#lackadaisy fic

[candycoloredwolf]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Lackadaisy (Webcomic) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sedgewick "Wick" Sable/Dorian "Zib" Zibowski Characters: Sedgewick "Wick" Sable, Dorian "Zib" Zibowski Additional Tags: Vampire Wick, Horror, Eventual Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking, Blood, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Animal Death, Major Character Injury, Slight Internalized Homophobia, Im bad at tagging tings but I think thats everything?? Summary:

Sedgwick Sable is what anyone would describe as a sophisticated, law-abiding gentleman. He's the owner of a successful company, he's financially well off, he's polite and courteous as they come. He's everything many wish they could be.

But we all have skeletons in our closet, and Wick is no acception. Though, his might be a bit more... bloody than some would expect from a man of his standing.

For years, Wick has done what he can to numb the urges that claw at the back of his mind, drowning them in copious amounts of alcohol in hopes that they'll finally fall silent. But when those desires finally take control, Wick starts to question just how in control he is of his own mind and just how human he really is.

His only saving grace? Dorian "Zib" Zibowski. A jazz musician at Wicks favorite speakeasy and his long-time companion. With Zibs help, Wick starts to come to terms with who or what he really is, and just how deep his feelings for Zib really lie.

[rudnitskaia]

Hi! Your Lackadaisy OCs are amazing, I'm in love with Maura! 💖💞💖💕💖💞💖 You mentioned a fic about her, where can I find it?

AAAAAAAAAA *runs around in circles with unintelligible happy sounds*

Holy tomatoes, anon, you made my day! ❤️ Thank you for that question and for praising Mau, I'm unbelievably happy that you like her! QwQ

Yeah, I haven’t posted that fic on tumblr yet, so here is the link to AO3:

It is just a short G/Gen light comedy story, mostly about Rocky and, as my friends said, the origins of sugary pizza. :D

Hope you enjoy it! ✨ I'm always open to constructive criticism and will be very happy to see any feedback on this in general. :3

[deerslutsworld]

Sweeten The Deal

(Decided to write up a little promo fic for @havocfarceur's and my fic that will hopefully be dropping tomorrow!)

Warnings: Smoking, kidnapping, vague threats.

Read It On Ao3

You open your eyes, memory in a haze and head throbbing as you look around. You appear to be in some sort of office space, and a quite ornate one at that. You’ve been laid down on a velvet couch by the door, and, just in front of that, there’s a bookshelf and a desk. The bookshelf is a little sparse in places, and quite disorganized in others, a bird statue just next to that, mirrored by the one across the way.

Meanwhile, the desk has a stone pattern on the bottom, and a wooden top, sharing in its rather disorganized nature. There are bowls and bottles of sweets in the left corner, and a supply holder, telephone, and picture cramped to the right, just behind the name plate. Squinting your eyes, you see that it reads “Asa Sweet”. 

Looking up to the clean middle, a cat’s paw was there. Following that, there is a man sitting in his tall office chair, although he fills it just fine. The dimming light from outside silhouettes him. It shows off the warm browns of his seat, and the honey of his fur, lighter on the patches around his mouth and eyes. In a way, he resembles a cougar, with his darker ears and tough eyebrows. 

He is waiting for you to look at him, taking a puff on his cigar and, when you do, he smiles.

“Good morning sunshine! Sorry about the rude awakening. Those two workers of mine can be a bit…overzealous.”

As he says this, you swear you see a white paw waving at you from the door. However, it is soon pulled away, causing the door to shut in its absence.

The man, who you assume is named Asa, laughs at this small interaction, shaking his head at their antics. He waits for you to respond. Yet, when you don’t, he just shrugs, standing.

“Not much of a talker, huh? Well, that’s alright. I just need to ask you a few questions, you can just nod or shake your head to let me know if I’m getting warmer or not.”

He picks a folder up from his desk, sorting through it as he paces the room. You sit up as he does so, watching him carefully. You have a pretty good idea why you’re here, and your life depends on your next choices.

“Let’s see, it looks as if you're the triggerman for some new time speakeasy, one who is, well, let’s say attempting to go into direct opposition with my own. They even tried to rehire some of my best workers behind my back. Ha! Crafty.”

In one swift motion, he scans the rest of the files in the folder, before shutting it closed, stirring up some of the dust that had settled on it. He looks up at you with such a big smile, far too gleeful for someone who holds the matter of both your life and death firmly in his paws. 

As you watch him walk around the room, with that strength in his shoulders, and who knows how much information, you find yourself starting to shake. He stops when he sees this, raising his eyebrows. He makes his way over and you tense, your fur going up on end at his presence.

He sits down next to you, putting a firm yet reassuring paw on your shoulder. His fur is softer than you expected, having prepared yourself for a rough bristle, but, this is soothing. He smells of sugar, which you probably should have expected, considering the name and the amount of candy scattered all around on his desk, but, still.

“You’re alright, sweetheart. It’s not you that I want, but your boss . So, make this easy for yourself. Tell us what you know, and then you’ll be free to go. It’s as simple as that,” he says, voice becoming soft.

“If you want, I can even sweeten the deal. Offer a job, I’ll even give you protection should your boss resent you for it,” he reaches into his pocket, and offers you a wrapped candy, “Chocolate bar?”

You take it, considering. If you’re being honest, you were just desperate for the work, bearing no real loyalties to your boss or the establishment. Looking into Asa’s eyes now, you can tell he’s being truthful, nodding along to your thoughts. He smirks, as if he already knows your response.

“Well?”

You take a deep breath, and…

… 

“Come back any time now,” he says as he dismisses you, waving you out the door.

He has your paperwork in his hands as you exit, and you can’t help but wonder if you made the right decision.

You walk out, that black and white cat holding the door for you. Although, he looks mildly less terrifying when he’s not literally chasing after you. He looks straight ahead, not even giving you a glance. You spot someone behind the door too, a gray and black cat, who smirks at you and waves you off with their tail.

You swallow, speed walking away and finally managing to escape this place. Asa was the only bearable one there, you conclude to yourself. In fact, your heart flutters at the idea of seeing him again tomorrow, though you don’t pretend to understand why.

[gale-dragon-writer]

Hehe, this was something I was working on the side since I saw the plot episode. About time I got this done!

[ellameloetta]

feesh.

i wanted to make something for mermay this year since i usually never get to, and it would be perfect to make some fanart of @hangryyeena’s adorable merman ryoma design! + some bonus doodles including a design for L.T 💙💙💙

[wickmitz]

Do u actually ship rocky and mitzi?

to try and be as simple as possible, i suppose i do ship them ; i’m particularly drawn by their dynamic and have long since grown enamored with it … so, naturally, i enjoy turning them over in my head and shoving them together, seeing all the possible ways they fit and how they function when glued together. rocky’s feelings for mitzi are so intense and metaphorical that there’s a lot of ground to run with, honestly. it’s not a black and white relationship where they fit neatly under one label or another either, hence my constant use of the term ‘a secret third thing’ for them overall. there’s romance, obsession, desperation, platonic associations, and a thousand other factors embedded into what they have. rocky simply ‘seeing mitzi as a mother figure’ or ‘being totally in love with her in a traditional sense’ just doesn’t capture them with the justice they deserve. it’s more … muddled than that. rocky, at this point in time, is completely incapable of maintaining love anyway, and mitzi certainly isn’t any better either. in a context where i envision them together, that aspect is a big part of things : where they click together due to their inability to sustain a healthy and stereotypical romantic bond, and thus accidentally fuel each other’s unhappy paths. it’s easy to see how mitzi does this to rocky! but rocky is capable of doing it to her as well, what with his all-consuming need to be who she relies on and to restore the lackadaisy to it’s previous glory for himself and her. he enables her and she enables him, even if it’s subconscious and accidental. while there is undeniable fondness and care there, they are also walking down this path hand-in-hand, tugging each other along when one of then falters or pauses. so, to me, it’s not hard imagining things becoming closer and more intimate … who doesn’t want to be smashed together against someone who gives you all the validation you crave and never shuns you, twisting all your awful deeds into something good and believing you righteous at all times. it’s addicting! and natural. while rocky obviously would enjoy such a relationship, so would mitzi at this point in her life. where she’s exhausted and feels particularly ugly within, and is currently all alone.

they also would click in ways that wouldn’t force them to abandon how they currently go about romance. mitzi needs to spend a good portion of her day thinking about her dead husband and nobody else, meanwhile rocky is very enamored with being a knight in shining armor so to speak, only able to express himself through extreme devotion, a thing that ( as said by crew members on stream ) can’t singlehandedly keep a relationship afloat … normally. but mitzi can deal with rocky’s rather eccentric and destructive behavior, can take the only thing he can offer and accept it wholeheartedly, because she couldn’t handle anything more normal or mature right now. and rocky, despite his occasional displays of territorial behavior, never bats an eye at or feels inferior to mitzi’s atlas obsession. this wouldn’t be the case in other relationships, where both of them would have to change or grow in some way in order to keep the love stable and secure. there would be things they’d have to give up, or be vulnerable about, and both of them are too stubborn for that at this point. a random lover would always be a second thought compared to the lackadaisy.

( now, of course, i ship mitzi and rocky with other people! and i’m very interested in these bonds forming during canon’s events. but it’d either be an unhealthy relationship, due to everything i said above, or a happier sort of take on things : where mitzi and rocky are pulled from their minds’ unraveling edges and are both given the care, patience, and understanding they both need. one where they can set aside the lackadaisy for a moment or two, and can find genuine happiness somewhere else. i never see them as fully moving on from it, nor do i see mitzi fully giving up atlas or rocky fully giving up mitzi, but things can be softened and less insane. sometimes! )

now, is this healthy? no. but is this me saying they should be surgically removed from one another because they make each other ‘worse’? also no! i adore them in every sense of the word and acting like there aren’t positives attached to their dynamic would, frankly, be stupid of me. they are there for each other in their worse moments and approach each other with kindness, something they don’t really get from others anymore. they are genuinely happy to be in each other’s presence and have a habit of lifting each other up, or providing each other some much needed warmth on a bad day. you see it many times in the comic, situations where mitzi is devestated, and rocky rushes in to comfort her ; and he always succeeds in some way, wiggling that severe expression off her face and getting her to smile, even if it’s small and weak. and rocky loves that! it makes him happy to be able to ease her heartache and worries so. it makes him feel useful and needed, and she’s one of the only people in his life to give him even a sliver of praise here or there. here are some examples i can remember off the top of my head :

and while there isn’t many examples of mitzi praising rocky, she is also still one of the few people who shows concern over him and asks after him. there are also two scenes, in the pilot and in the comic, where rocky messes up big time, and mitzi has every right to be frustrated with him. she could yell, she could get mean, like rocky is so used to, but instead … she sucks it in and simply lets it go. this happens with the pig farmers, but also in the pilot most notably! where the second she realizes how hard rocky is taking her words, her reasonable and sympathetic irritation at things not working out, she backtracks. she forces those emotions away and simply says this, earnestly and kindly, and wipes the devestation off rocky’s face :

as much of an accidental negative influence they can have on each other, there’s also a more purposeful positive influence that is inherent in their dynamic. i wouldn’t ever want to dismiss that, nor do i enjoy when other people rush to do so themselves, claiming they’re simply no good for each other. well, they claim mitzi is a manipulative person who only sees rocky as a pawn, but i’ll pretend fans are critical of rocky’s many faults as well. the point is : they’re good for each other and to each other! they just happen to have a great capacity to cling and stay where they are rather than doing anything more beneficial or productive. any dynamic in lackadaisy can become toxic in a sense, given the fact that a majority of the characters are prone to indulging in their flaws and chasing what’s familar, what’s most comfortable, with little regard to anyone else. but i find that aspect interesting, and i love rocky/mitzi all the more for their accidental enabling and vastly obscured views.

the more romantic aspects aren’t really something i care too much about, overall. i play around with it and find scenarios where things can bloom in such a way, but them calling each other ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’ isn’t something i care for. i do not think mitzi would ever be attracted to rocky in a sappy lovesick way -- she’s above fawning as it is, and is rather methodical about things like passion or adoration nowadays anyway. her eyes can’t exactly sparkle upon seeing rocky spilling syrup all over himself nor can she sigh dreamily at his nonsensical, improv poetry spiels that just burst out of him like water through a broken dam. but they could soften at the corners and she could convince herself of something romantic if it held her the right way. if she felt battered enough to give into it, or was lonely enough to indulge herself in a place she knows she’s wanted. rocky, on the other hand, is a bit easier to imagine here! he would never say no to miss m. and actively wants to ‘keep’ her already … if they were to become an item, an obscure, happenstance item, than he’d embrace it full heartedly! it’s been well established rocky isn’t one to turn down love or affection, so to get it from mitzi of all people? it’d be extremely ooc to even pretend he’d regret it or shy away. he loves her, of course he does, his beautiful dionysus : who unlocks her doors for him to enter, who smiles upon him with her wine soaked lips, who brushes a dainty paw across his shoulder and sings him praises like it doesn’t pain her to say them. she is warm and comforting and soft, and rocky is possessed by a maddening desire to wrap every spaghetti limb he has around her, and never let her go. again, his love is nothing short of all-consuming and obsessive where mitzi is concerned. her devoted acolyte! it would be simple to see how he’d get here in comparison to mitzi’s more wounded and guarded heart. i don’t think rocky fully loves her in only a romantic sense, however! i’m a firm believer that it is a mix of romantic and platonic feelings, an awkward and intensive blend of the two, this sort of combination that isn’t easy to sort through. he does take comfort in the fact she reminds him of a motherly figure, just as much as he genuinely finds her attractive and appealing in a puppy love kind of way. there’s also the fact that rocky is keen on lying to mitzi and wearing masks around her in the name of seeming more amazing in her eyes -- the fact his love for her is metaphorical and personal in equal measure, and the fact mitzi hides herself away from everyone around her. there would be a lot of untangling! a lot of pretending. this is a ship that will always have a multitude of layers and caveats attached to it, so to speak.

but that excites me! i like it! i love a dynamic that i could write endlessly about no matter the context it’s being framed in! how utterly unsurprising it is that the first lackadaisy fic i thought of was one that would focus heavily on these two and what’s happening between them, what could happen. mitzi wallowing in her self-inflicted misery while rocky prowls around her, begging to be useful to her while simultaneously chasing off a suitor of hers that he cannot stand to let near, is quite the image in my mind, and is one i always have looping around in the back of my head. the parallels to atlas/mordecai are an added bonus to this! if rocky is doomed by the narrative then mitzi is the narrative to which he’s bleeding himself upon, you know? that, as well as his own insecure delusions. mitzi, similarly, would easily waste away to nothing or get herself killed while trying to pursue her nostalgic ambitions if it weren’t for rocky being so willing to do the dangerous stuff for her. i think about how mitzi almost got herself killed in skedaddle and how rocky rushed to save her. while zib and ivy care for mitzi, and viktor is obligated to protect her, they are not as quick as rocky is -- nor as recklessly devoted to the point of readily given sacrifice.

anyway! i’m very fond of them, and there are so many scenes and other aspects of their characters that i could spend ages pouring over. this is, genuinely, merely a fraction of my thoughts on them. although i do hope i answered your question, anon! i got a bit carried away and i’m sure a lot of this is hard to parse through by default, but oh well!

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

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

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

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

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

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

That being said, enjoy!! <3

When you heard it, everything else quieted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, talk about making an entrance.

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

“Are you alright, miss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

“I really loved your playing.”

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

“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”

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

“I can’t accept that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

“Uh…”

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

But you managed to tell.

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

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

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

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

“Thank y–”

“Which is why this won’t be needed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

Though you still found it quite charming.

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

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

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

“So that means you’re a poet?”

“Indeed!”

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

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

“Not for long, I should hope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not that I recall.”

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

“And there’s live music?”

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

“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”

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

Suppose you offered it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mademoiselle?”

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

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

“Too much?” he questioned.

“No, it’s quite alright.”

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

Must have not gotten treated to meals often.

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

“Don’t be silly.”

You gave him a look, then caught yourself.

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

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

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

“…Fair enough.”

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

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

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

A stranger indeed…

“Wait!”

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

“I never caught your name.”

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

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

You simply observed him in amusement.

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

“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”

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

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hear me out!

The triplets asking Mordecai how 'daddy met mommy'

Mordecai with how he is completely lies and says he saved mommy from a bunch of bad guys when in fact the first he met the reader he scared them off by badly 'smoldering' at them.

And they get to know each other, he get's dropped off at their house due to him being drunk and with him still being plastered he confesses his feelings about the reader thinking they're someone else.

So while Mordecai is telling them a lie, the reader is watching them.

Then when the kits run off the reader walks up to him and is like. "You saved me....from a bunch of goons. Funny I can't remember that."

Then Mordecai is like. "Well I wasn't about to tell them the truth of me embarrassing myself twice."

I really want to write this...tell me if I should write.

[anxious-lee]

A Sudden Diversion - A Lackadaisy Tickle Fic

Lee: Freckle

Lers: Ivy and Rocky

----

Evidently, plowing an automobile through several thickets and insisting it is a "short-cut" is dangerous.

This may have been a revelation to Rocky, but Freckle could have told him that from the beginning. In fact, he tried.

Yet, here they were: in the Lackadaisy's cluttered garage, mending the battering inflicted on their poor vehicle. The car was nicked and scratched from the shrubbery, not unlike its occupants. The engine compartment would have been just fine had the frenzied tom Rocky not rammed it into a tree's trunk. All in all, the damages were unnecessary and very expensive. To say that Miss Mitzi was peeved at the three stooges would be an understatement. Due to the speakeasy's lack of adequate funds, the car's repairs would need to be done by Rocky, Ivy, and Freckle, as reparations for ruining the car in the first place. Freckle supposed that being placed on mechanic duty wasn't the worst punishment Miss Mitzi could have dealt. Although, if anyone should have to be saddled with this chore, it should be Rocky. He's the one who made the mess in the first place.

But, perhaps it was for the best. It was safer in the garage than it was out there on the liquor-lined battlefield.

All three colleagues sat, working away silently. Or rather, almost silently, as Rocky could only take the deafening quiet for so long before he broke out into a hum. Some tune that neither Freckle nor Ives recognized. The musician himself was made useful by patching up the old paint job, while the two lovers dug through their toolbox, looking for the appropriate equipment to repair the engine.

Freckle had seen plenty of danger in his lifetime with his cousin. Hell, toughing through peril was practically his best trait as an officer in training. But each adventure wore down a little bit more of his psyche. And some nights, like tonight, there was nothing left to wear.

He was exhausted, both from the team's little excursion and the mental power it took not to have a panic attack.

Ivy, who sat at his right, learned over time to recognize these feelings through observation. Because odds were, Freckle wouldn't say it directly. She could pretty much discern and dissect every Freckle frown.

She was gonna make him smile.

She began with a little smirk of her own.

"Car maintenance isn't the peachiest job in the world, but at least we get some quality time together," Ivy said, batting her eyelids.

Brought out of his daze by the sudden sound of her voice, Freckle glanced up at Ivy quickly. He couldn't help but smile sheepishly at her flirtatious remarks.

But Ivy wasn't going to stop there.

"Y'know, I hardly ever get to witness you in your element. Tinkering away with your gadgets, and gizmos, and... whosiwhatsits, " she finished with a flippant backhand toward the toolbox.

Freckle seemed bashful to turn bashful at that.

"Oh. I'm no professional. My mum taught me everything I know, and when it became just me and her in that house, I had to step in and help with the maintenance. If I'm being honest, I'm more familiar with the back-end of a kitchen sink than I am with motor vehicle repair," he cringed.

"Relentlessly humble, as always," Rocky piped in suddenly, "Ol' Freckle Face never could take a compliment, however deserved or warranted."

"Yeah! C'mon McMurray, you're doing most of the heavy lifting here! Little did Miss M. know that when she hired a gunman, she also hired a handyman," said Ivy.

The extra attention was getting to Freckle, so much so that he hadn't noticed when his cheeks began to burn hot.

"It's really not a big deal-"

"I'll say it is, and no take-backsies!" Ivy declared. For emphasis, she burrowed a single claw into his armpit.

Freckle tittered softly and tilted his body away from his attacker.

"Kheehehe, quit it," he near-whispered.

"What will you do if I dont?" Ivy dared playfully.

What to answer with, Freckle hadn't the faintest. His upturned mouth opened and shut a few times, hoping that the perfect reasoning would spring from his lips at any moment. Finally, he spoke.

"We're not gohonna finish our wohork," he retorted lamely.

"Oh yeah? Is that what it is you're scared of? The job?" purred Ivy. She once again buried her pointer claw into the crook of his underarm. It took some more digging than the first time due to Freckle's attempts to keep his arm flat against his side. When she settled into her target, she scritched everywhere she could reach.

"Yehes!" Freckle said, much louder and desperate than he intended. He was squirming a little more now, bent in a seventy-degree angle, but still holding down his position. The first giggle, he couldn't control. The second, third, and fourth, however, he was determined to swallow down. His lips pressed into a wobbly smile, hoping that if he didn't laugh, she wouldn't continue.

That only made her tickle harder.

"You trying to hold it in? Good luck, 'cause my little brothers tried the same trick, and it did not last long," warned Ivy.

And it was true. Before long, his firmly shut lips did nothing to prevent his giggles from escaping. They sounded more like pleaful whimpers.

It wasn't that Freckle hated her little games, but succumbing to something so childish as tickling was easier said than done. Not to mention the fact that they were in public, where any one of the speakeasy's employees could walk in on them.

Within a matter of seconds, Ivy brought both claws into both armpits and was tickling away.

Freckle gave a laugh of surprise, a notch louder than before. He knew there was no fighting her now. The tingly electricity on both sides of his body overtook him, and he slid to the floor, with his back pressed against it. Ivy followed, now hooked by his incredible laughter.

"You crazy kids ought to keep your hands off of each other. Otherwise, people might get the idea that you two are les amoureux," Rocky called from his place at the car, voice shining with sarcasm. He was watching them now and smirking unsympathetically at his troubled cousin.

"We are les amoureux, Rocky," Ivy called back.

For some reason, Ivy holding a conversation with Rocky while Freckle was underneath her laughing pitifully was making the sensation worse. As his face burned brighter, Freckle turned his head away from her in an attempt to save himself the embarrassment of having her look upon his cheesy face.

"Awh~! Poor boy is embarrassed!" Ivy cooed, taking one hand away from his arm and cupping his cheek with it, pulling his face back to her.

"You are practically burning up!" she gasped, "Are you blushing~?"

The saints above could not help poor Freckle now.

He didn't grace that question with an answer and instead whined through his laughter. This could not get more humiliating.

"I missed that big smile! And that laugh. I love it when you laugh. It's so cute!" the feisty woman squealed.

"Nohoho, it's nohohot!" Freckle squealed louder. His paws, which had been tucked in like T-Rex arms to his chest, were now covering everywhere on his face he could reach.

"It's a shame that me admiring you flusters you so terribly, because I'm not going to stop any time soon. You're all mine to adore, Calvin McMurray~"

Holy hell.

The teasing's subject cried out in ticklish agony and released a new wave of laughter.

"This would be easier if- you know- I'll think I'll just- there we go!" Ivy maneuvered herself to sit behind Freckle's head while she pinned his hands under her knees. Now he was on full display, with no hope of saving his dignity.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle~" she teased as both hands came back down to lightly skitter over and across his belly. Freckle laughed uproariously, unable to hold anything back, his pure-hearted cackle ringing out throughout the garage.

It was almost more than he could bear.

Almost.

"DOHOHONT SAHAY THAT!"

"Why not?"

"IT MAHAKES IT WOHORSE!"

"Ah, good tip! Definitely will be making use out of this. Kitchee kitchee kitchee kitchee coo~!"

Ivy moved her paws towards his hips, squeezing them faster than was merciful.

Freckle's laugh deepened in pitch immediately, sounding more like a maniacal cackle.

"Pretty good targets, Miss Pepper, but you're neglecting some key players in this game of torture!" said Rocky.

"It's not torture! He's fine! Aren't you, sweetie?"

Freckle almost said no, but he was too busy laughing. Laughing from an attack he let happen. If he really detested it, he could have ended this from the beginning, and he knew that. But there was no real danger here. Not with Ivy. Not with Rocky, either. He knew they would never hurt him.

Nevertheless, when one is being pinned down and tickled stupid, the only thought your mind will allow is 'STOP'.

Rocky strode over to Ivy's side and looked down at his cousin.

"Me and Freckle used to get into many a battle such as these when we were little tykes. I triumphed them all, naturally, and I still remember his spots," the tomcat gave Ivy a wink and planted himself on Freckle's legs. "You go for the neck, I'll go for the knees."

"ROHOCKY!!" cried Freckle, betrayed.

"Ooo! Those are good ones!" cheered Ivy.

"ISN'T AHANYONE GOING TO WOHORK ON THE CAHAHAR?!"

"No", they both replied.

They began their double team attack on Freckle's tickle spots. Ivy went to work fluttering in every crevice of his neck, while Rocky rubbed and squeezed his kneecaps, occasionally giving a swift scribble to the undersides.

Freckle couldn't believe how absurd this scenario was. Here he was, now shrieking and giggling shrilly like a small child, while his two closest teammates were tickling him to pieces. He didn't bother to question it any more, simply surrendering to his silly fate and taking the opportunity to let everything go. He had been harboring so much guilt and anxiety over the past few days. Over the past few weeks even. What better time to abandon all sensible thought, what better time to look away from his reality of crime and war, what better time to simply be with his friends, safe and at peace, then now?

But he still needed to breathe, so Ivy let up and released his hands from her hold. Rocky dismounted from his legs and backed away cheerily to give the man some space.

Freckle immediately wrapped his arms around his waist and tucked his legs into himself, tail swishing wildly as he let out his remaining chuckles. As he caught his breath, he looked up at Ivy.

Ivy's expression was kind. "You feeling ok?"

Freckle couldn't stop grinning, and it wasn't from the tickles.

"Y-yeah," he sighed in relief.

"Yes, good man, laughing yourself up a storm, now come on, let's take a break from the car and head to the bar downstairs!" said Rocky.

"You mean after the break we just took from our work?" Ivy smirked.

"I don't know about you two, but all this horseplay has worked up my thirst. Whadd'ya say, Baby Face? Want to grab a beer?" Rocky reached a hand down to help him up.

Freckle was repulsed by the idea of drinking alcohol himself, but Rocky knew that as well, using it as a conversational turn of phrase.

The orange cat softened in agreement.

"Sure."

Rock wasted no time in trotting out the door, hungry for an ice cold scotch.

The two stragglers, now alone, slowly followed behind. As they walked, Ivy stretched an experimental pinkie out to Freckle's. He wasted no time in linking his paw with hers and pulling her to his side.

Not the worst of punishments, indeed.

-------

You know what, I eventually got hungry enough for lackadaisy fic that I wrote one myself. I haven't completed a fic in well over a year, but this franchise is beyond inspiring enough to birth this fic ❤️

@veryblushyswitch @someone1348 @kasey-writes-stuff @ticklyfluffstuff

[luminlunii]

I'll be updating my Ko-fi three times a week if I have enough to show off, and if not then the week after I'll have stuff

I'm already drafting chapter 8 of 25

[rudnitskaia]

Happy Birthday, my dear girl. You can't even imagine how much light you've brought into my life. Shine bright. ✨

[gale-dragon-writer]

Bubble and trouble, we’re in for a double! 👻

Just like last October as you’ve seen, but this time no need to wait for Halloween 🎃

In a day or so will enlighten a reading ray! 📖

[emilija04acer]

Lackadaisy fanfics list <3

Recomendation>>>

Characters: Viktor, Mordecai, Nico, Seraphine

Lackadaisy Five by GreyRose24

Viktor Vasko’s first impression of Mordecai Heller is that Atlas has hired a scrawny kid to be his new partner. His second impression is that Atlas has hired a very irritating scrawny kid with something missing in either his head or his heart. Alternate title: five times Mordecai let the mask slip in front of Viktor and one time he didn't

Words:27,291

This is one of my favorites. I found it when I was searching for fics that had some focus on Mordechai's Jewish background. I like how the author depicted their relationship (not because it isn't romantic), they show genuine care for one another and I want to read more.

(If you like the ship see number 3)

This is the first part in a series of 5 works, I'd recommend this series.

2. Lackadaisy Communion by GreyRose24

The Savoy siblings’ first impression of Mordecai Heller was that Asa Sweet had handed them off to a rude bookkeeper to be their new leader. Their second impression was that the boss really needed to watch his back because their new colleague clearly had his own agenda in mind. Alternate title: four times the Savoys messed with Mordecai to get to know him better and one time they didn't. [Fluffy side story, fits around Lackadaisy Diable & Triad]

Words: 25,720

The final installment of this series was mentioned earlier. Even without reading the entire series, I found it possible to understand everything. I love fluff so this is the jam.

3. What Is This Feeling? by FOxFIRe_27

4 times Mordecai had some…confusing feelings about Viktor + one time it finally clicked.

Words:12,781

Actually wanted the 2 to be happy so it's a bit out of character, but it's sweet!

4. Frozen Hearts by meticulous-metzger (EdgeHedgeShads)

In an attempt to raise Viktor for a job without freezing his tail off, Mordecai decides to drive in the thick winter snow, only to have an accident. Irritated his young triggerman continues to be reckless, Atlas orders him out of the speakeasy and into Viktor's apartment to recover, leading to some awkward conversations, situations and a whole lot of bonding.

Words:5,948

Mordecai has an accident and Viktor takes care of him, Unfortunately uncompleted...

5. The Hotseat by meticulous-metzger (EdgeHedgeShads)

After a storage barn gets raided by a competitor, Mordecai and Viktor are sent out to wait for the perpetrators to make a second hit. Unfortunately, it's the middle of summer, and Mordecai isn't coping with the heat well.

Words:2,697

This one is a bit more... sweaty. Nothing too explicit, just the first kiss in the summer's heat. Again not finished... Damn!

6. Stopgap by Stariceling

Viktor and Mordecai look after each other, at least long enough for the bleeding to stop.

Words:2,223

A break from shipping, another platonic fic!

Mordecai took out his handkerchief again to finish the interrupted task of fastidiously cleaning the blood from his face. “That should suffice until you see a doctor.”

“No doctor,” Viktor muttered. “Alvays threatening to chop off legs.”

7. Lackadaisy Liaison by bubble_bees

Viktor couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment their relationship developed into this. It was natural. They gravitated around one another as if that’s what they’ve done all their life. Or: a look at Viktor & Mordecai's partnership, up until its rather violent end.

Words:2,143

The betrayal of getting kneecapped buy your dear friend. Poor Vik...

There should be more fics focusing on Viktor and Mordecai. On Viktor in general. Also on the Savoy siblings.

I know they aren't the main characters, it's to be expected but come on! Will I have to write? I want a fic in which Viktor gets an apology for being kneecapped into early retirement, well a longer fic than this>

I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead by Lack-luster-daisy (cowgremlin) We are back to shipping.

Please write for the series! Finish them, please!!!

"Papa me want more movie!"

Why are there only 4 pages for Mordecai and Viktor (platonic) on AO3? Well looks like someone's got to change that.

[teecupangel]

Sorry for another ask but my brain came up with a good question. What if Desmond ended up in the Lackadaisy world? (1920s anthro, bootlegging cats). It would be a perfect fit for him. He could run a speakeasy and he’d be adorable as a cat. Not sure what kind though.

Nah, it’s good. As long as you guys are okay with the fact that I am… uuhhh… 2ish months late with the replies hahahaha

My first idea is to make Desmond a mix breed with unknown 'lineage' as a way to call on his colorful ‘genetic makeup’. He’d also be primarily white with different colors (black, gray, brown, orange) mixed in. His right front paw would be completely black though and he would still have a scar on his lips that makes his left whiskers shorter than the right.

I’m also kinda imagining that he’s not part of Lackadaisy or any of the gangs. He woke up in this world and believes that it’s like… his old world but with anthropomorphic cats. The whole Prohibition thing sucks like hell and he knows he can get rich if he makes a speakeasy…

That wasn’t his original plan though. He was just checking out the place and it turns out… well… there was an empty ‘bar’ that just fell on his lap.

To be more exact, this was apparently owned his late grandma “Minerva” and he had inherited it. The establishment itself was a small grocery store with a fake bottom by the cashier where the speakeasy was.

And…

Old grandma Minerva’s room full of bottles of imported alcohol. Enough alcohol for every person in New York to have alcoholic poisoning.

(Okay, I’m setting this in New York because Desmond would find it ironic that his speakeasy is in the same location as Bad Weather but, if we’re sticking with the webtoon’s setting of St Louis, Missouri, we can set it like a couple of blocks away from Little Daisy Cafe.)

And old grandma Minerva has employees who need the salary to live so…

Desmond is cleaning up Minerva’s messes… again.

.

Minerva, the anthro cat, is a pure white cat breed of some kind. Desmond technically took over the identity of a real anthro cat by the name of Desmond Miles. All he knows about this Desmond Miles is that he’s from the country who came to the ‘big city’ to take care of grandma Minerva’s affairs after her death and receive his inheritance.

Desmond will absolutely make use of his bartending skills and make his speakeasy famous (unfortunate for Lackadaisy though)

Rocky flirts him with (and lot of ‘customers’ flirt with him to be fair) but Desmond knows he isn’t serious so he just flirts back. He doesn’t take any offers though because he’s still trying to get used to being an anthro cat and what it all ‘entails’.

The speakeasy is named Bad Weather, of course.

Desmond gets a singer for the speakeasy because he thinks that should always be in a ‘bar’.

Desmond may or may not be trying to create a Brotherhood of his own. He is absolutely creating an information network, of course. Many of which are stray kittens he had taken in with their own rooms on the second floor of grocery. They also help with the grocery store and the older ones are usually the cashiers.

[wickmitz]

any thoughts/opinions on vikdecai?

i don’t believe i have any complex thoughts that haven’t already been said by the community at large! mostly my opinions just correlate to a very fond i like them, since mordecai kneecapping viktor in order to save himself from having to hurt him later is really one of the first things that humanizes his character. makes you realize he’s not nearly as cold or practical as he tries leading you to believe -- a front that unravels further given his atlas obsession. and i like that! my favorite thing about mordecai is his subtle longing for the lackadaisy crew, how much he doesn’t wish to hurt them, and how venomously he loathes his current life … what he’s doing now isn’t what he wants to currently be doing, but merely what must be done for his goal, one which is already layered in lackadaisy sentiment. so his bond with viktor is important to me, given how much it highlights this inner struggle and earnest truth within his character. but then again, this can also be applied to mordecai’s relationship with mitzi, atlas, and ivy, so let me discuss them in a more romantic sense. which i’m sure is what this question is trying to get at!

romantically, i view mordecai and viktor’s dynamic as … favorable? it’s entirely plausible there were feelings there, an intimacy only they shared as men inside atlas’ arsenal, people who were entirely knowledgeable of the lackadaisy’s nasty underbelly. it’s their slaughter of people deserving and of many, many innocents that help their boss’s speakeasy run, and this violence ( this constant watching one another’s back ) would only breed closeness in spite of the horror it’s built on. and, of course, they have core things in common outside of their job and efficiency for bloodsport! like their love for family, their devotion towards those who matter most, and how out of place they equally feel on this soil - - in this world and era, where everything feels like it’s out to get them in some way or another. their ability to connect beyond their surface level traits and quirks ( mordecai and viktor are very much opposites on their surface, and they have a habit of bickering about these differences, albeit lightheartedly ) demonstrates the profoundness of what they have and what they’d do to protect it. they care for one another in little gestures, insignificant to most but in a way that truly matters to them … as they can see the genuineness in it, since they’re putting themselves into the careful actions and aren’t just doing things for politeness sake. for example, mordecai tries adorning them in matching cloth so they’re two equal halves, symmetrical, and then we have viktor who pocketed mordecai’s glasses to give him later when they were done with their mission. i like to imagine there are more things like this in their relationship! stuff that isn’t as severe as life or death, like saving your friend’s skin by a mere inch or dragging each other to a finish line every day. any of atlas’ men can offer that. it’s the extra things, done out of agency and personal desire, that bring them closer than any other regular joe on atlas’ payroll. it’s rather clear that they were close canonically, and that viktor was perhaps mordecai’s closest friend in a way that atlas could never be due to the pedestal he was constantly put upon. and while we have less insight on viktor’s feelings, i’d imagine the betrayal has never, and will never, fully heal. it is not a wound he can easily patch up, and it isn’t something one could just forget either. how can you dismiss someone who used to be your hands and eyes and ears? when you two functioned as another man’s extra body in your entirety? you may as well have shared a mind when out on the field, and that’s a closeness and a trust which is hard to lose. viktor hardly lets anyone in as is, just as anti social as his spectacles wearing companion, so to lose that in such a violent was is an unspeakable pain he bears, i’m sure. mordecai took whatever remained of his life from him with that shot. he’s permanently robbed viktor the ability to defend the last few hairs he cares to protect. his purpose is now up in the air. and all this anguish from someone he completely and utterly believed in … there is a lot of hurt, is what i’m saying. a hurt that’s too deep and life altering for it not to be supremely personal too. it’s deep and festering and viktor ignores it, and mordecai ignores it, mostly, but sometimes his paw strays near his wound and he itches at it, and it reopens the ache all over again. there is metaphor to be found there! an abandonment and a departure that leaves you bloodied from maiming or being maimed. it is very easily a multi-layered sentiment!

however, i could still take this or leave it romantically, hence my earlier statement of favorabe rather than unabashed gushing and swooning. this is a ship i like, but i don’t read mordecai as crushing on viktor per se? i’ve always viewed his extreme relationship with atlas as puppy love that’s half bred from devotion, something not entirely genuine but also still genuine enough, which makes for a nice parallel between that and rocky’s bond with mitzi. his rivalry with atlas’ wife and his oddities such as wearing his boss’s shirts read as girlish crush behavior, typical things one does when believing themselves enamored, you know? naturally his views and feelings for atlas aren’t quite that simple nor easy to parse, and i’m not trying to simplify them in any way! i just believe he had a torch for atlas, and thus didn’t carry another for anyone else, at least not as intensely. whatever feelings he might have for someone would always be second to atlas, who was his very reason for living and breathing every day, who was his answer and justification and eventually? his obsession. in many ways i think mordecai was too wrapped up in atlas to properly develop feelings for viktor, even if there were inklings of something inside of him. ironically, the term something is what i love using when thinking about him with viktor or mitzi. mordecai is something with those two, he feels something, an unlabeled sort of thing he can’t really reach -- perhaps he doesn’t even want to, scared of what it might mean, what it could say. and it is different somethings! they are not the same feeling, what he feels towards those two, but it’s not fully known to him in the way that his feelings towards atlas was. it is not as clear! especially now, with things as awful as they are and with mordecai so full of turmoil he’s forcing himself to not share. he also has an intense aversion to emotions, obviously, which doesn’t help matters lol. this man could find some of the closure he’s so desperately seeking if he took more than a glance inside of himself, but then he wouldn’t be apart of this tragic tale, now would he?

still, in a better world where the lackadaisy’s gaggle of traumatized characters are allowed healing without any casualties or major losses, then i’d enjoy seeing a viktor and mordecai slowburn. where they decide to remain steadfast by each other’s side like once upon a time before, and they deal with life as a unit. maybe when given the space for it, mordecai’s affection can finally cement into real love for viktor -- the romantic kind, something sappy and disarming and maddening all at once. maybe viktor will allow such indulgences, finally able to touch upon his heart again and use it in a way that he hasn’t gotten to in a couple ages. or maybe he won’t share the specific feelings that mordecai possesses for him, but he’ll enjoy creating an entirely new thing that’s only for them : he can compromise and he can bend if mordecai is willing to bend just the same. they certainly wouldn’t be your typical couple, their emotions too stunted for regular dates or typical pda, but there’s something more special and intimate to them carving out their own space, and thus having their own secret world. a mix of platonic and romantic affections, a healthy dose of selfishness and desire they couldn’t ever have before but now can hoard so entirely, in small bearable doses. and there will always be some things they both won’t ever be able to shake ( mordecai disabling viktor, atlas, viktor’s daughter, etc ), although they could manage these aches and guilt better together, which is the exact sort of happy ending i’d want for them. if i may be so indulgent myself haha ( <- person who knows lackadaisy’s ending will be mostly dark and tragic but likes playing around with hopeful scenarios and what-if’s regardless! )

[samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires]

I think that's enough for tonight, lmao have another character card! Lacrimosa my beloved <333

(!!!DO NOT REPOST/TRACE!!!) (Danganronpa blood splatter made by @cupcake_owo on Picsart!)