#pepper speakeasy

[holosart]

It's @lmaowhateven's BDay, Make sure to wish them a happy one! I drew their oc's in special attire to celebrate :D

[tenmillionthfirefly]

Ivy Pepper, surrounded by her three dads and her dads' weird henchman (1921)

[daisymaycries]

Jellybeans, don’t you hate it when you’re just mowing the lawn and then your cousin pulls up and offers to take you out for a good time and the good time ends up being exacting revenge on the guys who tried to get him run over with a train?

[stearleart]

Roark 'Rocky' Rickaby - remake

Digital illustration of Rocky from Tracy J Butler's cool web series, Lackadaisy cats.

[fuzzyspiderpawz]

the Lackadaisy pilot was so good it was soooo goooooood I love how you don’t have to read the webcomic to enjoy it but it’s also so much more enjoyable if you have read the webcomic and it stays true to the source and ughgggghhhhhhhhhggggh it’s so good the characters were portrayed so perfectly and the animation and just just just

ITS SO GOOOOD

[crowblincray]

Made something on my game.

Tried to recreate Ivy Pepper from Lackadaisy.

[tenmillionthfirefly]

I will be at work, doing my job, and this comic will randomly pop into my head. I will start giggling uncontrollably. My coworkers will ask me what I'm laughing at, and I'll tell them nothing. This comic is ruining my career. It's taken over my brain.

Canon

[luckyspot]

After a whole bunch of head scratching, pitiful research and staring at the ceiling doing nothing, I was able to commission a reference sheet for my Lackadaisy OC!

(Art commissioned from Phanecito . Go give them love!)

Mirabelle René "Belle" Dupont

Info (and name not in cursive) under break

(Lackadaisy owned and created by @lackadaisycats )

Mirabelle René "Belle" Dupont

The daughter of a French Designer and a Musician, Belle is in St. Louis for school. While her father is still at the family restaurant at home in the French Quarter, her mother is moving back and forth between countries, busy building up a Fashion Empire.

With a kind nature and bleeding heart, Belle was persuaded to be a tutor to some struggling students; namely, one Ivy Pepper.

Initially asked to be a cook at the Little Daisy Café (she makes a MEAN gumbo!), Belle now finds herself strung along into staffing a Speakeasy and hiding hooch on far-too-often basis.

She's a girl with a refined air and could be considered pampered and spoiled. But that doesn't mean she likes being that way.

Belle actually doesn't fit the mold of the upper crust. Sure, she makes her own perfume and has a closet of personalized French Fashion. But she can also catch, cook and serve up any wild game you can think of. (Comment on her getting blood on her gloves marks and she WILL end you.)

Ivy and everyone else in the school dorms can take the clothes, she's not big on trends.

She wants everyone in Lackadaisy to get home safely and has trouble turning her nose away for her own sake, but her refusal to leave anyone behind could be the final push her mother needs to force her to move back to France permanently.

If anyone should happen to have some questions about her, I'd love to answer them.

[lackadaisycats]

Random little ask with a quick hi and how are you?

I just wanted to say Thank you for making such a wonderful story and especially for giving us a character such as Ivy Pepper. She is easily my favourite, and some aspect of her really reminded me of my younger years. Her being this pretty princess in a world of gangster and desensitized violence makes for one of the more interesting combos as she is clearly a Young Woman, with her personality very clearly showing a bit of a childish side, but she has developped those skills to survive and adapt to the ruthless underworld.

I'm wondering, if she hadn't been Atlas' goddaughter, how her life would have changed. Would she have ended up working in the cafe still?

That mixture of innocence and conniving makes for one of the most endearing character of the cast, and I am excited to see more of her.

Thank you! Glad to hear that, because one of the mini-episodes we're making plans for (should we hit that stretch goal) is all about her. And I have a relentlessly good time writing and drawing her.

If she didn't have 'family' connections to Atlas, she most certainly would be elsewhere. Her romantic ideas about the speakeasy and the business are inherited from the people who raised her. She contrived (and connived) to attend school in St. Louis because that's where she thinks the action is.

Had she grown up in some other situation, she'd probably be just as impetuous...just without the criminal underpinnings. She'd have a splendid adventure half-pursuing half-cocked ambitions to be a globetrotting journalist with her own airplane, or some kind of twirling, joke-telling Hollywood sensation, and in the end it wouldn't matter that none of it panned out. She'd either write some really interesting memoirs, or she'd have some really entertaining things to tell her grandkids about.

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

☆ Will because WE NEED HAPPY WILL IN OUR LIVES!

WE DO! Buckle up!

When Will laughs really hard, his face turns red, and when he smiles super wide, he gets dimples. Mike loves both, and both end up with him grabbing Will's face and peppering it with kisses.

Will constantly wears a ton of bracelets - some gifts from Mike, others friendship bracelets, one's just rainbow - and he loves them all. He wears hairties on his left wrist, too, because he likes giving them away to his long-haired friends (and sister).

Will and Max are both disabled, and they hang out a lot. Their service dogs like to play with each other, and they frequently go to Will's favorite flower shop, their favorite coffee shop, the park, the mall, etc. Will tells Max what's going on around her (especially what stupid thing Mike's doing so she can properly make fun of him) and she holds his arm and lets him lead them around places, and she signs what she hears at Will when he takes out his hearing aids. She taught him to skateboard, and he learned a style of 3D painting so he could give her art. He also drew her D&D character in this style and made a Braille character sheet. (She cried.)

Will and Hopper get along great. They hang out regularly, Hopper attends the parent function thingamabobs, and they become close. They even come up with a scheme to sneak in a stray kitten and hide it from Joyce at one point - it lasts for less than an hour, but Joyce lets them keep the cat, so they're still happy. El names him Whiskers. Their real bonding moment came with music - Hopper was blasting Steely Dan, and Will came in and made him listen to Fleetwood Mqc, Queen, The Clash, and The Cure.

Mike joins a band, and he and Eddie cajole Will into learning an instrument. Will ends up trying bass and he fucking loves it. Eddie says he's a natural - it's in no small part because Will takes out his hearing aids when he's playing, and he just feels the vibrations of the notes and can tell what note it is just by vibration. He loves it, because music can sound weird through the hearing aid, and he's able to feel it playing bass. (He plays for Jonathan when he visits him at NYU.)

When the Party start 11th grade, they start school at a Montessori K-12 school, which they all do well in, especially Will. With a less structured school, minimal homework, disability aid, and shortened hours (8:30-3:00), he's able to get straight A's and pack his schedule, too. He has talk therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays (3:15-4:30 PM) as well as physical therapy (5-5:30 PM), art club on Wednesdays (3-3:45 PM), science club on Mondays (3-4 PM), D&D on Saturdays, family pizza and movie nights every Friday, and volunteers at his synagogue on Sunday (a lot of the older ladies adore him). He works at a flowershop with El during the summers, and frequently goes to gay speakeasies and immerses himself in Deaf and LGBT+ culture (he starts to take out his hearing aids more the longer he spends with other Deaf people, as he learns sign language and starts to find his place without hearing) and makes a lot of gay friends.

Will gets a service dog. His name is Charlie, a rescued Burmese Mountain Dog, who adores Will. He takes a minute to warm up to the idea, but when he does, Will fucking loves that dog. I'm talking sneaks-him-extra-treats, that-dog-sleeps-in-Will's-bed-every-night, Mike's-cuddle-position-might-get-replaced loves. He's thrilled that Charlie gets to go with him everywhere after a bit, and with the dog around, Will's a much calmer, happier person.

Will becomes a lot less reserved as he gets more comfortable with himself, happily sassing people, flopping down in Mike and his friends' laps, signing more often, being less ashamed of his sexuality and scars and disability, becoming more comfortable with his body, wearing nice clothes, etc, etc, etc.

(Tried to think of enough to come to 11 😭 didn't work though)

[poppitron360]

Jo couldn’t sleep that night.

That was one of the things about being an immortal hunter- the memories of the years build up and up. Flashes of the things she���d seen peppered her troubled thoughts.

And still the same thought kept circling back.

Why did it have to be that thought?

Why couldn’t it just be a good old fashioned nightmare? They were demigods- immortal demigods at that- that usually came with a plethora of trauma to pick from, and Jo was no different. Okay, Brain, how about that first gunfight in the back alley behind that speakeasy, back before joining the hunters? Blood splattering the walls, brains blown out- all that good shit. Or perhaps seing Dad for the last time? That was usually a popular scene for Jo’s brain to replay.

So why, oh why did she have to keep thinking about that moment three weeks ago? It hadn’t even been anything significant! They’d just gone out in groups on regular patrol, Emmie had just worn that same old silver parka she always wore.

But by gods, she had looked so good.

Which was stupid, and Jo knew that. She’d seen Emmie naked before and it hadn’t bothered her. But with her hair unwashed and her face covered in mud, she had looked phenomenal. Jo had seen her in a new light. And that was bad.

She couldn’t be thinking that way. She was a hunter of Artemis. So was Emmie. They’d both sworn an oath, and they had meant to keep it for eternity. Even if Jo was open to change, even if they could change- Emmie had been a hunter for millennia. There was no way she’d betray Lady Artemis like that.

Jo kept tossing and turning on her bedroll, but eventually gave up, zipped open the mosquito net, and stepped out into the cool night air.

She walked out of their small circle of tents, picked her way through the forest to the nearby lake, hoping to splash her face in the cool water from the waterfall.

She got to the edge of the trees by the bank and froze.

There, sitting on the rocks in the moonlight- her raven hair glistening in the silvery glow reflecting off the water- was Emmie.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Jo tried to quietly slink away, but that ability had never been a perk of her physique. One step back was all it took before a twig went snap!- the sound echoing like a whip-crack around the valley.

Yeah, some hunter. Real stealthy, Josie.

Emmie turned, her dark eyes wide in the moonlight. She let out a soft gasp, but she didn’t look mad to see her. Or was Jo just wishing that?

There was silence for a few agonising moments.

Emmie was surely gonna cuss Jo out for snooping. She’d yell at her to go back to the tents- or worse, run and get Zoë. The Lieutenant was a toughie, and wouldn’t appreciate Jo being out of bed.

But instead, Emmie’s expression softened. She motioned for Jo to come towards her.

She looked like one of those sirens, sitting on that rock by the lake and the waterfall, and for a second Jo hesitated. Then she obeyed Emmie’s call.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Emmie asked.

Jo heaved a sigh, and sat down on the rock- careful to not be too close to her. But close enough. Just close enough. “Not a wink. Tried a couple times, but…”

“Yeah…” Emmie looked down, a little forlornly. Jo wondered what had made her come here, when they should be sleeping. Perhaps the perfect Emmie was plagued with nightmares too.

They stared at the rippling water, not saying anything.

Then Jo decided to open her clumsy mouth.

“Do you ever regret joining the hunters?”

Silence.

Fuck.

Emmie’s face was turned towards the lake, so Jo couldn’t read her expression.

Gods, that silence was deadly.

“Sorry, tha-that’s personal. Sorry,” Jo yelped, her voice quickening, “I-I mean, I definitely don’t regret it. Definitely. I mean, because, like, “regret” is a strong word. Poor choice in my opinion. I don’t know what I was thinking! Artemis, forgive me. I don’t regret it. No siree. Absolutely not-“

“Josephine-“

Emmie had turned to face her, the moonlight falling across half of her face. Her brow was twitching a little- a slight frown. But her voice was kind, and her lips broke into a hint of a smile when she said her name.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay. I get it. I’ve wondered…” She looked down, so her face was in shadow, “I… I mean… I don’t… but I get wanting to ask others. Because I’ve thought…” She turned back away from Jo, the cold glow of the moonlit lake splashing across her graceful features, “But Lady Artemis has been so kind. She has blessed me with so many wonders. I c-can’t just…” She faltered.

“I thought I was okay with it, y’know?” Jo said, “Giving up love.”

Emmie’s eyes scanned the wide expanse of the lake. “We’re not giving up love,” she said, “We’re giving up romance. We still have familial love. Sisterhood. We have Artemis to guide us.”

Jo felt her fingers creeping closer to Emmie’s hand. She tried to stop it, she really did. But she wanted to feel Emmie’s gentle yet strong hands cupped in her own meaty ones.

“Yeah but what if-“ Jo’s voice was barely a whisper now, “What if we want more?” As she spoke, courage entered her voice. She could talk to Emmie about anything. She could do this, “Th-Than sisterhood, I mean. What if we want romance?”

Emmie turned to look at her. Jo half expected to be met with a look of disgust, but instead Emmie’s eyes scanned Jo’s dark features comprehensively, like she was trying to understand a difficult textbook.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like-“ Jo grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight into a side-hug so that they were sitting looking out at the lake. Jo gestured across the sky, laying out the vision in front of Emmie’s eyes, “Family. A house. Kids playing in the backyard. Food on the stove. Dinner around a hardwood table. A workshop in the basement with lots and lots of power tools. And someone-“ she snuck a glance at the girl next to her, “Someone special to spend it with. Someone who smiles and puts their head on your shoulder as you watch your sleeping children through the crack in the door and marvel at how much they’ve grown. Someone who you swore to spend your life with, who- who-“

Jo stuttered, gesticulating wildly, trying to convey the magic of her dream. She waited for Emmie to tell her she was ridiculous. That that could never happen. Not for someone like her.

But to her surprise, Emmie just sighed and rested her head on Jo’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck.

“That would be nice. If we could.”

If only we could, Jo thought.

But they’d both sworn an oath. Made a vow.

So they couldn’t.

Jo didn’t want to be a hunter. She wanted that dream life, that home, that family.

But she could never have it with someone she loved. Not while living openly as who she was. Back when hen she had pretended to be a man, she could get away with the girls and the flirting. But she couldn’t keep pretending. Not forever.

But she couldn’t tell the truth either.

The Hunters had been an escape, a way to run from what Jo really felt, instead of confronting it. Because swearing off the company of men and going celibate was easier than facing the truth.

But that didn’t change who she was.

Emmie looked up at her with her beautiful eyes. “Jo…” She whispered, almost inaudible. But in the stillness of the lake, it seemed to echo off the mountains.

Her face was close. Too close. Not for sisterhood. Not for friends. Not for abstinence, celibacy, the vow they made in the name of the maiden goddess.

Jo had always been loud and hyperactive, her brain running at a million miles an hour. In the few moments between Emmie’s whisper and what happened next, she had run through every possible scenario in her head.

Artemis walks in from the clearing and sees them, too close for sisterhood. The other hunters show up, ready to bathe. One of their hunting dogs spots them while on patrol and informs Zoë. A lovecraftian sea monster rises from the lake and attacks. A poacher mistakes them for a deer and shoots them.

But then Emmie’s lips were on hers, and none of that mattered anymore.

________

So I am aware that I have not posted any sort of fic since August.

Things have been super busy right now (haha I’ve NOT been doing well) and reading TSATS is going slow, and I haven’t had much energy or motivation to write.

That being said, I dug this out of my WIPs and finished it up. I felt in the mood for something sweet and sapphic, and there are virtually no fics about just Emmie and Jo, but they have so much potential- I just had to write something.

Not sure how old they are in this because the Hunters are supposed to be young girls, but Jo’s backstory as a gangster made it sound like she was at least of age (otherwise that’s a VERY concerning backstory). I feel like this is classic “Rick not thinking it through” but it does make it harder to write a longer fic when I don’t have a feasible timeline.

Tagging my usual taglist +fic taglist

@euryvices @deciduowl @lavenderfairiez @ottpopfic @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @imnoturfriend-im-a-swiftie13 @123letsgobestie @kaleidoskuls @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @ollieisanerd @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh @hadeslegacyhephgirl @siimplyapril @pjowasmy1stfandom

Fics might be less of a thing now that I’ve got more on my plate. I’ll keep working on my WIPs but this might be all you get from me in a while.

[madhatterbri]

Business Days | HOOK

Summary: Could you do one about HOOK with the writing prompt “Do that again - Shit, just like that, right there" or “I’m yours. Only yours.”

Author's Note: Set in the 1920s. This is pure fiction. Enjoy. ❤️

Requested by @cody-uso

@99hook

HOOK sat in a dimly lit room. His feet propped up on the desk. He just arrived home after a major bootlegging deal between him and a random speakeasy owner. He promised them protection from the cops if they gave him 30 percent profits. The speakeasy owner nearly fell over himself to sign the dotted line.

"I know that smile anywhere. Good day for business?" You asked, walking into the bedroom. He looked at you from head to toe. Before he came home, you were getting ready to go to the pictures. It was a simple night out with the girls. Now he wanted nothing more than for you to celebrate with him.

"Promised to keep the coppers away, and they were begging for an offer," he put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He stood up and adjusted his suit.

"That's wonderful, darling. Are you going to your father's to celebrate?" You asked spinning around in front of the full-length mirror. As the girlfriend of the infamous Hook you always tried to dress your best.

"I was thinking we could both stay in," he whispered and wrapped his arms around your waist. You remained in place, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He kissed the side of your neck. You sighed and moved your head to the side.

"But the girls," you sighed. He always knew how to keep you home. You placed your hand on the back of his neck. He remained in place, peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses.

"The pictures will be around tomorrow, baby. I'm here right now, and I'm the real thing," he whispered roughly. His fingers laced yours as he led you to his desk. You sat on his desk. He kissed your lips. "So perfect,"

“Who do you belong to?” He breathily rasped as he tipped his chin, looking down his nose at you. Your mouth opened but no words flew past them. Your mind scrambled, body set ablaze. It’s a wonder you could even keep your eyes on him.

You blushed.

"Still get shy when I compliment you. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. His lips were taunting as they moved down to graze the column of your throat. You felt the sharpness of his teeth slide over your skin and the breath you didn’t know you were holding exhaled in a long, needy moan.

“Sure you’d rather go out with the girls?” He asks with full condescension. Your eyes rolled when his calloused palms slid beneath your dress, straight to your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart for him. You grabbed his tie and pulled him in, crashing your lips with his to give him your answer.

He hastily pulled your dress up to bunch around your waist. He seemed to lack patience and you didn’t attest. You worked on his belt, hands fumbling to get it undone and he looked down at your struggle with an amused smirk before he stepped back to do it himself.

“Eager?” He smirks. You pulled him back and worked on the buttons of his shirt, but your fingers halted and your mind spiraled into a blurred haze when you felt him push into you, bottoming out in one swift motion. Grabbing onto his shoulders, you looked up and found that infamous smirk dripping in arrogance.

“Now who’s eager?” You quirked a brow. All you received was a twitch of the corner of his mouth before he wrapped his hands beneath your thighs and hiked them up, holding them firmly at his sides. His hips snapped, the force unforgiving.

With every thrust, the desk hit the wall, the bangs echoing throughout the bedroom. Your head fell back as he rocked into you, his tie halfway undone and two buttons of his shirt letting a sliver of tanned skin and pieces of his tattoos peeking through. He drew his lip beneath his teeth as he picked up the pace. Sweat beads formed at his temple, sliding down to his jaw as he stared directly into your eyes, unable to look away when you were taking him so well.

He dropped one of your thighs and slammed his hand on the desk, leaning forward as he slowed his thrusts to an agonizing, teasing pace.

“I said, who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours. I’m only yours.” You breathlessly moaned, cupping his jaw and swiping your thumb over his bottom lip before you leaned forward and pressed yours to him. He picked up the pace again, his thrusts gaining momentum for the second time, so much so that you couldn’t hold the kiss. He smirked against your lips and leaned back up, grabbing your leg and hiking your ankle up to his shoulder. He placed a kiss on your inner calf before he leaned forward again, his lips latching to your neck.

Your knee brushed your cheek as he rocked into you. The new angle made you feel him so much deeper that you couldn’t contain the incomprehensible sounds spewing from your lips. You arched your hips to match his thrusts. You clenched around him every time he pulled back, just to draw him right back in.

“Do that again.” He grunted against your neck. You kept arching your hips, lifting them off the desk every time he thrust back into you.

“Shit, just like that- right there.” His deep voice slightly trembled. He was losing his composure and you knew it. You clenched him as tight as you could just to hear the curses he let out against your shoulder.

“I’m so close,” you managed to break out, your hips ferociously raising to chase after that high that was so close you could taste it. He wordlessly brought a hand down between your slick bodies and started working his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your eyes rolled back, his name flew past your lips, and yours rolled off his tongue twice. Your body jolted with the last three thrusts before you felt yourself succumb completely. You held onto him for dear life as he rocked you through the high, slowing the thrusts significantly to make sure you rode it out as long as you could. He pulled back up and locked his lips with yours just as his high took hold.

His hips stuttered, then stilled, and you took every last bit he had to offer. Two more breathy kisses and he pulled back, a lazy smirk and droopy eyes to match on his face. All the arrogance previously proudly displayed now washed over with adoration as he looked at you.

“I love good business days.” You grinned, watching as his smile widened and he nodded.

“I love celebrating them with you.”

[vixenpen]

Rapper’s Delight Hobie X Black Fem Reader (1970s coded)

This is for my biggest fan @kyankyannnn

This is what a Black girl from the Bronx talks like @ohsanghoe and @kyankyannnn since it was so confusing before! 😂 anyway, this was HELLA fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy 😉

You gazed around at the brick faces of Camden’s shops and the graffiti peppering random surfaces with awe and fondness.

This was your first time in Hobie’s hometown, and it felt at once familiar and foreign. From the grey and brown square buildings to the peeling, painted signs adorning their façades, the neighborhood was so distinctly working class; you half expected to see a hotdog vendor or a bodega.

“Y’alright, America?”Hobie asked, quietly. His large hand rested on your arm.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m cool.” You replied.

“Not scared yet are ya?” Smiley, the dimpled bassist of Hobie’s band asked. His signature toothy grin lit up his medium brown face.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “Feels like home.”

“Let’s see if you’re still singin’ that tune when we take you to The Sub.” Silas, the perpetually stoned drummer, added.

Despite its name, The Sub, was in fact not a late night spot to get sandwiches. According to Hobie it was one part basement club, one part speakeasy. Not unlike the warehouses the DJs threw dance parties in back in your hometown of the Bronx New York.

It was beyond trippy having another spider friend in the same timeline as you. The Spiderverse often either felt vast and disconnected or—whenever you were in the spider society— claustrophobic and overwhelming. So it was a major relief when you’d met Hobie, aka Spider Punk, another spider from Earth-138. The two of you had immediately hit it off being the same age, nineteen, and major music lovers.

The punk scene was practically non-existent in the Boogie Down Bronx and the same was true of the brand new hip-hop/rap scene of your home. But you were curious to see how these London cats got down, so when Hobie had invited you to Camden for an extended stay, you’d enthusiastically agreed. Hopefully New York could behave itself for a few weeks while you were gone.

Being that you weren’t a full time member of the spider society, Hobie had mopped some tech to make you a watch giving you the opportunity to transport to his place with the press of a button.

As you and the band headed to The Sub, you took note of the rest of the crowd, who were mostly dressed similarly to Hobie and his bandmates. Ripped skinny jeans, leather vests studded with silver spikes, chunky stainless steel jewelry and so much spiked up hair you were almost certain you could see a trail of hair spray and pomade in the air. There were a few people who were more casual in band tee’s or Jean vests, but you in your sparkly bell bottoms and matching top certainly stood out. Especially with your bouncy afro compared to the—mostly white—girls with their immobile Mohawks.

The Sub was actually a record store called: ‘Subwoofer Record Shop.’ It was closed to the public, but a trail of punks were all rounding the side of the building to the alleyway.

“Man, I’m psyched for tonight!” Smiley enthused. “Y/n, you gotta be front row and center cheerin’ us on, yeah?”

“I gotta be front row and center to see around these people’s hair.” You joked.

“Hey, that fro a’yours ain’t exactly flat, innit?” Hobie grinned, tweaking a tight curl near your ear. The motion made your cheeks burn.

“Picked to perfection.” You countered, playfully, ignoring the way your heart revved.

The boys led you down a flight of crumbling, concrete stairs where a handrail wrapped in multicolored Christmas lights and a surprisingly bright street lamp led the way. At the base, grungy looking characters in black leather clothes and heavy eyeliner smoked and chatted in tight circles. Their scary expressions immediately brightened when they saw Hobie and his crew.

“Oi, dickheads! ‘Ow the ‘ell are ya!” A tall, rail thin guy with an electric blue mohawk exclaimed, slapping hands with the band as they crowded the floor by the doorway.

“Ah, ya know! Nother day nother disaster.” Hobie greeted him.

“Right ‘bout that, mate.” The blue haired guy chuckled. “Oi, Si? Ya still on earth with us?” His accent made the ‘th’ sound like an ‘f.’

“Always an never.” Silas waved a joint between his ringed fingers. You had no idea when or where he’d gotten it.

“Can’t wait to hear you blokes blow the house down t’night.” A girl with fire red hair that matched her kilt exclaimed.

“S’gonna be one helluva a show, that’s for sure!” Smiley replied.

“See you all in there.”

The exchange had been so snappy you’d gotten whiplash just listening to it. The boys let themselves in with Hobie holding the door for you, a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to The Sub, America.”

You gawked around the shockingly huge room. It had a black floor, a wall to wall stocked bar, darts at the far end and an elevated stage at the other. The walls were decorated with band posters advertising past and future shows. Some had been ripped off, others looked freshly tacked on. A wall of records hung from a shimmering curtain behind said stage and a gaggle of musicians were tuning up in a discordant symphony of riffs and scales. Colorful stage lights bathed them in hues of red, blue, and purple.

“Holy shit.” You marveled.

“Pretty cool for a group of weirdos, right?” Hobie whispered beside you. You could hear the casual excitement in his voice— clearly pleased at your reaction.

“Dynamight!” You exclaimed.

“C’mon, let’s grab a seat up front.” Smiley suggested.

Being that mosh pits weren’t uncommon in the space, “up front” actually meant at the end of the bar closest to the stage. The space surrounding the stage, was clear of tables and chairs in case of moshing.

The band on stage currently began playing and you were immediately impressed with their sound. They were a tight unit.

“Who are these cats?” You asked, Hobie.

“The singer’s name is Chris and the drummer is Byron.” He replied.

“I mean what’s the name of their band?”

“Oh, they ain’t a band, love. Chris sings folk music and Byron usually plays keyboard with a jazz quartet.”

Your head swiveled toward Hobie.

“You mean they’re not a band? And they sound that good together?”

“The drummer’s a bit slow on the pickup, but they’re all solid.” Hobie shrugged, swiveling in his stool until his knees kissed yours.

“Ok, Mr. Musical Savant.” You mocked a posh accent. “But you have to admit, they’re pretty tight together.”

“No doubt, but they won’t compare to our sound.” Hobie replied matter of factly.

 “Ohh? Big talk, Slim Jim.” You smirked, giving his shoulder a gentle punch.

“Yeah,” Hobie’s hazel eyes danced with amusement as he fixed you with his humorous half smile. The one that secretly made your heart race. “With the flavor to match.” He winked.

You thought you’d melt off the stool. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up a response, but before you could Smiley interrupted.

“Oi, when you kids’re done whispering sweet nothin’s, the stage is clear.”

The pair of you swung your head in Smiley’s direction. You could swear you saw a bashful, almost embarrassed expression flash across Hobie’s chiseled features, but he was smirking in a blink.

“Sure, sure.” He replied, standing along with his bandmates. Before he made the short trek to the stage he turned to you. “Be right back, yeah? Dun let any creeps try an pull one over on ya.”

“London,” your voice lowered as you leaned forward on the stool. “You took the girl outta the Bronx not the other way around.”

Now it was Hobie’s turn to look stunned. He scanned your face and seemed about to say something before Silas tugged him away.

“Let’s go, Romeo!” The stoned bassist quipped.

You giggled as Hobie shrugged.

“Don’t talk to strangers, y/n.” He playfully warned.

As the band climbed on stage a piercing wolf whistle sounded in the crowd along with a loud smattering of applause. It was clear Hobie’s band were well known amongst this crowd.

“Ri’,” Hobie chuckled. “Look, we got a friend here, yeah? She came all the way from America so you blokes better make us look good!”

“Even if we suck!” Silas added, sitting down at the drum set.

The crowd laughed. So did you, a fond smile lingering on your lips.

With that introduction out of the way, the boys began tuning up. Immediately, you noticed a different between their sound check and the slapdash ensemble that’d gone before them. You sat up, admiring your friend bathed in hues of blue and purple that seemed to caress his high cheekbones and emanate from his deeply melanated skin. The sight was enough to make a flush rise up your neck. You crossed your legs and propped your chin on your fist. The boys started out the gate swinging with a piercing guitar riff that hyped the crowd, followed by Silas’ bombastic drums.

The crowd went crazy, and you lowered the drink you’d gotten in awe. Wow, so this was what Hobie got up to in those unpermitted shows? Back where you were from, there were black rockstars, certainly. Jimi Hendrix,  Betty Davis, Prince, but you only knew a couple cats who played rock like Hobie. Bad Brains and a little band out of Detroit called Death.

Still, you couldn’t deny, the band’s sound was tight. Loud, but tight. Hobie’s fingers were flying. The rest of the band was amazing too, but you couldn’t take your eyes off your fellow comrade. You’d never seen him so in the zone. His expression was relaxed, but his entire body was locked into what he was doing. His head bobbed with the rhythm of his guitar.

“Woowoooo!” You whooped, bouncing in your seat. The cheering got Hobie’s attention and he glanced at you with a smile.

When the band was done, the room practically shook with applause and cheering. You jumped from the stool to join the noise.

“Jeez, how’re you blokes gonna act when we really start playin’?” Smiley joked, making the crowd laugh.

Hobie lifted the hem of his shirt to dab his forehead, and you could have sworn you heard the entire female demographic of the audience swoon. Not that you weren’t one of them.

“Ri’,” Hobie spoke up, “but I wanna introduce our girl. A friend of ours who came all the way from America to  visit.”

“Gwen!” Someone shouted.

You snickered. You almost forgot Gwen hung out with Hobie on a regular basis.

“No, not Gwen.” Hobie chuckled. “This is another friend. She’s in the music scene too.”

I am????

You thought.

“An’ I think she should come up here an’ join us, how bout you lot?”

The crowd cheered again. Your eyes widened.

What. The. Fuck?!

No way were you going up in front of this crowd. Everyone in there looked like they could kill you with their bare hands. Was Hobie crazy?

You sank down in your seat, but Hobie gestured to you broadly.

“Y/n, come up’ere. You know we ain’t gonna let ya off the hook.”

You looked around as if trying to find who he could be talking about, but all heavily made up eyes were on you as the punk crowd cheered you on.

“Yeah, c’mon y/n!”

“Be a sport!”

“Show us how they do it in America!”

Then the crowd began chanting your name. A thousand British accents practically singing “y/n, y/n, y/n!”

You could only gawk at Hobie whose pierced brow was quirked as he smiled slyly at you.

‘Come on’ he mouthed, holding out a ringed hand.

‘Seriously?’ You shot back?

‘Seriously.’ Hobie confirmed.

You prayed the moment would pass, but with everyone cheering you on and Hobie smiling gallantly at you like some knight in shining armor, you didn’t think you were getting out of this one. So with a quick ‘Ima kill you,’ to Hobie, you downed the rest of your drink and slid off the stool.

The applause got louder as you joined the band on stage, grabbing Hobie’s hand.

“Wow, umm, ok.” You chuckled nervously. “Look, I’m not from here, so my music probably isn’t gonna be you guys’ speed.”

“Try us!” Someone shouted from the crowd.

Alright. You would. You turned to Hobie with a half baked idea in mind. Time to bring a little Boogie Down to Camden.

“Yall know Rapper’s Delight?” You asked the boys.

All three members scoffed, almost offended at the notion that they didn’t.

“Yeah, love, we know Rapper’s Delight.” Hobie replied.

“You lead the way, y/n, we got ya covered.” Smiley winked.

“Alright, I guess ima kick yall something outta my hometown. Cool?”

The crowd responded favorably. You turned to the band, heart hammering nervously, and nodded.

Silas counted the band in.

“One.. two… one, two, three!”

Silas picked it up with the drums and Smiley quickly came in with the bass. Hobie was last.

God you were nervous, but man, the beat was way too funky to stay still so you bounced along. And when the beat gave way you started with the unmistakable intro of: “I said a hip hop the hippy the hippy to the hip hip hop and ya don’t stop the rock—“

But instead of biting Sugar Hill’s flow completely you decided to freestyle like the cats back home.

Now I know that you know that you ain’t eva heard this befo’, but layback and relax and let me kick you this flow.

Cuz in the boogie down, groove comes naturally to us and if you wanna be down and get down wit’ me now, you need proper influence. Boogie down B-town is where it really be happenin’ and I’m deliverin’ from Bronx and straight into Camden.

“Oooohhh!” The crowd chanted.

You laughed through your freestyle. Surprised by how much fun you were having. The crowd was jamming and the band was grooving right along with you. By the time the dance break came along, everyone was grooving along with you.

With an outro you thanked the crowd and were practically drowned out by their applause.

You slotted the mic back onto the stand only to be scooped into a hug by Hobie who spun you around. You laughed.

“That was amazing, y/n!” He exclaimed.

The rest of the boys joined you turning it into a group hug.

“Still wanna kill me?” Hobie asked.

“Yes!” You tried to glare at him, but your smile was too big. “But you made me sound good so I guess I’ll let you off the hook.”

Hobie laughed.

“I’ll take it.”

[stearleart]

Digital illustration of Ivy pepper from Tracy J Butler's series, Lackadaisy.

[fun-k-board]

If you could, Lackadaisy headcanons for a teen reader who wants to be part of the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. Maybe the reader likes the thrill

Pronouns used : None, no gendered terms.

Note(s) : When you say teen, I'm assuming young teen since 16-17 is not too far from Freckle and Ivy's age. Characterisation may not be accurate and criticism on how I portray them is very much appreciated.

Roark 'Rocky' Rickaby

Likes your spirit! Jokingly calls you the better cousin he never had which earns an eye roll from Freckle. I don't imagine you get out on missions much + it probably took ages to get in because you're fairly young, but when you do, it's chaos. If you get along with Rocky and even encourage his habits, then either the missions will fail or succeed but with broken limbs, at least three blown up buildings and a lot awkward explaining.

If you're not confident enough to say no and on the opposite spectrum, are sometimes the voice of reason, he calls you a mini Freckle and teases you about it constantly. I imagine he'd sort of becomes an elder brother figure regardless of what kind of a person you are, begging for Mitzi to let you stay even if you mess up often. You accept him for who he is, you're his friend, he wants you to still like him and he sees himself in you.

Rocky also gives you some sneaky sips of alcohol they get, hey, it isn't anything too much, and he compares it to church giving out wine which makes Freckle tremble in fear as his mother senses she needs to throw someone out a window. Besides, he worked hard to get it! Even if he was the one to screw the run around up, it's sharing and caring, friendship is very important.

Mitzi May

Has apprehensions about letting you join, it'd take convincing and by then she probably doesn't want to bring you on too many dangerous missions. Given how she is around Rocky, I don't think she'd be uncaring if you're similar to him. High spirits and an urge to please her, similar to the man in question, to her, you're a kid. She has trouble telling you no in a way that isn't tip toeing around the subject.

Even if you can also be useful and your begging is temptation straight from the snake, Mitzi will always tell others you're a kid and treat you like one, no matter if it's important or not in that situation. She feels horrible that you may not make it to the next day, but they're understaffed and need to get business up and running, Mitzi comes to think of you like her own after a while. Although, she wishes you weren't so eager to put your life on the life.

Ivy Pepper

I imagine she also loves your spirit, finds you adorable and will have the urge to become your friend, asking Mitzi to let you join and vouching for you. Ivy is also the only one to treat you on equal ground, even Rocky will just view you as a child in the end, but she tries viewing you as a friend first. This can he bad or good depending, but she doesn't want to pretend you're frail, this doesn't mean she won't crack down on you and be strict like an older sister.

Doesn't matter if you have two left feet and stumble, she will teach you to dance, you won't get out of it, and trust me when I tell you she's determined. The lessons consist of you stepping on her toes and laughing so hard you just fall on the ground.

Since she's fairly new to doing heavy jobs as well, only joining in as they are understaffed, she understands if you mess up sometimes and don't fully get what to do. Ivy was born into this life and teaches you the ropes that you wouldn't understand.

Calvin 'Freckle' McMurray

Uncomfortable to the max, he genuinely can't even look you in the eye for the longest time. He already had worries in joining himself, Ivy has been working in Lackadaisy for a long time, Rocky is... Uh, Rocky. But you? You're a literal teen who just likes the thrill of it, Freckle tries to be a good influence on your life and tells you not to join. Which he understands is incredibly hypocritical, but at the same time, he can't find it in himself to care about his hypocrisy too much.

Hopes to convince Mitzi to not put too much pressure on you, he is very attentive and any limp or struggle is met with a lecture that makes Rocky get flashbacks to Freckle's mother. Gets incredibly apologetic if you see him with guns and how insane he can be, regardless on how you feel, he's guilty that he may be influencing you badly.

Viktor Vasko

At first you thought he wanted you to die, an intense stare placed on you at all times with a smashed glass from his seemingly violent thoughts. But all he sees is a dumb kid, someone who needs to get out before this business kills you. He won't exactly be caring about it either, simply telling you that if you continue being reckless with your life, you will die. If you aren't careful? Maybe others you love.

It's worse if you end up bonding with him, even a little, he gets even angrier with those around you. He will not let you out of his sight if he can help it. Essentially? He's a very tough love guy, Viktor comes off as though he doesn't like you, which may be true on the surface, but deeeeeeeeep deeeeeeeeep down, he likes you a little. Maybe. Sometimes. Not often.

[licially]

Frepper - Follow Suit

// I got no idea how this came into fruition, I've only completely wrote this out before I realised what I was doing. Anyways enjoy this tiny fic I wrote for myself and/or anyone else who are enjoying the awkward dynamic between these two.

The evening flaunted itself with a merrier than usual crowd down at Lackadaisy, and most opted to swing by the stage and dance to their heart’s content between stanzas, sung by a backup singer for the night as the jazz band winds down for the week ahead. Within the crowded mess, only messier given the fact that it is littered with alcoholics, some more drunk than others, and the music proved exacerbating to both him and his mental state. It was overwhelming, yet he had to persevere, as he waddled his way through everyone. 

He wanted to find Ivy here, after she invited him back to another night at Lackadaisy just a few weeks after she gave him the pin of clubs. A message, written in a note, found Calvin on the day just before the night. It sat in the mailbox in front of his house, and it stood out to him since most mail that was directed to the household doesn't normally have a daisy flower pinned onto it. Reluctantly, he picked up the letter for himself, yet he’d never want to explain the true meaning of this letter to his mother.

He took a precarious approach into the household; he didn’t want to be perceived by his mother after the incident down Route 94, which essentially made him in even more trouble than his cousin. Through the front door, he quickly ran down towards the bench near the kitchen. Nina had been upstairs, but even she heard Calvin’s attempt thanks to the creaky wooden floor from their house. 

“Calvin! Is ever’thin’ alright?” She screamed, from atop the stairs.

“Yes mom- everything is fine!” He replied, with a shrill in his voice from the initial jump scare of his mother’s scream. After he’s done putting his mother’s mail on the kitchen bench, he quickly ran upstairs and into his room where he gently tore off the envelope of the letter that was meant for him. It wasn’t entirely heavy, save for the daisy, and the message inside also proved to be even tinier on his paws: 

McMurray,

I hope this note finds you before your mother does, but you should come back to Lackadaisy, I need to talk to you about something just between the two of us privately. Rocky won’t be there, I promise.  Bring the pin I gave you, just in case. Horatio tends to check for the pins for the newcomers, but for the most part he knows you well enough. to let you in.

See you there!

Ivy Pepper

Surprised, he set out for any fancy suits in his closet. When he first stepped into the speakeasy, there were patrons with more grandeur and complicated suits than the simple bow tie that he was so accustomed to wearing. Rarely had he put together an actual tuxedo for the occasion, given his last one was just Sunday church service, yet he feels that any suit would do fine for this place. After all, he wasn’t bound for formalities, but fitted himself with whatever was necessary. Albeit it made him uncomfortable at times, he squeaked through.

Usually, tuxedos are worn by combining a waistcoat, laid over a bright white shirt, with a jacket’s lapel distinguishing the features of someone who would wear such an outfit, but he didn’t know any better. Fact of the matter is that he hid himself trying to get the note towards his room, and now he had to justify the choice of clothing he chooses to wear on a Wednesday night to go somewhere even more discreet. This time, his cousin won’t back him out into the wilderness.

As the day soon turned into the afternoon, and into night, Calvin mustered up little to no courage to talk to Nina about the night that was ahead. His chores really put him out of commission from even talking, from mowing the lawn again to trimming the hedges to spring cleaning the household. Every task was grueling, not just towards his physical health but his mental. Every moment he had the chance to talk to her about the night, it was instead interrupted by the workload that each of his jobs offered, or she was too busy minding her own business, and that he didn’t want to interrupt given her temperament.

At the dinner table that night, they both slowly enjoyed a pork roast, with baked potatoes and carrots and peas, a mishmash of gravy, and a glass of water on the side. During the silent clash of silverware, they both chewed silently with Calvin dwelling on his thoughts just as much as he did with his food. Chewing through his thoughts, again, was that letter’s contents; What did she want from him so much that it needed his attention? And why Lackadaisy specifically, instead of anywhere else? Why did she mention the fact that Rocky will not be there? What happened to him? Is he hurt that badly again, to the point where he’s not able to be there? Questions, comments, and possible theories demonized and dominated his headspace, since he had worried Rocky would end up hurt again. He may have been kicked out of the house, but still doesn’t mean that he could entirely dismiss him.

His thoughts soon kind of took him out of his headspace, as Nina quietly catched on. She hoped that this was just poor Freckle being burned out by today, but her realization struck as much as the gravy did, as the food on his fork slid off and onto his shirt, staining it with… that lukewarm gross stuff. Surprised, she called out for his name, with no answer to boot. As Calvin dangerously, and mindlessly, and slowly, raised his empty fork towards his mouth, Nina raised her voice at him.

“...Calvin. CALVIN.” Nina’s screaming proved effective, as he immediately snapped away from his mindless acting, and set down the fork towards the table of food. The lukewarm sensation down his shirt finally reached him, as he stood up to let the food fall towards the floor, he stood there in absolute disgust, and faced that same disgust from his mother, who now stood up with a revolting and confused look on her face. It reflected in her words too, mixed in with anger after all of the cleaning that she didn’t even do.

“You’re going to clean that up, finish your food, and go to sleep immediately. Understood?” She hissed out, strutting past him and into a closet with all of their cleaning equipment. He stood there, still wondering if he should really tell her about it or just not go. He heaved a sigh, as Nina came back with brooms and mops, to a slightly more distraught Calvin, who reluctantly cleaned up his mess. With that, he ended the night on a sour note. The dinner was the thing he did look forward to, after the day went from bad to worse, with nothing in between that made him any better about himself.

That night, as he laid on his bed, he had a final decision. Either he sat at home, and explained to Ivy later that he couldn’t commit himself because of his strict mother. Or he needed to find a way to sneak out of the household, and finally meet up with her without the other interruption that was always in his ears. He had always wanted to get back at Ivy for her sudden moves with him, especially secretive and behind Rocky’s back. He figured this was a good reason to confront her about it.

So, he set out that night. Being the same as the last time he did it the first time to get to Lackadaisy, this time carrying a suit on him to be extra cautious about: the jacket has wide satin peaked lapels with the point of the lapel pointing upward, with large and rather solid shoulder pads and curved sleeves, a single button closure and four button cuffs. 

The jacket has a breast pocket and a jetted pocket at either side and is lined in black satin fabric on the body and white satin in the sleeves, and a black bowtie to finish off. To him, this had been the first time this suit had ever been worn outside of formal events, and it still had some dust on it as he silently creeped out of the room and down the stairs. Finally, as he stepped outside towards greener grass, he walked slowly towards the city center, and soon caught a taxi towards the Little Daisy Cafe.

The slow, yet endearing tune whistled its way to his lover, as he weaved towards Ivy in the distance. It didn’t seem like he knew about this whole place being this packed, as he did hope for the place to be less packed as it was, but it seemed all the more busy than usual. Horatio even mentioned briefly that “Wick’s party showed up again. Pardon the loud noise.” He quietly, yet deeply regrets not heeding to his advice, holding his hand towards his ears as he found himself surrounded by the constant loud music, the equally as loud chatter from everyone, and the-

“Found you!” A familiar voice caught him off guard, as he felt a hand on his shoulders that complimented the voice of surprise.

Behind him stood Ivy Pepper, who was dressed for the occasion from head to tail. A feather that was essentially in her hair, a necklace of pearls that accompanied the orange-ish dress that covered itself scarlet form the lighting of the place. Ivy smiled at Freckle, now holding his hands as she got closer and closer, Ivy being the most energetic to the confusion of Calvin.

“Uhh- hi?” He said, a slight smile across his face.

“You finally made it!” Ivy heartily said, her smile full of glitz and glamor as her dress. “Oh wait- the music’s about to start!” 

As the two held each other, hand to hand, shoulder to shoulder, they danced onwards and to the slow lover’s tune that resonated with most. Calvin steered himself quietly towards a  slow dance, something Ivy taught Calvin before. To Calvin, it felt more new and oftentimes he’d stumble between steps, accidentally hold Ivy’s hands a little too hard and/or soft, but Ivy withstood the clumsiness. She’s been used to more stubborn people, one of such notoriety is Rocky, yet Calvin’s case is different. He had put in efforts to do whatever she had asked him to do, albeit nervously, but he was capable of doing so with determination. 

The two kept at it, often exchanging positions, and occasionally twirling one another around with an added awkwardness to it. To him, this felt like traversing through this unknown terrain, but to her it’s improv practice. It makes sense, only to her, that he was just playing around with Ivy to get her to come up with newer ideas. As the music faded, the two hastily finished up the last movement to the dance, before mellowing it out towards a standstill.

Face to face, where the two suits of clubs met, they stood at the wooden floor of the dance floor in front. They didn’t wanna move from the spot, at least for a bit, because the night’s sting finally caught up to them. Maybe the dancer’s reprise could bring them both back, but for now they held each other, a moment in time where they exchanged both looks and smiles.

“I… have been meaning to ask you something.” Freckle stuttered, finally wanting to address the elephant in the room.

“What is it, McMurray?” She curiously asked, in a fit of tiredness.

“Why did you bring me here? Alongside Rocky… I mean. Why did you give me the pin?”

“Well… I’ve already told you, have I not? It’s for your own sake.” Ivy replied, seemingly covering something up. “You wanted to get away from your mom, right?”

“I–” He stuttered, a bit confused. On how exactly she read his mind like that.

Ivy giggled, slightly gesturing towards Calvin’s face. “That’s my guess, I might be wrong, you know?”

As the three of clubs brought himself forwards at the request of Ivy, soon one away from the four of clubs. Ivy sighed. She didn’t have an ounce of clue on how he felt, but judging from his soon flustered face, she hit a soft spot in Calvin somehow. Some way. She leaned closer and closer towards him as well, as they spoke to each other, almost following suit of what they had said before.

“My hands aren’t shaky anymore.” She teased, even though it was just shaky, but not enough for Calvin to notice.

“I… I mean, now I know how to kiss.” He laughed back, awkwardly.

“And you still have that mortal terror on that face of yours, McMurray.” She smiled, now they were only an inch away from each other.

Soon, they converged on each other, and finally delivered the kiss on the dance floor.A kiss that left the fourth mark on his suit, as they both embraced it like the last time around, in much better conditions than that pig truck, and in a much better place than that confrontation with Fish and Wes. Slowly, they pulled themselves a tad bit apart, as they both shared one more look between each other. 

“This is when you should say ‘I love you’, Calvin. I’d thought I’d let you know.”