly stared at their hand. Y/N got the hint after a moment and wiped it off onto their pant leg as much as they could. When it was more or less clean, he finally slipped his hand into theirs and led them towards the sounds of violence.

Needless to say, the Savoys were having far more of a ball than Mordecai and Y/N did. Neither of them knew what it was about the situation that had made them so feral—what it was about their job in general—but it was to be expected that when a bit of firepower needed to be fired, there would be no survivors.

The particularly unlucky spot they had got themselves in involving not only an interrogation gone wrong, but a rival gang and couple of passing cops too.

No, the Savoys were not professional or clean in their line of work, but Mordecai had to admit they were definitely quick and effective.

By the time they turned the alleyway corner, the last shots had been fired and there were no more disturbances to be seen—or to deal with. Before long, raucous laughter replaced the blazing gunfire.

Serafine heaved Boudreaux onto her shoulder and wiped the sweat from her brow. "Seems like that's the last of 'em," she sighed, kicking one of the surrounding corpse with the steel toe of her boot. "They really thought pistols and glass could come up against us!"

"The source?"

"Dead."

"And the other intruders?"

"All dead, of course."

"And the cops?"

Serafine gave him a look. "What do you think? We're not that stupid, cher."

"What about the cargo?" Mordecai pressed, wiping the back of his bleeding hand on his trenchcoat.

"'S all here," Nico chuckled, patting the crate hidden behind a couple of bins. "Secure and ready to go, chief."

Mordecai glanced at it. His frown only soured. To think that all of this—the red stained cobbles, the spent and expensive ammunition, even the new scar he sustained to the back of his hand—was for one small box. Mr Sweet must have been incredibly eager to get his hands on whatever was inside, at the detriment of his staff.

Mordecai only hoped it was worth it.

He had been wondering that a lot ever since he joined the Marigold bandits. Lackadaisy runs had been just as messy, but at least they weren't for as senseless a cause as this one.

A sudden gasp from Y/N brought him back to the rest of his team.

"Nico, your arm!"

Mordecai's paled when he finally clocked on to what they meant. A long, deep gnash tore down the Savoy brother's left arm, the jagged wound so deep it was almost black in the low light of the alley. Blood smeared every inch of his fur and then some, staining his front and even his cheek. The glass shard used to perform the deed was still wedged inside, worryingly close to his wrist.

Even Serafine took a step back, the bloodlust in her eyes cast aside immediately.

Only Nico was calm.

He looked down and yanked out the glass, then rolled his shoulder back to inspect the damage. He shrugged.

"I've had worse," he laughed.

Mordecai knew a lie when he heard one, and when he saw that Nico's brave face was slipping by the second. Dark chuckles of dismissal lost assurance and volume until they were barely heard at all. Bright amber eyes lost focus and eyelids sagged.

He collapsed.

Serafine rushed to catch her twin, carefully laying him down on the ground. She squeezed his uninjured hand as Y/N--who was evidently playing medic today--dropped to their knees on his other side and took their claws to the coat they were wearing.

"He's bleeding a lot," they muttered fearfully, talking more to themself than anything. "We might need to take him to a hospital."

"No."

Their ears flicked as Mordecai brought them back to the present. They looked back at him. "Mordecai, this is more than I can handle. If we don't get him to the—"

"How will you explain the injury?"

"It's none of their business." There was a hard edge to Serafine's voice. "Eider he goes, or I kill you both when 'e dies."

Mordecai made his way over to Y/N and knelt down beside them. Blood was still flowing from the wound in a steady stream, it easily soaking through the coat fabric Y/N painstakingly wrapped around Nico's arm as a bandage.

"He will either bleed out before we get to the hospital," he started, straightening up again. "Or he will seizure and pass on anyway. There is no—"

Serafine lunged. Y/N grabbed her shoulders before claws met fur. "Serafine, don't! Don't. I will do what I can to keep him stable. You stay with him."

The queen was out for blood again, her ears pinned back almost flat against her skull and her tail fluffed out. Still, she relented; ever so slowly returning to crouching by Nico's side and taking his hand again. Y/N was probably one of the few felines that could talk her down from bloodthirsty to benevolent.

Mordecai stood back again as Y/N went to work, putting pressure on the wound and mumbling to themself. Serafine appeared to have gone inside herself as she held Nico's free hand in one and stroked his head with the other.

"T'es un salaud si tu penses que j'vais te laisser crever comme ça," she muttered.

Nico's chuckle was far too light for the situation. "Et toi, t'es toujours aussi têtue qu'au couvent," he teased weakly. "Y a des choses qui ne changent jamais, hein?"

"J'suis ta sœur. Je reste ici."

"En tant que ton frère, je dis que non. Les flics peuvent arriver d'un moment à l'autre."

"T'as pas le choix, mon cher."

She gripped his hand tighter, for the last time.

When his breathing started to become shallow and Y/N's canines appeared over their bottom lip, Mordecai predicted the end result.

They looked at Serafine mumbling what Mordecai presume to be a prayer before turning to him, their E/C eyes worried. An unspoken question hung between them. "What do I say to her?"

Serafine and Nicodeme were inseparable. Where one was, the other was hardly ever far behind. From what Mordecai could tell they had been that way since they were children.

There would be no easy way to pull Serafine away from her twin brother.

Y/N reached across Nico to put their hand on top of the twins' own. Serafine's head snapped up to meet their eyes. They swallowed hard before speaking. "Serafine..."

"I know."

"You don't have to stay here. If you don't want to see him—"

She shook her head, cutting them off. "I'm staying here. You leave, bring him—" She shot Mordecai a dirty glare. "—too. I don't want to see his face again. Not after his idiotic interrogation went wrong and caused this. I'll deal with him later."

"But—"

"Go."

Y/N nodded and carefully stood up, reluctantly taking their hands off Nico's arm. Serafine stroked his head again as they made their way over to Mordecai.

Their voice cracked when they spoke. "She wants us to leave."

"So I overheard."

"She's not happy."

"I heard that too."

"Mordecai, I swear to god, if you start being snarky when her brother is fucking—"

He cut them off by abruptly turning and walking away. They rushed to catch up to him, their fur bristling.

The walk between the two back to the car was silent. Y/N was oddly quiet, their eyes hard and footsteps quick. It wasn't until Mordecai reached for the driver's side door that they broke the spell. "Uh-uh, you're not driving."

Mordecai turned to them. "Excuse me?"

"You took a nasty hit to the head." Y/N wouldn't meet his eyes as they pulled his hand away from the door handle. "Even if you don't have a concussion, I don't want you driving. The motion might aggravate things and—"

"Y/N."

"—then it'll be you in the hospital and I'll have to explain that anyway and—"

"Y/N L/N."

"—then Mister Sweet is going to want answers and—"

Y/N squeaked when Mordecai grabbed their shoulders and shoved them against the car. E/C eyes finally met green ones as they stumbled over their words to silence.

"Enough." Mordecai dusted off their shoulders, and then his own paws, before standing up straight again. "We will be fine without him. She will likely be more of a savage than usual, but we will deal with that. Asa Sweet will be my responsibility to deal with, not yours."

He definitely did not want to think of the funeral, if at all. He didn't know what was sadder: the thought of it happening in the first place, or the fact that he'd likely not get one at all.

At his core, Nico was just another disposable part of the Marigold workforce. Mordecai had to get it into his head himself and stop wallowing over it all. He would need to try and get Y/N to do so as well. He could see tears well up in their eyes.

Crying never helped anyone or anything. It certainly wouldn't now, not unless they were made of magical medicine that could cure all ailments.

But as luck would have it, they were not.

That was where unprofessionalism like the Savoys got people in this business. They'd take it as a warning.

A warning that stung, but a warning to be sure. The thought of such a strong, seemingly unbeatable fighter dying in an alley, in dirt, in disgrace, made his fur bristle.

Mordecai still couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't a little his own fault, somewhere down the line.

He probably wouldn't admit it even if it was.

Y/N's ears moved back and forth, either registering his words or listening for something. They looked over both of his shoulders and back over their own. Mordecai strained his own ears to listen to, so their next words made him (embarrassingly) flinch.

"Can I hug you?"

"What? Yes. Wait, no-"

Too late. Y/N practically threw themself at him, crushing him into a hug so tight it felt like he was about to be suplexed. His hiss of displeasure went unnoticed by them, up until he awkwardly patted their head; then they abruptly let go and backed up so quickly they slammed against the car and bumped their head.

The irony wasn't lost on Mordecai as Y/N growled and rubbed the back of their head. They shot him a look when they noticed the small smile on his muzzle.

"Don't say it."

"Do you require medical assistance?"

[French Translations:

"If you think I'm gonna leave you here alone to die, you're a bastard."

"And you're still as stubborn as you were back at the convent. Some things never change, eh?"

"I'm your sister. I'm staying here."

"And as your brother, I say no. The cops could arrive at any moment."

"You don't have much of a choice in the matter, my dear."]

#🖋 mod ille #🦉mod iphiko #Oneshot on the Rocks #Lackadaisy #Mordecai Heller #Nicodeme Savoy #Serafine Savoy #oneshot #tw character death

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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 · 1 year

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Okay so can i get a oneshot of mordecai, nico, and serafine with a reader who gets kidnapped by them? you know how in the comic mitzi says they once kidnapped a tailor yeah like what if mordecai, nico and serafina had to do that with a gn reader who is also tailor. But the moment all 3 of them look away the reader manages to straight up yeet themselves out of the car, shakes the ropes off and is already running by the time they notice. like the readers already gone by the time they get out of the car. then the next time they kidnap the reader one of them is like "how did you do that?" and the readers like "i'm not telling you and if you really want my services you can walk into my store yourself like a normal person instead of kidnapping me!" and yeets themselves out again and runs. like this bitch can't be kidnapped and will only help someone if they go to the readers shop and pay for it like a normal person.

i'm sorry if that was long i just think i'd be a funny concept. thank you

So Rocky had a buddy in the circus. (Well–not quite a buddy, but he wasn’t the only escape artist.) Y/N was trained almost from kittenhood to get out of the tightest spots and the most convoluted things. They knew how to pick locks with only their claws, they knew how to break free from ropes, they knew how to contort just right to get chains to slide off them like they were made of oil.

They also knew how to sew and mend things. And after being repeatedly told that they were the best cat at it, they eventually decided to ditch the circus and make tailoring their calling instead. And they did pretty well for themselves, all things considered. Well enough to draw the attention of Asa Sweet. And for one reason or another, he decided that doing business with them would be in his best interest. You don’t say no to Asa Sweet.

Y/N did.

Which they presume is why they were now blindfolded and gagged in the back of a car beside a dour tomcat and two twins in front snickering and mocking the latter.

“Why does he even want me that bad?” Y/N tried to ask again through their gag. “All I do is make clothing, it’s not that big of a deal, I’m sure!”

“You are not helping your case,” the cat beside them spoke up. “I suggest you stay quiet until we are an acceptable distance away.”

Y/N pinned their ears back, but reluctantly obeyed. Where they were going, they didn’t want to know–but being blindfolded, gagged and ted up could only mean one thing. They weren’t a good swimmer at the best of times.

They started to wriggle. Carefully and slowly, trying to keep a cool head as they drew on past circus know-how. The ropes around their wrists started to slip free.

They paused for a moment, listening to the sounds around them. They had no way of knowing if their fellow passenger had seen what they were doing until he spoke to the twins, warning them about watching the road; which means he wasn’t looking at Y/N. ‘My first stroke of luck today.’

They ground their canines against their bottom lip as the wriggling continued. They had an escape plan in mind, they just had to hope that the twins wouldn’t shoot on sight and that they could move fast enough to free everything before they got pounced on.

Their paws shifted free. They were surprisingly steady as they ripped the blindfold off and lunged for their passenger’s opened window.

The car skid to a halt as they rolled on the asphalt, rushed to their feet and bolted off to the side. Running along the side of the road was a death sentence, so they could either climb a tree or try to fight off three armed cats with nothing on them but their claws and teeth. Tree-climbing was not their forte, but–

A bullet whizzed by their ear. Another clipped their arm and almost made them stumble. Climbing a tree it is!

Y/N scaled the first one they saw, digging their claws into the wet wood and praying to whatever god existed that the branch they chose to brace on didn’t break. One of the cats chasing after them swore and turned to the tallest and bulkiest of the lot. “We lost ‘em.”

The bulky cat chrugged. “C'est la vie.”

”This is no shrugging matter,” a black cat snapped. “If it wasn’t for–”

“If it weren’t for you leavin’ your window open, cher, we wouldn’t be in dis mess.” The female of the group shouldered what looked like a rifle. “How’d dey get away so quick?”

“Must’ve climbed a tree.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold as the bulkier cat looked up the tree they were in. They swore their heart stopped when his eyes landed on them, but the foliage must have camouflaged them because he shrugged and turned away.

“We will find them again later, I am sure.” The black cat looked conflicted even from Y/N’s distance. “Let’s go.”

“If we ransack their shop, do you tink we’ll find it den?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Their talking grew muffled as they left. Y/N sagged against their perch in relief. They were safe, for however long.

Though the queen cat’s question confused them. Find what? What did Y/N have that was worth killing them over?

Maaaaybe it’s time to move out of Saint Louis. Now how do they get down from this tree?

#🖋 mod ille #Oneshot on the Rocks #Mordecai Heller #Nicodeme Savoy #Serafine Savoy #Lackadaisy #lackadaisy reader insert

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

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Do you do isekai (someone from our time warped into Lackadaisy world) scenarios? If so, could I have a scenario cider involving a human female (either turned into cat or not) with a dash of Rocky Rickaby? Not neccessary romantic, just a developing friendship between a perpetually anxious out of place gal dealing with Rocky's shenanigans. I think he'd be VERY fascinated and ask ALL sorts of questions about the future.

The restraint I had to use to not turn this into a oneshot. Hoooo boy. Mixing drinks is hard when you like an idea so much you want to do more with it. Anyway I’m giving you a clothing item to make life a little easier regarding how Rocky even knows you’re from the future so stay tuned for that

A cafe is a pretty nice place to end up in when your whole world turns upside down. Not enough that Y/N’s suddenly thrown into the body of an entire different species, she’s also jumped back about a hundred years or so. Her body may have changed–(H/C) fur, a tail, ears not where they’re supposed to be, new senses providing a nice little sensory Hell–and yet her clothes by some logic remained exactly the same. It was as if whatever god or deity that yanked her out of her present day life and launched her back in time couldn’t be bothered to change anything beyond her species.

But at least the food wasn’t much different. These human-cat creatures ate pretty much the same thing as plain old humans did and even spoke the same language, so ordering something wasn’t much of a challenge. Ignoring the weird looks the young waitress gave her from time to time, Y/N could idly chew on a french fry or two and watch her tail slowly slim down to a less puffy state out of the corner of her eye.

Until the bloody thing fluffed up again full-throttle at the cafe door being swung open and a boisterous silver tabby loudly greeting everyone in the cafe. The general response was best described as exhausted, but it gave Y/N the cat’s name: Rocky.

Getting Rocky’s attention was as simple as existing. He stared at Y/N for a long enough moment that she wished she had somehow sensed that she was going to go back in time and had worn something a little more period appropriate. When he approached her, she felt her ears flatten against her head and a weird sound started from somewhere in her throat, one that ended in a low “don’t you come near me” sound.

Huh. So that’s what hissing feels like.

Rocky backed off at the hiss, raising his hands in an “I’m innocent” gesture. “Take it easy, toots, I’m not about to hurt ya. Miss Pepper, who is this?”

The waitress looked over for a moment and told Rocky that she didn’t know. Y/N swallowed a threatened kitty growl and managed her name. Rocky took the seat near her, took off his hat and didn’t seem to notice when Y/N recoiled further at the nasty-looking scar going straight down his forehead. She was literally hanging off the edge of her seat at this point.

Rocky started talking to the waitress, often glancing at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. Now that she was no longer at the centre of attention she could relax a little bit easier. She pulled at the bottom of her graduation hoodie and fiddled with her hands (paws?) to try and soothe her claws before turning to Rocky with a question.

Rocky already beat her to it. He was practically right in her face, grinning so wide that it registered as a threat yet again in her kitty brain. However he spoke before she could hiss again or claw him or whatever her instinct was about to make her do.

“So tell me. 2023. What’s it like?”

#🖋 mod ille #Rocky Rickaby #Lackadaisy #Scenario Cider #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy & reader #lackadaisy rocky

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

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Hi I hope this isn't too much trouble but

Can you do a child rocky x child reader? (The reader has a younger sister in this) fluff to angst to fluff It's basically how rocky met reader and their sister as kids and then one day reader and their sister have to move (you can decide why if you want) and rocky gets sad by this but they meet again as adults working together at lackadaisy

(Hope this isn't too much)

I probably fudged a few things from canon here, so forgive me if anything is put in the wrong place in his timeline.

So imagine you’re Rocky for a moment. You’re bouncing between two households because your mom’s in and out of someplace you can’t go and your dad couldn’t be fucked to look after you. Aunt Nina’s great and all, Freckle’s swell, but you’re getting the wires crossed on what’s home and what’s temporary lodging. And then a kitten your age and her sister (Freckle’s age) move in next door.

Y/N and her family expected a welcoming party and boy did they get it. Aunt Nina baked a little something, dressed up her boy and her sister’s unfortunate little drifter and brought them over. Rocky kept up a “prim and proper” facade until Y/N peered out from behind their parent’s leg and it was torn down in favour of talking at a mile a minute. Before Y/N likely knew what was happening they were invited outside and listening to Rocky lay the foundation for a pretend adventure story while his cousin looked sheepish and their sister was utterly enraptured.

His Designated Second Best Friend (second Only to Freckle, his Platonic Soulmate) having moved in, things started to become a little more solid for Rocky. Which is a good thing, because about as soon as he and Y/N declared each other best friends Nina got the news that his mother was gone, his father had vanished into thin air and custody of Rocky had gone to her.

So he was both uprooted and barely moved. Y/N and their sister sat with him at the wake held at Nina’s house, but he was a little confused and ashamed of himself because he hardly remembered his mother. She got sick when he was about four years old. Now seven, the only memories he had were foggy at best.

That was the start of a tough time for him. He acted out more often yet couldn’t understand why. He had anger outbursts that ended in grounding and forgot about them. Since whatever was going on upstairs couldn’t be diagnosed at the time, nobody had any idea what was going on in his furry little head. Yet Freckle and Y/N stuck by him through it, even after he shaved Freckle’s face and deliberately slammed Y/N’s tail in a door to see if he could break it. (They forgave him, but they also tucked in their tail or wore it in a belt for a little while after.)

Idle curiosity turning deadly aside, he was wonky but stable. Y/N’s family suddenly having to move away after a house fire was a hit to his morale, but he was fine. Yep, perfectly fine. Until he got kicked out. But that was fine too, because he could share letters with Freckle.

After spending a few years doing whatever the Hell he felt like and bouncing around from place to place (his favourite stint being at a circus), he was back in Saint Louis. Home sweet home.

He wound up in a speakeasy band as the violinist (and rum running part time). It wasn’t a bad gig, all things considered. It was nice to be able to improvise and not set everything on fire because of it, Zib gave him the leeway to go wild if he saw fit, it was nice to see the place fill up every night and the people liked tolerated noticed

Well, it was nice to see the place fill up. He even started picking out a familiar face here or there after a few months.

When Ivy started bringing a newly-of-college-age queen in with her, Rocky took notice. Something about the girl felt strangely familiar. Was it the bold glint in her eye that commanded adventure or the strange little lisp in her voice? Maybe she never grew out of it.

Ivy caught on to Rocky’s notice of her and dragged her over to meet him after a set…Along with a genderless feline whom Rocky would recognize anywhere. The rest of the pieces fell into place then and there.

The reunion between Y/N and Rocky was unfortunately cut short due to a silly little shootout over a few bottles, but the two got away safely so there’s no harm done. They’ll be back.

The thought of seeing Y/N and their sister again gives Rocky new appreciation for Lackadaisy. The place gave him a safe space, some friends acquaintances and even brought his best friend back to him.

#🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Rocky Rickaby #headcanon #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy & reader

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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Sedgwick Sable romantic hcs with a male reader? Like I ain't saying an anthro cat is fine but gah dayum... He's fine

You know there's no shame in being attracted to these kitties. We run this little joint with no judgement--if you don't ask us for NSFW, we'll be happy to fulfill most any request within our abilities.

That said:

You both met at a gentlemen’s club one night. You were in a group with other tomcats, just going for a night out. Wick seemed to have no idea why he was there and was showing no interest in the lady cats (to the bemusement of his friends)

Whether or not you agreed, I’ll let you decide for yourself. Either way, you both wind up leaving together either to clear your heads or just head home for the night.

Yeah you didn’t head home. You went for a walk, instead. With no cloud of cigarette or cigar smoke to staunch your sense of smell and hurt your eyes, it was a lot easier to see things.

Such as how well Wick’s eyes reflected the moonlight. Ho boy.

Idle talk becomes more awkward as you both start feeling the effects of alcohol and maybe feel things that you shouldn’t be feeling. Wick decides to head home early, he offers to give you a ride home, you head to his car, get it home, park in the driveway and neither of you make it through the door

Turns out cars are great makeout spots. When the shift stick isn’t sticking into your gut, anyway

Things slow down for a while after that. It’s hard to tell how to interact with each other when you got far too familiar with one another less than a few days ago. Whoever makes the first move, I’ll once again let you decide; but there’s zero hesitation on the other’s part.

Wick is a mess in regards to romancing tomcats. He’s soft, he’s sweet, he doesn’t know how to flirt in a way that’s not body language (soft eyes, slow blinks, purring, arm or tail brushes)

Also if you romance him right back but harder he’ll have reason to try harder with you. Just don’t expect him to get forceful with flirting.

So many bad attempts at rock-based pickup lines. So many. S o m a n y

He’s brought you a bit of diamond that he managed to find after a blowing-holes-spree just to give to you. As a souvenir, of course. As chums. Pals. Definitely not romantic. Not because it matches your fur colour or eyes or personality or way of speaking. What? No. It’s absolutely for heterosexual reasons only (absolute nonsense)

He’ll go above and beyond to cover for you if cats start speculating on your relationship beyond romantic but in a not-fun teasing way. You’re always at his house? You’re working out a business deal. You took him to a fair? Tomcats can bring friends to fairs. He looks a bit scruffy after leaving your car? The wind mussed up his fur.

He can’t stand having to hide like this, but you’re worth it in his eyes.

He likes being petted! Scratch under his chin every so often and he’ll be purring for a good long while.

(Touch-starved Wick? Touch-starved Wick.)

#🖋 mod ille #headcanon home brew #Headcanon #Sedgewick Sable

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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Can I request any/several lackadaisy characters of your choosing reacting to a gn reader who is related to Atlas May (maybe he was their uncle) and what they would think if the reader had similar characteristics and/or mannerisms to him?

I initially intended to cross this over with this anon and then completely forgot, so take this as the semi-official prequel. (Note: since we know little to nothing about Atlas, don’t take his mannerisms here as canon. I’m going off what little bits and bobs we have.)

Y/N’s heart was pounding in their ears. Atlas hummed in amusement as they wrung their paws together. He put his paw over theirs and patted them soothingly.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to them. “They’ll like you.”

“They’re gangsters,” Y/N hissed through their teeth. “They don’t like anybody!”

“Only two of them are, and those two are out running errands tonight. If you freak out, they’ll freak out. Keep calm, make conversation and if you have to have a row with someone then take it outside.”

The last part made Y/N snicker, their hackles finally soothing. Atlas chuckled a little himself and looked out the car window again. “Would you look at that. We’re here.”

Y/N pricked their ears and looked out the window themself as the car slowed to a stop. A cluster of giggling young queens slipped through the door of a building marked the Little Daisy Cafe. Y/N shot their older brother an unsure look. “You sure this is the right place?”

“You’ll see.” Atlas gave the driver a few bills and opened the car door. “Come on now.”

Y/N and Atlas slipped out of the car and through the door of the café. It was a small and homey place, the smell of baked goods still lingering in the air. Atlas left Y/N to take it all in as he went to a shelf holding some candy.

A click and grinding noise jolted Y/N out of their sniffing and they rushed over to Atlas. The shelf he was at smoothly gave way like a door. The older tomcat gestured his sibling through and pulled the makeshift door closed behind them.

“Stay close to me,” he said as they went down a few steps to a confusing network of caves. “It’s easy to get lost down here. Trust me, I know.”

The smell of the caves wasn’t nearly as appealing as the café. Thankfully, Atlas has been walking to and from his little speakeasy for several months now, so the smell got better the closer they got to the area tapping booze like water.

A chubby black-and-white cat with an adorable face straightened up as soon as the two arrived to some fancy-looking doors. “Mr. May!”

“Horatio.” Atlas nodded to him. “This is my younger sibling, Y/N. May you please open the door for us?”

“Y-Yes yes of course!”

Horatio pushed the door open and held it with his paw. Atlas walked by and fondly patted his shoulder, Y/N gave the nervous cat a smile. They liked him immediately.

The inside of the speakeasy was bustling with activity. Cats of almost all ages were dancing by the stage, flirting with each other at the bar or passing out on the abundance of tables scattered around. A willowy full-figured feline caught Atlas’ eye and Y/N watched his light up. ‘Ah, this must be Mitzi.’

Mitzi made her way over casually, greeting Atlas with a chirp and a purr. Atlas kissed her cheek and gestured to Y/N, putting one arm around her waist.

YN took the hint. “Hello, I’m Y/N. You must be the fabulous Mitzi I keep hearing about.”

“A pleasure,” Mitzi purred, holding out her paw. "My, you sound so much like your brother. A young double of him, perhaps."

Y/N shook her paw and was surprised at how strong her grip was. She was such a flighty-looking feline, yet her hold was as strong as Atlas's.

Mitzi smirked at them before standing on the tips of her toes to whisper into her partner’s ear. Y/N’s smile grew forced as they watched her. Something about how she moved felt…off. Calculated. Like she planned every step before she took action.

They both liked her and didn’t. What an odd cat.

“Hiya!”

A cheery voice coming from behind Y/N made them flinch and turn around quickly. A light-furred flapper girl stood gazing at them quizzically. A light soon turned on in those amber eyes. “Oh! You’re Y/N!”

Y/N blinked. “Ivy?”

Ivy nodded and bounced on her heels. Y/N was dumbfounded. “Aren’t you too young to be in here?”

“There’s no stopping her from getting what she wants,” Atlas spoke up from behind the two with a low chuckle.

“I’ll take them from here, Mr. May!” Ivy chriped as she grabbed onto Y/N’s arm. “You and Miss M go have fun!”

Y/N stumbled over their feet as the young queen dragged them through the crowd. “Rocky and everyone else is already here,” she spoke excitedly. “I can’t wait for you to meet them all!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Soon Y/N couldn’t, either. This was going to be one interesting night.

Horatio looked up from his perch by the doorway. His ears pricked when he saw Y/N coming down. “Good evening, Mx. May!”

They nodded to him. He propped the door open for them and they gave him a thankful smile.

“Uh oh!” A bandmember called from the bar as Y/N walked in. “Here comes trouble!”

“Shut it, JJ,” the lanky leader of the band snapped.

Y/N shook their head with a snicker. Another band member’s head snapped up, then their ears drooped.

“I-I’m sorry,” the member stammered. “It’s just that…”

“I know,” Y/N said with a saddened smile.

“I sound like a younger version of him.”

#🖋 mod ille #Oneshot on the Rocks #Atlas May #Lackadaisy #lackadaisy & reader #lackadaisy reader insert

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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reader is adopted by zib headcanons? (but more of like an uncle then a parent if that's okay!!)

also wanted to say that all your posts are a really fun read!!!

Since I'm in a fluffy parental-figure mood now why not knock this one out too

TW for mention of stabbing and bleeding. (It's not what you think, I promise; Zib just sucks at making a stuffed animal)

Zib can hardly look after himself, let alone a kitten. But this scruffy little mongrel who couldn't be older than 5 reminded him of himself so much that he opened the door for you anyway.

Now-Zib is not a kitten guy. He's more of a young-adult guy. So picking up a kitten and declaring "this is mine now" on a semi-hungover whim probably wasn't the smartest idea that he's ever had. However one panicked call to Mitzi later (while leaving you to play with the old clarinet he gave you in a desperate attempt to keep you happy. Oh, his poor ears will never recover) and he more or less knows what he's doing.

First call is a toy. He's one step away from throwing the clarinet out the window at this point; so he grabs some clean socks, rips open a pillow for it's fluffy innards and stabs his paws bloody with shitty sewing skills to make you something that vaguely resembles a toy.

It, remarkably, works. The awful shrieks and creaking of a broken clarinet being played by a total novice has ceased. Now that he's not getting his eardrums blared out, he can think straight.

Step two is food. You need to eat. He's not giving a kitten the normal liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner. There's some bread in the fridge and the toaster still works, so he hopes to god that you're not lactose-intolerant and makes some toast with butter.

Step three...

He falters there. Mitzi had told him to call the police and tell them that he had picked up a homeless kitten, but he and the fuzz weren't exactly on good terms at the moment and he didn't have it in him to send this admittedly adorable little firecracker to an orphanage where they'll force them to clean up their act, wear cute little outfits and spend their days learning manners that nobody in the real world uses anyway. No, this kitten who's currently playfighting an amalgamation of socks wouldn't fit in. He'd be sending them off to be bullied into becoming a proper member of society.

They're not a proper member any more than he is.

Another call, this one to Ben. He's got a daughter at home, maybe he can think of something.

The phone call is essentially Zib going: "Hi, Ben, so I have a kitten now. No, they're not mine. I swear, Ben, they're not mine-no, they're not Mitzi's castoffs, either. Good god, tomcat, she pays you to-okay, yes, I know, she hasn't paid us yet. But-back to the point! I have a kitten here and my place is a mess. I just made them some toast. You have a girl-sorry, a daughter. I meant daughter! You have a daughter. Can you give me some pointers? What do you mean you've coming over-"

Turns out Ben's little girl is the same age you are. She's also a sweetheart. She brings some toys over to share, doesn't laugh at Zib's pathetic attempt at a toy for you (which is already falling apart) and offers to let you pick one or two toys of hers to keep.

Meanwhile Ben pulls Zib aside and the latter has an anxiety attack over what he's supposed to do with you. Bringing a kitten home when he can barely afford the basic necessities for himself? Is he crazy? He can't even blame this decision on drunken stupidity, he was completely sober (albeit hungover) when he brought you in. You'd have better luck with literally anyone else!

Ben gives him two choices. Either you come home with him, or he takes you to an orphanage. He might as well have punched Zib in the gut, since he had already gotten attached to you; so Ben makes a compromise: he takes you home, but Zib can visit whenever he wants to, he can take you out of the house if you agree to go and he'll bring you to the speakeasy so you'll at least see him every night. This sooths Zib enough to agree.

Ben keeps up his end of the bargain. After settling in to your second new home of the day, you're in a third new place-the Lackadaisy speakeasy. Zib is lazing at the bar when you see him but he perks up pretty quickly at your voice.

He has a shadow for the rest of the night. Every so often a cat will ask him if you're his and laugh, like the idea is ridiculous to even mention. Zib will just give them his rare cocky smile and ruffle your fur, saying "well, yeah, they are. For tonight, at least."

It becomes an inside joke between you. You'll attach to him like Velcro when he's not needed on stage and you'll be "his for the night". However as you grow up, you see him as more of a very strange equal than adult figure. You're on the same wavelength, to an extent.

Zib never thought he'd be a surrogate family figure of any kind. Now he's a little hard-pressed to imagine the Lackadaisy life without you in it. If he's lucky and it lasts long enough, maybe you'll be able to join Ivy in the crew and he'll see you every day, too.

Just please god don't grow up to be a rumrunner he sees the kind of stress that puts on Viktor whenever Ivy goes out

#🖋 mod ille #Dorian “Zib” Zibowski #Headcanon Home Brew #headcanon #Lackadaisy

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