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I'm sorry I haven't answered the QnA about my OC lately. I've been busy with college and commissions. I'll get to it asap😔

So, in the meantime, here have some Rocky rockying~

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had the pleasure of listening to @lackadaisycats talk about indie animation at SCAD yesterday, had to doodle a little rocky while at the presentation! wonderfully helpful tips, excited to see what comes next

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helloooo :D

i was wondering if maybe i could get a Rocky x reader whos just as chaotic as him? like i js think id be very cute, two maniacs in love

no rush, love ur blog 💓

A/N: Two maniacs in love, indeed! Feel free to send in another request if you'd like -- I originally wanted to make this longer, but the dreamy longing that writing this drabble gave me was just too good to throw away. Enjoy, and thank you for the kind words! <3

How many nights have you spent, twirling hand in hand on the bridges of cranes? How many nights have you spent singing yourselves hoarse on the highest rooftops of St. Louis? How many kisses have the two of you shared, tinged with a laughter that only the two of you will ever truly understand?

Before you fell in love with Rocky, you were still you. Perfect and whole, all on your own. But when you linked hands with him, felt your hearts beating in sync, you felt an innate change within yourself. Maybe it’s because for the first time, you actually felt seen. Maybe it’s just what being in love is actually like. Maybe that’s what it means, to find your soulmate. You’re not quite sure, and you don’t really care to find out.

What you do know is that with Rocky, you feel alive. And when the two of you ping pong off one another in conversation, and you see the eyes of your friends (and in some cases, enemies) roll, you’ll smile to yourself. Because nobody else can say with as much certainty as you, that they’ve found their other half.

You drag him in by the tie, lips connecting in a hazy moment of passion. The smoke in the field has yet to clear, and the sparks in your fur have only just died out, but that only makes the moment more electric. He cups your face, unable to stop the smile that claws its way into your kiss — but you can’t blame him: You’re doing the same, after all.

You’re only broken apart by the angered screams of your bootlegging rivals down below, and even then, you can hardly get enough of him. You tug him by the hand through the underbrush and towards the car, grinning all the while — a mirror image of your lover.

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helloooo :D

i was wondering if maybe i could get a Rocky x reader whos just as chaotic as him? like i js think id be very cute, two maniacs in love

no rush, love ur blog 💓

A/N: Two maniacs in love, indeed! Feel free to send in another request if you'd like -- I originally wanted to make this longer, but the dreamy longing that writing this drabble gave me was just too good to throw away. Enjoy, and thank you for the kind words! <3

How many nights have you spent, twirling hand in hand on the bridges of cranes? How many nights have you spent singing yourselves hoarse on the highest rooftops of St. Louis? How many kisses have the two of you shared, tinged with a laughter that only the two of you will ever truly understand?

Before you fell in love with Rocky, you were still you. Perfect and whole, all on your own. But when you linked hands with him, felt your hearts beating in sync, you felt an innate change within yourself. Maybe it’s because for the first time, you actually felt seen. Maybe it’s just what being in love is actually like. Maybe that’s what it means, to find your soulmate. You’re not quite sure, and you don’t really care to find out.

What you do know is that with Rocky, you feel alive. And when the two of you ping pong off one another in conversation, and you see the eyes of your friends (and in some cases, enemies) roll, you’ll smile to yourself. Because nobody else can say with as much certainty as you, that they’ve found their other half.

You drag him in by the tie, lips connecting in a hazy moment of passion. The smoke in the field has yet to clear, and the sparks in your fur have only just died out, but that only makes the moment more electric. He cups your face, unable to stop the smile that claws its way into your kiss — but you can’t blame him: You’re doing the same, after all.

You’re only broken apart by the angered screams of your bootlegging rivals down below, and even then, you can hardly get enough of him. You tug him by the hand through the underbrush and towards the car, grinning all the while — a mirror image of your lover.

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THIS IS REALL???? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA /pos

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Les Barons Nico

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Nicodeme Savoy/Reader (Pining, Drabble) -- In which you fall asleep in the back of the car, and Nico thinks about how much you mean to him.

Content Warnings: Brief, nonspecific comic spoilers (iykyk), and 1 paragraph on scarification. Not detailed, but it's there.

Names get around easy in the underground — it’s important to know the key players of every operation, lest you get mixed up in the wrong business. But some names are more infamous than others. First for their proficiency, then for their brutality. And some names, such as that of one Nicodeme Savoy, carry a weight that few would care to invoke by speaking it outloud. But that doesn’t mean people don’t make their own assumptions, or gossip in the dark.

“He’s some sort of sadist,” they say, “Brawling type, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.”

And for most points, Nico isn’t too keen on refuting them. There’s a part of him that enjoys the aire of mystery, of fear, that surrounds him. Plus, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the adrenaline of a good fight, or the rewarding catharsis of blood on his knuckles when he inevitably wins. But that isn’t the only thing that he likes.

They never talk about his love of spicy food, or a well-made Old Fashioned. They certainly never talk about how he likes to dance, or watch the fireflies flicker over the water at night. And nobody would ever be caught dead talking about how much he likes you.

The slow rise and fall of your shoulders is subtle, hardly even visible in the rear view mirror with the dim moonlight that filters through the windows, and yet it’s nothing if not captivating. Your parted lips and relaxed form burn themselves into his memory as his eyes bounce back and forth between your reflection and the road ahead.

You were exhausted, to say the least. All three of you were, really — your last target had necessitated a chase by foot, and while the three of you normally wouldn’t mind such a thing, the man had given you a, quite literal, run for your money.

His last minute backup hadn’t been expected, either.

And thus, what should have been an hour long joyride soon turned into a day long hunt — he’s sure that if Mordecai had been here he would have called off the operation, or suggested some new angle of attack. He scoffs to himself internally — sure, it would have saved them some time if it worked out, but where’s the fun in that? All work and no play, he is. Hard to imagine he's survived this long without blurring the lines, but hey, who is he to judge?

Nico glances at you again, nestled into the side of the car. Your arms twist around yourself comfortingly as you curl into the plush of your jacket, and you’d somehow managed to twist yourself to outstretch your legs across the bench. (Which would have never happened either, if Mordecai had been here. So again, he counts his absence tonight as a win.Leblanc will have to forgive him, for that.)

You seem peaceful — peaceful in a way that, with your gun now long discarded and forgotten — that it’s easy to forget how your hands were stained with blood just hours ago. How easily you danced through his deadly game, laughter ringing out in the abandoned warehouse you’d all ended up in. How easily you meshed with the two of them — the infamous Savoy twins — like you had always belonged.

His lips turn upward ever so slightly, and looks back at the road again. He’d never forget any of that, though.

“When are you going to tell them, hm?” Seraphine murmurs lowly in their home language, French Creole rolling smoothly off her tongue.

“What, about the chicken?” He responds, “Believe me, they already know. Been hounding me about it ever since it went missing, that one.”

She grins, “Mmm, poor thing. All the work they do, and they still find it in them to care for the little ones.” She looks over at him, this time more pointedly. “They’ve got a real big heart. Might even have space for you.”

He hums, mulling her words over as the trees pass them by. Somewhere along the way he slows down, taking care to steer clear of the potholes in the corners of the road. He doesn’t think about how he’d usually take them head-on, or how he’d ordinarily be speeding down the dusty roads. What he does think about, is you. How you had woven yourself into their lives so wholly, and with such ease.

He remembers how warm your hand felt in his as he taught you to dance, and the radiance of your smile as you finally found your rhythm. The plushness of your lips tempted him deeply that night, as they have every night since. It would be so easy to just bend down and close that gap, but for the first time in his life, he can’t seem to take that final step. Never before has a moment of temptation transformed into months of longing, but he isn’t complaining — far from it, actually. The newness of it all doesn’t scare him, and he’s proud to say that he doesn’t seem to scare you in the midst of it all, either.

Flashes of your official welcome into the congregation bless him for a moment at the thought; how you requested that he be the one to do it; how you smiled at him all the while; how you fisted his shirt in your hand during the worst of it… he’s proud to say that he doesn’t scare you. He’s proud to say that you trust him so deeply. And at the end of it all, when knife met table and bandage met skin, you pressed your forehead to his, thanking him. He thought he had known temptation before, but then your tongue darted between your lips as you pulled him to his feet to resume the night’s festivities, and oh, Maitre Carrefour give him strength-

Serafine’s voice brings him from his thoughts.

“They’re one of us, Nicodeme.”

He chuckles to himself, lips perking up once again. “Yeah, yeah they are.”

And when the sunlight filters through the curtains of the Maribel, you realize you don’t remember clambering out of the car, or pulling the your blankets over yourself — all you’re left with is the faint memory of floating and the fading, but familiar, scent of the lakeside.

A/N: I love him. so much. This was originally gonna be a request fill for some mutual pining, but I really liked where this ended up, so... expect more Nico in the future! Let me know if you want me to write the reader's POV on this, or the in-between of getting carried to your room -- I have many, MANY thoughts about being carried by this man <3

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Nicodeme Savoy/Reader (Pining, Drabble) -- In which you fall asleep in the back of the car, and Nico thinks about how much you mean to him.

Content Warnings: Brief, nonspecific comic spoilers (iykyk), and 1 paragraph on scarification. Not detailed, but it's there.

Names get around easy in the underground — it’s important to know the key players of every operation, lest you get mixed up in the wrong business. But some names are more infamous than others. First for their proficiency, then for their brutality. And some names, such as that of one Nicodeme Savoy, carry a weight that few would care to invoke by speaking it outloud. But that doesn’t mean people don’t make their own assumptions, or gossip in the dark.

“He’s some sort of sadist,” they say, “Brawling type, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.”

And for most points, Nico isn’t too keen on refuting them. There’s a part of him that enjoys the aire of mystery, of fear, that surrounds him. Plus, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the adrenaline of a good fight, or the rewarding catharsis of blood on his knuckles when he inevitably wins. But that isn’t the only thing that he likes.

They never talk about his love of spicy food, or a well-made Old Fashioned. They certainly never talk about how he likes to dance, or watch the fireflies flicker over the water at night. And nobody would ever be caught dead talking about how much he likes you.

The slow rise and fall of your shoulders is subtle, hardly even visible in the rear view mirror with the dim moonlight that filters through the windows, and yet it’s nothing if not captivating. Your parted lips and relaxed form burn themselves into his memory as his eyes bounce back and forth between your reflection and the road ahead.

You were exhausted, to say the least. All three of you were, really — your last target had necessitated a chase by foot, and while the three of you normally wouldn’t mind such a thing, the man had given you a, quite literal, run for your money.

His last minute backup hadn’t been expected, either.

And thus, what should have been an hour long joyride soon turned into a day long hunt — he’s sure that if Mordecai had been here he would have called off the operation, or suggested some new angle of attack. He scoffs to himself internally — sure, it would have saved them some time if it worked out, but where’s the fun in that? All work and no play, he is. Hard to imagine he's survived this long without blurring the lines, but hey, who is he to judge?

Nico glances at you again, nestled into the side of the car. Your arms twist around yourself comfortingly as you curl into the plush of your jacket, and you’d somehow managed to twist yourself to outstretch your legs across the bench. (Which would have never happened either, if Mordecai had been here. So again, he counts his absence tonight as a win.Leblanc will have to forgive him, for that.)

You seem peaceful — peaceful in a way that, with your gun now long discarded and forgotten — that it’s easy to forget how your hands were stained with blood just hours ago. How easily you danced through his deadly game, laughter ringing out in the abandoned warehouse you’d all ended up in. How easily you meshed with the two of them — the infamous Savoy twins — like you had always belonged.

His lips turn upward ever so slightly, and looks back at the road again. He’d never forget any of that, though.

“When are you going to tell them, hm?” Seraphine murmurs lowly in their home language, French Creole rolling smoothly off her tongue.

“What, about the chicken?” He responds, “Believe me, they already know. Been hounding me about it ever since it went missing, that one.”

She grins, “Mmm, poor thing. All the work they do, and they still find it in them to care for the little ones.” She looks over at him, this time more pointedly. “They’ve got a real big heart. Might even have space for you.”

He hums, mulling her words over as the trees pass them by. Somewhere along the way he slows down, taking care to steer clear of the potholes in the corners of the road. He doesn’t think about how he’d usually take them head-on, or how he’d ordinarily be speeding down the dusty roads. What he does think about, is you. How you had woven yourself into their lives so wholly, and with such ease.

He remembers how warm your hand felt in his as he taught you to dance, and the radiance of your smile as you finally found your rhythm. The plushness of your lips tempted him deeply that night, as they have every night since. It would be so easy to just bend down and close that gap, but for the first time in his life, he can’t seem to take that final step. Never before has a moment of temptation transformed into months of longing, but he isn’t complaining — far from it, actually. The newness of it all doesn’t scare him, and he’s proud to say that he doesn’t seem to scare you in the midst of it all, either.

Flashes of your official welcome into the congregation bless him for a moment at the thought; how you requested that he be the one to do it; how you smiled at him all the while; how you fisted his shirt in your hand during the worst of it… he’s proud to say that he doesn’t scare you. He’s proud to say that you trust him so deeply. And at the end of it all, when knife met table and bandage met skin, you pressed your forehead to his, thanking him. He thought he had known temptation before, but then your tongue darted between your lips as you pulled him to his feet to resume the night’s festivities, and oh, Maitre Carrefour give him strength-

Serafine’s voice brings him from his thoughts.

“They’re one of us, Nicodeme.”

He chuckles to himself, lips perking up once again. “Yeah, yeah they are.”

And when the sunlight filters through the curtains of the Maribel, you realize you don’t remember clambering out of the car, or pulling the your blankets over yourself — all you’re left with is the faint memory of floating and the fading, but familiar, scent of the lakeside.

A/N: I love him. so much. This was originally gonna be a request fill for some mutual pining, but I really liked where this ended up, so... expect more Nico in the future! Let me know if you want me to write the reader's POV on this, or the in-between of getting carried to your room -- I have many, MANY thoughts about being carried by this man <3

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cuties!!!

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Her design is so MMMM

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sometimes all you need is one passionate person who goes berserk for your work to keep you creating

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Got commissioned to draw Rocky 😺 [twt + insta + kofi on bio]

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ivy! (from @lackadaisycats)

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Hello :3 Could you do either headcannons or oneshot for sleeping with Mordecai Heller?? No smut, just like literally sharing a bed lol. Love your writing!!

Thank you so much!! I ended up combining this with a few other requests on some cuddling headcanons, so do let me know if you'd like any follow-ups to this! I like to imagine he's got a whole unbreakable routine.

Pairing: Mordecai Heller/Reader

How do you cuddle with Mordecai Heller? Simple. You don’t.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. But it’s what you tell everyone — he has a reputation to uphold, after all. And it’s much easier than defining what “cuddling” means for the two of you.

Like with many aspects of your relationship with Mordecai, cuddling came little by little. He’s not keen on touch, even in the best of scenarios. Most days, being touched just feels like a million concentrated pinpricks. It’s almost painful sometimes, the way unwanted hands sear into his skin and imprint themselves on his nerves. Not to mention all the germs people have. Eugh.

You knew he was touch averse long before you ever started dating — you’ve seen the way he leans away from others when they go in for hugs, or the way he grimaces during pat-downs on jobs. It’s such an intrinsic part of him that you never expected it to change, and you’re okay with that.

But sometimes, he surprises you.

There’s little gestures that he does (after a considerable amount of self-talk, not that he’d ever tell you that) that truly make your heart melt.

Working up to sleeping in the same bed was an adventure all on its own. It’s quite the milestone of trust for him, with a weight that’s just a stone’s throw away from an outright proposal. This man has spent most of his life in the center of danger’s crosshairs, so to trust you enough to let down his walls… well, you get the idea.

He always falls asleep after you do. He sleeps on his side, facing the door, with a foot of space between you — no more, no less. He counts your breaths as you drift into sleep, and memorizes the way your body heat seeps through into his own. He commits your very presence to memory, and it quickly becomes difficult— no, impossible — to sleep when you’re not by his side. He likes to say it’s because his routine is broken, but you both know that’s a lie.

His fur is soft — that’s the first thing you think to yourself when Mordecai brushes his tail against your own one night. You hold your breath, waiting for him to pull back, like it was some sort of mistake… but he doesn’t. There’s no hiss, no flinch or startle… just peace. Calm. Your lips pull back in a soft smile as you bask in the moment, enjoying every second that you’re connected. You dare not say anything, afraid that if you did he’d overthink the moment, or shrink back from the intensity of his emotions. But he never pulls away, not until the sun is shining through your curtains and begging the two of you to rise.

From then on, that too becomes part of your shared routine.

And little by little, it grows.

It starts as a brush… and then intertwining. Then he does it while you read together in bed… and then on the couch.

When it’s you, touch can be… pleasant. It’s an unusual feeling, foreign, but not a bad one.

Little incidences like that slowly become more and more frequent. More openly devout in their meaning, their intensity. He never thought he’d feel this safe with anyone ever again, and it’s almost scary how deep his love runs for you.

Some days are better than others, of course. It’s never your fault, never. Sometimes he truly just cannot handle the sensation of it all. You like to joke with him a little when he puts his hands up as a ward.

Can’t have you getting too soft on me, you jest, I know, I’m addictive.

And of course he sputters, because he is not getting soft (yet another lie) but at the end of the day, he knows you won’t push him. He trusts you.

But you can always count on that last step of your routine. Every night at 10:30pm his tail wraps around yours, like clockwork. Stress melts into weightless peace in an instant, with the world as little more than a memory outside of the walls of your shared apartment. Some lovers parade their joy around in the streets under the light of day, thriving in the attention that their unity provides. But you and Mordecai belong to the night, wrapped up in quiet, intimate eternity. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

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Mordecai does not wish to be perceived...

But we do! We've got some new Lackadaisy animation to share soon, and it'd be amazing if we could hit 1M subscribers in conjunction with that. With an indie project like ours, the viewer support we get directly determines how much animation we can make!

----------------------------- A short shot, but thank you to crew who contributed! Animation/Cleanup: @KareValgon, @Araunia , @Everyday_Anny , @ProjectENDO Compositing: @Matt_Pichette, @Mike_ParsonsVFX Background: @ratsjo , Eran Fowler, @newtworks Director: @fablepaint