Lackadaisy - Blog Posts

Hi, I'm Mambafidget! You can call me Fox or Denki too!! I use he/him pronouns.

I make icons, wallpapers, headers and whatever those Spotify things are, for any fandom!! Requests are always open

I mainly make mha icons but they'll probably be icons from other fandoms I'm in too.

Speaking of fandoms, my main fandoms are MHA, WC, SMG4, Sonic, TOH, WOF, CRK, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, TADC, Murder Drones, Lackadaisy, Gravity Falls, Amphibia, Win or Lose, HTTYD, COTL and BSD!!!

My fav music artists are MCR, Mother Mother, Cavetown, GAYLE, Wet Leg, NOAHFINNCE, Will Wood, Chappell Roan, TX2, Marina, Mitski and Green Day!!

I write fanfiction and post it to AO3 and Wattpad but I'm not that active on Wattpad anymore.

On my blog I'll mainly post mha things, random shit from my school and the icons I make!!

Anyway that's a bit about me!! Bye!!!

(Also I can't tag for shit)

Human Rocky rickaby 🩵🩵

I love this crazy bastard 🧍‍♀️🥴

I saw Benjamin and i knew i needed to draw him as a cute boy to a handsome man 💕💕

Benjamin belong to @aghostnamedcalamity

I love how You draw Cats and everything You make, keep going with ben's history! i know You can make this project and i love it!!! 🫰🫰

So excited for what's to come

HOLY CR- THIS IS SO-, OMG, I LOVED GLITCH PRODUCTIONS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT THIS IS AMAZING AND, AND-,

Everyone should at least know this exists so... Yeah, I'm just gonna leave it here.

(I'm freaking out so much right now, in a good way ofc, but WOW)

I wonder what Rocky’s new lantern motif means for the story

we first see a lantern in the chapter Whirlwind, where Freckle is waiting for Rocky to pick him up in the pie truck

we see a lantern again in the chapter Heebie-jeebies, when Rocky tells Freckle they need to go murder Fish and Wes

the lantern motif shows up again in the artwork Eight of Spades, where Rocky is depict holding a muddied shovel with a lantern hanging off it

Each time the lantern shows up near Rocky he’s roping Freckle into one of his schemes

I wonder if this is a “moth to a flame” imagery, with Rocky being the flame that Freckle follows to his detriment - or his death

Tumblr did a thing

Hehe. Credit to @steakboned for ratcheting up their dreaminess.

Posted a big pile of art board drawings for Patrons and Channel Members recently. Here's a few of them from the bunch. Of course Rocky can juggle (for .4 seconds).

-------------

Lackadaisy is on Patreon - there's extra stuff!

Hey Tracy! Have you heard about the new Ai called Sora? Apparently it can now create 2D and 3D animations as well as hyper realistic videos. I’ve been getting into animation and trying to improve my art for years since I was 7, but now seeing that anyone can create animation/works in just a mare seconds by typing in a couple words, it’s such a huge slap in the face to people who actually put the time and effort into their works and it’s so discouraging! And it has me worried about what’s going to happen next for artists and many others, as-well. There’s already generated voices, generated works stolen from actual artists, generated music, and now this! It’s just so scary that it’s coming this far. 

Yeah, I've seen it. And yeah, it feels like the universe has taken on a 'fuck you in particular' attitude toward artists the past few years. A lot of damage has already been done, and there are plenty of reasons for concern, but bear in mind that we don't know how this will play out yet. Be astute, be justifiably angry, but don't let despair take over. --------

One would expect that the promo clips that have been dropping lately represent some of the best of the best-looking stuff they've been able to produce. And it's only good-looking on an extremely superficial level. It's still riddled with problems if you spend even a moment observing. And I rather suspect, prior to a whole lot of frustrated iteration, most prompts are still going to get you camera-sickness inducing, wibbly-wobbly nonsense with a side of body horror.

Will the tech ultimately get 'smarter' than that and address the array of typical AI giveaways? Maybe. Probably, even. Does that mean it'll be viable in quite the way it's being marketed, more or less as a human-replacer? Well…

A lot of this is hype, and hype is meant to drive up the perceived value of the tech. Executives will rush to be early adopters without a lot of due diligence or forethought because grabbing it first like a dazzled chimp and holding up like a prize ape-rock makes them look like bleeding-edge tech geniuses in their particular ecosystem. They do this because, in turn, that perceived value may make their company profile and valuations go up too, which makes shareholders short-term happy (the only kind of happy they know). The problem is how much actual functional value will it have? And how long does it last? Much of it is the same routine we were seeing with blockchain a few years ago: number go up. Number go up always! Unrealistic, unsustainable forever-growth must be guaranteed in this economic clime. If you can lay off all of your people and replace them with AI, number goes up big and never stops, right?

I have some doubts. ----------------------

The chips also haven't landed yet with regards to the legality of all of this. Will these adopters ultimately be able to copyright any of this output trained on datasets comprised of stolen work? Can computer-made art even be copyrighted at all? How much of a human touch will be required to make something copyright-able? I don't know yet. Neither do the hype team or the early adopters.

Does that mean the tech will be used but will have to be retrained on the adopter's proprietary data? Yeah, maybe. That'd be a somewhat better outcome, at least. It still means human artists make specific things for the machine to learn from. (Watch out for businesses that use 'ethical' as a buzzword to gloss over how many people they've let go from their jobs, though.)

Will it become industry standard practice to do things this way? Maybe. Will it still require an artist's sensbilities and oversignt to plan and curate and fix the results so that it doesn't come across like pure AI trash? Yeah, I think that's pretty likely.

If it becomes standard practice, will it become samey, and self-referential and ultimately an emblem of doing things the cookie-cutter way instead of enlisting real, human artists? Quite possibly.

If it becomes standard industry practice, will there still be an audience or a demand or a desire for art made by human artists? Yes, almost certainly. With every leap of technology, that has remained the case. ------------------ TL;DR Version:

I'm not saying with any certainty that this AI blitz is a passing fad. I think we're likely to experience a torrential amount of generative art, video, voice, music, programming, and text in the coming years, in fact, and it will probably irrevocably change the layout of the career terrain. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was being overhyped as a business strategy right now. And I don't think the immensity of its volume will ever overcome its inherent emptiness.

What I am certain of is that it will not eliminate the innate human impulse to create. Nor the desire to experience art made by a fellow soul. Keep doing your thing, Anon. It's precious. It's authentic. It will be all the more special because it will have come from you, a human.

Lackadaisy sketch ^^

AHH ALL OF MY FAVORITE INDIE ANINATIONS ARE COMING OUT WITH NEW EPISODES AND THINGS EEJEJEJEHEH (ALSO Lackadaisy is making a pilot soon! If you don't wanna wait, you should definitely read the web comic, I think the link is just like Lackadaisy.com or something. it's SO GOOD!)

Witerally wocky wickaby

the animation bug…….it got me……

I got inspired by some of the rough I saw for lackadaisy episode 1 and decided to animate a scene from the comic. That thought slowly snowballed into this shot, which—while it technically doesn’t exist in canon—is inspired by Rocky’s demeanour in Breakdown.

I may or may not have been grabbing the air like a baby reaching for a mobile trying to figure out how someone would turn a steering wheel.

time taken: 10 hours

programs: Procreate, Vita, 1 bajillion brain cells (all gone)

Cleaned up version of Rocky and Freckle meeting for the first time

Drawing of a lot of characters

draesmiran said: Do you have an update on Maya?? ———————————-

She’s doing very well, thanks!  We’ve had some warm weather, so I took her into the backyard for a little bit of playtime in the leaves.  There’s a short video here.

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been asked what the Lackadaisy cats would look like as dogs…I would be heavily over-encumbered with obsolete coin currency. Well, I prompted my Patrons for questions they’d like answered, and someone asked the dog question, so there was no dodging it this time.  It ended up being a lot of fun, actually.  Most of this was done during a Patron livestream, with a lot of breed suggestions coming from the chat. —————————– Lackadaisy on Patreon - $2+ Patrons have access to a lot of artwork and other things I don’t share elsewhere.

If I do one of those ‘give me six characters to make fanart of’ challenges will people reply~

Look I’ve just always wanted to do one 💀

The fandoms to choose from are:

Hazbin hotel

Hellova boss

Steven universe

The owl house

Gravity falls

Adventure time

Rick and Morty

South Park

Lackadaisy

SOS smp

And if you want others then possibly

Okay but like,

Why am I lowkey starting to head cannon Angel's voice claim as Roxie Hart (Renée Zellweger) from Chicago (2002), like

I know in the movie Roxie doesn't have a Boston accent, but I think it just sounds like her, idk. And I can imagine Angel singing her own little cover of the song 'Roxie' somewhere down the line of her music career. But make it... 'Angel'.

As always, have a fantabulous day/night!

Happy birthday to Ace! 🥳🥳🥳

Guess who's birtday it is today?

Ace would have been 119 by 2024 and only two years away from surpassing god. Though unlikely, in my heart he is trucking along today continuously baffling Christendom by continuing to live.

I’m not very experienced with animation and i have a tendency to brute force my way through a problem instead of looking up a tutorial lol, but I’m pretty happy with this. The secondary motion in the ears and neckerchief are a bit janky but the tail sway I’m pretty proud of. As well as the anticipation before the yank on the calender.

I also simplified his design a little bit. As much as i love it, the fur pattern can be difficult to track so i left out the spots on his arms and tail. The face stayed the same though as its what most important.

And of course tumblr crunched the quality to hell so heres a little boogie gif with better quality

Lackadogs: Maeve

A sketch of our dear Mae-mae as a Lacka-dog, or more specifically, a Saluki.

As always, have a Splendacious day/night!

Lacka-oc's part 4!

Hannah Kesser belongs to @airenrts

Rosemary Cabrero belongs to @blood-n-gold

Alexandra "Riff Raff" Delucci belongs to @cats0naut

And, Halina Dabrowski belongs to @wpk12art

As always, have a pulchritudinous day/night!

Angelique : Expressions

(got bored, made this to compensate for my boredom)

Benjamin Heller ✨

SMMMMOKIN'

Oh GREAT, Mask Flynns' on the loose!!!!

Took awhile, but the last of the trio is finally finished! I present to you:

Transcription (due to the trend endlessly blurry images):

Born: 14th of February, 1901

Boston, Massachusetts

Born to Marie and Philip Caradine. Angelique, or ‘Angel’ as she calls herself nowadays, had had a fairly normal upbringing in the early years leading up to 1912. Well... If you discounted the gang her family were associated with.

Being the youngest of the Caradine siblings, she was coddled and babied by her older siblings and parents. Often told by her relatives that she had a wonderful voice. Though, not all was happy in the Caradine household. As a week after her eleventh birthday, her brothers and father would be massacred in an unseen ambush by a rival gang over a turf of land. Forcing her remaining family into a miserable ten years of poverty.

From that point on, Angelique would use the only thing she was ever good at to help her family from falling to famine. That being her voice. Singing for small crowds in the streets, and when she got older, on the stage in dance halls, or really any place that would have her. Whilst her two remaining siblings, Remy and Dotty, would take turns collecting the payments and performing alongside her. That was most likely how she got scouted. Eventually it became a career for her as she reached her early twenties, and at the age of twenty-one, she would leave behind the house she and her family had bought in Tennessee. Travelling around the southern half of America for a few years or so, before moving to St. Louis, Missouri, due to her newfound employment at the ‘Hotel Maribel’. Sure, she lives in a dingy little hotel room on the outskirts of St. Louis. But as long as she kept on moving, things would surely come her way eventually... Right?

Aside from singing her heart out on stage, Angel has shown to be quite proficient in dance. Commonly incorporating a slice of choreography into her performances whenever the moment arises. She has also shown to be quite skilled in the art of gossip, making it all the more chaotic due to her rather sociable nature. And the fact that when you get her to start, you can’t get her to stop. In addition to being the queen of smack-talk, it is relatively unknown to most cats that she speaks a small bit of French. Mostly due to her mother’s French ancestry. Oh, and if you were wondering, yes she does have an accent. She just likes to suppress it.

As always, have a magnifique day/night! 😘

🌚 - Miss Misery - 🌝

A Lackadaisy fanfic by GentleLass

Prelude

It was a splendid morning. Wind gently blew, leaves slowly swayed and the sun shone up in the Italian sky. A wonderfully blue sky, that wonderful sky underneath which Marjorie had grown up and that she had loved so much. Just like she had oh so loved the green and blooming prairies, among which she now ran, happy, thoughtless as ever, without a worry in the world. She was just a five-year-old, her dress was but a white lace, and the only accessory she was forced to drag along herself were her golden eyes that perfectly reflected the fervent sun of her motherland. No shoes, corsets, girdles, bows or hats to hinder and weighten her movement. She was free, absolutely free to run and jump and sme and play, by her own rules. And indeed she ran and laughed in the flowers, sprinting like bats out of hell. To her right, a flock of swallows crossed the soft clouds, returning after a long winter to flee from another; to her left, hares jumped fast towards North, almost as if challenging her to a race. And Marjorie of all people certainly wouldn’t have backed from a challenge, so she started running towards their direction, faster and faster. But the closer she got, the more the sound of their jumps became loud, louder, loudest, deafening. Until she got so close she started to feel the ground shaking underneath her feet to the rythm of their furious jumping…

… the Ford Model T roughly steered again thanks to the rough driving of Nicodeme, and the dream ended. Marjorie returned to her 30 something years of age (you don’t ask that to a lady!) , she returned to the corset that was twisting her guts along the cars’ brusque movements, to the shoes that squished her feet and to the skirts hindering her movement. The sky, as blue as it had been, turned grey and threatening, and the clouds returned to thicken into dark hoards of smoke. The sound of footsteps on grass was replaced by squealing and derailing of wheels on wet mud, and the girl’s laugh were soon covered by the flurry of water. Ah, Missouri. The land of humidity and swamps and just… wet.

Wet, Marjorie thought with a grimace of displeasure. That wouldn’t get along well with her heels, if not for the length of them, then the cost. She didn’t do that often - no, not wearing costly shoes in the least likely of occasions, that’s something she always did, if only for some twisted form of sadomasochism, subconscious and mostly unknown even to herself, but very evidently much explored - I meant, grimacing. Changing expressions, or just emoting. Her mind and soul weren’t empty, just… mostly unknown, as said, and as such she knew her looks where the easiest way to get her own - ‘with a smile you’ll get to the world’s heart when you yourself don’t even own one’, her father used to say. And she took those words to her… whatever is it that beats inside her chest (Marjorie drunkenly laughed “Bolero’s the only percussion inside me!” more than once), wearing a smile like you wear an accessory, an accessory like any other, interchangeable, replaceable, and most of all, material and meaningless when it came down to what truly matters. And indeed, when she thought nobody could see her she let it down like it mattered nothing to her, because it didn’t. When she thought nobody could see her… Marjorie snapped her gaze in a violent way that clashed with the fluffy fluttering of eyelashes, immediately baring her fangs as if out of instinct - whether a violent one or something else, it’s up to you to decide: the smile of Marjorie Ford can be as much that sewed shut of a doll, as it can be that cackling and threatening of a hyena. She smiled, and for a second she believed that the person who could see the smile would think the same thing and smile back, too, and the interaction would be just that easy and would go down just that smoothly. Just two people politely smiling at each other, no commitment, just smiling for the sake of smiling.

But alas, it couldn’t. We don’t always get what we want, much to Marjorie’s dismay. The eyes that looked at her now were anything but polite; they didn’t have the sparkle of amusement and kindness that should accompany a smile, they were cold. They were unyielding. They were all that were Marjorie’s own and more, but they didn’t match hers. She saw it. She knew he was seeing it too. She felt it. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t. His face remained a mask of pure indifference. It seemed to mock her, mocking her with its icy, hard eyes, mocking her as his lips never curved into a smile. The smile that was so obviously forced on her own lips froze, and it faded reluctantly, slowly, trembling, and the collapse was much more natural and spontaneous than the raise of it. Mocking her, mocking her, mocking her with his lips that never rose from the stern line - no, no Sir, with those serious and even respectable looks, the ostentatious diligence he dedicated to his work, the spontainety of his frown, while she was constantly fooled by her own decievment and the illusion of beauty surrounding it, and it made her angry. And anger’s the ugliest feeling of them all, and Marjorie’s supposed to be the most beautiful of them all, because what else did she have to offer? No friends, no family, no prospects. Certainly not a husband. She was alone with her feelings and desires. No friends, no family, no prospects. That’s how it is, isn’t it? You’re alone, Marjorie, and alone you stay - the truth that is so deeply engraved deep inside your bones, like iron bars of a rib-cage around… whatever it is that beats inside your chest (“Samba and Rumba!”). So Marjorie smiled and it felt like a sneer instead, but she didn’t stop smiling. She kept the expression frozen as the car’s brakes screamed in surprise and the tires screeched and the wheels hit the ground, until the other person fell for it, or just got tired of watching her, and looked away.

Tired of her, tired of her, tired of her— —no, NOT again. It’s just not worth so much worry. Marjorie took a big breath, realising she had been holding it all the while, and sighed. Rolling her eyes and abandoning her head against the window, and letting the usual numbness overtake her, her natural state of mind just as vague, and dull, and bleak as the view outside opaqued by the rain.

Boredom is the most sublime of all feelings, as it afflicts only those with a sensible and refined soul, too selective to be swayed by small flashes of petty emotion.

Souls that inevitably end up disheartening and brutalising: out of boredom, in fact, one can commit actions that are vile and dangerous, or degrading and not very sensible. Marjorie knew a bit too much of it for comfort, on both accounts. She knew too much of the evils caused by human greed and the pleasures provided by selfishness. She knew enough, really. Enough to know she has no reason to expect anything better from life, enough to know that she has no need for any better, and the world will provide her everything, and everything only if there is no resistance on her part.

That’s why she didn’t say anything when she recieved that hard, and frankly uncalled for, stare, from the man sitting as distantly from her as he could in the relatively crampled space of the Ford Model T, just as intent as she was in drowning out the cackling and growling voices of the two hijackers on the front seats.

And to think he could have even made for an acceptable partner in crime, at least compared to those other two… animals… currently fighting for the steering the wheel… if only hadn’t he been so… so…

So Heller.

The bland interest aroused by Mordecai’s manner waned in a matter of seconds as Marjorie’s probing eyes lingered on the strict and austere mien, observing with a certain disgust the blatant disdain and unpleasant disposition he shamelessly displayed against all manner of common courtesy and efficiency in work interaction.

Not that she minded him being rude in the slightest; he was, after all, a fellow employee, and therefore beneath contempt, for the sake of her own making things easier and less committed for herself if anything. No. No, it was because she could see, she knew - the glint in the other’s eyes, the stiffness of his posture and the rigidness of his features, the scowl he bestowed upon her after the first glance, after the first few sentences - this man didn’t like her. At all. No, he probably disdained her as much as she disdained him, in fact. And she didn’t like it - Marjorie didn’t like the taste of her own medicine, but yet again, nobody does. That was something completely beyond her control, a reason more to not like it.

But also a reason to ignore it: again, this game was just not worth the candle. It doesn’t mean anything, because it never does. It was was a game. Life is just a game. A game of pretend and lies, a game she played over and over and over again, trying to fill her stomach with a fake satisfaction and a fake smile, hoping that it might fool someone into giving her whatever it is would actually satisfy her - what exactly, not even she knew.

WOAHHH hey there!!! I’m just publishing this prelude to my Lackadaisy fanfic - Miss Misery - here, because I frankly can’t be bothered to learn how to properly operate AO3. AS ALWAYS I lingered a little *too much* on whatever it is that is happening inside this madwoman’s head… I hope it isn’t too boring, and I swear I’m trying to put a little more action into the other chapters. Hope it gave a little insight into this PUZZLE of a woman’s thought process behind her chaotic and seemingly irrational way of acting and aroused your interest to soon read more.

Comments and constructive critique are more than welcome!

Second Lacka-oc finished!

(Transcription for any who find the image too blurry):

Born: November 27th, 1903

Salem, Massachusetts

Maeve Midwinter, the proprietor (and solitary worker) of a cosy little bookstore in downtown St. Louis. The epitome of a pristine and upstanding citizen, she carries herself with utmost pride. Serving her community like the very legal citizen she is.

Well... Aside from her random bursts of uncontrollable rage. But she will assure you it was just the amount of caffeine she had in her coffee that morning, "It's nothing, I assure you!". But besides that, Maeve has devoted her life to her books, the few things in life she finds worth her time. That, and the fact that she chooses to associate with what her mother would call the scum of the earth, supplying speakeasies with a portion of illegally made wine. Though perhaps being a supplier certainly has its... Perks. For example, getting to know the charming Australian bootlegger working for the infamous Marigold gang. Who she seems to have taken quite the liking to.

Among the pleasantness of her small bookshop on the corner, this gentlewoman enjoys listening to the ambience of her many records on her gramaphone. Coupled with the oh so calming turn of a book page when nobody is around. Loving all fashion with ruffles and jewels to them, she collects anything even remotely shiny she can get her little mitts on. As well as being an avid lover of dark humour, and strawberry flavoured macarons.

Very happy to have Maeve's character card done, I find her to be the more ostentatious of the three given her... wealthier upbringing.

As always, have a dazzling rest of your day/night! 😘

Calliope: Recollection

(a poorly drawn mini-comic inspired by a recent convo between yours truly and @ahhhh-118, enjoy!)

Translation:

Cairns family homestead, 1917...

Adeline: Calliope?... Where are you going with that shovel?

Calliope: just gonna go withdraw some money, mum.

Calliope (in mind): just a little money...

A few years earlier...

Robert: Oi, Calli! Where yah goin'?

Calliope: Goin' down to feed the sheep, why?

Callum: *narrows eyes in suspicion*

Robert: You've only got a few more bucks in your allowance, so.yah betta make it count.

Calliope: Yessir!

Calliope (in present mind): *sigh*

Calliope (still in present mind): It's just to keep us fed... I promise I'll pay you back... Someday

For context, this follows an eighteen year old Calliope (aka, when she still had long hair) whose mother approaches her about where she's going. Calliope responds that she's going to withdraw money, but doesn't tell her that she's withdrawing money from the secret stash of money Calli and her brothers had stolen from banks and buried out on their families property (they come from a family of cattle farmers). Calli reminisces to herself about only taking a little, before we're thrown back to a fifteen year old Calli with her two older brothers Robert and Callum. Robert asks Calli where she's going and she responds with lie, of which her brothers catch onto. Robert replying with what he knows she's actually going to do, and says to use the rest of what she has in her 'allowance' wisely. As to make it even they had divided up their loot. Calli salutes him with her shovel before we cut to eighteen year old Calli thinking to herself, this time about how she would pay back her brothers the money she took from them to be able to feed her and her mother while they were away fighting in the great war. If they ever did come home, that is...

Woo, that was a doozy! Sorry for making the post so long 😅, there was just too much info I wanted to stuff in. Thank you so very much to the people that read this far!

With that in mind, have a splendiferous day/night!

Awwww, he's adorable ❤️❤️❤️

💜 Another of my Lackadaisy ocs 💜

🍀 This is Cassie’s little brother 🐰

AHAHAHAGUSJFZTUXBH- *cough cough* pardon me. Just finished Calli's little character poster after... Multiple hours, and here it is!

Transcription (so sorry for the blurriness 😭):

Born: December 6th, 1899

Murray bridge, South Australia

Born and raised on the murky expanse of the Murray river, Calliope was always one for life on her family's cattle farm. And, undenounced to her parents, the life of a small-time bank robber in the latter half of her teenage years. Considered more wayward and rebellious the older she got, it came as a shock to her when her elder brothers, and father, were enlisted in the armed forces to fight in the great war. Leaving only her and her mother to take care of the farm for the years they were away. And by circumstances of a tragic heartbreak, Calliope left her homeland and became a stowaway on a cargo ship heading for the distant lands of the Americas. In the hopes of finding an opportunity to build a new life for herself.

Though as they always say, old habits die hard. With the young Australian lass getting recruited for little pay in the esteemed Marigold gang. Now both a well-known patron, and a long-time bootlegger. Nothing, and she means nothing, is getting in the way of her current life. Or... That's what she thinks at least.

Living a congenial life on the wooden panels and planks of the Marigold room's backstage area, and being mostly forgotten about by a certain Marigold night manager. Calliope enjoys a plethora of... Interesting activities. Those including: Precarious automobile operating, wrangling with almost any cattle you put in front of her, mending household appliances, and dutifully using a shotgun. Her weapon of choice.

Woo! Thank you for reading all that (if you did), Maeve and Angel are going to be here (hopefully) soon. Feel free to ask any questions!

As always, have a magnificent day/night! 😘