#I’m living my life right now I just want nap but no it’s binder wash Time wtf

[bludhavensbirdboy]

washing your binder in the bathroom sink at 2am because your parents are transphobic core ❤️❤️

[santiagoswagger]

i've never fallen from quite this high

Amy's birthday falls one month into her very new relationship with Jake, and he promises her he has plans to blow her mind.

Set sometime after “The Funeral.”

In all the years Amy’s known Jake, she’s been witness to the downfall of most of his relationships, and she knows they all tend to follow a similar pattern.

He was disorganized and completely consumed by his work throughout most of them, perpetually forgetting to show up for dinners or drinks because a case always took precedence. He could be selfish, unfiltered with his words and competitive to a fault. Most of the women he dated never seemed to last very long, and if they did, Jake usually found a reason to end things. There were a few exceptions, just as there are with any rule, but Jake was nothing if not consistent. He was a lone wolf, even in his personal life.

But the Jake Peralta that Amy finds herself dating now might as well be a stranger.

In the month since they decided to screw being light and breezy, she’s observed several small changes in him that often have her questioning if he’s the same man who once took her on a date designed for maximum humiliation.

When they make plans, he immediately adds them to the calendar on his phone so he won’t forget. He shares his snacks with her at the movies, even if he rolls his eyes while passing her the popcorn bucket. He takes the time to compliment her whether she’s dressed up for a date night out or wearing her ratty sweats on the couch at home, and genuinely means it either way. He’s still overly competitive, but that only makes her like him more.

She catches herself staring at him from across their adjoined desks, in awe of the person he was and the person he’s becoming. She can’t believe she’s actually falling for her goofy, infuriating partner. It’s scary, just as any big change is for a control freak like Amy, but she’s starting to believe that anything worthwhile begins with a little fear.

Much to Amy’s chagrin, Jake catches her mid-stare and smirks.

“Amy, I know you think I look extremely handsome in my new flannel, but this is a workplace. What would the Captain say?” he asks smugly, keeping his voice quiet enough so their coworkers can’t overhear. It’s something they’ve both perfected over the last month.

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop a traitorous grin from materializing on her face.

“Jake, we both know you took that flannel from the lost and found last week. And I wasn’t doing anything,” she says unconvincingly, burying her head in the open file next to her keyboard. “I was thinking. About my case. Because I’m a detective.”

Jake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “Does this ‘thinking’ have anything to do with a major life event happening this weekend?”

Amy cocks her head to the side. “’Major life event?’ What are you talking about?”

Jake lets out a loud, triumphant laugh, startling Hitchcock and Scully from their afternoon naps a few feet away.

“Amy, please tell me you didn’t forget your own birthday. No, wait, please tell me you did so I can make fun of you.”

Her jaw drops in horror. Amy Santiago, queen of organization, forgot her own birthday. Work had been so crazy the last few weeks and nights spent analyzing her planner were few and far between now that she had someone to go home with after work so something was bound to fall through the cracks. But she would rather let Charles cook dinner for her than let Jake know that.

“Shut up,” she says indignantly. “Just because I don’t obsess over my birthday like some people doesn’t mean I forgot it.”

Jake leans forward with a softer smile than before. It’s fond, almost. “You did, but that’s okay. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve for Saturday.”

“You do?” she says, surprised.

“Mmm-hmm,” he nods, grinning. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

She laughs. “Okay, I’ll hold you to it.”

As they pack up their desks to leave for the night, Amy allows herself to wonder what Jake could possibly have planned. It’s their first birthday or holiday as a couple, and it’s so early. Their relationship is still so new and exciting, but a birthday is a big commitment. They haven’t even discussed where they see things going or if there’s a future for them. She doesn’t want this birthday to be the thing that scares him away before the relationship really gets off the ground. She’s pretty sure it could be something great if they let it.

Amy wakes up Saturday morning to the smell of fresh coffee wafting into her bedroom. It’s a shock for two reasons: she’s fairly certain she ran out of coffee grounds earlier this week and she knew Jake was scheduled to work an overtime shift today. The rumpled sheets next to her confirm his absence, but they’re still slightly warm to the touch; he must have just brewed her a pot before stumbling out the door.

She takes the time to brush her hair and teeth, and wash and moisturize her face – she refuses to let her morning routine slip, even if it’s her birthday – before walking out into the kitchen. It’s where she finds a full pot of coffee, complete with a new bag of beans from her favorite neighborhood café. It’s annoyingly expensive hipster coffee, and she can’t believe Jake shelled out the cash for it.

She also finds a note written in Jake’s awful chicken scratch on some stationery he must have grabbed from her office. Lucky for him, Amy’s been forced to decipher a few hundred of his case files over the years and can read his appalling handwriting without a problem.

Ames,

Happy Birthday, weirdo! I’m sorry I have to work on the day of your birth but I promise to make it up to you later ;) See you at 5.

Jake

She smiles as she finishes reading before pouring herself a large cup of steaming coffee and taking a long sip. She sighs, and she’s fairly sure it’s not just the coffee warming her from the inside out.

Truthfully, a day to herself is the best birthday present she could have asked for. She spends the day fielding calls and texts from her family and Kylie while also managing to organize her binders alphabetically and catch up on her very full DVR.

But by the time 5 o’clock rolls around, Jake is nowhere to be found and Amy can’t help but be a little disheartened. He had been making much more of an effort to be punctual lately, especially once he discovered what that earned him from Amy, but she supposes he hasn’t completely let his old habits die. She does her best to shrug it off. He probably just got caught up finishing a case, she thinks.

By 5:30, Amy is concerned. By 6, she’s spiraling.

He’s never been this late to meet her before, and never this late without sending an emoji-filled apology text. She, more than most, knows things can get out of hand at the precinct within an instant, but a shadow of a doubt still manages to nestle its way into Amy’s brain as the minutes tick by without word from her boyfriend.

She pours herself a glass of wine and takes a huge gulp. She knows from past observations that a month is usually Jake’s tipping point in a relationship. It’s entirely possible that he’s starting to have second thoughts about turning their friendship into something more. The thought rips through her like lightning.

It’s then that her front door opens and an exhausted looking Jake practically stumbles into the living room carrying two stuffed takeaway bags. His hair is a mess and his flannel is even more rumpled than usual. Her previously racing thoughts are immediately quelled when she sees him.

“Ames, I’m so sorry but I couldn’t find the restaurant and then the order was wrong and then I had to go to a different place and it was a whole thing,” he says in a breathless jumble. She can barely make out individual words.

“Are you mad?” he asks as he catches his breath. He looks genuinely gutted at the mere possibility he’s disappointed her.

She puts her wine glass down on the coffee table and moves to wrap him up in a firm hug. She can feel the tension leave his body at her touch.

“No, I’m not mad,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “But I wish you had texted me so I knew you were alright.”

“Phone died,” he says sheepishly. She pulls away slightly and gently swats his arm.

“I thought I bought you a charger for your desk!”

“I may or may not have been playing Kwazy Cupcakes all day and it totally drained my battery,” he laughs. “The precinct was so boring today, Ames.”

She smirks. “Did you miss me, Peralta?”

“Pshh, no,” he says, eyes darting around the room.

“You did,” she says smugly and he rolls his eyes, visibly grinning. “Now, tell me about this food.”

She pulls away from him to rummage through the plastic bags he’d placed on her dining table when he came home. It smells unbelievably familiar.

“I, um,” he stutters. “Remember when you told me about your favorite birthday parties as a kid? When all of your extended family would come over and it was just a giant party with games and the best Cuban food?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says softly. It had been such a throwaway conversation, late night memories shared while cuddling on his couch in front of the TV after a long shift. She’s genuinely touched that it stayed with him.

“Well, I found a place in Park Slope that sells those cheesy guava pastries your mom used to make you every year on your birthday,” he says, rubbing his arm uncomfortably. “But they messed up the order and I had to drive around to a bunch of Cuban restaurants to find them. That’s why I was so late.”

Maybe it’s the nostalgic smell of the pasteles de queso y guayaba bringing back her childhood, or maybe it’s the look of pure vulnerability on Jake’s face, but Amy can feel the warmth from this morning’s coffee returning tenfold. A lump begins to grow in her throat and she swallows hard to tamp it down.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she says, astonished. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

He’s rubbing his arm again, a nervous tick. “I hope they’re right. The woman at the last place I tried didn’t speak English so it was a lot of charades and pointing.”

She laughs. “They’re definitely right. They smell just like I remember.”

She puts the bag down and walks quickly over to where he’s standing in her kitchen doorway. She kisses him delicately, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek, thumb sweeping his jaw as she pulls away. His eyes are half-mast but they’re shining brightly.

“Happy birthday, Amy,” he whispers, moving to gently grab her hand as it pulls away from his face.

She scrunches her nose and smiles. “Thank you. Now, are you ready to try some cheese and guava pastries?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no, thank you,” he says vehemently, backing out of her embrace.

She walks closer. “Please? For my birthday? You did say you would make it up to me after working all day.”

He groans. “Fine. But this is the last time I do anything nice for you.”

She smiles. “Deal.”

[dontfeartherieper]

another life

pairing: Agent 47 x Self-Insert OC

content warnings: brief kidnapping, not really anything else

A/N:  Hello Hitman tags! How are y’all today? I’m new to posting around these parts, but have lurked for quite some time. I haven’t posted my writing in a very, very long time, but wanted to give it a try again! This is the first part in a longer fic about 47 and my self-insert, Tactus, and takes place during the Whittleton Creek mission of Hitman 2. Thank you for reading, fic is under the cut!

The smell of fresh baked cookies wafted its way to Tactus Ouliette's bathroom, and he paused in washing his face to take a good inhale. They were just about done cooling, he figured! He dried his face, then took the time to re-comb his mustache and goatee, not a hair out of place. His fingers lightly ran through his bangs, the rest of his strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. Amber eyes looked himself over in the mirror and he decided to go change his shirt before taking the cookies over to Janus's house. He scampered up to his bedroom to search through his closet for something a bit more conservative, for the sake of the old man's sensibilities.

He briefly looked toward his old binder, still hanging in the closet where he'd left it. It had been a month since he'd last felt the need to wear it, this community had been more accepting than he expected for a small town in Vermont, but Janus was new territory. He hadn't spoken to the old man yet, so would it be better to put it on? Just in case?

Tactus thought it over, then pulled out a light blue button-down instead, turning away from the closet. No, he didn't need it, and besides – he was more comfortable this way.

When he returned to the kitchen to check the cookies, he was surprised to see his brother wasn't already helping himself to a few. After he'd gotten them all packaged up in some Tupperware he went to leave through the front door and found Montage sound asleep on the couch. Aha! He tiptoed over, looking down at his twin with a smile, and brushed some of his dyed purple hair out of the way of his nose. Let him nap for a while, he'd wake him when he came home.

Whittleton Creek was as vibrant as ever as Tactus walked down the steps of his porch. It seemed someone was having a barbecue down the street! Maybe he'd go check it out later? Integrating into the community had been rough at first, but the arrival of a pair of French twins had been the most excitement this neighborhood had seen in quite some time. Nevermind the fact that he and his brother had lived in America for almost twenty years now! Janus was the last neighbor he hadn't properly introduced himself to in the months since their arrival. Ironic, being that he was literally their next door neighbor. In truth, he saw befriending the old man as the last step to fully becoming part of the community.

A group of children ran past Tactus, nearly knocking him over on his way next door, but he managed to make it to the front door without dropping his precious baked goods. He barely even got a chance to knock before the door opened, a rather gruff-looking man answering. His eyes flickered past him briefly, seeing other men standing just beyond, and... did one of them have a gun? He was aware that Janus had caretakers coming and going quite often, and he'd seen someone that could have been family staying over sometimes, but a man with a gun?

“Hi, my name is Tactus, I'm your neighbor?” he said nervously, and the gruff man who'd answered the door noticed where he was looking. “I was just bringing over some cookies so I could introduce myself to Mr. Janus. Is... is everything okay?”

The man who'd opened the door looked him over, then looked behind him to make sure no one else was watching. Without a word, he grabbed the front of Tactus's shirt, yanking him inside and slamming the door behind him. Tactus was forced to the ground, the man holding his arm in a painful lock as another one came over to see what the commotion was.

“Who sent you?” the man asked, ignoring his cries of pain.

“I-I don't know what you're talking about!” Tactus replied, looking up in fear at the second man approaching. “I just live next door! Who are you people?! Where's Mr. Janus, he can tell you- I'm his neighbor!”

The second man shook his head. “You're so fuckin' jumpy, man,” he scolded his apparent coworker, “I know what happened to Cassidy has us all on edge, but... ah, whatever. Take him upstairs and throw him in a closet or something. We'll deal with it later.”

Tactus was hauled to his feet, his wrists zip-tied together, and practically dragged upstairs. Why was this happening? Who were these people around Janus? Nausea welled up in his stomach as he was tossed into a closet in a side room, plunged into darkness when the door closed and locked behind him. This had to be a bad dream or something, right?

While he still didn't know exactly what was going on, Tactus could at least hear some of the guards talking outside the door. Someone named Nolan Cassidy was evidently dead, and that had set them on high alert. Great. So because this random other guy died, they thought Tactus was bringing poison cookies to murder his neighbor with?! He got to his knees and leaned his head against the door with a deep frown, trying to listen for more information. Who was Mr. Janus, really? Why did he have such a heavily armed security detail around him? Maybe he would be reasonable and let Tactus go if he just told them all he was trying to do was be a friendly neighbor! That thought did nothing to calm the pounding of his heart in his chest, however.

Minutes ticked by, Tactus straining to hear anything more from the room. One of the guards had left, and he wasn't sure how many were still there. Then, suddenly, he heard a sound almost like someone choking – followed by a soft thud. What was going on out there?! He didn't have to wonder for long. The door to the closet was suddenly pulled open, causing him to fall face first into an extremely nice pair of black dress shoes.

The owner of the shoes looked... puzzled, to say the least. Tactus turned his gaze upward to see a bald man in a finely-tailored suit staring down at him with the most piercing blue eyes he'd ever seen. He was dragging the unconscious body of the remaining guard that had been watching over the closet door! Maybe this guy was here to save him?! Tactus was about to speak when the man hurriedly shoved him back in the closet, dragging the unconscious guard along with.

“Hey, wait a min-” he tried to say, but a gloved hand covered his mouth promptly, and the mystery man shut the closet door behind him. Tactus couldn't help a bit of an embarrassed flush with the way the guy was pinning him down and keeping his mouth covered, starting to struggle when he heard someone else enter the room. The mystery man put a finger to his own lips in a shushing motion.

After a tense few moments, the door to the room opened and closed again. Tactus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when the mystery man pulled his hand away, looking down at him with a blank expression. “Who are you?” Tactus asked, “Are you with the police...?”

The man shook his head slowly. “No.” He didn't look like he was going to be all too forthcoming with information. Standing up, he turned to leave, and Tactus sat up in a panic.

“You can't just leave me here!” he said, holding up his bound wrists. “I didn't do anything, I just brought some damn cookies over and they suddenly threw me in here talking about being 'compromised' and-”

Again, his mouth was covered, the mystery man shushing him firmly. “Stay here. I'll come back.” With that, he left as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving Tactus alone with an unconscious guard and a whole lot of questions. He quietly shoved the guard as far back against the wall as he could out of discomfort being near him. At least it was a spacious closet...

It felt like ages passed until the mystery man returned. Tactus honestly thought he might have been forgotten, and when the door opened he let out a startled squeak. “Oh, it's you!” he chirped, getting onto his knees and looking up at the man in the suit. “A-Are you going to get me out of here, now?”

The man in the suit grabbed him by the wrists, pulling him to his feet. “Yes, but you have to follow my instructions exactly.” He pushed Tactus to the side, moving past him to the guard, and began removing his clothes.

“What are you doing?!”

“I need a disguise.”

Tactus watched in fascination as he exchanged his suit for the guard's clothes, even taking his gun and slinging it onto his back. When he was finished, he turned back to the frightened captive, and nodded toward the closet door. “I'll take you outside. Don't speak, just walk with me. You said... you're his neighbor?”

Nodding, he motioned in the direction of his home. “Yes. My house is the one to the right of this one.” He swallowed hard as the mystery man grabbed his shoulders to begin leading him out. Somehow no one seemed to question his identity, one man asking where he was taking the prisoner, but satisfied with the answer that Janus had ordered him disposed of. The thought alone made his blood run cold, and he stumbled over himself as he was taken outside into the garden. They exited through the back gate into the wetlands behind the house, and only then did the mystery man finally stop and cut the zip tie from his wrists. Tactus let out a sigh of relief, thanking him for his help.

The man simply nodded, and escorted him back to his home. “So... who are you?” Tactus asked, unlocking his back door. “That was pretty amazing, what you did... are you with the government or something?”

“Or something,” the man responded, glancing back toward Janus's house. He ushered Tactus inside when the door was open, closing and locking it behind them. “Your neighbor was not who you thought he was.”

Tactus huffed in frustration, rubbing the marks on his wrists. “Understatement of the century! But still... thank you for getting me out of there. I'd call the police, but they wouldn't believe me... and even if they did, they're useless.” He glanced toward the living room, hearing the tell-tale soft snoring of his twin brother. Still napping on the couch, right where he'd left him. “So what's your name, stranger?”

There was a tentative pause before he received a response. “Tobias.” The man looked out a window, seeing movement at Janus's house – and hearing yelling. “Your neighbor was a man with a lot of enemies... and they just found his corpse in his bathroom.” He pulled away from the window, looking back at Tactus with a frown. “Poisoning, it sounds like.”

“Wait- what?” Tactus's eyes widened, his face going pale. “Y-You can't be serious... p-poisoning? But-”

“You will be blamed for it,” Tobias continued, “Cookies, right? You escaped before the body was discovered. Someone is likely on their way over here now to eliminate you.”

Tactus felt like the room was spinning, holding his head with both hands. “S-Slow down, what are you talking about?! I didn't have anything to do with it-! Why would anyone want... you can't be serious!” He put a hand over his mouth, hearing his brother begin to stir in the living room. If anything were to happen to him... he'd never forgive himself. But this was all just a misunderstanding!

Tobias glanced at a family picture on the wall, then toward the living room. “There is no time to slow down. You and your brother are in danger.” He moved quickly to the front door, making sure that it was locked, then turned to see Tactus's twin sitting up on the couch.

Montage yawned, rubbing his eyes, only to jump suddenly when he saw the stranger in his home. “Merde! What's going on?! Who are you!”

Before Tactus could respond, Tobias pulled out a wallet, flashing them both an identification card neither of them recognized. “My name is Tobias Rieper, and I'm with the CIA.” He put the wallet away with a nod toward their neighbor's house. “Your neighbor, Janus, was a former KGB agent I'd been keeping tabs on, with suspected ties to a terrorist organization. Your brother has unfortunately been accused of murdering him with poison. I realize this is a lot to take in, but if you two want to remain alive, you must come with me.”

The twins were stunned into silence. Tactus's panic overwhelmed him, and he quickly ran to the bathroom to vomit, while Montage shakily got to his feet. “You're serious?” he asked, and the look on Tobias's face told him he was deathly serious. “F... Fuck... are we... are we going into witness protection, or s-something? How do I even know you're telling us the t-truth?”

“Right now, we need to get you away from here and safe. It's only a matter of time until they realize where your brother is and come looking for him.” He motioned to the stairs. “You can pack some essentials, but then we have to go. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to look out your back window.”

Montage swallowed hard, moving to the back window of their home and peering out through the blinds. His eyes widened as he saw what appeared to be men with guns in Janus's back yard, one of which was making his way toward their home. He quickly backed away, scrambling to collect his brother from the bathroom. “Tactus! Tactus, we have to go!” he called, putting his hands on his twin's shoulders. “Please, mon frère, we have to go! You can be sick later!”

After he'd had a moment to catch his breath, Tactus stood and followed his brother upstairs. They packed what few things they could into a duffel bag, then returned to Tobias, who was waiting for them in the living room.

“I'll take you to a hotel and call my superiors from there,” the agent said, “Walk with me and act natural. My car isn't far.”

The brothers nodded and followed him out their front door. Tactus locked it behind them, hoping it would be safe until they could get this all sorted out. Tobias took them down the street, where a sleek black car was parked discreetly on the side of the road. They both hesitated to climb inside, looking at each other nervously.

A voice from behind startled them suddenly. “Hey, where are you three going?” a man called, dressed quite similarly to the disguise Tobias was still wearing. “No one's supposed to leave, there's been an emergency.” When he didn't get a response from the three of them, he started getting irritated. “Did you hear me? And who are those two? What's going on here?!”

Tactus panicked, scrambling into the car and pulling Montage after him. Tobias wasted no time in getting in and slamming on the gas, and soon enough, they were tearing down the street. A loud popping noise startled the twins, and Tactus realized it had been the sound of a gunshot, the bullet hitting the car with a metallic clang. “Oh, god, he shot at us?!” Montage gasped out, looking out the rear window at the diminishing shape of the man who'd caught them. “He shot at us! Like- with a gun!”

“What else would you use to shoot at someone?!” Tactus snapped, then sank down in his seat, his hands over his face. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I- I'm going to be sick again.”

Throughout it all, Tobias was supernaturally calm. He didn't speak unless spoken to, and even then, his answers were short and not very helpful. He'd been assigned to keep an eye on Janus, got wind of one of his body guards being murdered, and snuck into Janus's home after seeing a mysterious figure climbing in through a window. The twins were in no state to question it, still trying to recover from the shock of being shot at. Soon enough the car fell into complete silence as Tactus and Montage simply tried to process what had just happened.

By the time they finally stopped at a hotel, the sun was going down. Tobias told them to stay in the car while he made a call. When they were alone, Montage finally reached over to pull his brother into a tight hug.

“I'm so sorry!” he choked out, “You were in danger, and I- I had no idea! I was just asleep while you were trapped in that house, and...”

“Shh... it's okay.” Tactus hugged him in return, stroking his hair gently. “It's not your fault. I know you would have come looking for me if you were awake, and... then we both probably would have been in that closet, eh?”

Montage pulled back, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. “Mhm... but... this Tobias guy... does this seem on the up and up to you?” he looked out the window with a frown, seeing him standing a few paces away and speaking on a cell phone. “It's weird, right? A CIA agent just happened to be keeping an eye on our neighbor the day he dies... and you said he knocked some guy out and stole his clothes? What kind of government suit does that?”

Tactus didn't have a good answer for that. He'd been just going along with everything because he felt he didn't have a choice – being faced with armed men coming to his house to potentially kill him would do that. But now that he had a moment of calm to think, it did strike him as strange. “He showed us his credentials, though,” he said, “M-Maybe we should ask to speak to his superior? I bet they'd be able to provide more information.”

It seemed he wouldn't even have to ask, Tobias returning to the car with his phone in hand. He sat down in the driver's seat again, holding the phone up, and a woman's voice came over the speaker.

“Hello. I apologize, but Agent Rieper did not tell me your names,” she began, sounding a little exasperated. “My name is Agent Burnside, and I am his commanding officer. He has informed me of the situation surrounding Janus and your suspicion in his murder – however, he assures me that you were indisposed at the time of Janus's death. Of course, that won't convince his associates of your innocence.”

Tactus looked relieved to hear from someone else, leaning forward a bit to speak into the phone. “His... associates? You mean those guys in the house with him?”

“Them, and some other, more powerful people that he was in partnership with,” Agent Burnside responded, “Men who operate outside the law. Who won't hesitate to track you down and kill you for what they think you did to Janus. You have unfortunately become the target of people who will spare no expense for revenge.” She paused to let him process that information, then continued. “Agent Rieper will watch over you for now. He is the most familiar with Janus's network of allies, and frankly our most qualified agent to take care of you. If he is with you, you will be safe.”

Montage didn't look convinced, slamming his hand down on the car door. “This is crazy! You expect us to just listen to you? You could be anyone!”

“But they really did try to kill us, frère!” Tactus whimpered, “These people are trying to help!”

Agent Burnside waited a moment, then interjected. “You are right to be suspicious. It is highly unusual, and difficult to believe. I assure you, however, Agent Rieper can verify our identities for you quite easily.” As she spoke, Tobias opened his wallet again, showing them both what appeared to be an official CIA badge. When they'd both had a chance to look, he put it away again. “I will contact you again once I have made arrangements for your transport to a safe location. Until then, I ask that you trust Agent Rieper, and cooperate with him and the local authorities.”

Tobias ended the call, then got out of the car again. He opened the door for Tactus while Montage got out on the other side, motioning toward the hotel. “I'll get us rooms,” he said quietly, “Please come with me. I'd rather not let you out of my sight... just in case.” The hotel was a fair bit more expensive than what Tactus had been expecting, and much to his and Montage's dismay, only one room was available, rather than two. At least it was a room with two beds, but the idea of spending the night with a stranger... their discomfort was obvious.

Regardless, they followed Tobias up to their room, and as soon as he could, Tactus flopped down on one of the beds. He stared up at the ceiling, having had so many anxiety-ridden thoughts that when he finally had the chance to slow down, his mind simply blanked. Montage sat down on the bed next to him, watching Tobias with distrust. “...I guess my bro and I can share a bed,” he said, “This is... really awkward, you know. We don't even know you.”

“I understand.” Tobias sat in a chair in the room's breakfast nook, looking down at his watch. “I would offer to sleep in my car, but that puts me too far away from you in case of emergency.”

Montage's frown deepened. “Do you think they might have followed us or something...?” Tobias simply nodded. “Well... if anything happens, I guess it's better to have you here.”

Tactus pushed himself up, then headed for the room's bathroom. “I'm tired,” he said softly, letting his hair out of its bun. “I'm going to get ready for bed...” He paused in the doorway, looking back at Tobias. “And... thank you again for saving me, Tob... er, Agent Rieper.”

The agent nodded, his expression as blank as ever. “You're welcome.”

[redditnosleep]

The Echo In The Well

by bad-samantha

I met Alex on the first day of kindergarten twenty four years ago. He pulled up my dress on the playground and I punched him in the nose. By the time our parents came to pick us up from the principal’s office, it was too late; the damage was done and we were already inseparable. There’s a picture of us, Alex’s arm around my shoulder, a little blood still staining the front of his shirt. I keep it beside my bed in a tacky picture frame covered in hearts.

It felt like a miracle when our cars followed each other nearly all the way home. I waved to Alex in front of his house, thrilled to know my new best friend only lived two streets away.

We ran wild through our childhood but we always ran together. In summer, shoes became a thing of the past, a convention we were sure our mothers forced on us only to make us slow down and to rob us of the feeling of grass under our feet and the splash of creeks on hot days. We eventually agreed to wear shoes in the winter after the time that Alex’s toes turned so blue that his parents took him to the hospital to make sure it wasn’t frostbite. Lessons learned.

So rarely were we indoors that it baffled our parents when, every day at four o’clock, we made our way into Alex’s house. It wasn’t to sneak snacks or change out toys. It was the time that Alex’s grandmother woke from her afternoon nap. If we took just the right steps, then she would tell us stories—and not the kind of stories our parents read us at night. They were the kind that get whispered on the school bus, stuff of legends, rarely with a happy ending.

We were practically Pavlovian about it. Some part of us knew the moment their grandfather clock was chiming four, no matter how far away we were. We sprinted, knowing the water for tea had to be boiling before his grandmother made it into the kitchen, that a teabag should already be resting in her mug (always a powder blue one with tiny white flowers). A plate of cookies or sandwiches should be sitting on the middle of the table, though she wouldn’t touch them and would insist that we ate them all.

As for us, our hands should be washed, scrubbed completely clean including under our nails. Our hair should be tidied and we should be sitting at the table waiting for her. If all of those conditions were met, we always got a story. Always. She never seemed to care if we were wearing shoes, though.

This went on for years. Alex and I were convinced that his grandmother knew every story that was ever told and that she kept them all in her head. We came up with dozens of reasons why she couldn’t write them down, all of which were spoiled when we learned that she was writing them down. They were collected in a leather binder, each written in her perfect penmanship, learned in a time where that actually mattered. There was an offer made by one of us, I can’t remember who, to type them, and it was immediately refused.

“There’s some magic in ink and paper,” she told us, nodding at the book and patting it fondly with one hand. When she died, the book was the only thing Alex asked for—but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We were nine when Grandma Aileen told us the story of the Echo. Sitting around the table, with dirt on our knees but not a speck on our hands, we ate cookies while she sipped her tea and thrilled and terrified us in equal measure.

“Your uncle Conor met an Echo.” She paused and considered Alex, searching his face. “You look so much like he did as a boy. Same nose, same cheeks. Almost an echo yourself.” I thought this was great news, to learn that there had been another Alex in the world, but Grandma Aileen wasn’t smiling.

“I don’t know uncle Conor.” Alex and I had gone through the books of his family pictures many times, trying to find the people from Grandma Aileen’s stories, sometimes finding them, sometimes failing, and nearly always making up a story of our own.

“No, you wouldn’t now, would you? People who meet an Echo don’t often live long enough to meet their nieces and nephews.” There was something about the way she said the word Echo that made it more of a name than a word. “Our mother had warned us about Echoes, so there was no reason things had to end so sadly. But Conor…he had a streak of wild in that ran so deep our mother couldn’t scrub it out no matter how hard she tried.”

“Conor had to test things, prove them to himself. Our oldest brother told him that an Echo lived in the well of the neighbor’s farm and right away Conor began making plans to go and see it. I came along because…because someone had to come.” I nodded solemnly at that, understanding completely. Many times I’d followed Alex on a bad idea simply because someone had to follow. It was the way things were.

“When we got to the well, Conor started by dropping in a stone. It seemed to fall forever before it splashed into the water. We both listened, hearing the splash of water resound inside. Conor’s face turned impish, convinced already of the Echo from that simple sound. ‘Hello!’ he called down and the sound of his voice came back up to us in triplicate. ‘Hello, hello, hello!’” Grandma Aileen shiver and took a long sip of her tea as though it could warm her up.

“I put my hand over my mouth. Mother had told us that we must never reply to an echo once we knew it was there. Starting a conversation is a dangerous thing, because once you’ve started, there’s no one to know when it will end. I wasn’t willing to risk making a sound that the Echo could use against me, but Conor sneered. ‘Don’t be a baby, Aileen. There’s nothing down there but water and rocks. See?’ He leaned over the side as the answer floated back up to him. ‘I see, I see, I see.’”

“I wanted to say something then, but my hand was still over my mouth. Conor’s eyes grew large, realizing his mistake. He put his hand over his own mouth and motioned for me to follow him as he ran home. Never in my life have I run as fast as I did that day, chasing after him, plowing through the front door. We nearly knocked down our mother, wrapping around her legs as though we were much younger than we were. She wiped away tears and when we had calmed down enough to speak, Conor opened his mouth.”

“But no sound came out…not from his mouth, at least. Instead, from the sink, came words. ‘He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine.’”

“Mother went pale. I never understood that expression until I saw the color drain from her face completely, until she was as white as the sheets she used to starch. She clapped her own hand over Conor’s mouth. ‘Did you speak to it, Aileen?’ She looked at me so fiercely that I still didn’t dare to speak and only shook my head instead of answering. She nodded once and pulled my brother closer to her, staring into his eyes.

“‘You fool of a boy. You’ve done it now.’ If you couldn’t see the tears in her eyes, you would have thought she was furious with him. My poor brother was trembling head to toe. There was nothing to be done for him though. Everywhere he went, every time he opened his mouth to speak he had no words. Answers would often come from other places though, in a voice that sounded something like his.”

“For ten years, Conor lived that way. He rarely slept, the Echo keeping him up all night. Many nights it was so loud it kept the whole house awake, pressing pillows over our heads to try to muffle the slimy voice. He stopped having meals with us, hating how everyone winced each time he opened his mouth for food and the Echo spoke instead.”

“On his eighteenth birthday, Conor threw himself into the well. I was there, because someone had to be. He hugged me and I kissed his cheek, but we didn’t speak. Once the water splashed, a voice rose up, nearly singing. ‘Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!’ I wiped the tears from my face and didn’t say a word until I got home.”

Alex and I sat for a moment, chewing our cookies and thinking over the story. It wasn’t the first one that ended grimly and it wouldn’t be the last, I was sure. Grandma Aileen finished her tea, patted our heads as we still sat in silence and went back into her bedroom.

In true eight year old fashion, Alex and I didn’t discuss what we’d heard. We cleaned up the tea and the cookies and went back out to play. But we didn’t answer echoes.

We grew up, as all children tend to do, and though we didn’t miss our four o’clock dates with Grandma Aileen, they stopped being stories and started being conversations. Those afternoons were still a treasure, one neither of us would have traded for the world. Eventually, after years of annoyance and insisting to everyone that a boy and girl could just be friends, we realized that’s not all we wanted to be. We started dating when we were thirteen and never stopped. One four o’clock time, Alex asked Grandma Aileen if he could have her engagement ring. She scolded him for asking in front of me, but gave it over all the same.

I still wear it.

Grandma Aileen died when we were away at college. Sometimes I think she would have held on if we had stayed closer, but Alex always told me it wasn’t fair to torture myself with thoughts like that. I know that he was right. The book of stories came to live in our home, the book we didn’t know existed. She dedicated it to us, and to the children she thought we would one day have.

On our honeymoon, we visited Italy. In front of a beautiful fountain, Alex declared he’d love me forever.

“Forever, forever, forever.” The fountain echoed back his words and made him smile.

“That’s right,” he agreed and we both knew his mistake in an instant.

Alex never spoke again. Still, we wanted a baby. It was miserable making love while that slimy version of his voice bounced off the walls around us. Alex held on long enough to see our child born, a sweet and perfect boy. We named him Conor.

Whenever Conor would fall asleep, that voice would come, loud and harsh and wake the baby, sending him into a fit of tears that broke both our hearts. It was Alex’s choice to go, and I kissed him goodbye and held onto him so long that he had to pull himself out of my arms. He walked through the door and I became a widow and a single mother at the age of 26.

Conor is almost three now and very smart. I tell him stories every day, the ones from the book. I’ll make sure he believes them all, I’ll make sure that he’s smarter than we were. I’ll make sure that he never answers an Echo.

[bucklethefxckupkiddo]

GamDave - day one

.: God this is so fucking red it makes me want to mcfreakin puke. Gamzee is so ooc it hurts me. Also i needed to write something with Trans!Dave so yeah. ::::: Dave let out a small sigh, letting his eyes slip shut. He needed to calm down. It was all going to be okay in the end. Living the Makaras was just going to be a temporary thing. As much as he’d love to have a roommate, he’d rather have it be someone who wasn’t dependent on doing drugs to remain sane. He wasn’t happy about it, but this is the situation that he was currently in. Maybe he could get his shit together in record time and leave this damned house. He groans as he flops down on the bed he was staying on, running his hands through his greasy blonde hair. It was days like these that made him question how he’d managed to end up in the situation he was in. Maybe if he was taking care of himself better he wouldn’t be having this problem right now. But Dave didn’t have any form of filter, and that’s what got him into this mess. Of course going onto the deep web was a bad idea, but he didn’t expect it to spiral out of control like that. But of course with Dave, there was no middle ground. It was either mild or extreme. It’s not like it was never like that before. With all the strifes that he used to have with his Bro, he’d either get off just fine without so much as a scratch, or end up plummeting down a flight of stairs and getting bruised on every possible inch of skin that he could. He shuddered at the thought. That was a shitty time of his life, and he didn’t want to start thinking about it again. Back to the task at hand. He slowly sat back up, a small yawn leaving his lips. Dave stretched out his back, groaning as he listened to all the god awful pops and cracks it made. He really needed to find a better sleeping position. He was going to have back problems in a few months if he didn’t sort his shit out now. He slowly stood up, getting a change of clothes and heading up to the bathroom. He had some time to himself, so taking a long, hot shower would be ideal. The Highblood was gone out of town on some business with whatever the fuck kind of job he has, Kurloz was out with a few of his moirails, and Gamzee.. Well Dave didn’t know what the fuck Gamzee was out doing. Dave lets out a deep sigh as he begins to undress once he was in the bathroom. The door was shut. He wasn’t going to take any chances with the clown popping up out of nowhere again. That shit just wasn’t cool. Dave put on a playlist that he found himself listening to even more than usual lately. He didn’t even know why he bothered with creating more playlists anymore. It always came down to just adding more songs to the pre-existing playlist. He got everything set up. A towel hanging up, all his soaps in the shower already. Dave had to hide his soaps or someone else in the house was going to end up stealing all of them. He didn’t feel like spending all the money he earned on soaps. Even if he spent a decent amount of money on soap, he didn’t need to keep spending more and more on it. He turns on the water, pulling the shower curtains across the rack. He waited a little while, just leaning on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror. He hated not wearing his binder. He was planning on saving up for top surgery, but that would mean getting enough time off of work to recover from that. With his boss, that was going to fucking great to explain. Dave was more of a don’t ask, don’t tell kind of guy. If there was no reason to tell someone about him being trans, he wouldn’t bring up the topic. He didn’t see why it had to be such a federal fucking issue. He’d had enough problems with coming out in the past that he didn’t feel the need to ever bring it up with anyone except people who absolutely needed to know. He soon stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run down over his back. This made Dave let out a loud sigh. His tense muscles began to relax. Steam rose up around him, fogging up the room. He forgot to turn on the fan again. That was fine. It’s not like he cared. The bathroom was quite dark. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it was something that took a little bit of time to get used to. The Makaras used incredibly dark light bulbs for some fucking reason. Dave didn’t know why, and frankly he didn’t care to find out. He was fine with not knowing. He tipped his head back, bringing his pale hands up and running his fingers through his hair. He worked out the tangles the best he could. He needed to get a new comb after Gamzee destroyed the last one trying to brush out his matted curls. Dave got some shampoo in the palm of his right hand and began to massage it into his hair. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He began to softly sing along to the music, letting himself get lost in the music. It was something that he’d come to love. He didn’t notice the front door opening and shutting in a hurry. Dave was just lost in his world of the shower. The music was drowning out anything else as he washed his body. He didn’t bother with shaving. He’d handle that later when he wasn’t so tired. After being in there for around forty minutes, he turned off the water and stood there for a moment as he let some of the water run down his body and into the bathtub. He steps out and wraps a towel around his body, standing by the counter again as he stares at the fogged up mirror. He heard someone shuffling past the door, earning a faint groan from Dave. he counted on having enough time to lounge around after the shower and not deal with anyone interrupting his alone time. Whatever. He would just go to bed early again and try to rest up. The towel dries his hair, leaving it in a huge mess as he pulls on his clothes. He wasn’t going to deal with his binder. He was working on not falling asleep in it anymore, which was good for him. He didn’t need another rib injury. The clothes he put on were baggy and several sizes too big. Dave thought that was perfectly fine. That way he didn’t have to worry about any kind of hints that he might have any curves where they shouldn’t be. He watched the mirror as the image it reflection slowly became more visible. When he could make out the words on the band tee he was wearing, he opened the door and stepped out. It was cold, and Dave almost began to shiver. He didn’t understand why the Makaras always kept their house so damn freezing, but Dave was in no position to complain. He began making his way back to the room he was staying in, only to be intercepted by Gamzee halfway there. “Hey motherfucker,” Gamzee’s gravely voice rang out. Dave could tell he’d been smoking lately. The taller male reeked of weed. It’s not that Dave was appalled by it. It was a normal occurrence, and he had grown to enjoy the smell. The entire fucking house smelled like it. “Gamzee, I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to go an take a nap,” he stated calmly as he started to walk past Gamzee. Gamzee’s painted lips curled into a smile. “I know you’re all up and tired, but I wanted to try one motherfuckin’ thing. It won’t take all that long.” He pulled his hands out of the pockets of the dark purple hoodie that he wore all the time. Dave looks up at him , his arms crossing firmly over his chest. “Fine. What is it that you want? This better not be a waste of my time,” The blonde had a slightly annoyed tone to his voice. His stoic expression remained unchanged, but his voice held all his emotions. It was almost as bad os his eyes, which were thankfully covered by his shades that he’d remembered to bring into the bathroom before he got into the shower. “I promise that you’re not going to be all up and disappointed. Just hold up one of your hands,” Gamzee held up one of his hands, spreading out his fingers. Dave rolls his eyes and raises a hand in the same way, spreading out his fingers. “I hope you know that this is stupid,” Dave says firmly as Gamzee takes a step forward. He was about to move his hands back until Gamzee brings one of his hands over and gently presses it to Dave’s. “You’ve got some tiny hands, motherfucker,” Gamzee let out a low chuckle as his fingers curled over the top of Dave’s. The youngest Strider was about to pull his hand away when Gamzee went ahead and laced their fingers together. “What are you doing?” Dave tilts his head to the side slightly, his senses on high alert right now. “Just chill. I’m not gonna hurt you,” still holding one of Dave’s hands, Gamzee moved closer and wrapped an arm around Dave’s waist. He pulled the frail boy close to his chest. Dave’s body tensed right away. “You see, that’s your problem. You get all up and scared when people try and be nice.” Dave didn’t say anything. He just winced as Gamzee began to lightly pat his back. Dave held onto Gamzee’s hand tightly, his other hand gripping the side of the other’s hoodie. “Shh..” Gamzee closed his eyes, his curly hair falling forward as he brought his head down, kissing the top of Dave’s head. “All I want you to do is try and relax. You’ve got nothing’ to worry about now.” The two stood like that for quite some time. It was a peaceful silence. Dave slowly gave a nod, his eyes closing as well. “I can only try.” “And try you will,” Gamzee seemed to be pleased with how Dave was reacting to this. “Now I want you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay little man?” Dave gives a small nod, breathing slowly. This was fine. He was okay with Gamzee being gentle like this. When he wasn’t sober, he was sort of alright. Dave’s body had gradually relaxed enough that he was comfortably leaning on Gamzee. “Let’s get you something to eat. I know you’re all up and skipping out on the meals we make,” Gamzee let out a groan as he picked Dave up easily, carrying him into the kitchen. Gamzee held Dave’s hand the entire time he was cooking, no matter what happened. Dave wasn’t going to start complaining. Gamzee’s hands were warm, sort of like comfortable furnaces. The pale boy was starting to grow on Gamzee. It was nice to have some comfortable silence every now and then.