#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 1

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

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: 1,669

note: heyy it's me again back with ANOTHER au with Skull as a cat, because it's so damn fun to write. a huge shoutout to my friend @vryfmi for being the sweetest guy ever—his responses to the WIP snippets I shared and his amazing drawings of cat!Skull are things I keep going back to every time writer's block rears its ugly head again, so thank you vry! <3

“How do you feel about cats?”

Lucy looked up. “Cats?”

“Cats,” Holly repeated. She reached out one manicured hand to roll the die and move her piece across the board (Lucy was losing miserably, but it came as no surprise. Holly was a beast at board games). “My friend’s going on a trip this weekend and is looking for someone to cat-sit for a week. He asked me first, but I’m terribly allergic.”

“Which friend?”

“Someone I know from school—George?”

Lucy shook her head. Holly had many connections from her school years (‘posh southern school’, as Lucy once called it, much to Holly’s chagrin) and Lucy was quite content with keeping her distance from them. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s an incredibly smart man. I think he’s going on some sort of research trip.”

As she mulled it over, Lucy rolled the die (a measly 1). “Will he pay?”

“Oh, yes. And he’s promised to stock his kitchen up with nice meals and baked goods.”

This caught her attention. “How long is he away for?”

“A week.”

“What’s the cat like?”

Holly cocked her head. “He’s… interesting.”

Lucy considered this. “And how’s George’s cooking?”

“To die for.”

“I’m sold.”

–––

Lucy checked her phone for the hundredth time.

She stood in front of the door to a flat, overcome with the feeling she was at the wrong place. There was no way an academic who ventures out on research trips would decorate his front door with a sign that said FUCK OFF, I’M WORKING, with a sticker beneath that said COME BACK WITH A WARRANT, right?

Someone loudly cleared their throat behind her. “You gonna knock, or what?”

Lucy whirled around to find a woman—or at least, she assumed it was a woman, but it was somewhat hard to tell beneath the obnoxiously bright puffer coat and wide-brimmed hat. She wasn’t dressed for the weather at all—or, perhaps, she was trying to dress for every single kind at once, if the wellington boots were anything to go by. One of them was tap tap tapping against the floor.

“Er—sorry,” Lucy said, heat flooding her face. “I wasn’t sure if I had the right address. Do you know if a guy named George lives here?”

From beneath the giant hat came a vaguely amused look. One wellington boot took a great big step over to the door, and out of a coat pocket came a fingerless-gloved hand which rapped against the door in a quick, much-too-loud tune. “Let’s find out.”

After a long moment of silent tension (in which Lucy considered whether the cat-sitting gig was worth suffering through the potential social humiliation of it being the wrong door), the door creaked open, revealing a bespectacled man with rather unkempt hair. He squinted at Lucy, but let out a smile upon spotting the puffer coat behind her.

“Flo,” he said in a simple greeting, before turning back to Lucy. “And you are…?”

“Lucy,” she said hurriedly, “Carlyle. I’m here for cat-sitting. We spoke over the phone?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You’re Holly’s friend. I’m George, and”—an ear-splitting, impertinent meow came from behind him, making him wince—“and that’s Skull. Come in, both of you, but be careful. He’s not meant to go outside.”

“That’s understandable,” Lucy said as she squeezed through the gap he left with the ajar door. “The city can be quite dangerous for cats.”

“Oh, it’s not that I’m worried about. He’s just so fucking annoying, I’d get endless complaints from the neighbours.” George paused. "And, yeah. He'd probably get squashed by a car in the first five minutes.

“He’s a little shit,” the woman—presumably Flo—said as she entered after Lucy.

“Holly did say he was… interesting.”

“That’s one word for him,” George grimaced. “But it’s why I offer food and money for it. Can’t complain about an attention-seeking cat when your mouth’s full of a good curry.”

A small, dark mass circled George’s legs. Skull was a rather lithe cat, and remarkably swift, but what most caught Lucy’s attention was the peculiar markings on his face. Amidst the short, black fur was a cluster of white patches, making his face look like—

“Ah,” Lucy said. “I understand the name now.”

George scooped the black hole into his arms—his sleeves rucked up, revealing an array of undeniably claw-shaped scratches etched across his skin—and gave him a blank stare. Skull stared back, then looked at Lucy, and let out another long yowl.

Both George and Flo frowned.

“He’s usually dead quiet,” Flo said, reaching a hand into her hat to scratch.

Skull continued to stare at Lucy and let out a series of little chirps before wiggling out of George’s grip. Lucy rested her art case—a large, terribly inconvenient thing to carry on the tube, but it was the only thing that would carry all the supplies she needed to work on her current commission—against the wall to free her hands, which she held out to Skull to show him her scent. He gingerly sniffed them before letting out another strange noise.

“He’s usually completely silent,” George agreed. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Does that mean he likes her or hates her?”

George mulled this over. “Maybe both. But before you have a chance to scamper, Lucy, let me show you the kitchen and the freezer stuffed with Tupperware.”

He wasn’t kidding; the freezer truly was jam-packed with servings of various home-cooked meals, ready to be reheated and scoffed. In the fridge was a Swiss roll, freshly baked this morning with the cream still setting, and on the counter was a cooling loaf of bread.

Flo scoffed. “Bloody hell, have you even had time to pack or have you lived in the kitchen for the past week?”

“I’m a master at time management, thank you very much. Use anything you want in this kitchen, Lucy. Also, feel free to use my room for your art stuff. I tidied best I could, but frankly I don’t really care if you get paint anywhere." He eyed her over the rim of his glasses. "As long as it doesn’t get on my comics.”

Lucy blinked in disbelief. A whole week in a nice flat, with a fully-stocked kitchen, no bills or rent, just for looking after one little cat? She couldn’t help feeling like she was swindling this poor man.

George talked her through Skull’s feeding times—a pouch of wet food in the morning, a bowl of biscuits in the evening, be sparing with treats or he’ll just start begging for them 24/7—and pointed out his favourite spots to cause mischief.

“If he gets on the bookshelf, try and get him down, or he’ll gnaw on my books. Also, try and keep him away from the kitchen in general, if you can. He once somehow turned on the hob and almost burnt the place down. And never leave food unattended for long, because he will gobble it all up in a second flat—shit, I need to put that loaf away, actually. Oh, and he can be very trigger-happy with his claws. Try not to startle him.”

Lucy nodded along, wondering if she should be making a note of all this, until George pointed to the small table in the kitchen. “It’s all written on there, in case you forget.”

“…On the table?”

“The cloth,” George clarified. “That reminds me…” He rummaged around in a cupboard and produced a pen, which he handed to Flo. She took it from him with glee and made a beeline to the table. “She likes to leave something on it every time she visits. It’s practically tradition, now. Don’t draw another dick, Flo, be more creative.”

“Fuck off. I’m drawing another dick.”

Lucy felt a weight against her shin and looked down to find Skull head-butting her. When he caught her eye, he let out another yowl.

“That really is weird,” George mused. “You’ve got my number, just in case. The numbers for the vet and their emergency line are on the fridge, too.”

Lucy sucked her teeth. “Hopefully I won’t need those.”

“Nah. You’ll be alright.” He pointed to Skull. “Don’t be a knob. I’ll only be gone for a week.”

Skull head-butted Lucy’s leg again.

Flo rucked up one puffy sleeve to reveal a watch. “We need to get a move-on. Train’s leaving soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.”

“Oh, are you going with him?” Lucy said, glancing between the two of them. Holly had mentioned George had a research partner. She was certain they were shagging—though she’d phrased it in a politer, more Holly way (something along the lines of “more than platonic”, or “having intimate relations”, or a similarly silly roundabout way of saying it). It only just dawned on Lucy that this may be the shagging research partner in question.

“Yeah. He’d be lost without me.”

“I heard that!” George called from the bedroom. He emerged soon after, sporting a large bag on his back not dissimilar to the one currently weighing Flo down. Stood together, they were an interesting, but definitely odd pair.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. Yeah, she could see it.

She followed them as they waddled to the door, eyes bright and ready to make new contributions to the academic world.

Flo reached for the handle, but George held up a hand in warning. “Watch out for Skull.”

Right on cue, the creature sped for the door. He attempted to whizz through Lucy’s legs, but in one swift motion, she plucked him off the floor and into her arms. In response, he looked her dead in the eyes and screamed.

“Oh, that was smooth,” George said, with a hint of admiration. “Yeah, you’ll be just fine.”

She waved them off down the hallway as George reminded her to call if anything went wrong.

Then suddenly, she was alone.

Skull cried out again and butted her arm.

Well, not quite.

end note: don't worry, Lockwood fans—he may not be present now, but trust me when I say those lanky legs appear in literally every chapter after this one thanks for reading! comments/reblogs are always appreciated, and my ask box is always open! :)

[puppyeared]

Callbacks to older episodes

[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

[asexual-shelly]

hi *throws this at you and runs headfirst into a lamppost*

[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?

[ineed-to-sleep]

So I've had this wip sitting in my folders for months now and decided to ressurect it to satiate the urge to draw these two again

[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.

[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!!

[hecksupremechips]

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

[lemonsdaily-artdump]

And it worked

[czenzo]

Watch Out for Skull – Chapter 4

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ]

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: 1,829 rating: T

note: hey, remember that angst and hurt/comfort tag I snuck in between all the happier, fluffier tags? yeah? cool. I’m not asking for any particular reason, it’s definitely not related to this update :)

A man standing tall, chest puffed with pride, wielding a bejewelled rapier glinting mid-swing at an off-canvas opponent.

This, Lucy thought, was by far her most flamboyant—and perhaps egotistical—commission ever. But if it was what Quill Kipps wanted, then it was what she would paint.

From his perching spot next to the canvas, Skull meowed, swatting at one of the reference pictures she’d stuck up by her work in progress.

“I know,” Lucy replied. “I still can’t work out what’s missing.”

She had already spent the morning deliberating over every glint and glimmer on the rapier’s rhinestones, followed by altering the swoop of Kipps’ red hair to give it more volume and shine. Neither of those things had been the elusive missing piece of the painting—but on the bright side, Kipps would surely be okay with the minor improvements to his appearance.

A swift knock at the front door was followed by the sound of a key rattling in the lock. Having lost track of the time, Lucy started at Lockwood’s arrival. The sudden jerk of her arm knocked her paint water over, and time practically slowed as she watched everything go to shit.

The cup careened to the floor, spewing an arc of murky water as it flipped through the air. Skull tried to leap out of the way but was still hit full-force with water, and flew, claws-first, straight towards Lucy's canvas.

She didn’t recognise the sound that clawed its way from her throat as she watched the canvas fabric tear in one long arc. She didn’t recognise her own voice as she scolded Skull for ruining her hours upon hours of work.

She didn’t realise the front door was still open as Skull ran away from her.

“Lucy, is everything alright?” Lockwood called out. Then—“Oh God, no— Skull!”

Lucy hurried out of the bedroom just in time to hear Lockwood vehemently swear as Skull sprinted into the hallway and down the stairs of the flat complex.

“Shit,” Lucy said as nausea settled heavily in her stomach. “Shit!”

“Shit,” Lockwood agreed. Together they rushed out the door, descending the stairs so fast Lucy was sure she’d fall flat on her face. As they reached the ground floor, they passed a man Lucy recognised as one of George’s neighbours.

“Excuse me!” she called out to him. “Did you see a cat run by? Black, with white patches on his face?”

“Oh, yes, he was a peculiar little fellow,” the man said. “I thought he was a stray that got trapped inside, so I let him out.”

As Lucy took a deep breath to prevent herself from speaking her mind, Lockwood spoke in her stead. “Did you see which direction he went in?”

“Right,” the man said with confidence. “Or maybe left. Actually, I’m not quite sure.”

“Fantastic,” Lockwood said, voice thick with foreign-sounding sarcasm that made Lucy’s stomach feel even funnier.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him outside, wincing at the sudden nip of the wind hitting her face. Their heads darted this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of black fur trotting down the street, or hiding under a parked car.

“He’s fast,” Lockwood panted.

“Little shit. I’m going to kill him.”

“Let’s split up. I’ll go this way, okay? I’ll call you if I find him.”

Lucy nodded as she caught her breath, then set off in the opposite direction. She picked at the drying paint on her hands as she desperately searched high and low for George’s beloved cat, pss-pss-pssing and ch-ch-ching and getting more than a few strange looks from passers-by, but she couldn’t give less of a toss.

George had trusted her, Holly had recommended her, Skull had befriended her, and she’d betrayed them all with a single careless mistake. It was her fault the commission was shredded—she shouldn’t have let Skull anywhere near it—and then she’d had the audacity to scold him for it.

Her brows furrowed as she fought off the frustrated sting in her eyes, arms wrapping tight around her chest to fend off the streets’ bitter chill. She hadn’t even put shoes on, and felt her threadbare socks becoming caked by dampness and grime with every step.

“Lucy,” Lockwood said. She jumped and looked up, realising they must have circled the whole block and met in the middle. “You’re shivering.”

“Didn’t grab a coat,” she said. “Or shoes.”

Lockwood's eyes widened as he looked down. “Christ, Luce. Let’s nip back.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the sudden use of the nickname, the numbness in her toes, or the embarrassing wetness in her eyes that made her agree and follow him back to the flat. Wordlessly, Lockwood took off his coat and wrapped it around her, enveloping her in warmth and the faint smell of cologne. There was a weight in one of the pockets, and whatever was inside crinkled as she walked.

“Sorry,” Lucy murmured. “I know this isn’t what you had in mind for our date.”

“Date?” Lockwood choked on his breath, face flushing far more than the cold warranted. “Date. Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right. That’s what it was.”

“You look nice, by the way.”

He froze as he held the door open for her. Lucy wasn’t lying—his jumper was a lovely, deep shade of red, with a crisp white collar peering out, and his hair was far more meticulously styled than when she last saw it. She nodded in thanks and trudged back up to George’s flat, Lockwood in tow, painfully aware her mascara had begun to streak her blotched cheeks.

“So do you,” Lockwood eventually said. Lucy gave him an unamused look.

As she peeled off her disgusting socks (and threw them right into the bin), she cast a forlorn look at her phone. “I should tell George.”

“No, not yet,” Lockwood insisted, tapping away at his own phone. “Skull won’t have gone far, and we don’t want to distract George from his nerd enrichment time. We’ll get you wrapped up warm and… Ah! This site says using his favourite treats and toys can help coax him back.”

Lucy’s phone began to ring, and the caller ID made her nausea increase tenfold.

George.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lockwood picked it up.

“Hi, George,” he said with an easy smile. “No, you called the right number. She’s having a well-deserved nap right now. No, I’m not bothering her. Yes, Skull’s just fine. Still hates me, as usual, but he’s really taken a shine to Lucy. How’s your trip going? Oh, that’s great. Say hi to Flo for me. Of course. Bye.”

He hung up and then shut the bedroom door, blocking Lucy’s view of the painting. He pulled a scarf from the coat rack—patterned with dinosaurs, undoubtedly George’s—and handed it to her along with her coat. As she wrapped up and put suitable footwear on, Lockwood got to work deciding which toys to bring.

“He likes the ghost one,” Lucy said. Lockwood added that to his small collection before nipping into the kitchen to get a treat pouch.

He emerged with a calm smile, so full of self-assurance that Lucy could feel some of it rubbing off on her. “You ready?”

She nodded and led him back outside.

–––

The rumbling of Lucy’s stomach could barely be heard over the hubbub of London in the evening. Cars whizzed by, people chatted and jogged and cycled, streetlights flickered on one by one, and Skull was still nowhere to be seen.

She continued to dangle the ghost toy around her as Lockwood rattled the pouch of treats; he’d insisted he stayed by her side once it began to get dark.

“It’s been hours,” Lucy said, watching her breath turn to plumes of mist. “He could be anywhere by now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lockwood’s shoulders slump. “He’s probably found a hiding spot for the night. How about we head back, get some rest, and set back out in the morning?”

“I don’t want to leave him alone out here. I don’t want anything to happen to— Oh, God. George is going to be devastated.”

“Don’t give up just yet,” Lockwood said softly. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Skull’s probably fast asleep somewhere safe. As menacing as he may be, he isn’t stupid. You need rest, too, or you’ll make yourself ill from stress.”

Lucy rubbed her eyes with a heavy hand. He was right, and she knew it, but admitting it was the last thing she wanted to do.

“We can leave some of his things by the door, then have some good food—George’s cooking makes for the best comfort meals, I swear—and rest up before heading back out early tomorrow. How does that sound?”

She took a deep, shaky breath, then forced herself to nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

–––

Lockwood was, once again, right: for a moment, George’s cooking made everything feel okay.

Lucy ate it curled up on the sofa, savouring every mouthful; Lockwood worked his way through the other portion by her side. The warm food settling in her stomach eased away some of her nerve-induced nausea and the throbbing headache that had plagued her for hours. And if Lockwood sat closer than usual, thigh pressing against her own, well—she wasn’t going to complain. It kept her grounded.

“What does he put into this?” Lucy groaned as she finished her final mouthful.

“Drugs,” Lockwood said simply. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Thank you,” she said eventually. “For dragging me back. I’d have gone half mad if I’d stayed outside.”

He turned to her, face softly illuminated by the glow of a nearby lamp. In that moment, she wished she could take a snapshot of his gentle smile, memorise it and paint it and frame it, keep every detail of it forever.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, standing and striding over to his coat. “I have something for you.” He returned with a poorly wrapped object, running a slender finger along the wonky pieces of tape holding it together. “Sorry, Christmas paper was all I had left. I was going to give it to you when I arrived earlier, but…”

She carefully took it from him. “I— Why did you—?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just saw it in a charity shop and thought of you.”

Lucy peeled away the paper patterned with shining snowflakes to reveal a mug that said ‘Fuck off, I’m painting’. Against her better judgment, she let out an ugly snort.

“Sometimes the key to surviving a disaster is simply drinking good tea from a good mug,” Lockwood said. “I stand by that.”

She slowly turned it in her hands. It was just a mug—yet so much more. As Lucy’s smile began to wobble, she got up and retreated into the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Always,” Lockwood called back. He didn’t follow; the moment alone gave her time to gather herself. “Thank you, Luce.”

[luck-of-the-drawings]

!!! FLASHING LIGHTS WARNING!!! [IM NOT FUCKIN AROUND!!]

REACHED THE CUSP OF 'THIS MAY NEVER BE ABSOLUTELY FINISHED N IF I DONT SHOW IT NOW, IT WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.' SO HERE, A PROJECT IVE BEEN ORBITING AROUND UHH SINCE 2021 OR SO.

[seirindono]

Since blue enjoys to mimic blacks expression how would he mimic reds or sans's(classic)? Also I love how you draw sans and red 🥰 red looks so handsome and cuddly I just wanna hug red hehehe

He's flattered you requested more of his amazing impressions, haha!

Also, I love Red too, shame he hasn't made an appearance in a while ('･-･ ` )

[newvision]

Every time I drink wine I am will graham looking down at a shot hannibal and we have become each other and he is bleeding out and I am savouring the moment by drinking wine the way he does and I gloat like god often does and he takes the violence the way I did every time he violated me and he almost dies from a distant form of violence but what ultimately really kills him are my hands the way I said I’d do it anyway who wants another glass