#puppy sitting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wigglybunfish · 1 month

Text

Good evening and please take these 5/2 human beans gently in your palms.

Hmm? Where are they from, you ask?

Why, it's the one and only Things That Bleed! Written by @ghostly-cabbage , @kkachis , and @artistfingers . In which it establishes the possibility of sometimes family being a child spy, a scary scary assassin, and an eldritch horror boy.

Recently went back for a ... I honestly lost count how many times I've re-read this story. It's a gift that just keeps on giving, sometimes I just like go back to get soaked in the Scenery of quiet and restless hotels and underground parking lots and long car rides. hohoho don't let these mundane elements deceive you >:)

One thing I like to imagine is the post-reveal relationship these three may have, when Alex and Yassen get comfortable around Danny's ghost form, how they might just sit around in some rundown motel figuring out the next course of action but like. With a fun-sized eldritch noodle spreaded out on the bedsheets. Draped over the TV. Curled up in the cool tub or mini fridge. Rolling and eeling under the bed. Letting Alex wear him like a scarf. Yeah... yeah.

I am not certain how soft and fluffy these three can be when they spend enough time (and experience some Horrors) together, so these may be a bit ooc. but, well. I had fun drawing and I have faith in them💪

----------

more info of the fic can be found @thingsthatbleedfic

#im back from my blue eye samurai era #back in december I was so attached with ttb I actually started translating ch.1 into tradish chinese for my friends who were interested #it is. slow going. but I learned some good stuff abt translation work! much fun.#this is how possessed I was ok #was debating whether to let yassen smoke a cig or drink the mug of mysterious liquid. mysterious liquid won #Alex is exactly how I sit on sofas btw #I don't know what kind of cards they're playing #alex is the confused little human next to Undead Being in the first one and the fun big brother in the second #and danny is 'i can't let this fleshy human die' kind of immortal being in 1st and puppy in 2nd <3 #yassen is there :)#ok i am done yapping #illustration #danny phantom #scp danny #alex rider #scp foundation #things that bleed #ttb #danny phantom fanart #wigglybunfish

164 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 9 months

Note

I do love the mental image you supplied of Price being out there with a broom trying to shoo the Mimic away, like-

Price: Get out of here, shoo!

Mimic: :((

Price: No! Go find another witch to snack on! *whacks*

Mimic: :(((((

You watch from your window as Price leaves your garden. The not-moose moves from one side of the wall towards Price. You aren't sure why that makes your stomach twist. You grip your chest, twisting your shirt in your hand, feeling that warm magic buzz at the tips of your finger again. Price can take care of himself, you're sure of it.

Price feels his tethers pull tight as the mimic walks towards him. The overgrown beast doesn't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be a regular animal. It stares right at him, it's eyes moving in different directions as it attempts to keep its focus on you as well as the new threat. Price cracks his knuckles, moves towards the mimic with the same predatory intent that it had been.

"Fuck off," Price advises the mimic, "kindly."

The mimic stops, shakes it's head. It's lips pull back in what Price is sure is supposed to be a terrifying display. He will admit that the noise it makes is downright unsettling, the sobbing wail that seems to broadcast from the mimic. It's face doesn't move at all, the sound just shakes out of it. Price raises a brow.

"You don't look starving."

Another wail from the mimic, the moose turns and butts its horns against the threshold. The twist of horn against your wards makes even Price grimace. It unhinges its jaw to press the full extent of its teeth against the garden's barrier. Price growls, leaning to reach over the wall to grab your watering can.

The iron burns.

Price twitches, his jaw clenched as his head pulls to one side. The unnatural sting of metal against his skin is almost as unpleasant as the scream the mimic lets out upon seeing it. The glassy eyes of it roll to look at him, it slides its teeth off the threshold like dragging knives through molasses. It gives another wail, almost bargaining. Price weighs the sentiment against the iron in his grasp before swinging the can hard at the mimic.

The creature flinches, stumbling back away from him. It drops its head low, menacing. Price doesn't move except to raise his free hand and make a shoo-ing motion.

"If you're not going to leave on your own I have no qualms makin' you."

The mimics eyes roll between Price and the house. It's lips curl, tongue lolling out over its razor sharp teeth. The menacing posturing doesn't let up, in fact the mimic almost seems to be challenging that assertion.

"Price," it sobs in your voice. Price's eyes narrow, his grip on the iron watering can tightening. The burn of it bites into his flesh.

"Now you're tryin' to make me mad." He growls, the mimic takes a half step back, "I'm tryin' to be civil, bet you can't even remember that part of yourself."

A step forward, the mimic attempts another show of aggression only to be caught by the swing of cold iron. The metal scrapes fur and flesh from its muzzle, oily blood sloughing off it into the snow before it can pull its skin back together. It scrambles back away from Price, away from your property. The mimic tries another sobbing voice, aiming for sympathy over threats. Isn't it pathetic? Cursed with only might and the decaying sense it once had as a human. If it could just get enough magic...

"Then find another witch to snack on, this one's mine." Though Price imagines any witch it finds will yield the exact same results. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He can't think of a single other fae that would- That would be eager to help? Have the tethers to be called on? The conviction to grab Iron in defense of their- of a witch. God help him this is getting out of hand.

The mimic seems to ponder this for a moment. It's neck twisting its head one way then another, its horns scraping the snowy ground as it does. It lets out an agreeable is terrified scream, before turning and making its way back into the thicket of trees. Price watches it go for a moment before tossing the watering can back towards the fence with a pained swear.

He grips his wrist, staring at the consumed flesh, the sinew revealed by the acidic burn of the iron. His fingers clench and shake, the muscles pulled tight with pain. Behind him the house door opens and closes, the iron back gate creaks, the sound of rapid footsteps through snow reaches him. He turns in time for you to throw your arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You squeeze your arms tightly around his shoulders. Price wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you more securely against his chest. You pull away too quickly to cup his face graciously, briefly, between your hands. He can feel his tethers singing for you as you leave his hold, eager to have you close again. His fingers still drag along your waist, reluctant to stop touching you as you turn to grab his injured hand.

Your fingers are so gentle as they graze the outer edges of the wound. Your expression pained, it makes him want to rip his hand from your hold. Instead he lets you finish your exam, his fingers tightening on your waist when you prod a little too hard. You mumble a quiet apology and release his hand, crouching to pick up a handful of snow.

"This might feel a little strange," You tell him, without actually telling him what exactly it is that's going to feel strange. You press the snow against his hand, careful to spread the ice down his fingers as well. Sort of weird that you'd think he'd never iced a burn before.

You lean over his hand, your face close to the snow, close enough he can feel the brush of your breath as you exhale. Then your lips move, and he feels it. The soft shift of the wind, the ringing in his ears, the lacing of his skin knitting back together under rapidly melting ice, the magic that races up his arm and circulates through his heart like a shot of ecstasy. Your grip on his wrist is far flung from the light touches it was, and he sees why now.

Your magic makes him want to jerk away, an involuntary reaction that he tries to steady as soon as it happens. It's hot and molten, it rustles past his ears like a sea breeze, and it is a foreign body invading his own. Price's pulse races, instinct keyed to the highest settings, and you are mouthwatering. All potential power and pretty packaging. He brushes your hair off your neck with his uninjured hand. You're so trusting. He can feel the itch in his teeth, and smell blood.

Price grips your shoulder hard enough to bruise, and leans down to press his teeth to your neck. He can feel your pulse rushing under his tongue, smell your scent under all those lovely herbs. You drop his hand and he's quick to thread it through your hair, to hold your neck long for his consumption. There's no pain, and the tethers between you are so brilliantly warm. No pain. Price blinks. The ringing is gone, the sea breeze gone, you're not holding his hand. You're finished.

He pull back, looks at how you've squeezed your eyes shut, lips thin with fear. That's not right. Fuck.

"Fuck," Price clears his throat, it feels like he hasn't had anything to drink in days, "I'm not gonna hurt you, that's-" He takes his hands off you, as a show of sincerity. Tension bleeds out of you as you open your eyes.

"I told you, it'll feel weird." You tell him, turning quickly to go and grab your watering can. Weird is not how he'd describe it, nor is that how he would've warned about it. But it's done now.

"That was real magic," Price swallows, flexes his fingers now miraculously, magically, healed. You don't miss a step in your quick pace back to your garden.

"It's all real magic," You call over your shoulder, "I just didn't use a buffer this time."

You only turn to look at him when you're closing your garden gate, your smile a little shy and your cheeks pink. You mouth a last 'thank you' and disappear into your house. It's strange. There should be a new tether between you, something solid, something the weight of unfiltered magical expertise, but there's nothing. Even done out of just the kindness of your heart he should have some evidence that you'd done him a service, nobody gives themselves that freely. Even those that do, a recipient would never accept such a gift without a debt; save maybe the few foolish enough to think they're in love.

Fuck.

482 notes · View notes