#watch out for skull

[vryfmi]

[id: ink drawings of modern au Lockwood and Co characters with Skull being a cat.

1. Lockwood and Lucy introduce themselves. Lucy holds Skull—a black cat with white markings on the head, resembling a skull—and extends his paw in direction of Lockwood's extended hand and taps him, Lockwood looks concerned. they have an exchange, “I'm Lockwood.”—“Lucy.”—“Please don't. He hates me.” 2. Lucy sits on the floor in front of her laptop with books and notebooks around her. cat!Skull circles her and leans to sniff her extended hand. Lucy is distracted from her screen. 3. George sits on the floor with his legs crossed, he's typing on laptop but is distracted by cat!Skull loafing on top of sheets of papers. George says, “I need those”./end id]

some sketches of @czenzo’s fic Watch Out for Skull featuring a lot of cat the skull AO3 link

[czenzo]

Watch Out for Skull – Chapter 7

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ]

summary: Lucy takes on a cat-sitting job for a stranger, hoping for a quiet week in a nice London flat, with free food, no bills, and enough time to finish an art commission. But the cat is a menace, and the stranger’s friend is ridiculously charming—and a huge distraction.

words: 2,086 rating: T

note: helloooo!!! I can't apologise enough for taking so long to update, but the final chapter is finally here! thank you to everyone who stuck around and left kudos and comments, I appreciate you all so, so much!! I hope you enjoy this last chapter :)

“Have you seen my sketchbook?”

Skull chirped. Unhelpfully, he stayed put on his armrest perch, needle-like claws digging into pre-existing rips in the fabric as he tracked Lucy with half-lidded eyes.

Lucy straightened, hands resting on her hips. Strewn around her feet were her various belongings, including the backpack she’d packed and then unpacked in search of her sketchbook, which seemed to have grown legs and gone on a bloody hike while she had her back turned.

A yawn crept up on her as Skull meowed and stretched, back arching against the rising sun filtering through the half-open curtains. Morning had arrived alarmingly quickly; after Lockwood left yesterday evening she found herself physically unable to fall asleep on account of replaying their kiss over and over again in her mind, fixating on every detail (the way he tenderly brushed the hair from her eyes, slender fingers gently trailing down her flushing face until he cupped it with his palm, thumb lightly brushing against her cheekbone as if he were painting minute details on a fragile canvas—)

Lucy rubbed her eyes and shook away the redness blooming in her cheeks. “Sketchbook,” she reminded herself, wondering if it was time to get on all fours and desperately search beneath the furniture under Skull’s judgemental watch. For such a little creature, he contained a remarkable amount of scorn.

The creature in question hopped down from the armrest to the seat of the chair, where he cried out and began kneading (i.e. shredding) the fabric even more. Hands flapping, Lucy shooed him off, then found her sketchbook peering out from between between the cushions.

She shot Skull a questioning look. He was too busy licking his backside to notice.

Lucy flipped through the pages and landed on the sketches for her latest work in progress. In the landscape of a familiar park, a boy and a girl ran through autumn leaves towards the nearest tree to clamber up as their parents watched on fondly, knowing they’d soon be huddled up in a cafe sipping hot chocolates. It turned out Lockwood hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to commission her; as soon as she declared Kipps’ painting well and truly finished, he immediately hopped first in line for the next one.

She smiled as her gaze lingered on the young boy. His grin needed altering, it wasn’t quite as wide and gleaming as the real thing yet—though she doubted Lockwood would need much convincing to let her study him for the sake of realism.

It didn’t take too long to repack her bags. As she slid her notebook in and pulled the zipper shut, the front door handle turned. Her head whipped around to look at it in sync with Skull, whose nose twitched as he perked up, trotted over to the door, then turned around and feigned disinterest the second George walked through it.

“Lucy,” he said, before unceremoniously dumping an array of bags on the floor. “Hello. Glad to see he didn’t tear you to shreds.”

Skull circled his feet with an attempted air of nonchalance and purred when George gave him a nice big scratch behind the ears, but soon scarpered back to his armrest perch to watch them both from a distance.

“You were right,” Lucy said. “He is annoying. But also irritatingly likeable.”

“That’s the Skull charm. He manages to wrap you around his little paws without you knowing.”

The door swung open once again.

“Lockwood?” Lucy said.

“Lockwood!”

“George!”

They hugged one another tightly. As she watched them greet each other, faces buried in shoulders, Skull head-butted her and coaxed her into giving him more ear scratches.

“I’d introduce you to each other,” George said slowly as he pulled away, “but it seems you’ve already met.”

Lucy thought back to the phone call Lockwood had taken for her while she was having her crisis and winced.

George frowned. “What?”

She took a breath. “There’s something I need to come clean about.”

“Jesus,” said George. “Don’t tell me you slept with—”

“I lost Skull,” she said quickly, ignoring how Lockwood’s eyes widened. “He got out. We spent ages searching for him but he ended up spending a night outside. We—I—lied to you so you wouldn’t worry. I’m sorry. I can’t apologise enough.”

“Oh. I see.” George turned to Lockwood. “Is it true?”

“…Yes. But it was mostly my fault he got out.” He nodded to Skull, who was still head-butting Lucy and demanding affection. “Lucy’s been amazing with him. She was just about ready to spend the whole night on the streets searching for him until I told her to get some rest. Please don’t hold it against her.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to anyway. Skull’s a nuisance, I’m not surprised he managed to sneak outside. Thank you for the honesty though, Lucy. I appreciate it.”

Lucy’s shoulders slumped. She caught Lockwood’s eye; the look on his face was undoubtedly one of admiration.

Skull let out a quiet whine when she stopped doting on him to gather her things, but the time had finally come for her to leave. She’d only been in this flat with him for a week, but that little shit had made it feel so much longer.

“Is that the painting?” George nodded to the wrapped canvas leaning against the wall.

“It is,” Lucy said. “It’s finally finished. Thanks again for letting me work on it here.”

“Ask her to show it to you,” Lockwood loudly whispered in his ear.

Lucy shot him a look, but complied when George quirked an eyebrow. Upon the reveal he whistled, long and slow. “Wow. Definitely a Kipps painting. Is that an actual slash in the canvas?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “I had some help.” She turned the canvas over and pointed to the bottom corner, where, beside her signature, was a paw print. The matching smiles on George and Lockwood’s faces had Lucy wondering, for a split second, whether they were distantly related.

“Well, I should get going. It was good to meet you both. And you,” she added as she turned to Skull, whose tail flickered as he looked up at her with wide eyes. When she crouched, he gently butted her head. “Goodbye, you bastard. You gave me nothing but trouble and I won’t miss you one bit.”

“I have a few more research trips in mind,” George said. “Would you want to do this next time I’m away? No worries if not, of course.”

“Yes,” Lucy said with no hesitation. Lockwood’s hearty laugh had her grinning ear to ear.

–––

Her phone buzzed as she dumped her bags by the doorway in the same fashion as George. She pulled it from her pocket as she shouted a quick greeting to Holly, who was busy in the kitchen. The smell and sizzles, pops, and crackles of bacon and eggs frying in a pan wafted through the hallway and enveloped Lucy in a comforting, familiar embrace; Holly wasn’t one for fried breakfasts, but she knew Lucy craved them on the weekends.

Sitting in front of a picture of Skull curled in her lap, with a fleck of paint on his ear—she’d set it as her lock screen straight after capturing it—was an email notification from a Q. F. Kipps, confirming when he would pick up the painting.

When Lucy emerged into the kitchen, Holly greeted her with a gleaming smile and a plate of steaming hot, perfectly cooked food.

“Holly,” Lucy practically moaned. “I might end up proposing to you.”

“Oh, I’m not sure how Anthony ‘Legs for Days’ Lockwood would feel about that,” Holly said as she slid into the seat next to Lucy. While Lucy unashamedly ravaged her food like she’d been starving for weeks, Holly carefully cut hers into precise chunks and savoured each mouthful—which isn’t to say Lucy wasn’t savouring hers, she was simply doing so at a much faster, well-practised rate.

“Speaking of,” Lucy said between bites, toying with the runny yolk with the point of her knife, “I might be seeing him again tonight.”

Holly’s eyes widened so drastically Lucy could see it in her peripheral vision. “Lucy Carlyle,” she said, slowly. “You continue to surprise me. Please tell me you’re both acknowledging this for what it is—i.e., a Date with a capital D?”

“‘A proper date’, is what he called it. So, yes.”

Holly excitedly waved her hands, her manicured nails trailing blurred purple streaks in the air with the motion. “Yes! Oh, I’m so happy for you. Both of you. You seem like a great match for each other.”

Lucy carried her empty plate to the sink, popping the kettle on along the way. With her back turned, Holly couldn’t see the smitten smile that crept onto her face. “…Yeah.”

“I can hear your blush.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, though her act of nonchalance crumbled as Holly appeared beside her. Lucy took her plate, added it to the suds-filled sink, and ignored Holly’s all-knowing look.

“Do you want a brew?”

“Green tea, please,” said Holly. “With a side of you spilling every little detail about the past week— oh, it’s like you had a trial week of your future! Your own place with a room just for your art, a good-looking guy, a feisty little cat that matches your personality…”

“And no flatmates prying into my love life…”

Holly playfully swatted her. “I just made you a marriage-worthy breakfast, Lucy.”

“You really did,” Lucy agreed. She poured the boiling water into their favourite mugs—Holly’s, purple with a dainty floral pattern, her name written across it in cursive; Lucy’s, ‘Fuck off, I’m painting’, the memory attached to it making her flush all over again. “So, it started when I thought someone was breaking into the flat, and I panicked and used Skull as my first line of defence…”

–––

One cup of tea turned into three as they both delved into the intricacies of their love lives. It was a conversation topic they’d touched on many times before, but Lucy rarely had much to contribute; it was a nice change of pace to have more to spill than Holly. They allowed themselves a lazy day, lounging in front of the TV, Lucy idly sketching while Holly crocheted. When Lucy eventually remembered to check the time, she realised the day had flown by far faster than she’d anticipated.

“Fuck,” she said, jumping up out of her seat (and the blankets that had been cocooning her). “He’ll be here in an hour.”

“You still haven’t unpacked!”

“I know!” Lucy called over her shoulder. She hauled her bags to her room, upheaved their contents on the floor, and realised these clothes were most certainly not “proper date” material. As if on cue, Holly peered around the doorframe.

“If there was ever a time to wear that blue dress you got from a sales rack on a whim last year, it would be now. Also that one necklace I love. And use that eyeliner that really makes your eyes pop. He’ll fall to his knees.”

“Yes ma'am,” Lucy said. “Hair?”

“I’ll curl it while you do your makeup.”

“What would I ever do without you?”

“Crash and burn, Lucy Carlyle.”

They were, undeniably, a fantastic team. As Holly added one final touch of hairspray, Lucy looked at the final result in the mirror and couldn’t suppress her smile.

Holly let go of her hair with a flourish. “Perfection.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. As her eyes wandered down her reflection, admiring the way the shimmering fabric of her dress hugged her curves just right, she spotted something on her hip. Was that—? It couldn’t possibly be—

“Oh my God,” she said, plucking the cat hair off. “How? I didn’t even bring this dress to George’s.”

The doorbell rang.

Holly jumped. She gave Lucy’s shoulders a gentle push. “He’s here—go!”

Lucy pulled on a jacket as she rushed out of her room, frantically put her shoes on, and hesitated with her hand over the door handle.

“Have fun!” Holly said, following her. “And tell me everything when you get back. Even if it’s tomorrow morning.” She winked.

“Shut up,” Lucy said, though it came out sounding strangled. After a deep breath, she opened the door.

“Lucy,” Lockwood said, sounding breathless the second he saw her. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she said, face warm from the sight of his smile.

He held out his hand. She took it, and away they went.

[edmeom]

an old ugly sketch for @czenzo's "Watch Out for Skull"

(VRYFMI WHAT???? HE DIDN'T TELL ME IT'S FINISHED AND I WAS WAITING FOR IT LIKE A HATIKO)

[erinwantstowrite]

the haters are trying to get me to care about canon. they're trying to get me to only fuck with canon. newsflash you stupid bitch if you are in a fandom space you are consuming fanon. i don't CARE that it's canon that bruce wayne has hit his kids in canon. i make my own world where it's common fucking sense that heroes are good people who would not be abusers. "human flaw" this my ass that motherfucker drives a Batmobile and wears a Batsuit and throws around Batarangs. live in a suspended belief and have fun before you dry up and die a sad raisin of a being

[backpackingspace]

Okay so with the line "the olive tree where we first met" we have two equal hilarious options.

When penelope was sassily like oh I'll marry you if you make a living bed out of this tree right here! Cue penelope stumbling over odysseus very very carefully digging up the tree "because how else is he going to get it to itacha we can't have a wedding bed out in the open in sparta duh"

Or

2. Penelope, knowing that Helen's suitors would soon be arriving to take over her home for a while. Snuck out and went on her own wacky shenanigan filled journey where she scoped out all the major players. Odysseus caught her spying in an olive tree. And when she got back she told Helen she had dibs on the cutie from itacha.

[puppppppppy]

Callbacks to older episodes

[notbecauseofvictories]

sometimes I think they put some sort of...aural drug in mediocre movies. If I played all these thoroughly middling movies in reverse, would I hear a satanic message telling me, YOU WILL BE TEMPTED BEYOND ALL REASON TO WRITE FANFIC ABOUT---YES, THE MOVIE YOU HALF-WATCHED WHILE COOKING AND ANSWERING EMAILS. YES. YES, I---YES, I'M SERIOUS. YES, THIS MOVIE. THE CHARACTERIZATION OR LACK THEREOF MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. UH HUH. MHM. YEP. LOOK, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES, I JUST WORK HERE OKAY?

[spaciebabie]

what i want for my birthday this year is that monkey wrapped in ribbons

[elbdot]

"...maybe we could even train together if you want to!" El's Alolan Adventures - Episode 2

It's been a year since the animated dub of my Pokemon Webcomic released! You can watch the entire first season of El's Alolan Adventures fully voiced and animated on Youbtube, featuring the earliest beginnings of Guzmas redemption Arc.

[filmbroandy]

caulker's mate who is going to be okay 😊

[zecoritheweirdone]

so i saw this old-ish post about an au centering around a villain lewis and a hero arthur,,, and i. may have gotten attached to it,, dkdndkdjs. so i decided to make some edits + doodles based on it!! i also really wanna make a lil oneshot about it as well,, but uh... whether or not i actually follow through on that, we'll see,, skdjsojdks.

edit: good news, gang,, i wrote the fic!!

[czenzo]

Watch Out for Skull – Chapter 2

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ]

summary: Lucy takes on a cat-sitting job for a stranger, hoping for a quiet week in a nice London flat, with free food, no bills, and enough time to finish an art commission. But the cat is a menace, and the stranger’s friend is ridiculously charming—and a huge distraction.

rating: T words: 2,048

note: I visited home today, which meant I edited this chapter while being pestered by my own two cats, who are the most loveable, attention-seeking little creatures I've ever met. I'm starting to realise I may have taken more inspiration from them for Skull than I thought…

Lucy awoke not to birds chirping, nor an alarm beeping, but a single cat screaming so loud she feared for the window panes.

As Skull paused to catch his breath, Lucy closed her eyes in relief, but the sudden, sharp noise of something clattering to the floor had her shooting out from under the covers. She cautiously peered over the back of the sofa—it was pulled out into a bed, which wasn’t the comfiest, but it was preferable to sleeping in George’s—to inspect the damage.

A picture frame lay face down on the floor. Skull looked down on it from his vantage point on the cabinet.

Lucy’s silently repeated mantra of please don’t be shattered, please don’t be shattered must have been heard by some higher entity, because when she slowly picked the frame up she found it still intact, glass and all. The picture within was of two teenage boys grinning with their arms around each other. They wore matching white polo shirts graffitied with messages and doodles in a rainbow of colours, the school leavers' tradition, and Lucy promptly realised what the thinking cloth reminded her of. One of the boys was clearly George, with a rounder face and wider eyes, but the other boy, dark-haired with a dazzlingly bright smile, Lucy didn’t know.

“He’s bloody lanky,” she murmured as she carefully put the frame back in its place. She shoo-ed Skull off the cabinet and coaxed him towards the sofa bed, hoping to distract him with the plush, kneadable duvet. He fell right into her trap, leaving Lucy feeling rather proud of herself and free to enter the kitchen without the possibility of Skull destroying everything.

Lucy popped the kettle on and peered in every cupboard in search of the tea, then stumbled upon a treasure trove—English breakfast, Earl Grey, Green, oolong, matcha, chai, chamomile, Darjeeling, ginger, stacks upon stacks of colourful boxes, some describing flavours she’d never heard of in her life, in flat bags, pyramid bags, loose leaf, sachets…

The kettle pinged to signify it was ready. Overwhelmed by choice and reminding herself she had a whole week to be adventurous, Lucy plucked a bog-standard English breakfast bag from a box and plonked it into a mug adorned with He-Man’s face, accompanied by the caption ‘A good cup of tea is the colour of He-Man’.

As she reached for the kettle, the unmistakable sound of the front door’s handle rattling echoed through the flat.

The door creaked open.

Skull scuttled into the kitchen, wide-eyed and fur stood on end, and she picked him up to soothe him. She crept across the room, every step increasing her heart rate, then froze when she heard footfall heading her way.

Someone turned the corner and entered the kitchen.

It all happened rather quickly, really—Lucy had no choice but to act on instinct.

Skull screamed. Lucy held him out in front of her. Whatever words were about to come out of the intruder’s mouth were cut remarkably short as a flurry of paws and claws descended upon their face and torso.

The person stumbled backwards, pressing themself against the far wall, and when Lucy realised he looked oddly familiar she lowered the deadly feline in her hands.

“Oh my G—” He heaved, hand braced against his chest as he came down from his panic. “Christ. I think I almost had a heart attack.”

“Who are you?” Lucy demanded, raising Skull back up in the air between them, an unspoken but certain threat.

“Who are you?” the man replied, incredulous. “Where’s George?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. The man straightened and pushed away from the wall. Upon seeing his height and long limbs to their full extent, Lucy realised where she knew him from. “Are you his friend?”

“I like to think so,” he said, with a smile Lucy assumed was supposed to be charming. “Again, apologies if I’m being rude, but who are you? Why are you in George’s flat?”

She gently wobbled Skull in the air, as if to prove her point. “I’m cat-sitting.”

The man’s face was blank for a moment, before lighting up in realisation. “Ahh, I see. I could’ve sworn his trip was next week… Though I’ve never been one for calendars and keeping on top of schedules. That’s George’s thing. I’m Lockwood,” he added, holding out a hand.

“Lucy.” Both of her hands were full of Skull, so she resorted to manoeuvring him to gently tap Lockwood’s hand with a paw.

Lockwood flinched away. “Please don’t. He hates me.”

“Sorry.” She gently lowered Skull to the floor with a frown. He had gone oddly quiet. “Is that why you couldn’t look after him, then?”

“Indeed it is. He’d claw my eyes out in my sleep, or piss in my shoes, or carry out some other dastardly act of torture,” he said, cautiously eyeing the mass circling Lucy’s legs. “This is George’s first trip away since taking him in. Skull can be a bit…” he gestured vaguely. “So he was a little concerned about finding the right person.”

Skull began to nibble on the hem of her sock. “I reckon I’ll be alright.”

“What a strange little creature,” Lockwood mused. He raised his eyebrows. “Well, sorry for disturbing you. And startling you.”

“Sorry for shoving an angry cat in your face,” Lucy added sheepishly.

“Water under the bridge, Lucy.” Lockwood smiled again, and this time, Lucy was unnerved to realise she did find it rather charming. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

He turned to head for the door.

Lucy's mouth opened before she could process her thoughts. “I just popped the kettle on, so you’re welcome to stay,” she called after him. “If you want.” There was also the matter of the Swiss roll, which she really didn’t want to go to waste. Ten in the morning was a reasonable time for cake, right?

Lockwood turned back around, smile widening.

–––

After the sofa had been restored to its original form, and the small coffee table was relocated in front of it to store their tea and cake, Lockwood fished the TV remote from the depths of the cushions (so that’s where it was hiding) in an act of familiarity that told Lucy he spent a lot of time here. He turned the TV on, then paused. It had been left on a documentary channel.

“Do you mind if we keep this on? I’m quite fond of whales.”

Lucy huffed a laugh into her mug. “Go for it.”

Lockwood inhaled the steam from his tea—he’d gone for the Earl Grey—and sank back into the cushions.

Skull jumped up into the space between them. In the blink of an eye, he aggressively batted Lockwood with a paw before hopping over Lucy’s lap and wedging himself in the small space between her thigh and the arm of the sofa.

“I’ve never done anything to hurt him, honest,” Lockwood insisted. “He knows I’m friends with George, and I’m here more often than my own home, yet he still treats me like I’m some…” he sipped his tea while he reached for a word. “Fiend.”

“You know George from school, then?” She took a bite of Swiss roll and almost failed to hold back a mortifying groan of pleasure; it was dangerously delicious.

Lockwood frowned, and Lucy nodded to the picture frame. He smiled in recognition. “Ah. Yes, I do. He got the highest grades in our year group. I managed to beat him in history, though.”

“You like history?”

“My parents did. I listened to enough of their passionate ramblings to give me a partial PhD.”

The past tense didn’t escape her notice; she quickly thought of something to back out of that line of conversation. “Do you know Holly, then? Holly Munro?”

Lockwood nodded as he balanced the plate of cake in his lap. He began to methodically unroll it, transforming the Swiss roll into a long Swiss snake, before ripping bites off bit by bit. “I do. Incredibly lovely woman. How do you know her?”

“She’s my flatmate,” Lucy said as she watched Lockwood rip off a small chunk of his cake snake and daintily pop it in his mouth. She wearily eyed her own slice and the giant bite taken out of it.

“I see. What’s she up to nowadays?”

“She writes for a fashion magazine.” The name escaped her, which came as no surprise. She had never considered spending her hard-earned money on a magazine that would try to tell her she couldn’t wear Converse with every single outfit (Holly did that more than enough). “She’s hoping to break into the design side of the industry, though. I don’t know much about fashion, but she seems to have a good eye for it.”

“Good for her,” Lockwood said fondly. It surprised her to hear how sincerely he said it; she hid her expression by taking another bite of cake. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Lucy hesitated. As nice as he seemed, Lockwood was still from Holly’s hoity-toity southern school. The chances of him not taking her career seriously was worryingly high—but damn it, for all intents and purposes, this was technically her flat for the week. She could chase him out with Skull if he turned out to be an arse.

She ran a reassuring hand through Skull’s fur as she responded. “I work part-time in a cafe to pay the bills, but I do art on the side. Hoping to eventually make that my full-time gig.”

“Really?” Lockwood’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and Lucy steeled herself for the incoming ridicule. “What kind of art do you make?”

Lucy’s hand stilled on Skull’s head. Here, she could feel the gentle rumbling of his quiet purrs. “I mostly work with acrylic paint. On canvas, usually. That’s what all my commissions are in, anyway. I sketch all the time, though. Helps clear my head.”

Lockwood’s eating slowed. “You take commissions?”

She nodded, feeling the beginnings of heat in her face. “I’m working on one now, actually, for a friend of Holly’s. I booked the week off to work on it while I’m here. George is letting me use his room as a makeshift studio.”

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the bedroom door.

“No,” Lucy said immediately. Startled by her own sudden brashness, she sank further into the sofa. “I don’t like people seeing my works-in-progress, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Lockwood said with a smile. “Though I am curious, what’s the subject?”

“A really flashy portrait. I get the impression he’s a bit of a snob, so—”

“Wait.” Lockwood paused. “Don’t tell me his name is Kipps.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and ate the last of her slice. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

“He also went to the same school as us. A couple of year groups above, in the same one as Holly. We both went to fencing club, and my God, did he hold a grudge against me. You jokingly prod a man in the backside once…”

Lucy snorted, startling Skull and sending him racing into the kitchen.

“Shit,” she hissed, chasing after him. “Sorry, he just— he can’t go in— oh my God, stop squirming away!”

“It’s alright,” Lockwood called as she wrestled to keep Skull in her grasp. “I ought to get going now, anyway.”

When she finally succeeded in ushering Skull out of the kitchen, Lockwood was by the door, tugging on his long coat. “It was lovely meeting you, Lucy. Sorry again for the intrusion.”

“No worries, honestly.”

His slim fingers toyed with the hem of his coat. “Are you up to much this week?”

“Not really. Working on the commission, keeping this little menace in check…" She shrugged nonchalantly. "You’re welcome to swing by and watch whale documentaries any time.”

Skull watched the swaying coat with sharp slit pupils. Lockwood eyed him cautiously. “Something tells me he wouldn’t be very happy about that.”

In a movement that was becoming all too familiar now, Lucy stooped to bundle Skull into her arms. He dug his claws into her skin as a silent warning, or perhaps to convey his displeasure at being taken away from his prey. “He’ll have to suck it up.”

[jackass-jones]

Something about Steven Universe being asked why he wasn’t Pink Diamond when he should be and him screaming “SHES GONE” in the most bone chilling way that shook the world and broke the ground beneath him

Something about Lake breaking the train’s engine room in frustration after being denied over and over again, screaming and crying right at you saying that they’re not Tulip, not a sliver, not a null, or anything else that other people have labeled them, they are a PERSON

More of that please

[ryuusea]

sherliam week 2023 - day 2: fake marriage

[vaguely-concerned]

you know what I think I was kind of cooking with caterina/johanna hezenkoss as a concept actually. it's giving gilf andruil/ghilan'nain narrative echoes and also if hezenkoss teaches caterina to become a lich/become basically immortal by other and probably even more immoral means lucanis won't have to be first talon anymore and can focus on what he likes about the job (i.e. the actually killing people part not the admin work). everybody wins (*glados voice* ...except the ones who are dead. BUT THERE'S NO SENSE CRYING OVER EVERY MISTAKE --) . here's how toxic yuri can still save the day and also make it worse

[lemonsdaily-artdump]

And it worked