Janaina Medeiros
No title available
Origami Around
shark vs the universe
d e v o n
⁂
Game of Thrones Daily
JVL
Sade Olutola
One Nice Bug Per Day
we're not kids anymore.
Love Begins
Cosimo Galluzzi
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Three Goblin Art
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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Xuebing Du
Misplaced Lens Cap
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seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Israel
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Netherlands
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
@crunkadilewrites
you know its muscle memory when youre trying to type “Ben” and you keep typing “Bed”
champagne kisses
summary: the *thrilling* conclusion to the college party trilogy skdjhf
Criken drummed his fingers nervously against his glass of champagne, glancing once again at the clock. 11:42. He sighed, trying to force himself to be excited about the party. It really was a good get together, and he couldn’t be mad about free drinks and seeing his friends.
But somehow every time he was at a party with Tomato, bad things happened. First it was that stupid house party, and then halloween and then...Criken put the glass down, afraid that he was going to drop it with how much his hands were shaking. He hadn’t seen Tomato yet but he knew he would be here.
“Then why did you even come?” Dave yelled over the music, much earlier in the night, before people were starting to calm down. He had a huge smile on his face and was wearing sparkling 2020 glasses. Criken threw back the second, or maybe it was his third drink before answering.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.”
“Please don’t say those words in that order again,” Dave cringed and Criken rolled his eyes. “And maybe you can just try and be nice?”
“Dave, I’ve made out with this guy more times than is probably normal,” Criken tried to argue.
“I kiss all my friends,” Dave’s face dropped a little, and Criken felt his heart twinge.
“And we appreciate that Dave, but this is...I don’t know, different.”
Criken’s focus came back to the present as he felt an elbow in his ribs. He swung around and faced Bed, who was wearing a sly smile and a light up necklace.
“What?” Was all that Criken could say, and Bed’s teeth showed as he smiled wider.
“I noticed you were hanging out over here by yourself, and it’s almost midnight,” Bed threw out a fishing line, hoping that Criken would take the bait. But Criken could smell Bed’s bullshit from a mile away.
“Oh, are you offering your lips as tribute?” Criken raised his eyebrows, leaning just a hair closer. Bed tilted his head in amusement.
“Sadly, no.” He traced Criken’s jaw, grabbing gently onto his chin. “As the host, I must abstain from the activities.”
“You are so strange.”
“Thank you.” Bed leaned forward in a tiny bow. “Now if you excuse me, I have some business in the other room to attend to.” Bed turned, and Criken reached for his glass, finding it gone.
“Dick.”
The best part about parties at Bod's, Criken knew, was that if things ever got rough, he had his cats in a bedroom upstairs. And that’s where Criken found himself as midnight drew closer, sitting on the floor of the upstairs bedroom, petting the largest tabby cat he had ever seen.
That is until the door slammed open and someone ran in with a flurry, quickly slamming the door behind them self. Criken stood, cat in his arms, his heart racing as he faced his intruder.
Shit.
Even in the low lights, he recognized the new occupant. Tall, broad, unmistakable red hair.
“Tomato?” The person’s shoulders lowered and they stepped closer.
“Criken? What are you doing up here?” Criken raised the cat in reply, the cat meowing almost comically on cue. Tomato gestured towards the door.
“Buck was trying to coerce me into the kitchen, not sure why but...I escape that as fast as I could.”
“Those assholes,” Criken laughed, letting the cat go from his arms as he sat on the edge of the bed. The cat ran, hiding amongst some clothes in the closet. “I was in the kitchen.”
“They were trying to set us up again,” Tomato realized, chuckling as he sat on the edge of the bed as well. There was a comfortable silence between them, the sounds of the party muffled below. It was almost calming, and Criken could feel his eyelids closing.
“Sorry.”
“Huh?” Criken mumbled, his eyes opening again.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you mad, or lead you on, or anything like that. I didn’t mean to.” Tomato was looking down at his shoes, and Criken watched him take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry too.” Tomato glanced over at Criken this time. “I’m sorry for thinking you were rude or an asshole.”
“I mean, I was,” Tomato laughed, and Criken smiled as he waved away his deflection.
“Truce then?” Criken offered, and Tomato gave him a genuine smile.
“Truce.” And with that, Criken scooted himself closer, closing his eyes and letting his head lean against Tomato’s shoulder.
“10!” Criken could hear the muffled countdown from the main level, and smiled at the thought of Bed and Buck losing their bet. “9!” Tomato was warm, and Criken hadn’t realized how cold he was until his head was resting against his shoulder. Tomato ever so gently let his head lean over and touch Criken’s. “8!” The music was still going, and Criken was glad he was up here, though he did wish he had a glass of champagne. The cat had jumped back in his lap and was happily purring up a storm. “7!” Criken opened his eyes as Tomato lifted his head, and he stared back, their eyes meeting. Even in the dark, he could feel their intense stare.
“6!”
“Did you hear that?” Tomato’s eyebrows scrunched together, and Criken strained to hear whatever it was.
“5!”
“It was like…” Tomato drifted off.
“4!”
“Footsteps.”
“3!” Too late, Criken could hear them too, and it sounded like more than one person.
“Shit.”
“2!” They both jumped to their feet, trying to find someplace to hide. “1! Happy New Year!” As the clock struck twelve, The bedroom door slammed open, revealing the forms of Bed and Buck, hopelessly entaged on one other, who proceeded to quickly detach when they noticed their hideaway was occupied.
“I knew it! You two were making out!” Buck pointed, his face red as he quickly tried to shift the focus off of them.
“Really Tomato? If I had known, I would have put the cat down.” Criken retorted and Tomato burst out into laughter, his eyes squinting with joy. Bed was scanning the two of them, trying to figure out what was really going on. But post make out Bed was slow to action, and before either of them could do anything, Tomato slammed the door again and locked it, giggling as he sat back down.
“Finally, some peace and quiet,” he sighed, glancing over at Criken with a gleam in his eye.
“Did you really lock them out?” Criken grinned and Tomato shrugged.
“Eh, they deserve it. Besides, now they can’t prove anything happened here.”
“Oh nothing happened here,” Criken rolled his eyes sarcastically, stepping closer to Tomato on the bed. “Nothing at all.”
7 minutes in heaven hell (part 2)
summary: college party vibes, and crik isn’t having it, halloween edition
Criken was not having the best time. It wasn’t the party itself, that was amazing. As usual, Bree had the best house gatherings, and really Criken was lucky enough to be invited. Themes were her thing and given that it was a week until Halloween, this one was called “The Monster Mash.” Bree and her boyfriend Trevor had dressed as Joyce and Hopper from Stranger Things, with a half-dead looking Zyke following them around pretending to be Eleven, despite his gory zombie makeup. Buck had one of the theater kids help him and he came as a wendigo, full antlers and all and kept knocking them off door frames as he sauntered from room to room. Criken ducked under them once again as he maneuvered his way back to the fridge, grabbing another beer and filling the kitchen briefly in light. The door slowly closed as he tried to twist the top off, his hands sweaty and barely able to grip the wet bottle.
“Let me,” a gravelly voice said from behind him and he turned abruptly to face Tomato, who was wearing horns and had his face painted with scales. Criken silently held the bottle out and Tomato twisted the cap off easily before handing it back over, their hands brushing ever so slightly.
“Demon?” Criken wagered a guess at his costume, and Tomato exhaled.
“Dragon,” He answered before pivoting on his heels and leaving. Criken swore under his breath. Criken was frustrated. He hadn’t had a decent conversation with Tomato since, well, since the last party they had gone to together when things had gotten close. All he wanted to do was ask how he was or even just talk about shit like they used to, but Tomato was not open to it. Criken brought the bottle to his lips and just about spilled all over himself. Oops. The teeth. Criken sighed. Of course he had to dress up as a vampire and wear the teeth that don’t just pop out, and make everything he did inconvenient. He put the bottle down and tried to assess the damage done to his costume, but the low red mood lighting wasn’t the best to see stains. Criken took another breath, trying to think of anywhere that would have light.
Bathroom.
Criken pushed his way through the crowd, almost knocking down a short red riding hood that he recognized as Dodger before slipping into the hallway and jumping a mile at the sudden appearance of a figure.
“Criken, looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” Bed smirked, waving his hands above his head. Getting no response, Bed nudged further. “What, still sour about the last party?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Criken didn’t try to hide the annoyance in his voice. Bed giggled, sliding past Criken and melting into the crowd. Criken knocked, and hearing no one answer, opened the bathroom door. The sounds of the party were now muffled behind him, and Criken gripped the edge of the sink, his head hanging down as he tried to compose his thoughts.
Suddenly, without giving Criken any time to protest, the bathroom door burst open, and a tall, all too familiar redhead almost fell into the room.
“Oh,” he turned, exclaiming softly as he saw Criken at the sink. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was occupied.” His hand went for the door handle.
“It’s fine,” Criken interrupted, and Tomato froze. “It’s fine, I’m not really using it, I just…”
“Needed some place to breathe?” Tomato finished the sentence, and Criken smiled.
“Yeah.” Tomato walked behind Criken, climbing up on the counter next to him. His feet hung off the ground as he looked up to the ceiling, closing his eyes. The music blared from outside the door, but the sounds of the party felt a million miles away. “It does look good.” Criken coughed.
“Hm?”
“The...the makeup. Your costume. It’s good.” Criken stammered, feeling stupid for saying anything anyway. Tomato let out a huff of air that Criken knew was his laugh.
“Thanks. It was Buck’s idea. I actually had Bed do the scales.” He paused. “Yours is good too.”
“Kinda cliche, I know.” Criken was wincing, he felt as if he was forcing conversation, that he should just leave...
“Nah, I’ve always had a thing for teeth.” Tomato smirked, and Criken felt his own brain short circuit. Tomato jumped down from the sink, backing Criken against the door. Criken could feel the vibrations through the wood from the bass of the music. “I felt bad leaving you like that at the last party,” he whispered, his fingers tracing up Criken’s arm. “We weren’t done, were we?” His hands traced Criken’s jaw, finally lifting off his skin. Criken glanced from Tomato’s eyes to his lips and back. Tomato was much closer than he was before, his breath warming Criken’s lips.
Criken closed the distance. He tasted like cheap liquor and paint, which really wasn’t that different. Criken grabbed the front of Tomato’s shirt as he moved closer, shoving Tomato back against the sink, and he jumped up, Criken pressing even closer between Tomato’s legs. Tomato gasped as Criken bit at his jaw, Criken’s hands on his thighs. Criken smiled, biting again down near his throat, and Tomato’s breath catches.
“If you fucking try and pull some weird vampire shit, I’ll punch you,” Tomato breathes, his eyes half closed. Criken knows it’s not an empty threat, but still bites a little harder, enjoying how Tomato tenses under his hands as Criken’s tongue feels where the skin stretches over his adam’s apple. Tomato’s fingers grasped at Criken’s sides, pulling harder on the fabric, his hands searching for skin. Criken goes lower, pulling down Tomato’s shirt to reveal his collarbone, protruding in a way that it seemed to hold shadows in it from the dingy bathroom lighting.
Criken gripped tighter to Tamto’s thighs, rubbing circles with his thumbs as he drifted closer, pressing chest to chest as he kissed his lips again, biting Tomato’s lower lip as he pulled away. Tomato leaned in this time, and Criken tasted like sugar and beer, and Tomato’s hand found the edge of Criken’s shirt. He reached up, scratching down Criken’s shoulders and tilted himself back, taking a breath.
Criken began to slide his hands up, reaching Tomato’s hips before Tomato pulled him close again, wanting another taste. Criken smiled through the kisses, laughing as his hands and mouth explored Tomato’s body. Both of them were so absorbed in each other that they didn’t hear the knock on the door. Or the second knock. Or the third. So when the door swung open to reveal a very disgruntled Buck, both of them tripped around, Criken falling back and Tomato smacking his head on the mirror.
“Bed! Crik and Tamto are trying to eat each other!” Buck tattled, yelling across the party.
“We were not!” Criken was already going red in the face as he tried to stand back up, and Bed appeared like a ghost next to Buck. “What?” Criken asked, before realizing that Bed had a shit eating grin spread across his face as Buck fished in his pocket, pulling out a twenty and handing it over before shutting the door.
“What was that?” Tomato asked, rubbing the back of his head, one eye squinting at Criken.
“I…” Criken began, putting the whole thing together and bursting out laughing. “It was a bet.”
“Those assholes were really betting on if we were going to get together?” Tomato had an almost defiant tone to him. “And Buck said we weren’t?!” Tomato stood back up, Criken grabbing his arm as he wobbled to the door. “I’m going to beat his ass!” Criken opened the door for him and he ran out, once again leaving Criken alone in the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and can only laugh.
Not only does he have a stain from his drink, but he’s now covered in red face paint. He could only laugh. It’s just one of those nights.
7 minutes in heaven hell (part 1)
summary: college party vibes, and crik isn’t having it
“Dude, just spin it.” Bed nudged Criken’s arm as they sat in a circle, an empty green bottle laying in front of them on the floor. The lights were dim, and the smell of weed drifted in from one of the other rooms across the hall. Criken grinned, taking another swig from his can of warm beer, grimacing as he hit the neck of the bottle, sending it into a nice spin. Bed and Lawl were the last to play, and Criken was the next in the circle. There was a wave of chattering that quieted down as the bottle slowed to pick Criken’s pairing.
The bottle stopped, and Criken’s eyes followed the direction to meet Tomato’s solid stare.
“Eh, could be worse,” Tomato shrugged, earning a faux gasp of shock from Criken as he stood, taking another chug, feeling that one put him a little more over the edge.
“Am I not your first choice?” Criken stumbled as he tripped over Sput, using the wall as a brace.
“Probably not even my third,” Tomato taunted with a grin. “But I’ve never lost at 7 minutes.” Lost? The word repeated in Criken’s mind as they both stepped into the closet, and Bed held up his phone with a timer.
“Time starts...now.” As Tomato shut the door, leaving them in relative darkness.
“So, how does this usually work, do you close your eyes, or like…” Criken trailed off, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that the rest of his friends were listening outside the door. Tomato took off his glasses, hanging them on the front of his shirt, the fabric pulling down, revealing the top of his collarbone, his chest rising and falling quickly in the heat of the small room.
“What?” Tomato whispered back, tilting his head to the side, squinting, now lacking the aid of his glasses.
“Right,” Criken interrupted his own thoughts, pulling off his own glasses as well, closing his eyes and leaning in just a little before Tomato very abruptly punched him in the face. Criken crumbled to the floor, letting out a cry of pain.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Criken exclaimed as Tomato shook his hand out. “What was that, some kind of foreplay?”
“What do you think this is?”
“What do you think this is?” Criken repeated with more emphasis, seeing stars, his head spinning as he tried to stand. There was something cute though about the way Tomato’s mouth hung when he was confused, the way his eyebrows pushed together in concern. Fuck.
“7 minutes in hell?” Tomato grabbed Criken’s shoulder as he missed the handle to pull himself up, getting Criken back on his feet. If Criken wasn’t now sporting what felt like the world’s biggest black eye he probably would have died laughing at the situation.
“Who plays that?” Criken allowed a giggle, his eyes closed as he tried to stop the whole place from disappearing into the black hole that had appeared in the ceiling.
“Uh, Buck and I.” Of course.
“Well, that was not what I was playing,” Criken grumbled, feeling as though the ground and ceiling was constantly switching places as he opened his eyes again.
“I should have guessed that from the dumb face you were making,” Tomato laughed, carefully cupping Criken’s face, tilting his face to the side and hissing as he assessed the damage. “Well, you’ll have to come up with a good story.”
“What? Some idiot punching me when I tried to kiss him isn’t good enough?”
“Time!” Bed opened the door, light flowing in. Criken brought his hands up to block his face. “Jeez, what happened?” Tomato and Criken glanced at each other.
“Uh, a misunderstanding?” Tomato shrugged, trying to offer an explanation. From the back of the room, Buck punched the air, laughing.
“Zero for five baby!”
--
Sirens. Shit. Criken scrambled up from his seat on the ground, immediately feeling dizzy as he brought the ice pack down from his face, reaching out to anything for balance and finding Tomato’s hand. They locked eyes, a flash of fear lighting up Tomato’s eyes.
“We gotta go.” He pulled Criken all the way up, the music still blaring as people began scattering, no one wanting to be the last one there when the cops showed up. The front door was backed up, and Tomato dragged Criken up the set of stairs that Criken knew didn’t lead out. Red and blue lights lit up the night outside, and a rush of adrenaline finally brought Criken to his senses. The room Tomato had brought him in was littered with bottles and cans and filled with smoke.
“Here,” Criken led this time, dragging Tomato to the broom closet in the hallway as loud knocking began at the front door downstairs. The closet was barely big enough for one full grown adult, let alone two, and now that Criken had deemed himself safe he relaxed again, the mix of alcohol and a mild concussion once again making his bones soft and he melted against Tomato. It was dark, but light enough that Tomato could see Criken raise his finger to his lips in a flirty, unworried, ”shhhhh.” Tomato stifled a laugh, covering his mouth at the ridiculous situation. In the closet twice in one night.
The lights from the hallway danced in Criken's eyes, and Tomato caught his breath. The commotion outside was quieter now.
“We could probably make a run for it now, try to get to the roof…” Criken tried to think up some kind of plan, his breath warm against Tomato’s chest.
“Yeah. We could.” Criken stared up in the dark to find Tomato’s face, his mouth split into a smile.
“Yeah,” Criken repeated, leaning closer. Tomato raised a hand, tracing the purple and blue bruise that outlined Criken’s right eye, wincing at the memory. Tomato leaned down, feeling the heat from Criken radiating off him in the close space of the closet.
The door flung open and they both sprung back.
“Hey dummies, Bed's distracting the cops, we gotta go,” Buck hissed, shooting a knowing glance from Criken to Tomato and back again. “Waste 7 minutes later.”
--
Sirens. Shit. Criken scrambled up from his seat on the ground, immediately feeling dizzy, reaching out to anything for balance and finding Tomato’s hand. They locked eyes, a flash of fear lighting up his eyes.
“We gotta go.” He pulled Criken all the way up, the music still blaring as people began scattering, no one wanting to be the last one there when the cops showed up. The front door was backed up, and Tomato dragged Criken up the set of stairs that Criken knew didn’t lead out. Red and blue lights lit up the night outside, and a rush of adrenaline finally brought Criken to his senses. The room Tomato had brought him in was littered with bottles and cans and filled with smoke.
“Here,” Criken led this time, dragging Tomato to the broom closet in the hallway as loud knocking began at the front door downstairs. The closet was barely big enough for one full grown adult, let alone two, and now that Criken had deemed himself safe he relaxed again, the mix of alcohol and a mild concussion once again making his bones soft and he melted against Tomato. It was dark, but light enough that Tomato could see Criken raise his finger to his lips in a flirty, unworried, ”shhhhh.” Tomato stifled a laugh, covering his mouth at the ridiculous situation. In the closet twice in one night.
The lights from the hallway danced in Criken's eyes, and Tomato caught his breath. The commotion outside was quieter now.
“We could probably make a run for it now, try to get to the roof…” Criken tried to think up some kind of plan, his breath warm against Tomato’s chest.
“Yeah. We could.” Criken stared up in the dark to find Tomato’s face, his mouth split into a smile.
“Yeah,” Criken repeated, leaning closer. Tomato raised a hand, tracing the purple and blue bruise that outlined Criken’s right eye, wincing at the memory. Tomato leaned down, feeling the heat from Criken radiating off him in the close space of the closet.
The door flung open and they both sprung back.
“Hey dummies, Bed's distracting the cops, we gotta go,” Buck hissed, shooting a knowing glance from Criken to Tomato and back again. “Waste 7 minutes later.”
feels like I've been here forever, torn apart and sown together
Lost my head inside this cell I'm all alone, this place is hell Heart is cold, my head is sick
unnumbered part of the collaboration project between myself and @arcadiaschnapps , Spit Out the Bullet (Don’t Hold It Between Your Teeth) (a gift, if you so will kjsdhf)
December, 2018
He woke with a start, and his world was dark. He couldn’t remember the number of days it had been, the number of times he had died in that time. The cable wrapped around his wrists dug into his skin, any movement he tried to lessen the pain just resulted in flares of agony up his arms. His fingers felt warm and slippery, and as he twisted again, he could feel the bones of his wrist grind against the metal fibers. He was blinded with shock, and he let out an involuntary groan of pain, biting his lip to keep the noise low.
He knew they would come if they heard him.
It seemed like the only thing he knew.
After the pain numbed to a manageable level, he tried his best to steady his breathing. The fact that the cable had been able to cut that deep meant he must’ve been alive for a while. That time usually came with clarity. But his head still felt foggy. His body was wet with sweat despite the chill in the air, and his exposed skin stuck to the metal of the chair. The cloth covering his head was wet as well, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of its covering. It seemed to be tied on and he stopped, giving up for the moment.
The only sound seemed to be the slow trickle of blood from his fingers, pooling around the legs of the chair, leaving him dizzy. He pulled again at the cord, ignoring the pain. His hand felt like it could maybe, if he just wiggled a little bit more, come free. In his haste the chair scraped, and he froze. For a moment he thought they didn’t hear.
The lights came on all at once, their industrial clicking timed as they illuminating the world around him, lightening the dark of his hood. Then footsteps. Steady and fast, approaching from the front and as they seemed to be in front of him they grabbed his shoulders, picking him up out of the chair and then dropping him again, this time his feet hanging as he felt a hook pressed against his back, attached to the second cable around his torso. He tried to swing a little but it was useless without blazing pain.
Without flourish his hood was removed, and a lump formed in his throat as he looked around. He was at the end of a range, a trio of men standing at the other end. They were dressed in identical suits, but the one in the middle was slightly taller than the other two. Even from a distance, he could tell that they had an array of guns arranged in front of them. The one in the middle examined them like he was picking out a ripe vegetable, finally settling on a small handgun.
“So,” The man’s voice carried down the range, and suddenly he remembered, and his whole body froze. “I don’t want to make this difficult.” The man checked the guns ammunition, loading a clip in. “It’s been difficult so far.” The man in the suit took a breath and aimed down the range, right at him. “Tell me who the commander of your little operation is Dave, and we can stop this.”
“Fuck you,” Dave’s voice shook when he spoke, and as soon as he finished speaking the man shot, the bullet going through Dave’s knee. He yelled out, his leg going limp.
“Wrong answer,” the man almost sounded pleased. “Try again.”
“I’ll outlive you all,” Dave taunted, earning him a shot to the stomach. The blood dripped down to the floor, and his vision was spotted with stars. His breath caught in his throat.
“Who. Is. It.”
“You.” Dave heard the shot and that was it. He woke with a start, still hanging in the range. He swung slightly as he adjusted to his surroundings again. The man was looking at his wrist, checking his watch.
“Faster than last time.” One of the other men pulled out a pad of paper and wrote something down. “C’mon Dave, I know you want to tell me.” He had put down the handgun, and was choosing his next weapon. Dave didn’t even want to open his mouth. The man picked up a machine gun, launching a spray off bullets to Dave’s left. He tried to turn his body to the side.
“I don’t know!” Dave exclaimed, his eyes tightly shut.
“You’re lying.” He spoke it with too much confidence. The next spray of bullets cut through Dave’s torso. It felt like he could feel each one enter his body before the world went black.
He woke with a start. Dave’s throat was tight, and he wriggled much more this time.
“Let me go!” He pleaded, his voice hoarse and broken.
“Not until I get the answers I want.” The man hovered his hands over the weapons, shrugging as he picked up a shotgun. He fired once, the buckshot exploding into Dave’s abdomen. He felt like he had been pierced with a thousand needles, and he couldn’t breathe. “Tell me.” Dave strained, his vision going red.
“No.” The man fired again, in the same place, filling him with even more metal. Dave cried out, blood and guts spilling out, splattering onto the floor.
He woke with a start, and Dave couldn’t stop his mind from reeling. He didn’t know how many times he repeated the same cycle of resurrections and death until the man reached the last of his weapons.
“One more time.” The man grabbed the weapon on the table, vaulting the barrier between him and Dave. “Who is the leader?” The weapon hung at his side until he pulled the trigger and an explosion of fire erupted from the end. Dave’s body recoiled, curling up as much as he could. “Who is it?” The man was walking steadily closer, intermittently firing off the flamethrower. ‘Who?!” Dave couldn’t help himself from sobbing as the man stepped into range. He couldn’t do this anymore.
“Please.” The man turned off the flamethrower, stepping even closer, until his face was just underneath Daves’. He could smell the man’s cologne.
“Who is it?” The man whispered, a glisten in his eye, of knowing that he had won.
“K-Keenan.” Dave whimpered, his eyes closed. “They call him Criken.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” the man gave Dave a wicked smile before he drew a handgun, firing once into Dave’s forehead.
He woke with a start, and his world was dark.
im a real boy now
Your eyes hypnotized, staring at me Ice in my veins and my heart on my sleeve
summary: Not everything is as it seems. And at the fair, never trust a pink door labeled ‘doll room.’ (haunted house au)
The trio arrived at the next room, a bright pink door with curly letters in a sparkly font.
“Doll Room?” Dave read, his voice only slightly exasperated at the previous ‘horrors’ they had been subjected to. He had been expecting an actual haunted house, not this half-assed house of jump scares. Ruby put her hands on her hips, jumping in front of him.
“C’mon, you aren’t scared of a few little baby dolls are you?” She smirked, and Dave rolled his eyes.
“Of course not,” Dave huffed a little too defensively. Flimsii hit Dave on the arm.
“You are scared!” Flimsii accused, and Dave could feel his cheeks burning, glad for the low lighting of the narrow hallway. They could hear screams coming from other parts of the house.
“I am NOT!” Dave yelled a little too loud and there was a loud knock from the other side of the door. They all jumped, turning to face the bright pink door, watching as it opened very slowly, revealing a pitch black room. They all stood still.
“Sorry!” A voice popped up behind them and they jumped again, seeing a disheveled young man walking up to the door, shutting it forcefully. “They’re getting a little excited,” He gestured to the room with a laugh. The kid’s curly hair hung down close to his dark eyes, which seemed to be painted over in red. He was wearing a red circus coat, with a strange assortment of trinkets hanging from his belt. What looked like faces hung from one side, and a bag of eyeballs hung from the other. He breathed deeply, like he was out of breath and his smile was just a bit too wide.
“My name is Buck, and I am the official doll keeper.” Buck gave them a little bow. “Before we enter,” His voice got low. “I need you to understand the one rule: Do not look the dolls in the eyes.” He quickly smiled again, taking out an intricate key and unlocking the door, letting it fall open and revealing the blackness once again. Buck almost pushed them into the room, the heavy door shutting behind them. There was enough ambient light that they could make out the various boxes scattered through the room.
“Welcome to the Doll Room,” a deep voice announced from in front of them. Spotlights began to flash on around them. Dave could hear Ruby gasp. The room was wallpapered pink, and could have been the room of a little girl, except for the ten or so human sized doll boxes. The tinking of a music box began, and Dave felt goosebumps run up his arms. He felt like someone was watching him.
“This is it?” Flimsii leaned close to one of the boxes, touching the clear plastic covering the front. Inside was a doll wearing a blue dress, her hair braided off to the side, red circles painted on her cheeks. Her eyes were closed. Dave spun in a circle. All the doll’s eyes seemed to be closed. Flimsii walked to the next box, squinting up at the doll, who was wearing a orange sweater, his dirty blonde hair swept to the side. His face was painted porcelain, just a little too pale to be human.
“Dave.” Dave turned at the whisper.
“Who said that?” He called, and both Ruby and Flimsii looked at him in confusion.
“Who said what?” Ruby was still standing in front of a black box, some kind of marionette puppet inside.
“Someone…” Dave trailed off. It was just in my head. “Never mind.” Dave gave them a wave and walked to the next box.
“Okay, that isn’t funny Flimsii,” Ruby gasped, taking a step back.
“What?” Flimsii tried to defend himself, but Ruby wasn’t having it.
“I know your voice, stop whispering my name!”
“You’re hearing that too?” Flimsii squeaked, and Dave exhaled a small amount of relief. At least he wasn’t completely crazy.
“Then if it’s not any of us…” Dave slowly looked around the room. The lights had slowly turned red, and the music had slowed. Dave gulped.
All the dolls eyes were open.
“Play with us Flimsii,” A high pitched voice sang, and the doll with the orange sweater lurched forward behind Flimsii, pressing its hands against the plastic. His eyes were wide behind the porcelain, and his head twisted unnaturally to the side. His eyes snapped up and stared, unblinking at Dave. “Dave,” he sang.
At the moment, Ruby screamed and jumped, the marionette puppet moving, its strings being pulled by an invisible force. It’s face was much too human for Dave’s liking, painted with two dark streaks like tears down it’s face, its eyes closed. The puppet’s arms and legs moved unnaturally, both long and lanky.
“The dolls like you,” the deep voice laughed, seeming to come from all around them.
“Stay with us,” A demonic voice echoed, and a red haired doll wearing overalls and a rainbow shirt pressed against the plastic, a knife in his hands. He smiled. “It’s fun here,” His voice was layered, and his smiled turned into a scowl.
“Become...like...us,” the marionette hissed as the red-haired doll stabbed the plastic, dragging it down and ripping it apart. This time it was Dave that screamed.
“One of us, one of us,” the dolls began to chant, the knife wielding one slowly walking closer. Finally, the door behind them opened, and they almost fell out, quickly shutting the door behind them. They were all panting, and Dave felt his heart racing.
“Well that was something,” Ruby tried to laugh as they kept walking through next hallway.
“How did they know our names though?” Dave threw the question out, but neither Ruby nor Flimsii had a clue.
--
“Do you think they realized it was us?” Criken laughed, letting his arms fall, the strings looser now. Tomato chuckled.
“Maybe not you, but if they didn’t see that the red-haired, ‘Chucky’ character was me, then I have serious questions for them.” “They were scared you guys,” Bed pulled his mask down, his face slightly sweaty. “Did you hear them when we were whispering?”
“Hey dolls,” Buck popped his head in. “Next group in 2.”
“Don’t call us that,” Criken mumbled, hooking his hands back into the rigging. Buck stuck out his tongue.
“What do you want me to call you? Horrible monstrosity? Human puppet?”
“I’d prefer baby,” Criken sang back.
“Nice try,” Buck pursed his lips.
“Stop being gross you too,” Tomato pretended to gag, switching out the plastic on his box. Buck shut the door, and Bed laughed. Nothing better than working with your friends.
nightcall
There's something inside you It's hard to explain They're talking about you, boy But you're still the same
summary: it’s hard to scare Buck, but that doesn’t mean that other people won’t try.
Buck loved Halloween. There was something about a specific time of year where it was acceptable to be weird and scary and like the creepy things in life that really made him happy. It helped that nothing really scared him, he found scary movies funny, dark hallways were nothing more, ghosts were just people’s imagination.
It’s why he agreed to go, as they did, every year to the “Scariest Haunted House!” in the state, one of the fancy ones that let the actors actually interact with you, meaning you had to sign a waiver. Every year, he was accompanied by Bed in front of him and Criken alternating his death grip between Buck and Bed’s arms. Bed always called out all the scares, annoying the actors, but Buck loved taking in the whole thing. How ridiculous the situation is, and how much fun it always turned out to be. It was like the fair, except at night, and there were people dressed up as things that were supposed to be scary.
The haunted hayride was his favorite part, only because he got to sit down after a few hours of wandering the park at night in the relative cold, and he could use the excuse to cuddle up and get warm. Not that Criken ever complained, the closer Buck was, the safer he felt.
“Next stop...Hell,” The driver of the cart cackled, and Bed rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, more like the freakin South Pole,” Bed complained, gripping his arms tighter as he sat between Buck and Criken.
“C’mon Bed, have a little bit of fun!” Buck elbowed him, earning a swift side eye. The cart lurched forward, and they all gripped the hay bales for support. Buck exhaled, his breath leaving in a cloud of mist.
“It’s way too cold this year,” Bed’s teeth chattered, and Criken rubbed his arms in agreement.
“Yeah Buck it’s a little hard to have fun when-” Criken was cut off as Buck was ripped from the cart, landing hard in the dead leaves, a knee digging into his chest, the sound of a chainsaw ripping over his head. A fluorescent light was flickering on one of the trees behind the figure, casting a wonderful shadow. He could hear the cart stop behind him.
“Buck!” A concerned Bed called out, and the man swung the chainsaw at the cart.
“Anyone steps out and you’re next!” His voice was doubled and demonic, and Buck was impressed with the effect. Even in the low light, Buck could see that the chain was missing from the saw, a neat trick that let you use real chainsaws but with no chance of damage. The actor leaned close, and Buck could see the black contacts in his eyes, the curved red prosthetic horns blending well with the actors red hair. Buck smiled, taking a finger and dragging it across the dripping blood on the man’s apron, sticking it in his mouth.
“Yeah, corn syrup.” The actor smiled back, revealing a set of fangs before revving the chainsaw again and grabbing Buck by the ankle.
“This one’s mine!” He exclaimed with a devilish laugh, dragging Buck into the dark of the woods, the protests of his friends fading into the distance. When they seemed to be a safe distance away, the actor dropped Buck, grabbing a flashlight from his pocket and blinding Buck with it.
“Dude what?” Buck held up his hand, seeing spots. The actor let the light fall, and Buck could see he was now looking...concerned?
“Are you, like, okay?” The actor asked, this time his voice normal. If it hadn’t been for the sincerity of the question, Buck would have laughed. The look of actual worry mixed with the demon outfit was somehow really funny.
“Uh, yeah?” Buck answered, interested in the demon’s cause for worry. “Can I ask why?” Buck pushed himself up onto his elbows, and the actor seemed to remember that Buck was laying on the cold forest ground.
“Oh sorry, here,” the actor held out a hand, swinging the chainsaw onto his back. Buck let him pull him up, and it finally hit Buck that he was in the middle of the woods, with no idea where he was, with a complete stranger. For a short moment, Buck actually felt afraid. “Usually people try and climb back in the hayride. I didn’t know what to do when you just...laid there.” At that, Buck burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” Buck stifled himself long enough to talk. “It’s just,” he giggled again. “I don’t scare.” In the distance, they could hear other actors scuffling through the woods and the screams of the hayride.
“Really?” the actor sounded almost exasperated. “Never?” Buck could guess what was probably going to come next.
“Almost never,” Buck assured as the actor jumped at him, screaming. Buck didn’t even blink.
“Wow, you are good,” His mouth hung slightly open, his fangs not fitting completely inside. He started to circle Buck, and Buck could hear a deep growling emitting from the actor. “You might not scare, but you can still feel fear.” He had ducked down as he came around Buck, and stood back up, inhaling deeply as he met Buck’s eyes. “And I can smell it on you,” his voice was low, the smirk dripping from his words. Buck could feel the warmth from the man’s breath, smell the faint body paint and sweat that coated his forehead. He felt goosebumps run up his spine. The actor leaned back, and Buck released a breath he forgot he was holding.
“Tomato,” the actor held out his hand. Buck shook.
“Buck.” Tomato smiled, glancing around the woods.
“How about we get you back to the wagon?” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of the sceams. Buck followed the motion and shrugged.
“Eh, they can wait.”
--
The group all crowded into the rundown church, the doors slamming behind them. Well timed hydraulics. Candles illuminated all around, revealing a ragged-robbed priest and a wooden altar. The priest opened his arms, a jagged knife in his hand. Music began to play from invisible speakers.
“All we need is a sacrifice…” the priest dragged out the last word. “...to finish the ritual.” There was an uncomfortable pause as the group of people looked at each other, worried expressions on their faces. “You,” the priest pointed, and the crowd parted, revealing a small and scared looking boy.
“What?” His voice broke, but the priest grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward. “This is a mistake, please!” The kid struggled as the priest latched him to the wooden board, holding the knife high overhead, speaking in Latin. Whatever he was saying was drowned out by the begging and screaming of the kid. Tears ran down his face. “No! Stop! Please! St-” The priest drove the knife down, halting the kid’s protests his eyes widening in pain, his mouth half open before he fell, limp to the wood. The priest dragged the knife down before reaching into the boy’s chest and ripping out his warm heart and taking a bite, blood dripping down his chin.
“Welcome to the Cult,” The priest laughed as the side door opened and the group almost ran out, the sound of Tomato’s laugh echoing through the church. The doors had barely shut before Buck was already sitting up again, stripping off his blood stained shirt and blood packet.
“Was that good?” Buck glanced at Tomato, whose mouth was still covered red.
“You killed it, literally,” Tomato assured. Without hesitation, Buck leapt up, grabbing the side of Tomato’s face and kissing him hard.
“They really need to change that recipe, it tastes like shit,” Buck mumbled as he pulled away, the red corn syrup blood covering his mouth as well now.
“Yeah, well no one besides you is eating it that often,” Tomato grinned, his eyes half closed. Buck went in for another kiss as the Tomato’s walkie buzzed. Next group was a minute out. Buck pulled back, but Tomato grabbed him. “I’m taking all the seconds I can.”
silver and gold
How I wish I told a different tale Like we chased the light, and his love prevailed But his blood ran cold, and his skin went pale
summary: This city belongs to those willing to take it. And for those that have lived beneath it, the city can only be taken through blood and fire. (gta au)
Criken drummed his fingers against the railing, his hand moving to a slow, silent beat. He wasn’t anxious. Actually, far from it. News spread fast in the city and he had been elated since its arrival. The movement was more from boredom, and as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket his hand stopped, gently lifting from the banister. A call. He slid the green answer button, bringing the phone to his ear. The noise from the street below wasn’t enough to cause any sort of hearing problem, but it was enough that Criken was confident that no one else would be able to listen.
“Hello?” There was silence on the other end of the line, and Criken waited patiently.
“We got it.” The way that voice on the other end of the line slung together his words made the sentence sound like a single sound. Not that Criken cared. He had worked with Tomato long enough that he could decipher any of his words. Criken bit his cheek.
“Are you sure?” Criken had to be careful. One wrong move this early and everything that they had worked for these past years would be for nothing. The Fakes would make sure of that.
“Positive. Bed ID’d the driver.” Tomato’s voice lifted at the end like he was telling an inside joke, and Criken rolled his eyes. He did not want to know what Bed had done to get a positive identification, but it probably involved a handsaw, zip ties and a clown mask.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Criken hung up before Tomato could say anything else, but he knew that they tried to keep their conversations short. You never know who might be listening.
Criken stepped back into his apartment, shutting the glass door out to the balcony as he entered. The lights were off and he didn’t turn them on as he gathered some of his belongings. He had lived in the shadows long enough that the dark was comforting. He paused, examining his gun in the faint light from the sliding doors. The silver metal gleamed. Nothing flashy, and much more worn than he would like, but it had seen more firefights than most and come back kicking, so Criken trusted it to get him through this too.
He kept on the suit, there was no use changing now, but he had wished he had grabbed a jacket. These early spring days still had some colder nights, and even though he couldn’t see his breath, the metal ring dangling from his nose was making him colder than usual. He made a mental note to berate Tomato again, even though Criken was the one that lost the bet.
It was a short walk to the garage, and Criken almost ran it. But he knew better not to. He didn’t want to draw suspicion, and he also didn’t want to ruin his suit. He couldn’t afford a new one. Well, not yet. The garage door was chained shut, and Criken walked to the side of the building, punching in the new code. They tried to change it as often as they could remember, but that did mean that they sometimes locked themselves out. Good thing they had one of the best lockpickers in the city on their team.
The door swung open with a happy beep and Criken closed it just as quickly, his shoulders relaxing at the sudden increase in temperature. The automatic light ahead flickered on and he opened the next door to enter the main room of the shop.
Tomato was the frontman at the repair shop, their legal front for everything else shady they did behind the scenes. He handled the few actual customers that came in for oil changes and tire rotations, despite his limited knowledge of cars. He didn’t like it, but Bed had argued that Tomato looked the part. Tomato had argued back that at least Bed knew things about cars. Crken compromised that the shop would be only open two days a week.
The lights came one as he entered, and Criken was greeted by a few half hearted waves and smiles. Bed and Tomato went back to what they were doing while Buck jumped off the crate he was sitting on and bounded over to Criken.
“Hey Buck,” Criken crooned, and the fluffy haired interrogator smirked, handing over a deck of cards. The silver chains around his neck moved in perpetual motion as Buck never stopped his own movement.
“A gift from the driver,” Buck’s tone was like a small child handing over a pretty rock to their parents, but his expression was like a cat dropping off a dead mouse.
“What is it?” Criken opened the pack, pulling out a few of the cards. As Buck answered, Criken’s face dropped.
“Hit cards.” He answered matter-of-factly, but Criken was beginning to rapidly flip through them, trying to hide his panic. The cards themselves were beautiful and well done, but there were too many of Criken’s friends here. The Fakes seemed to be taking out anyone not in their central circle. Even more the reason to finish this mission. As he flipped through, his hand paused. Jack of Spades. There he was, his code name written plainly underneath, and the reward under that. He quietly pulled the card out, pocketing it before replacing all the cards back into their box.
“How did everything else go?” Criken handed the cards back to Buck as he walked, the young man right on his heels.
“Could’ve gone better,” Bed laughed, but cut off the sound with a wince as Tomato pressed a cloth to his forehead. Criken stopped in front of the pair, examining the damage. Bed’s eyes were half closed as he let Tomato dress his wounds, the extent of which seemed pretty minor. A cut across his forehead, a black eye, and bloody knuckles, which Tomato had already wrapped. Tomato’s face was tight with concentration as he dipped the cloth again, wringing it out and wiping the blood away. His brass knuckles, coated in silver, hung from his neck, swaying gently as he worked.
“Are you okay?” Criken didn’t want to delay the mission further, but he also couldn’t do it without his whole crew.
“I’m all good, boss,” Bed gave him a thumbs up, and Criken snorted.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine, what should I call our leader then?”
“His name maybe?” Tomato countered, and Bed dropped the conversation. Criken knew it wasn’t for lack of trying, but Bed was smart enough to not put energy into dumb arguments. Besides, they would just pick it up again later. Criken took a deep breath, hiding the smile that was sneaking its way onto his mouth, remembering his note from earlier. It was hard to be mad at Tomato though when he took your side.
“Can I open it up?” Criken glanced from Tomato and Bed to the back of the box truck, and Tomato made a grand gesture with his hands.
“Of course,” Tomato almost bowed, and the unspoken ‘boss’ floated in the air. Okay, maybe he deserved a little bit of a scolding. Criken grumbled something under his breath. “What?” Tomato giggled, both Bed and Buck strifling their laughs as well.
“Nothing,” Criken shot back, his voice rising in octaves like a song. He gripped the double door handles of the back of the truck, pulling both open at the same time. He couldn’t help but gasp.
Propane tanks lined the bottom, and as Criken lifted the top of the first one, he could see white bags surrounded by silver duct tape. Guns of all types hung from the walls, and near the front seats he knew those two duffel bags were stuffed with cash. The only strange thing was the metallic smell that wafted out, and the red mist that covered everything inside with a fine spray. Criken could almost taste it, and he gagged, the now recognizable scent coating his mouth.
“Driver?” Criken coughed, stepping back from the doors.
“Oh, yeah,” Bed waved his hand. “There should be a little bit of him left in the front seat.” Criken didn’t ask what had transpired that resulted in a vaporized human, but he did wonder.
“How much time do we have?” Criken shut the doors, turning back to the other three. Tomato had finished with Bed’s wounds and had opened his laptop, sitting the machine down in front of him on the floor.
“15 minutes until they notice it’s missing, 30 minutes if the patrol shows up late, which is the norm nowadays.” Tomato added the last part as a side comment, raising his eyebrows at their lack of security. “If we can get out there, I can reroute the signal and they’ll think it got caught up in traffic.”
“There’s no traffic this late though,” Buck questioned, catching a ski mask from Criken.
“They really won’t be able to tell the difference,” Tomato shrugged, catching the mask with his face. “Hey,” his protest was half-hearted, so Criken’s apology was the same.
“Sorry,” Criken tossed Bed his mask, and he caught it without looking. With only the sound of Tomato typing on his keyboard, the rest of the crew suited up, arming themselves and packing the truck with their own supplies. Buck pushed the crates he was sitting on to the back, and Criken helped him lift them inside, holding his breath as they rested on top of the fake propane tanks. Bed was throwing guns into a bag, and Criken sent a silent prayer that they wouldn’t have to use them. Then again, he knew that the gods weren’t listening.
Tomato drove, the mask pushed up on his face in case someone saw them driving down the road and decided that a unmarked van with three people wearing black ski masks was suspicious and reported them to the police. Bed sat in the middle, flipping a butterfly knife back and forth between his fingers. Criken sat in the passenger seat, the playing card with his face on it held firmly in his grip. Buck sat in the back, lounging across the bags of money.
“Can we really not keep these?” Buck whined as they waited at a red light. The engine rumbled, and they could hear Buck patting at the bags he was sitting on.
“It’s not about all this, it’s about sending a message,” Criken sighed, leaning his head against the window.
“Okay Mr. Dramatic,” Tomato chuckled as the light turned green and he drove through the intersection.
“Please?” Buck was pleading in the backseat, and Criken knew that he would keep being annoying unless Criken did something.
“Fine,” he groaned, and immediately they could hear a zipper opening and the sound of paper moving. Maybe they could end this job in the positives after all.
It was quieter for the rest of the drive, and Criken could think. Which was sometimes not good, but at least it distracted him enough for the trip. The city had been painted gold for a long time. The Fakes with their golden empire, gilding the city with their influence and power. Gold is flashy and showy, but it’s not powerful. Not forever. It bends and molds, wielding to the slightest bit of pressure, disfiguring it’s beautiful form. All of the other groups could see it happening. Whispers in back alleys, stolen reports, intercepted radio signals. Too big too fast, too many members, not enough management. The Fakes had grown soft, and while they hadn't corroded, there was an unmistakable dent in their once prosperous empire.
Bed noticed the card in Criken’s hand, his eyes darting up and down before he flashed Criken a toothy grin, the silver fangs he wore reflecting in the streetlights from outside.
“Not really the best likeness, huh?” Bed gestured with his chin, and Criken exhaled through his nose, staring at the card.
“No, but it gets the point across.” Criken flipped the card over and Bed returned his gaze forward. Silver was less precious, a dull shine against it’s golden brother. But silver had purpose. It was strong. Criken knew that from waiting so long in the dark. But he hated leaving the shadows. It was safe there, safe for him and his crew. They had darkness and anonymity for cover, and no one could catch them. But for this to work, they need to leave that behind.
Tomato slows the truck, and Criken sits more upright in his seat as they pass a chain link fence. No backing out now.
“Buck, how’s it coming back there?” Criken tries to keep his mouth from moving that much, and after a short grunt, Buck answers.
“Charges are set.” Criken didn’t make any sign of acknowledgement as Tomato put the truck into park at the hangar. “Ready?” Criken swallowed, hoping that he didn’t sound scared, and both Tomato and Bed nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Tomato jumped out, pulling out his gun as he aimed at the door. If they were lucky no one would come out, but they couldn’t be too sure. Bed followed, aiming his silenced pistol at the security camera, shooting it out. It exploded in a flurry of sparks and electricity as Criken exited the van, turning to help Buck out as well. He beamed up at him, and Criken knew that look. Buck wanted to watch this thing go up.
“Make for the gate, I got one more thing to do,” Criken ordered, and Buck tightened his grip on the bag over his shoulder before taking off, Bed and Tomato following behind him. Criken walked to the warehouse, and used his knife to stab his playing card into the door before taking off to the fence. He vaulted himself over, Tomato catching him on the other side as he fell, guiding him to the ground.
As he turned back to watch, the whole place was rocked by the explosion. Criken squinted, instinctively covering his face as the blast hit them. He could only imagine the panic ensuing inside, and let himself smile as sirens began to go off. As they took off to their waiting getaway vehicle, Criken looked back once more.
Silver might be second place, but they don’t make bullets out of gold.
speak in tongues
I wanna feel love run through my blood Tell me is this where I give it all up?
summary: sometimes, you’re just an archeologist with his implied partner trying to foil some evil plot. Oh, and he’s a spy. It’s a Indiana Jones/James Bond AU.
“No, I want to hear it from your mouth.” Bed wasn’t even looking at Tomato as he spoke, so Tomato took the opportunity to stick out his tongue, making a horrible face. “And I saw that.”
“No you didn’t,” Tomato huffed, quickly stopping and pretending to adjust the folds of his suit jacket. He hated the plan, it was stupid and he was going to ruin it so fast and then-
“Please, just go over it once more,” Bed was now standing in front of him, looking up with his bright blue, inquisitive eyes. Those eyes that saw everything, that he could get lost in… “Tomato,” Bed laughed, clearly seeing through his daydreaming. “Focus.”
“Fine.” Tomato let his head roll back as he closed his eyes. “We enter the gala the same as everyone else, mingle, try not to raise any suspicions as we find the piece we’re looking for.”
“No, don’t raise any suspicions,” Bed corrected, raising his blonde eyebrows.
“As if that’s possible,” Tomato muttered before continuing. “When we find the piece, you contact your headquarters and they come in, guns blazing and we get out of there.”
“Exactly.” Bed smiled, reaching up to try and fix the mess that was Tomato’s tie. Tomato was not a tie person, even less than he was a suit and tie person, and there was absolutely no way he had done anything besides tie a boy scout knot. Bed didn’t say anything as he tried to undo his hard work. “All you have to do is identify the piece.” Bed smiled as he spoke. “Now sit.” Bed pulled down on his tie, forcing Tomato to sit on the edge of the motel bed.
For a man that killed people for a living, Bed’s hands were unusually dainty and meticulous. They moved with precision as he undid the knot around Tomato’s neck before pulling the tie even, judging the lengths before folding it and retying it correctly. His fingers brushed lightly against his neck, and at their cold touch he tilted up his chin, trying to keep out of the way. Bed exhaled sharply out of his nose and Tomato recognized that as a laugh. He kept quiet though as he leaned forward, making sure that the back was flat, and Tomato could smell his cologne. Clean and sharp, pine woods with something smokey mixed in. Bed leaned back, using his thumb to push Tomato’s jaw over to examine his work before fully realizing what he was doing, his cheeks flushing pink.
“How do I look?” Tomato quickly broke the awkward silence. Bed stepped back as Tomato stood, his arms outstretched to the side.
“Uh, good, it’s good.” Bed glanced up and down, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It better be, you did it,” Tomato half threatened, trying to lighten the air. It seemed to work as Bed became defensive.
“Of course it is, it looks amazing.” Tomato fought the urge to tell Bed the same thing, but he didn’t want to spoil the moment. To be fair, Bed never looked bad. But with a tailor-cut black suit, tonight he looked stunning. “What?” Bed grinned, and Tomato realized he was staring again.
“Nothing,” Tomato answered before taking the few steps over to the bureau to grab his glasses. This time Bed is the one staring. Tomato can see him out of the corner of his eye, pausing as he fixes his cufflinks, using the movement to try and hide his eyes. Tomato busies himself with the cleaning of his own glasses before sliding them on, keeping his own eyes down.
“Ready?” Tomato coughed, finally turning to face Bed, who took one last look at himself in the mirror.
“When am I not?” Bed smirked before cocking his gun and tucking it into the small of his back. Tomato swallowed hard. Something in the back of his mind was telling him there was no way this was going to go smoothly.
The night was going smoothly. Entrance to the party had been a breeze, Tomato’s professional connections earning them VIP tickets to the auction as well as personal greetings from many of the other attendants. They wanted to meet the famed archeologist after all. Bed held his breath each time, hoping that no one recognized him. He did think it was a little funny, all these people not realizing that Tomato wasn’t just a tenured professor of archeology. Sure, he looked the part, with his grey suit and auburn tie, his thin-round rimmed glasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose, the way that his red hair framed his face, and how that one piece was just out of place, falling gently across his forehead…
Bed felt someone brush by and was brought back to reality, watching the man who had nudged his shoulder glance back, pausing long enough that Bed could tell that it was a signal to follow. Tomato was surrounded by leagues of his fans and Bed knew he could be there and back before he even knew he was gone.
Bed switched gears easily, slipping through the crowd, blending as he followed the man down a side hallway. He was dressed somewhere between the rich socialites that were betting tonight and the servers with silver plates passing out champagne. His dirty blonde hair was unremarkable, but his bearded face, even with just a glance, seemed familiar. For a moment Bed panicked, realizing that if he had misread that signal he may be scaring some poor civilian but he turned at the last door, standing just outside the bathroom. Bed stopped as well, not sure what was going to follow.
“Bluejays fly south, but where do the owls nest?” His voice was high and light, and Bed could tell he was nervous. Bed answered the code.
“East shore in winter, between the birches and pines.” He could see the man physically relax as he exhaled, and Bed got the impression this was his first field mission.
“The mission is compromised. The CIA is calling it off. No one’s coming to help.” He even seemed shaken by the news, but Bed was furious. Not only were they endangering him, but Tomato. He stormed forward, not caring that he could be giving away both of them with his anger.
“What do you mean compromised?” Bed spoke through gritted teeth, as he pushed his arm against the man’s neck, pinning him to the wall. Bed’s other arm reached back to find his gun, but before he could, the man had pulled a knife, the blade pushing into the soft skin of his throat.
“Careful agent,” the man purred, and Bed finally recognized the man. Well, he recognized the voice. Criken. He recognized the knife too, as it dug much too easily into his flesh. The matte black blade matched the one he strapped to his calf.
“Criken.” Bed growled, not yet releasing the head of weapons research. Criken may be an old friend, but that didn’t make up for this kind of news. “Why did they send you?”
“They didn’t.” Criken explained, also weary to remove his own weapon. “I came on my own. They were just going to leave you for dead.” At that, Bed released him, exhaling his remaining energy. “Lovely to see you as always, how’s Tomato?”
“He’s fine.” Bed wiped his hands on his pants, trying to dry the sweat. “What’s with the beard?”
“Eh, trying something new.” Criken seemed to have forgotten about his very recent brush with death as he stroked the hair on his face. “Like it?” Bed raised his hand and made a noncommittal face as he shrugged. “I really would get out of here though Bed.” Criken warned one last time before he closed his knife, slipping it back into his pocket. He grabbed Bed’s hands as he started to walk away, clasping them tightly. “You never know what’s going to happen.” Criken winked before letting go, and Bed watched him walk back and disappear into the crowd. Bed examined the gift from Criken. A small canister looking object. He pulled apart the pieces, revealing four round objects and a final piece that, as he turned it over in his palm he realized had a single button on the top. A detonator. Bed shook his head. He didn’t know what Criken had planned but it obviously had to involve a ton of explosives, and Bed did not want to be here when it went off.
Tomato hadn’t even realized that Bed was gone until he reappeared, leaning in across his shoulder, his mouth inches from his ear.
“We have to go,” Bed whispered before leaning back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tomato as he smiled at a passing couple. In any other circumstance Tomato would’ve made a fuss, asking what was happening and demanding answers but Bed’s tone told him to stay quiet. Still, he didn’t like it when Bed dropped him out of the loop. Bed’s interruption also didn’t allow for Tomato to tell Bed about his own new information. Tomato tried to tell him with his eyes, his eyebrows raised as he shifted his gaze to the side. “What?” Bed whispered, his face crinkling together in concern but it was already too late.
“Jared!” A booming voice announced and Bed turned to see who it belonged to. Tall, with white blond hair and a scar that traced across the side of his face and over his eye. Even with the smile on his face, Bed could feel something dark radiating from him. His white suit matched his hair, and a few bodyguards with matching suits and sunglasses told Bed that this man was someone important.
Then the lightbulb went off. Shit.
“Mr. Sphenis,” Tomato grinned, extending his own hand to shake. With a smile he extended his hand to Bed as well, and Bed reacted cordially, trying his hardest to not draw his gun and shoot the man right there. He knew him because Bed had tried before to blow his brains out. He knew him because his headshot was hanging on his bulletin board. He knew him because every art heist in 500 miles committed in the last year had his name attached. Bed swallowed his hatred.
“I’ve heard so much about you, I’m truly honored that you were able to attend tonight’s festivities.” Mr. Sphenis’ gaze seemed to linger on Bed for a moment too long, but his focus was really on Tomato. Bed sighed relief. At least he didn’t recognize him. Yet.
“The pleasure is mine,” Tomato nodded his respect and Bed casually counted his bullets and the number of bodyguards, doing the math in his head.
“No, please. Thank me after the presentations,” the man grinned before his own bodyguard stepped forwards, whispering something in his ear. His smile grew. “And speaking of thanks, the exhibit is ready for your viewing.” The bodyguards parted and Mr. Sphenis began to walk, expecting Tomato to follow. Both Bed and Tomato stepped forward, but one of the bodyguards placed a hand on Bed’s chest. Had he been alone, Bed would’ve immediately broken every single one of the man’s fingers.
“I’m sorry, no additional personnel,” Mr. Sphenis spoke without turning back to the pair. Tomato wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“It’s fine, he’s...my...boyfriend,” Tomato didn’t sound convincing, but at the moment it was all he had. And it wasn’t a lie...completely. Bed was still thrown off by hearing Tomato say it outloud though. “He...is really bad...alone. He won’t be any trouble, I promise.” Tomato seemed to be forming more and more of a story as he spoke, and Bed felt as if he could cut the tension with a knife. Mr. Sphenis was either stupid or didn’t care, because he paused, glancing between Tomato and Bed before shrugging.
“Fine.” The bodyguard lowered his arm and they both followed the man out of the main ballroom and into a smaller secluded room. As they entered, the door shut behind them, and Tomato jumped. Bed reached out to grab his hand and he took it gratefully. Even without the lie, he wouldn’t have minded the contact.
The room itself wasn’t much fancier than the first one but felt secure, and after a moment, Bed could see why. In the center, elevated on a pedestal was a small book, open to what seemed like a random page. Tomato squeezed Bed’s hand tighter as they got closer.
“I have a few pieces from my own private collection that I only show close friends,” Mr. Sphenis gestured to the book and Tomato dropped Bed’s hand as he approached, the spotlight from the ceiling shining down, illuminating Tomato from above. His eyes were wide as he leaned in even closer, staring silently.
“Is this…?” His voice trailed off, his focus completely on the book.
“An original, yes. Printed on vellum,” the man announced with pride.
“Can I?” Tomato gestured to a while glove laid carefully next to the book, and Mr. Sphenis opened his own hand with a grin. Tomato quickly pulled the cloth glove on and began to carefully flip through pages, his awe almost audible.
“What is it?” Bed asked, almost forgetting where they were. The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but it was Tomato that answered.
“A Gutenberg Bible. There’s only 49 that are known to exist, and the ones printed on animal skin are even rarer.” Tomato looked up at Mr. Sphenis, who was again staring at Bed. “Is it complete?”
“Yes.” Tomato also seemed to forget where they were, his face lighting up with excitement. Bed knew where this was going.
“This could be the key to-” Tomato stopped himself mid-sentence, his focus suddenly shifting from the book to Bed and Mr. Sphenis.
“I’m quite sorry, I’m not sure if I caught your name earlier,” Mr. Sphenis tilted his head, glaring at Bed. In return, Bed stood his ground, staring daggers back.
“Tanner,” He answered, his typical undercover name.
“Tanner,” Sphenis rolled the name around his mouth like he was sampling a wine. “Funny, I don’t recognize the name, but I could swear we’ve met.” Bed froze, which was unlike him, but it was Tomato that saved him this time.
“Tanner’s a model,” Tomato interjected. “You’ve modeled for some bigger magazines, right babe?” Any other situation Bed would’ve fainted hearing Tomato call him that, but he needed to keep his composure.
“Uh, yeah.” Bed agreed, not sure where else to take the conversation. “We were in Milan around this time last year I believe.” Bed forced a smile at Tomato. “The city is lovely in the spring.” Bed tried his hardest to convey the words ‘I’m going to kill you if we survive this’ through his eyes. Sphenis seemed to be convinced enough and dropped it for now, but Bed had no idea how long that would last. Sphenis began to say something, but Bed cut him off. “Can I go to the bathroom?” It was the worst excuse he had ever come up with, and Bed cursed himself out for his recent string of lackadaisical schemes. Sphenis waved him off, and he could hear him grilling Tomato in the background. Hopefully Bed could finish his plan before anyone suspected anything.
Tomato wasn’t listening to anything that Sphenis was saying. Sure, Sphenis was speaking and Tomato was answering, but nothing was actually being absorbed. Instead, he was focused on Bed and whatever he was doing right now, probably being stupid without him, getting in trouble…
“I’m sorry,” Tomato stood suddenly, and even Sphenis looked surprised. “I have to go check on Tanner, he gets…” Tomato made some vague motions that he hoped would be interpreted in various ways and Sphenis made a disgusted face.
“Go.” Tomato rushed off in the direction that Bed had gone, entering the bathroom to see Bed exiting a vent in the ceiling, something rolled up tucked under his suit jacket.
“Bed!” Tomato hissed, fear escaping in his voice. Bed spun, gun raised before he saw Tomato, and he breathed, lowering his weapon.
“Tomato!” Bed returning in the same accusatory tone. “What are you doing in here?”
“What-” Tomato was awestruck that Bed would even ask that. “What are you doing in here?!” Bed climbed down from the sink, standing in front of Tomato.
“I’m finishing the mission,” Bed’s answer was short, and not what Tomato was looking for.
“No, you’re going off doing dangerous things without telling me!” Tomato’s voice was getting louder, and Bed cringed as it echoed through the bathroom.
“Okay, okay, yes, please keep it down,” Bed held up a finger, trying to shush Tomato.
“I worry!” Tomato’s voice dripped with a palitabe sadness, and Bed whined.
“And I’m sorry!” Bed whispered. “But we need to do this later.” He grabbed Tomato’s arm and turned him towards the door but they were already too late. Footsteps approached, covered by their small argument, and the doorknob was already opening. They turned towards each other, and Bed read panic across Tomato’s face. There was only one thing he could think of to do.
The door opened, and Bed pulled Tomato close, grabbing the back of his head as he kissed him hard. Tomato didn’t pull back, instead he cupped the sides of Bed’s face, twisting as he pushed against Bed, and Bed had to step back himself. He can feel eyes on him, knows that someone else is in the room but they have to pretend that-
But Tomato is making it really hard to think about anything else besides the heat from his hands and the warmth of his mouth, about how well his tongue fits in his mouth and the roughness of his teeth and-
“Excuse me,” The voice interrupts, and Tomato pulls away, his left hand still gripped tightly to the back of Bed's neck.
“Yes?” Tomato asks, and Bed is trying his damndest to catch his breath.
“Mr. Sphenis is returning to the party, and he wishes that you do as well.” The man’s voice gives no room for objection, and he leaves before either of them can object.
“Okay!” Tomato calls, almost laughing as the door shuts. “We’ll be right there!” He turns back to Bed, a wicked smile on his face. “That was close.” Tomato’s hair is a mess, his glasses askew.
“You think?” Is all Bed can say, calming his heartbeat as best he can. They both exit the bathroom and return to the main room, escorted by the bodyguards. As they work their way back into the crowd, Bed grabs Tomato’s arm again, pulling him towards one of the side exits. When they break out of the door and into the cool night air, Tomato finally breathes.
“Holy shit,” he does nothing to hide the jitters laced into his words. Bed can’t blame him. This wasn’t what he signed up for. “Do you do this every time?” Tomato bent over, his hands on his knees.
“Yeah, more or less,” Bed answered. “This wasn’t that bad.”
“Jesus.” Tomato wheezed, removing his glasses to wipe his forehead. “Couldn’t get much worse, right?” At that, Bed raised his eyebrows and lifted his arm, revealing a small device. Using his thumb, he pressed the button on the top. A beat of quiet before an explosion rocked the whole building. Tomato ducked, covering his head as Bed pocketed the device and began walking down the steps, away from the building. “What was that?” Tomato grabbed at his own hair, and Bed shrugged.
“The rest of the mission.” Bed could hear Tomato walking quickly to catch up with him, and they walked side by side down the street, police sirens blaring far in the distance.
“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?” Tomato snorted, putting his hands in his pockets. “That book was in there! Do you know what was in that book? There’s theories that there’s a map to the Holy Grail-” Tomato inhaled the rest of his sentence as Bed paused, removing a bag from the inside of his coat. “You sneaky asshole,” Tomato’s eyes widened as he grinned. “How did you do that?”
“I have to have some secrets,” Bed wiggled his eyebrows, and this time it was Tomato that leaned in, pulling Bed's face closer as they kissed. Bed could hear the sirens in the distance but ignored it. They had time.
dearly departed Even when one is dead and gone It still takes two to make a house a home Well I'm as lonesome as the catacombs I hear you call my name but no one is there
Buck isn’t used to the woods, and Tomato and Bed aren’t used to visitors. (a random monster AU)
The woods never felt the same at night. Buck wished that he had thought about that before he hiked out in the late afternoon with no supplies and half a granola bar, but the time for regrets was way past, and instead he had to focus on not tripping on the gnarled roots that seemed to overtake the forest floor. At least the moonlight was bright, the full moon shining through the tree branches and casting strange silver shadows across the dark ground. Without it, the woods would be impossibly dark, and Buck really had no idea what he would’ve done then.
There had been noises following him since the sun went down, but as night truly settled, the sounds of the forest seemed to intensify even more. Don’t listen, don’t listen. He kept repeating that over and over in his head, hoping that whatever it was is just curious, and not at all interested in eating him. He laughed, the noise escaping his mouth and he regretted that instantly as a couple birds took flight above him. He couldn’t help it. Buck’s mind moved too fast for his own self-preservation to keep up. Besides, the noises could just be the wind, or squirrels or…
Buck froze, his eyes widening as he tried to figure out what exactly he was seeing. He squinted, but even then his eyesight wasn’t that good to begin with. Add in the darkness of night, and Buck was almost blind. Still, something had moved, and it wasn’t the wind. It was slow and cautious, stopping as Buck stepped into a clearing. And it stood on two legs. It was big, whatever it was, and as Buck watched, it seemed to kneel over, balancing on all fours, its whole body moving. Then Buck heard it. Growls, louder than the other sounds in the woods, and the snapping of teeth and the even worse sound of bones breaking. It’s horrifying, and as Buck tried to back up, his foot caught on a rock, sending him sprawling backwards. His head slammed against the ground and his vision blurred even more, pain shooting through his body. Instinctively, he cried out.
At that sound, whatever Buck saw swung its head towards him. Buck can feel himself losing consciousness, but can only watch in slowly blinking horror as whatever it was approached him, blocking the moonlight. He tried to push himself up, push himself back, but his body doesn't respond. Instead, his eyes begin to close and the last thing he sees is a mouth full of sharp teeth and a lock of copper-red hair.
There was a strong smell when he awoke, and Buck couldn’t quite place it at first. It was still dark, but the quiet that surrounded him made him think that maybe he wasn’t outside anymore. The hushed tones that drifted around confirmed that theory. Buck tried to focus on what they were saying, but his brain was still rattled from the fall.
“Nothing...the pack….he saw…” the first voice was gruff and sounded worried, for what however, Buck had no idea.
“Don’t...you can’t...forever…..” The second voice was higher, but he spoke with a strange accent that Buck couldn’t place. Buck’s head rolled to the side and he realized that his body was tied to a chair, his arms bound to keep them from moving. Then, he realized that he was falling. His head hit the ground again, and Buck placed the strange smell from earlier as he tasted it in his mouth. Blood. The crash altered the other people to Buck and the door swung open, but Buck was already blacking out again.
When Buck awoke again, part of him almost wished he hadn’t woken up. His whole body ached, and his head pounded. He wasn’t in the chair anymore, but laying on a couch. He wiggled his fingers, and then carefully moved his arms. His body wasn't tied anymore either, but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere soon. He didn’t even know if he could sit up. He was aware that this room was cosier than the last, and was slightly surprised in himself that he even could recognize that he was in a different room, given the small amount of conscious time he spent in the last one.
There was a drifting smell of a campfire, but the lack of crackling wood and heat told Buck that there wasn’t currently one. The smell of blood was gone, but he could feel the crust that the dried stuff had left, and the taste still lingered. Stronger though, was the scent of something cooking, and as Buck looked around, he tried to determine where exactly he was.
He couldn’t sit up, not for lack of trying, so instead he just turned his head, and examined the mantle of the fireplace. There were a few framed photos, of what looked like someone’s grandfather. Black and white, the person in the photo was stiff and thin-lipped, wearing some kind of old-time medical uniform. It reminded Buck of war. The next few seemed to be of the man’s son, maybe, the same light hair and soft face, this time waving in a pair of overalls, standing on the threshold of a small cabin. What looked to be even more recent was a photo of a large dog, dangling out of a set of arms. There’s a few more photos but Buck’s vision isn’t that good in the dim light of the room, and he turns his head back up to the ceiling. As he does, he can hear the distinct creaking of a door as it opens.
Buck barely has time to swivel his head towards the sound before a figure is sitting in front of him. He immediately begins to talk, and Buck’s head can barely keep up.
“How are we doing today? You had a nasty fall earlier, you’re lucky that we were out and about when it happened, hm?” Buck didn’t answer, and the man didn’t seem to care. Buck realized that he must’ve brought that stool with him, and, as the man adjusted himself, Buck realized that the man looked quite similar to the one in the black and white photograph. His head was tilted in a way that warranted a reply, and Buck felt as though he had to answer.
“Uh, my body hurts,” Buck’s mouth felt dry, and the more he studied this man in front of him, the more the similarities stuck out.
“Ah, that could be the Valerian,” the doctor clicked his tongue, before removing a flashlight from his pocket. “I told Tomato that the dose was too high.” He spoke the second comment to himself, like he wasn’t used to someone else being there to listen. When he looked back at Buck, he grinned, and Buck felt himself relax. Despite not knowing where he was or who this man was, he felt safe here. “Let’s give you a once over, okay?” This time, Buck nodded his understanding, allowing the doctor to gently help him to a sitting position. The man’s hands seemed abnormally cold, but Buck ignored it. He didn’t seem to hurt as much anymore, but his body felt rigid and tight.
“Is that your grandfather?” Buck gestured with his eyes to the photo on the mantle, and the doctor glanced over his shoulder, letting out a breath of air that sounded like laughter. The doctor turned on his flashlight, shining it in each of Buck’s eyes.
“Could be, right?” The man answered, which wasn’t a good enough answer but Buck accepted it anyways. Weird, Buck thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth to ask anything more. “Let me check your throat, open wide.” As he ended the sentence, the doctor opened his own mouth for Buck to copy. As he did, Buck noticed a pair of fangs that he hadn’t seen before. Buck opened his own mouth, and the doctor shone the light in. Why am I not freaking out?! Buck was screaming inside, but his body didn’t want to respond. Instead, he was focused on the doctor in front of him, the bright mustard of his turtleneck sweater, and the way that it was so similar to his hair. “Let’s look at your head,” the doctor spoke, standing up, and Buck blinked, feeling the loosening of bandages he didn’t realize he had.
“How’s it look, doc?” Buck asks, laughing at his own words. He doesn’t even sound like himself anymore. The man sucks in a breath of air, and it sounds like a hiss.
“Could be better,” the doctor remarks, and Buck sighs. He wishes he could be better. “Maybe if I just…” the man’s voice lowers, and Buck closes his eyes. It really is nice here.
“Bed!” What Buck assumes is the same door that the doctor entered from slams open, and Buck opens his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Buck can’t see the voice the yelling belongs to, but can hear his footsteps as he comes closer.
“What does it look like?” the doctor answers, and with a squeak, he is pushed away from Buck.
“It looked like you were going to try and eat our visitor,” the second man growled before squatting in front of Buck. As opposed to the doctor’s clean cut persona, this person now sitting in front of Buck was more unkempt, and carried with him the distinct smell of cut pine. He wore his red flannel unbuttoned, revealing a cheesy black t-shirt adorned with howling wolves. His face was more affectionate than his voice let on, and Buck was suddenly reminded of the dog in the photo, and how well this man’s hair matched. The doctor, who Buck guessed was named Bed, sulked off, the door shutting behind him. As soon as it did, Buck felt as if an invisible string was cut, and the gag was removed from his throat.
“What the hell,” Buck muttered, and the second man let out a laugh.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized, taking a deep breath. “Bed can be, a lot. He doesn’t realize it sometimes.” The whole scene played out again in Buck’s brain, and he shook his head to try and lose the memories.
“Yeah, a lot might be an understatement.”
“He didn’t hurt you?” The man asked suddenly, his face etched with concern.
“No,” Buck answered just as quick, a spindle of fear creeping into his words as he wondered what reason he would have for being afraid.
“Good,” the man sighed again, before leaning forward, finishing the job of rebandaging Buck’s head. There was a radiant heat coming off him, and Buck leaned in even more. “My name’s Tomato.” The words sounded resistant, and Buck could tell he was trying to extend an olive branch in place of his friend.
“I’m Buck,” he answered back, and Tomato’s hands continued to work. “Is that Bed’s grandfather?”
“Huh?” Tomato answered before Buck pointed to the photo over the fireplace. “Oh, uh, kind of.” The answer wasn’t any clearer than Bed's, but since neither of them had given a good answer, Buck decided to stop pressing. Tomato seemed to finish, and he leaned back to examine his work. “How do you feel?”
“Not great, but better than before,” Buck felt as though he could finally speak his mind, but he still couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t earlier.
“Good, you should be good to go tomorrow,” Tomato wiped his hands on his pants, stepping towards the door before pausing, seemingly remembering something. “Are you hungry?” Buck nodded quickly, and Tomato returned to the couch. “Can you walk or…?” He left the end of the sentence trailing, and Buck tried to push himself up, without success. “Don’t worry.” Tomato leaned down, tenderly lifting Buck into his arms. He carried him almost effortlessly, bringing him out the door he had only heard into what must’ve been the kitchen. In here, the smell of food was much stronger, and Buck realized how hungry he really was. “Bed!” Tomato called, not waiting for a reply. “Bring some blankets!” Bed appeared seconds later from behind them, a few blankets draped over his shoulders, arranging them in a chair.
“How’s the patient?” Bed asked, and Tomato carefully placed Buck down in the nest of blankets.
“Better after you left,” Tomato snarked, and Bed stuck out his tongue. Their quarrel didn’t seem grounded in anything real, and, at least to Buck, felt more like play than anything else. Soon after placing Buck down, Tomato returned with two plates, placing one in front of Buck. Bed didn’t have a plate, instead sipping from a wine glass as Tomato dug into his plate.
“Um…” Buck looked between the two of them and they both paused. “Can I ask what this is?” Tomato swallowed his food, using his knife to point.
“These little purple chunks are potatoes from the garden, these are some wild mushrooms, and that’s venison that…” his sentence caught and he seemed to change his story as he spoke. “That we got from some hunters.” It smelled really good, Buck had to admit, and as much as he didn’t trust strange food from strangers, he was also very hungry. Before long he was digging in, and forgetting all about his cannibal theories.
“So, Buck…” Tomato swallowed, his eyes glancing to Bed. “What do you remember about your fall?” Buck’s fork hovered in midair as he thought.
“Well, I was walking, I remember that, and then there were these rocks and I fell…” Buck crinkled his eyebrows, trying to remember.
“Anything before that?” Tomato had a desperate tone to his voice that made Buck feel like he must’ve seen something else.
“There was...I think...I saw something? There was something in between the trees…” then quieter to himself, Buck mumbled, “It must’ve been the trees.” Tomato and Bed didn’t answer, instead sharing another secret look. Buck felt like he needed to quickly change the subject. “So are you two…” Buck spoke between bites of food, and Bed seemed to choke on his drink, some of it coming out his nose. It was viscous, and flowed like blood before Bed wiped it away, licking it from his hand.
“Oh uh,” Tomato’s cheeks went red as he scratched at the back of his neck. Bed chugged what was left of his drink before standing, mumbling something about getting a refill. “Sore subject, sorry.” Bed returned shortly after, his glass full, and Buck suddenly felt tired. He tried to fight a yawn, but made it worse, his eyes already closing at the table.
“Can I-” Buck began to ask, but Tomato was already standing, grabbing Buck, blankets and all. He must’ve seen Buck begin to nod off. Buck can’t even remember making it to the couch, just the warm embrace of Tomato as he carried him from the table.
It was dark again when Buck awoke, his head feeling clearer than it had been in a while. His body was wrapped in blankets, and he would’ve fallen right back asleep if he hadn’t seen the eyes.
The curtains were barely open, allowing for a stream of moonlight to drift in through the window, but behind that light, in the corner, was a pair of glowing red eyes. Buck felt his whole body freeze with fright, his focus completely taken by these eyes. They were motionless, and for a moment, Buck thought that maybe they weren’t eyes. Then they moved. Buck had seen documentaries about how big cats hunted, and how the eyes moved reminded him of that. Completely silent, fluid almost as they bobbed up and down, getting closer. Buck was well aware that death was imminent, but couldn’t do anything to stop it.
As whatever the eyes belonged to stepped into the light of the moon, Buck was even more horrified to find that it was shaped like a man. Dressed in a black suit that seemed ripped from a completely different century, the creature stalked forwards, suddenly freezing in its steps. Buck too held his breath.
With an explosion of noise and movement, a furry mass jumped over the couch, landing between Buck and the creature. Buck couldn’t see much besides the basic outlines of a huge four legged creature and the red-eyed man, but the noises were more than enough. Hisses and snarls, words spoken in tongues and growled responses. Then, before anything else could happen, a more familiar voice called from the dark.
“Criken!” Bed’s high pitched cry came from the dark before another shape pounced onto the red-eyed intruder. Buck guessed it was Bed. “You could’ve at least called!” With that, the lights in the room turned on, and Buck blinked through the blindness in his eyes. Buck could move again, and peered over the couch to see Tomato standing at the lightswitch, and no sight of the large dog that was here moments ago.
“I can’t believe you’re still living with that mutt,” the intruder that Bed called Criken scoffed, and Tomato rolled his eyes, walking around the couch to sit next to Buck.
“I’m right here,” Tomato snarled, and Bed waved a hand like Tomato was joking. “I can’t believe you still just show up unannounced.”
“You know how we are,” Criken smiled, showing off fangs similar to Beds.’
“You know him?” Buck tried to catch up in the conversation.
“Criken and I go way back,” Bed helped the black clad man up, and Buck realized with a start that he was wearing a cape. Somehow, he pulled it off.
“Wish I didn’t,” Tomato groaned, and Criken rubbed his hands together.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here?” Criken gestured to Buck, who disliked how he said all those words.
“No, no,” Tomato stood, placing himself between Bed and Criken and Buck. “Buck isn’t food.”
“Well, why else would a vampire and a werewolf keep a human around?” At Criken’s words, both Bed and Tomato flinched hard, and a sly smile spread across Criken’s face. “Ah, you didn’t tell him, did you?”
“What?” Buck asked, trying to process what Criken had just said. He looked at Tomato. “You’re a vampire?” Despite his apparent shyness to the subject, Tomato seemed offended.
“Gross, no. Do I look like a bloodsucker?” He placed a hand on his chest, and Bed huffed.
“Excuse me,” Bed jeered. “Language.”
“Bite me,” Tomato bared his teeth back, and Buck waved his hands around, trying to get them to focus again.
“Stop! You’re a vampire?!” This time he pointed at Bed, who stared back curiously.
“Of course.” Buck’s shoulders lowered in relief. Of course. Everything seemed to click as Bed answered. The photo, the calm, the weird dinner. “So you’re…”
“A werewolf, yeah.” Tomato finished. “I was the creature you saw in the woods.”
“Creature? What?” This time it was Buck’s voice rising. “I couldn’t see anything. It could’ve been a racoon for all I know. I’m almost blind in the dark.” Bed laughed, a sound that emanated from deep within, and filled the room with joy.
“Tomato I told you it was fine, but noooo, you didn’t want to listen!” Bed was almost crying with laughter, but Tomato seemed far from it.
“Bed we can never be too careful,” He seemed genuinely worried, and Buck remembered that overheard conversation from earlier.
“Why don’t you let him decide?” Criken spoke up, making his presence known again. As Buck stared at the strange man, he realized that he couldn’t ever mistake this man for anything other than a vampire.
All at once, everyone’s eyes found Buck, which made him very uncomfortable.
“Okay Buck, what do you think we should do?” Tomato crossed his arms. “Pack law says that no human shall live after seeing a werewolf shift, to keep ourselves secret.”
“Vampires don’t have the same rule, but most aren’t as kind to humans knowing of our existence,” Bed leaned against the wall, and Buck then noticed how Bed and Criken’s eyes were different colors.
“We don’t want to kill you,” Tomato looked down, trying to find his words. “But we can’t really let you go.” Tomato’s eyes found Buck’s, and he could read the sadness deep in them. He could tell Tomato had to make this choice before, without the person’s consent. Buck inhaled slowly.
“Do I have to sleep on the couch?”
🌟 next up is bedbonana!
💛 The blue wyvern turned gold. I actually have another version of him but it looks less dynamic and cool, I might post it sometime later (if ever). I love bed’s golden look tbh, iconic electric bastard.
hey everyone! update!
so, ive got a really cool job for the summer and im gonna be gone for a little bit!
i was really trying to post a red dead au part before i left but it’s been hectic so it didn’t happen, BUT! im going to put some other fics on a queue so y’all aren’t completely without my content sjkdhf
I don’t think ill be completely without wifi or internet so ill still kinda be around, but all the stuff i post will be a little old (esp if youre in the discord, sorry)
Im starting the drive tomorrow and start work on saturday (5/30), so im planning for the first post to be scheduled for friday! Have fun! don’‘t miss me too much! <3
sometimes to make myself happy i go through the character tropes for real people because its funny to describe people like this
(WORK IN PROGRESS) Was watching some old streams of ma bois so I had to draw them as cute AC villagers I guess? Don’t even ask why idk! Been playing a lot of AC lately!
From left to right: Tamto, Bed, Crik, Buck.
I WILL colour these properly at some point! But of course I wanted to share. I think they’re cute!
internet is back. BIRD UP !
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Well, I guess it’s that time again! Been planning this one for a while and here we finally are with the sequel of Two Worlds! I’ve been really excited to share this and hopefully y’all enjoy
Coming soon…
Two Worlds
The Red Dragon
The Blue Wyvern
The Green Drake
Co-creator, writer and partner in crime, CJ
