#Emily Pines

[thelastspeecher]

Amphibious Tendencies - Chapter 10: Typhlonectes natans

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9 Chapter 10   AO3

It's been a hot minute, but I think y'all know I've sorta been going through it, so I won't say much else other than...

Enjoy.

—

Summary: Dipper, Mabel, and Soos find out that Stan and the rest of his family are not what they seem.

The “rubber eel” (Typhlonectes natans) is sometimes sold as a fish in aquarium stores, but is actually a caecilian, a group of legless amphibians about whom little is known.

——————————————————————————————

              “Chocolate chips, chocolate chips,” Mabel muttered to herself as she rummaged through the pantry.  “Ah-ha!”  She pulled out a glass jar filled with chocolate chips.  “Why were you hiding at the back of the pantry?”

              “Whatchya doin’, cuz?” a voice asked.  Mabel turned.  Emily stood in the kitchen, watching her with visible amusement.

              “It’s been too long since I baked something, so I asked Dipper what I should make, and he suggested my famous chocolate chip brownies.”

              “It’s her most edible recipe,” Dipper chimed in.  He was sitting at the kitchen table, going over the Journal.

              “Ya might want to use chocolate chips for it, then,” Emily said.  Mabel held up the jar.  “Those aren’t chocolate chips.  They’re chocolate-covered crickets.”

              “What?!” Mabel yelped in shock.  The jar slipped from her hands.  Emily dove, catching the jar before it could hit the floor.  “Look, I like to think of myself as being open-minded, but chocolate-covered crickets?  Why?”

              “I’m not sure if you know this, but Dad likes making bets and dares.”

              “We know,” Dipper and Mabel said together.

              “Oh.  Well, since he can’t ever pass up a bet or a dare, years and years ago, someone dared him to eat a bug.  So he ate the bug.  And then he got dared to eat another.  Eventually, he realized he actually liked the taste.”  Emily shrugged.

              “There’s no way Grauntie Angie puts up with it,” Mabel said firmly.  “She’s a lady.”

              “Ma likes ‘em, too,” Emily said.  Mabel’s jaw dropped.  “She’s probably the one who hid the chocolate-covered crickets in the back of the pantry so you wouldn’t see ‘em.  She was worried how the two of ya would handle our family’s…eccentricities.”  Emily put the jar on the counter and knelt to pick up the pieces of paper she had dropped when she grabbed the jar.  She tossed the papers onto the table.  “By the way, mail’s here.”

              “Did we get something in the mail?” Dipper asked curiously.

              “Dunno.  Didn’t look.”

              “Hmm.”  Dipper picked up the letter on the top of the pile.  He frowned.  “What name is this?”

              “Huh?”  Emily walked over and peered over Dipper’s shoulder at the letter.  “Oh.  It says Banjolina.  That’s Ma’s full first name.”

              “Angie is short for Banjolina?” Dipper asked.  Emily nodded.  “I thought it was short for Angela.”

              “Everyone thinks that.  I don’t know if many people in town know her proper first name.”

              “I guess ‘Banjolina’ makes sense since her brother’s named Fiddleford,” Mabel said.

              “Yep!  Unwieldy names are a bit of a tradition in Ma’s family,” Emily said cheerfully.  She pulled out a chair and sat down.

              “Is Emily short for something weird then?” Mabel asked.  Emily shook her head.

              “Nope.  Ma insisted on not doin’ her family’s weird name thing for any of us kids.  But she wasn’t completely successful with making us happy with our names.  Molly only goes by her middle name, not her first name.”

              “Molly?” Dipper and Mabel asked together.

              “Right, I keep forgetting you haven’t had a chance to meet her yet,” Emily said.  “Molly’s the oldest triplet.  But her first name’s actually Darlene.”

              “Darlene’s a pretty name,” Mabel insisted.  Emily shrugged again.

              “Not disagreein’ with ya.  Just tellin’ ya what Molly feels.”  She looked over at the clock on the wall.  “Did you two have breakfast?”

              “Yep!  That’s why I was gonna make brownies!” Mabel chirped.

              “All right.  Well, you could make brownies,” Emily said slowly, “or you could join me.”

              “It depends on what you’re doing,” Mabel said.  Emily grinned.

              “Dad wants me to get rid of the leftover fireworks from the Fourth of July.  I figured I’d do that by setting ‘em off.”  A twinkle entered her eyes.  “So?”

              “Fireworks beat brownies!” Mabel said quickly.  Dipper nodded.

              “Agreed.”

              “Then follow me, cousins,” Emily said, standing up.  “It’s time to rain some fire from the skies.”

-----

              The still morning air was split by the squeal and subsequent pop of a firework.  Emily, Dipper, and Mabel let out whoops of joy at their first salvo.  Before Emily could light the next one, however, the door slammed open.  Grunkle Stan stormed out of the Shack.

              “All right, what are you kids doing?” he demanded.  He looked around.  “Where even are you?”

              “We’re up here, old man,” Emily called from their spot on the roof.  Grunkle Stan looked up.  He scowled.  “I’m just doin’ what ya told me to.  I’m gettin’ rid of the fireworks.”

              “That’s all you’re doing?” Grunkle Stan asked.  Emily, Dipper, and Mabel nodded.  “Have the cops showed up?”

              “Yes, but we sent ‘em on their merry way with an insult or two,” Emily said.  Grunkle Stan grinned.

              “That’s my girl!”  He waved a hand airily.  “All right, carry on.  Just make sure you put out any fires.  Don’t want the place to burn down while Angie’s still sleeping.”

              “Do you have a method you want us to use to put out the fires?” Mabel asked.  Grunkle Stan frowned thoughtfully.

              “The phrasing is questionable, but screw it.  I’ll bite.  Whattaya got in mind, kiddo?”

              “Water balloons.”

              “Huh.”  Grunkle Stan shrugged.  “I don’t see why not.”  He went back into the Shack.

              “He’s in a good mood,” Dipper commented.

              “Nah, you two just managed to grow on him, that’s all.”  Emily elbowed Dipper and Mabel playfully.  “And don’t act like he hasn’t grown on you.”

              “Heh, yeah,” Dipper said.  “When he’s not barking orders at us, he’s kind of…fun?”  Mabel nodded in agreement.

              “And I think it’s so sweet how much he’s in love with Grauntie Angie,” Mabel sighed dreamily.  “I want something like that one day.”  The door to the Shack opened.

              “What happened to the fireworks?” Grunkle Stan called.  “I was gonna watch the show!”

              “Why not be a part of it?” Mabel asked.  “I thought I cured your fear of heights!”

              “I’m more comfortable sitting on the porch than climbing on the roof.  You kids have your fun.”

              “Well, you heard the man,” Emily said to her cousins.  She held up her lighter.  “Which one are we gonna set off next?”

-----

              Dipper sprinted across the yard, running from the ululating Emily and Mabel.  He threw a water balloon at Mabel, but it bounced off her and on the ground.  Mabel threw a water balloon of her own, which burst upon contact with him.

              “Aw, man!” Dipper whined.  Emily chortled.  She looked at Grunkle Stan, who was sitting on the porch watching the festivities.

              “You gonna join us, old man?”

              “With these old bones?  No,” Grunkle Stan said.  He took another sip of his Pitt Cola.  “This is the kinda day summers were made for.  Just doing dumb things.”

              “Agreed!” Mabel and Dipper said together.  Dipper shoved Mabel playfully.  She landed on the ground, laughing.  When the water balloon fight resumed, however, Grunkle Stan’s relaxed expression morphed into one full of tension.

              Once the kids had run out of water balloons, Grunkle Stan got up and walked over.

              “Look, kids, I…”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  Dipper and Mabel looked at him curiously.  “I’ve- I’ve got somethin’ to tell you.”

              “What?” Mabel asked.  Grunkle Stan grimaced.

              “It’s- it’s complicated and you probably- you might not like it.”

              “Wait…”  Emily stared at her father.  “Dad, are you talking about…”  Grunkle Stan nodded.  Emily’s eyes widened.  “Did Ma say you could?”

              “Yeah.  After everything that happened with her, we figured it would be best.”

              “What is it?” Dipper asked.  Grunkle Stan took a deep breath.  He opened his mouth.  Before he could say anything, however, a red dot appeared on his fez.  “Is that a ladybug?”

              “Aw!” Mabel cooed.  Emily grabbed Dipper and Mabel, hurriedly pulling them away from Grunkle Stan.

              “Emily, what are you-” Dipper started.  A masked man dressed in combat gear suddenly burst from the nearby bushes and tackled Grunkle Stan to the ground.

              “Hey!��� Grunkle Stan protested.  The man put his knee on Grunkle Stan’s back.  Other men dressed similarly emerged from the woods, surrounding the Shack.  “What are you doing?!”

              “Our job,” Agent Powers said, walking over with Agent Trigger by his side.  “Arresting suspicious persons and locking down any potential evidence.”

              “The government guys?” Dipper asked.  He frowned.  “I thought they got eaten by zombies.”

              “Eaten by-”  Emily stared at Dipper.  “Cuz, I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now, but yer gonna have to tell me that story later.”  She looked back at the agents.  “Potential evidence?  Like what?”

              “This entire residence,” Agent Trigger said.  Emily gaped.

              “Wh- this is my house!  You can’t just take it!”

              “We can and we will,” Agent Trigger said.

              “I’m startin’ to understand Ma and Dad’s perspectives on the government,” Emily muttered under her breath.  The agent that had tackled Grunkle Stan pulled him up and began to march him around to the front of the Shack.  “Hey!  Don’t take my dad!”  Emily let go of Dipper and Mabel, following the agent leading her father away.

              “Stay back, miss,” Agent Powers said, holding out a hand to stop her.  Emily glared at him.  She shoved his hand aside and continued.  Dipper and Mabel followed her.  They watched in shock as agents stormed inside the Shack, breaking down doors and crashing through windows.  Multiple police cars pulled up, their lights and sirens blaring.

              “What did I do that warrants this much arresting?” Grunkle Stan demanded.  One of the agents slammed his head against the hood of a car.  “Ugh!”

              “We’ve been watching you for a while,” Agent Powers said.  “Your suspicious behavior and back-alley dealings with shady characters have been raising concerns.”

              “What?  That’s not enough to arrest me!” Grunkle Stan argued, squirming viciously.  “I know my rights!”

              “You signed those rights away last night when you met with someone we have yet to identify and acquired what was clearly an illicit substance.”

              “Last night?” Grunkle Stan asked.  “I was stocking the Gift Shop all night!”  He made eye contact with Emily, Dipper, and Mabel.  “You kids have to believe me!”  The agent that had grabbed him shoved him into the back of a car.

              “Yeah, look, government guys, Grunkle Stan might not be a squeaky-clean model citizen or whatever, but there’s no way he did something bad enough to arrest him like this,” Mabel said.

              “Or take his house!” Dipper added.  He crossed his arms.  “Can’t you at least say what you think he did?”

              “That’s on a need-to-know basis,” Agent Trigger responded.

              “Translation: they don’t actually have a good reason to arrest him,” Emily said tartly.  Agent Trigger glared at her.  “I’m just tellin’ the truth.  Unlike you.”

              “Where’s Grauntie Angie?” Mabel asked, looking around.  “She can help clear things up.  Right?”

              “Only if she’s awake,” Emily mumbled.

              “Goodness!” a voice gasped.  All heads turned.  Grauntie Angie had exited the Mystery Shack.  Shocked, she daintily covered her mouth with her hand.  “What in tarnation is goin’ on?  Why are ya arrestin’ my husband?”

              “You’re Stan Pines’ wife?” asked Agent Powers.  Grauntie Angie walked up to him and held out her hand.  Agent Powers shook it reluctantly.

              “Yes, I am.”

              “In that case, you’ll have to come with us as well.”  Agent Powers held up a pair of handcuffs.  Dipper and Mabel gasped.  Grauntie Angie, however, smiled sweetly.

              “Now, that ain’t necessary, sir, is it?  I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” she said, her voice saccharine.  Dipper frowned.

              Is her accent usually that thick?

              “I…I suppose you’re right,” Agent Powers mumbled.  A glazed look appeared in his eyes.  Grauntie Angie beamed.  “You’ll- you’ll have to come with us to the station, though.”

              “Oh, of course I will!  I have to be there to support my husband and help explain that this is all just a big misunderstandin’.”  She looked over at Emily, still standing by Dipper and Mabel.  “Emily, dear, please keep an eye on the children.”

              “The minors will be handed over to Child Protective Services,” Agent Trigger interrupted, walking over to Grauntie Angie.  Grauntie Angie’s eyes widened.

              “What?  That’s ridiculous!”  She placed her hand gently atop Agent Trigger’s in a reassuring manner.  “My daughter is more ‘n capable of supervisin’ the lil darlin’s and keepin’ ‘em out of a haystack, as we say back home.”

              Yep.  Her accent is definitely thicker than usual.

              “I…”  Agent Trigger shook his head.  He seemed dazed.  “Yes, you’re- you’re right,” he managed, the words slurring together.

              “So glad we could come to this agreement,” Grauntie Angie cooed.  “Now, gimme a mo’ to give my daughter some instructions.  I’ll come down with y’all to the station after.”  Grauntie Angie regally turned around and walked over to Emily, Dipper, and Mabel.

              “Ma, what’s goin’ on?” Emily hissed.  Grauntie Angie sighed.

              “I ain’t quite sure, honey-bun.  Clearly, these government folk are under the impression yer father is involved in somethin’ shady.  I’ll go help iron things out.”  A sour look appeared on Grauntie Angie’s face.  “I hate big government.”

              “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s one of the many things you and Dad have in common,” Emily said, rolling her eyes.  “Any specific instructions fer watching Dipper and Mabel?”

              “No.  Just keep ‘em out of trouble.  Take ‘em to Junior’s place.”

              “But we want to stay here and help defend the Shack!” Mabel argued.  Dipper nodded.

              “The best way you three can help is by behavin’ ‘n stayin’ out of the way,” Grauntie Angie said firmly.  She looked over at the cars belonging to the government agents.  Dipper squinted.  In the bright sun, thin, pale lines stood out against Grauntie Angie’s skin.  The scars crisscrossed randomly, starting near the top of her neck and continuing down before being covered by her sensible sundress.

              Where did she get those scars?  And why haven’t I noticed them before?

              “These folks are bad news, but between Stan ‘n I, we can get things settled,” Grauntie Angie continued, unaware of Dipper’s stare.  Mabel, however, noticed, and elbowed Dipper roughly.  “Go to Junior’s.  Take the Stanleymobile.”  Grauntie Angie looked at Emily pointedly.  “I know you’ve got the spare set of keys in yer pocket.”  Emily rubbed the back of her neck, managing an abashed grin.  “I’ll call when I know more.”  Grauntie Angie kissed Emily on the cheek, then the tops of Dipper and Mabel’s heads.  She walked over to the government agents, striking up a conversation with them.

              “Well, you heard the lady,” Emily sighed.  “Stay here.  I’ll bring the car around.”  Emily walked away.  Mabel rounded on Dipper.

              “Okay, why were you staring at Grauntie Angie like that?” she demanded.

              “I just noticed something.”

              “What?”

              “She’s got scars.  All over.”

              “So?  You’re still not supposed to stare!”  Mabel shook her head.  “Honestly, Dipper.”

              “Did you know about her scars?” Dipper asked.

              “Yep!” Mabel said cheerfully.  “She let me do a makeover on her that one time and I saw while I was trying to find a foundation that matched her skin tone.  It’s difficult, since she’s pale but also has a lot of freckles.”

              “Did she tell you where the scars came from?”

              “She said it was some sort of accident at the lake.”

              “What kind of accident?”

              “She clammed up after that,” Mabel replied.  She frowned thoughtfully.  “But when I pointed out that the scars looked sorta like really thin string, she said I wasn’t too far from the truth.  I don’t know what kind of string there is at the lake, though.”

              “Fishing line, maybe?” Dipper suggested.  “But how could that cause scars?”  Mabel shrugged.  The Stanleymobile, driven by Emily, pulled up in front of them.

              “Get in, kiddos,” Emily said, her trademark grin visibly strained, “before the feds change their mind and send you to CPS.”

-----

              “What do you mean, you’re going?!” Emily demanded.  She and Junior were having a heated argument of some sort in the kitchen, though only Emily’s side of the conversation could be heard from where Dipper and Mabel had been put upon arrival at Junior’s house.

              “What are they even talking about?” asked Rana, the oldest of Junior’s quadruplet children.  Dipper and Mabel were currently sitting in the room she shared with her fellow quadruplet June.  The other two, Ryan and Jonah, had their own rooms for some reason that hadn’t been disclosed to Dipper and Mabel.

              “My guess is that Emily wants to go back to the Shack or police station or wherever Junior’s going,” Dipper said.  “So that she can help with whatever he and Grauntie Angie are doing to get Grunkle Stan out of trouble.”  Rana nodded thoughtfully.  She and her siblings were only ten, but seemed more mature than their ages would suggest.  Rana in particular was the most mature of the group.  Grunkle Stan claimed it was because she was the most like Grauntie Angie, not just in personality, but also in appearance.  She did look eerily like her grandmother, having the same nose, eyes, and hair color.  Even the freckle pattern across her nose and cheeks looked like Grauntie Angie’s.

              “It’s weird that Grandpa Stan got arrested,” Rana said quietly.  “I mean, yeah, he commits crimes all the time, but even when he gets caught, he’s able to talk his way outta it.  Y’know?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  “Do you guys know what he did?”

              “No, not really,” Dipper said.  Rana crossed her arms.

              “Dumb cops,” she muttered.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look, amused despite themselves at how Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s dislike for authorities had spread to their grandchildren.  Rana stood.

              “Where are you going?” Mabel asked.

              “Me?  I’m not goin’ anywhere.”  Rana crossed over to the bedroom’s large window and opened it.  “But you guys are gonna go to the Shack and figure out what’s going on.”

              “Are you sure?” Dipper asked warily.  Rana nodded.

              “Even if Auntie Emily convinces Dad to let her come with him, which probably won’t happen, there’s zero chance either of them will let you guys come along.  But we need all hands on deck for whatever’s happening.”

              “Then why aren’t you coming?” Mabel asked.  She and Dipper got up from the frog-shaped rug they had been sitting on.

              “I’ve gotta make sure no one catches onto the fact you guys are gone.”

              “Good point,” Dipper said with a nod.

              “Now, get going.  You’ve got the best chance of sneaking out while Auntie Emily and Dad are still arguing,” Rana said firmly.  Dipper and Mabel walked over to the window.

              “Are you sure this is safe?” Dipper asked.

              “Oh, yeah.  June and I climb down it all the time.  It makes Dad really angry,” Rana said cheerfully.  She tossed one end of a rope out the window.  “Use this.”

              With Rana holding the other end of the rope, Dipper and Mabel successfully exited through the window and climbed down to the ground.  When all four feet were on the neatly trimmed grass, Rana pulled the rope back up.  She saluted Dipper and Mabel before closing the window and disappearing from view.  Dipper looked at Mabel.

              “You ready?” he asked.  Mabel held up her grappling hook.

              “Always.”

              “Where were you keeping that?”

              “I have my secrets,” Mabel said airily.  She tucked her grappling hook inside one of her voluminous sweater sleeves.  “Let’s go.”

-----

              Dipper and Mabel crashed through the already broken window in the attic of the Shack.  They tumbled onto the floor.

              “I told you it would come in handy again,” Mabel said to Dipper.  Dipper held a finger to his mouth, shushing her.  “I told you it would come in handy again,” she whispered.  Dipper rolled his eyes.

              “I never said it wouldn’t,” he whispered back.

              “You didn’t need to.  I could tell that was what you were thinking.  Twin telepathy.”  Mabel put her grappling hook away again.  “Anyways.  We need to find the surveillance tapes, right?”

              “Yeah,” Dipper said, deciding to go with the subject change.  “They should be in his office.”  Mabel nodded.  The two quietly went over to the door of the attic and opened it as silently as they could.  They stared down the darkened staircase.  No government agents stood at the foot of the stairs, nor could they hear anyone moving around on the first floor.  They tiptoed down, carefully avoiding the particularly creaky stair, arriving at the first floor without incident.  Voices suddenly sounded.  Dipper and Mabel hurried away from the approaching agents, sneaking down the hall to Grunkle Stan’s office, and closing the door behind them.  Dipper held up his fist.  Mabel obliged with a friendly fist bump.

              “Okay, where would Grunkle Stan hide the surveillance tapes?” Dipper muttered to himself, scanning the furniture in the office.  He perused the bookshelf.  Some of the books were very scientific in nature, likely belonging to Grauntie Angie.  “Or…where would Grauntie Angie hide the surveillance tapes?”

              “Probably somewhere fun and kooky,” Mabel said, closing the file cabinet she had been inspecting.  She gasped and pointed at the jackelope head on the wall, which had a crooked antler.  “Wait!  The antellabbit!”

              “Uh, don’t you mean ‘jackalope’?” Dipper asked.  Mabel scoffed.

              “That can’t be right.”  She walked over to the jackalope and stood on her tiptoes to grab the antler, pulling it into the correct position.  The section of the wall the jackalope was mounted on promptly turned around, revealing two old-school TV monitors and a tape player.  The top monitor showed a live feed of the cameras in the gift shop, while the bottom one was black, reflecting their faces back at them.  A cardboard box sat in an alcove directly below the tape player.

              “Yes!” Dipper and Mabel cheered together.

              “And the one from this week is already in!” Mabel said, pointing to the VCR tape partially in the tape player.  She pushed it in the rest of the way.  Promptly, video appeared on the lower monitor’s screen.

              Wendy and Mabel watched Soos do the worm dance on the floor of the Gift Shop.

              “Go!  Go!  Go!  Go!” Wendy and Mabel chanted together.

              “Someone said ‘wormy dance’,” Mabel said airily to Dipper.  “We had to!  Fast forward.”  Dipper grabbed the remote off the top of the tape player and pressed the fast forward button, zooming through multiple hours.  When he let go, the Gift Shop was occupied only by Grunkle Stan, who was cheerfully putting away new merchandise.  Yesterday’s date was in the top corner of the screen, along with the time, nine at night.

              “There it is!” Dipper enthused.  “He was restocking like he said!  And the date and time show it was last night!”  There was a knock at the door.  Mabel and Dipper looked over before realizing it had come from the surveillance tape.  They looked back at the TV.  On the video, Grunkle Stan stopped stocking and walked over to the door.  He opened it.  Whoever had knocked wasn’t visible from this angle, but Grunkle Stan was clearly expecting them.

              “I was starting to get worried,” Grunkle Stan said.  “You took your sweet-ass time.”

              “Ignoring the swear,” Dipper muttered under his breath.

              The person at the door held out a box.  Grunkle Stan took the box from them.

              Mabel let out a soft gasp.  Dipper nodded silently.  He saw it, too.  Whoever was at the door had enormous, webbed hands. 

              “Why are you around here, looking like that?” Grunkle Stan asked.  “It’s dangerous.  Those government guys are still sniffing around.”  The person at the door replied, but no individual words could be made out.  “Wait.  Really?”  Grunkle Stan looked down at the box in horror.  “Okay.  Lemme take care of the security cameras real quick, then.”  Grunkle Stan handed the box back, glanced at the security camera, and then walked behind the counter.  He reached under the counter.

              The screen went black, only for the picture to come back a few seconds later.

              Grunkle Stan was in the same place he’d been at the start of the video.  Grauntie Angie was with him.  They sang along to the radio on the oldies station as they restocked.  Grauntie Angie leaned in to kiss Grunkle Stan on the cheek, making him chuckle.  The time in the corner indicated it was now past midnight.

              The mysterious box was nowhere to be seen.

              “Okay, so maybe Grunkle Stan got a mysterious thing from someone who probably wasn’t human,” Mabel said, “but that doesn’t mean he’s got nefarious plans or whatever!”  Dipper pulled out the cardboard box underneath the tape player.

              “He’s definitely hiding something,” Dipper said firmly.  He picked up a folded piece of paper from the box.

              “What’s that?” Mabel asked.  Dipper unfolded the piece of paper.  “A note?”  Dipper’s eyes widened.  He recognized the words’ fanciful font.

              “Not just any note.  A note from the Author!”

              “Whoa, what?!”  Mabel gaped at the note.  “What’s it say?”

              “Angie, when I asked you to look at my notes, I meant for you to go over the research I have done since you have been on maternity leave, not write unfairly harsh criticisms about my journal as a whole.  I believe I have been supplying more than enough field notes to make my research replicable, but perhaps we can discuss it in person once you’ve returned.  In the meantime, please keep your comments about my work focused upon what I requested.”  Dipper looked over at Mabel.  She seemed just as shocked as him.  “Mabel…this is- this is confirmation of what I’ve been saying!  Grauntie Angie, she knew the Author!”

              “I guess…” Mabel mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the revelation.  She shook her head.  “But would Grauntie Angie hide such an important thing from us?  She doesn’t keep secrets like Grunkle Stan!”

              “We’ve never asked her about the Author,” Dipper pointed out.  “She’s been gone for so much of the summer.”  His eyes widened.  “I bet it’s all connected!  She’s been gone so much because she’s doing things related to the Author or- or the Journal!”

              “Time to take off your conspiracy hat, Dipper,” Mabel said, taking his baseball cap off his head.  Dipper scowled and grabbed it back before putting it on again.  “Grauntie Angie has to do science stuff out of state!  Emily showed us pictures of her speaking at a conference!  Not everything goes back to the Author and the Journal.”

              “In this town, it feels like it does,” Dipper muttered.  He looked down at the box.  “Whoa.”

              “What?” Mabel asked, looking inside the box as well.  “Oh, wow!  Look at all these pictures!”

              “Grunkle Stan posing with Bigfoot?” Dipper said, flabbergasted, picking up one of the Polaroid photographs.  Mabel picked up another one.

              “Here’s Grauntie Angie and Grunkle Stan with the Gobblewonker!”  She frowned.  “But the Gobblewonker was just one of Old Man McGucket’s old robots that went haywire.”

              “Apparently not.”  Dipper and Mabel sat on the floor, going through the photos together.  Each one had either Grauntie Angie or Grunkle Stan with a magical creature.  A few even had one of their kids present.  At the bottom of the box, buried underneath the photographs, were two pieces of paper.  Dipper picked one up.

              “What is it?” Mabel asked.

              “An old newspaper article,” Dipper said.  He scanned the clipping.  “It’s just from when the Mystery Shack opened.”  He frowned.  “Didn’t Grunkle Stan say that he got Manly Dan to build the Shack?”

              “Yeah.  Why?”

              “This says that the Shack used to belong to someone else.”

              “Who?”

              “It doesn’t say.”

              “Maybe he just forgot?” Mabel suggested.  “He’s an old man, he forgets things!”  Dipper picked up the other piece of paper.  “What’s that one?”

              “It says ‘secret code to hideout’ on it,” he said, inspecting the paper.  On the paper was a graph, consisting of two columns and four rows of boxes.  The top two boxes read “A” and “1”, the left second row box read “B”, and the two boxes in the third row read “C” and “3”.  The remaining boxes were blank.

              “Why would Grunkle Stan need a hideout that has a secret code?” Mabel asked.  Dipper scowled.

              “It probably has to do with why the government showed up and the person on the tape.”  He pulled out the Journal and his portable blacklight, flipping through the pages hurriedly, to no avail.  “‘A1, B, C3’…I’ve never seen a code like this.”  Mabel looked over his shoulder and gasped.

              “Wait!  I have!  Dipper, it’s the vending machine!”

-----

              As Dipper and Mabel sprinted through the Shack towards the Gift Shop, they could hear what seemed like every government agent leaving.  They burst into the Gift Shop.

              “Soos!” they cried out in delight upon seeing the man standing in front of the vending machine.  Soos gasped.

              “Kids!” he said happily.  “Where have you been?”

              “What are you doing here?” Dipper asked.

              “Dr. Angie called me and told me to protect this vending machine until Junior showed up.”  Soos chuckled softly.  “I didn’t realize she was such a fan of snacks.”

              “Soos, listen,” Dipper said.  “Something huge is going on here, and it all goes back to the vending machine.  I need you to step aside.”

              “Yeah,” Mabel chimed in, “let us through so we can prove this is all just a big misunderstanding.”  Soos sighed.

              “Guys, I know this seems crazy, but I promised Dr. Angie I’d guard the vending machine with my life.”  He smiled weakly at them.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.  Dipper nodded solemnly.

              “I’m sorry, Soos,” Mabel said, stepping forward.  Before Soos could say anything else, she blew a handful of glitter into his face.  Soos let out a shout.

              “Attack glitter!  It’s pretty, but it hurts!”  While he tried to rub the glitter out of his eyes, Dipper darted around him, quickly pressing the “A”, “1”, “B”, “C”, and “3” buttons on the vending machine’s keypad.  The vending machine swung forward as though on hinges, knocking Soos, Dipper, and Mabel to the floor.  As they looked up, they gasped.  A secret staircase had been revealed behind the vending machine.  They got to their feet.  “I guess that’s why Dr. Angie wanted me to protect the vending machine.”

              “We don’t have any time to lose,” Dipper said firmly.  Soos nodded.

              “I’ll lead the way, dudes,” he said.  He headed down the staircase, marveling.  “It’s like something from a video game.”

              “Or a dream,” Mabel said.

              “Or a nightmare,” Dipper said glumly.  As the vending machine closed behind them, a pickup truck pulled up outside.

-----

              Soos, Dipper, and Mabel exited the underground elevator, entering a room that looked eerily familiar.

              “It’s just like the bunker in the woods,” Dipper said, looking around at the machinery and blinking lights.  There was a large observation window on the far wall, across from the entrance to the lab.  Visible through the observation window was an enormous, glowing machine in the shape of an upside-down triangle.  An ominous hum permeated the air.

              “What is it doing under the Mystery Shack?” Soos asked.

              “Maybe it’s Grauntie Angie’s,” Mabel suggested.  “She’s a scientist, it makes sense she’d have a lab.  Right?”  Dipper walked over to a desk below the observation window.  He immediately clenched his jaw.

              “The other two journals?” he demanded, staring at the books that lay on the desk before him.  “All this time, they were right here?  I can’t believe it!”  He kicked the desk in frustration.  “Why would Stan have those journals?!”

              “Maybe Dr. Angie had them the whole time,” Soos suggested.  “Maybe she’s the Author.”

              “She’s not,” Mabel said, sounding sad.  “But she knew him.”

              “She did?” Soos asked.

              “We found a note for Grauntie Angie that the Author wrote.”

              “Do you think she knows what happened to him?” Soos asked.  Mabel shrugged.  Dipper set the third journal down on the desk and flipped it open to the page he had theorized was a blueprint for some sort of machine.  He flipped through the other two journals, finding similar pages in them, then arranged them until they had become a drawing of the very machine visible through the observation window.  He turned on his portable black light.  Soos, Dipper, and Mabel gasped at the writing now visible on the journals’ pages.

              “Whoa,” Mabel breathed.  Dipper swallowed nervously and began to read aloud from the journals.

              “I was wrong the whole time.  The machine was meant to create knowledge but it is too powerful.  It was deceived, and now it is too late.  The device, if fully operational, could tear our universe apart!  It must not fall into the wrong hands.  If the clock ever reaches zero, our universe is doomed!”  All three looked up at the digital clock above the observation window, which had been steadily counting down the entire time they were in the lab.

              “It’s the final countdown!” Soos screamed.  “Just like they always sung about!”

              “There has to be a way to stop it,” Dipper said, flipping through the third journal urgently.  He arrived at a page reading “MANUAL OVERRIDE”.   The three entered the room the observation window looked into.  The ground was beginning to shake.  “There!  That turns it off!” Dipper said, pointing at a pole in front of the machine.  They rushed over.  Dipper flicked a switch on the side of the pole.  The rounded dome on top of the pole popped open, revealing a bright red button.

              “Wait!” a voice shouted.  Dipper paused, his hand an inch above the button.  He, Mabel, and Soos all turned to look at whoever had spoken.

              “Dude,” Soos breathed quietly.  The speaker stepped closer, their mottled green skin glistening in the eerie light of the machine.  “Is that…?”

              “A nixie,” Dipper confirmed.  The nixie, who looked to be female, crossed her arms with a scowl.  She was a foot or so taller than Mr. Ponds, slender while he was stout, and had much longer antennae, as they stretched past her shoulders.  But it was impossible to mistake the frog-like features for anything else.

              “What are you three doing down here?” the nixie asked.  Her voice was sweet and flutelike.

              “I think we should be asking you that,” Dipper said firmly.  “Our great-uncle owns this building.”  The nixie jutted her chin out.

              “Maybe I have permission from your great-uncle to be down here.”

              “Doubt it,” Dipper retorted immediately.  Mabel tugged on his arm.  He looked at her.  “What?”

              “She’s the person who was giving Grunkle Stan the thing in the surveillance video!” Mabel hissed.  Dipper whipped his head back to look at the nixie.  Mabel was right.  The nixie’s hands and arms matched those of the person who delivered the mysterious package last night.

              “Who are you?” Dipper asked.  The nixie stayed silent.

              “What did the Author call the other nixie he knew?” Mabel asked Dipper quietly.  “Mr. Ponds’ wife or mate or whatever?”

              “You think this nixie is B?” Dipper said in a low voice.  Mabel shrugged.

              “Maybe.  I mean, how many nixies are there even in Gravity Falls?”

              “…Fair enough.”  Dipper met the nixie’s eyes.  “Are you B?” he asked.  The nixie didn’t say anything, but the widening of her glowing blue eyes was answer enough.  “You are.”

              “I…”  B uncrossed her arms.  “I haven’t been called that in a while,” she croaked.

              “If you’re B, then that means you’re Mr. Ponds’ mate!” Mabel said eagerly.  B frowned.  “We met him in the Crawlspace when he was selling nixie venom!”

              “…Mr. Ponds?” B said slowly.  She looked over her shoulder.  “Darling, what have you been telling these kids?”  Mr. Ponds emerged from the shadows to stand by his mate’s side.  He was visibly out of breath.

              “Look,” he panted.  He bent over.  “Ugh.  I’m too out of shape to run as much as I just did.”

              “If you went on hikes with me every now and then…”

              “Ang, you know I’m too busy dealing with tour…” Mr. Ponds started.  His eyes widened in horror.  But it was too late.  The three humans’ jaws dropped.

              “No. Way,” Soos breathed.

              “S for Stanley,” Dipper said slowly.  He looked at Mabel, who nodded.

              “B for Banjolina,” she finished.  B, who they now knew to be Grauntie Angie, closed her eyes.

              “Stanley Pines, I swear…”

              “We were planning on telling them anyways, why does it matter I let it slip?” demanded Mr. Ponds, aka Grunkle Stan.  Grauntie Angie glared at him.

              “There’s a lot going on right now!  I’d prefer not to dump everything on them all at once!”

              “I don’t know how it’s possible, but those two are nosier than our own kids.  It’s a miracle we kept the whole frog thing under wraps as long as we did!”

              “You knew the Author!” Dipper burst out.  Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie looked at him.  “You both did!  Why didn’t you say anything when I showed you the Journal?”

              “It’s- it’s a long story, kid,” Grunkle Stan said.

              “Tell us,” Mabel said.  Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie exchanged a pained look.  “Or- or are you gonna lie some more?”  Her voice broke mid-sentence.

              “Okay, yes, we’ve been lying,” Grunkle Stan said.  “And we technically broke the law.”  Grauntie Angie facepalmed.  “But everything we’ve done, everything we’ve sacrificed, it’s been for our family.”

              “A family that includes the three of you,” Grauntie Angie added.  Soos pointed at himself.  “Yes, Jesus, you’re family.  I’ve told you this how many times now?”

              “How can we trust you?” Dipper demanded.  He threw his hands up in the air.  “Clearly the Journal was right when it said not to trust anyone in Gravity Falls!  You guys are- are frog-people!”  He raised his hand over the shutdown button again.  It was too late.

              The timer on the wall reached zero.

              Everything went white.

#Gravity Falls #Nixie AU #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #Emily Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Soos Ramirez #Stangie #Stangie Family #Amphibious Tendencies #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

[heartthrobin]

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

Portraits of grinning faces watched you from the whiteboard.

Women’s eyes twinkling. Husband’s grinning to the camera. At their wedding, in the woods during a camping trip, on a birthday.

"We have fucking nothing!"

Names and dates lined the edges of what used to be treasured memories in red marker. Memories each couple was not around to remember anymore.

"We have the profile." Hotch's voice was stern. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.

Outside, the ocean crashed loudly against the shore. Seagulls gabbled in the distance near the dock.

"You know that's not enough."

Chatham was one of the most influential and wealthy suburbs in Cape Cod, if not the whole state. Discovering strung out bodies on the crisp white beaches almost five times that month wasn't fitting for the shoreline that housed some of the most elaborate mansions in the county.

The BAU had been in Cape Cod for nearly three weeks. Two weeks too long in the bureau's opinion: a view shared by the team.

Derek slammed his hand loudly against the white board, over a photo of a tall, cream, wood-boarded resort sprawled over the edge of the coast. Seagull's Rest: Couples Retreat and Spa.

"Seagull's Rest is the only place that connects them.” He huffed, pressing his finger into the printed photo. “Every day that passes is another honeymooning couple that's in danger."

Emily sighed somewhere behind you. David lingered by the edge of the desk where Spencer was driving his eyes over some Greek mythology textbook, working the human sacrifice angle he’d been insistent on sharing with you over coffee that morning.

Police chatter busied the space between you and the other agents.

"Morgan," you pressed, "we have no idea what that even means. It could be maids, spa staff ... for all we know, it could even be other guests."

The room was warm, bright: through the window you could overlook the ocean. A scene too beautiful to deserve the blood painted across it’s portrait.

Nights dissolved into mornings at the sheriff's station. Coffee mugs finding purchase in the maze of photos, medical reports, staff lists: all leading back to the one place all four couples were spending their vacation.

"You know what this means, don't you?" David's voice carried over from behind you. You turned to face him, his gaze set hard upon Hotch's.

The team leader's jaw was tight.

He looked like he was considering David's words closely, sucking in a breath like it hurt him to do so.

Emily's chair squeaked where she leaned forward in it, "What is he talking about?"

Hotch's narrow eyes turned to face the team again. "We need to go in. Work the case from the inside."

"Undercover?" You probed, jaw loosening in surprise.

The team hadn't worked an undercover project in almost two years. Everyone understood that they were a last resort, when general good-old detective work wasn't doing the trick.  

Hotch nodded stiffly.

"We're gonna need a couple to go in. Two of us. The pair has to match the preference of the unsub."

There was a heavy quiet before a collective understanding, a collective resignation.

"Fine." Derek nodded. He turned to face the board again. "The husbands, what are we looking for?"

"Alpha males, domineering personalities." David lifted a photo off the desk, examining it closer. "All high-power careers, wealthy. They have a handle on these women. Other couple's in the course with them reported the husband being out of touch, unaffectionate."

Spencer rose to stand, "But no specific physical traits. Unlike the women, they share a specific appearance: the hair, the height, the body shape. They all look like—"

Cold passed over your whole body from the highest point on your head. Like ice water had flooded your shoes.

"Like me."

Teeth sunk into the corner of your lip, the metal taste of blood nipped at your tongue.

It was impossible not to feel the weight of the team’s gaze, how they flickered quickly between where you sat and the photos against the board.

Spencer shrugged, nodding slowly. "Yes, like you."

You chuckled softly, missing most of the humor in the situation as you sunk further back into your chair. "I guess that's settled then."

It wouldn't be your first time working undercover, but you couldn’t say you were as experienced as your colleagues.

You'd joined the BAU last, working every possible hour and chasing down every possible lead to try stay in one of the most coveted positions at the bureau.

It definitely wasn't the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Yes, the team was welcoming - Emily worked hard to make you feel at home, empathizing with you about the difficulty of transitioning into such a team: a team that knows each other's every move and every thought before they themselves have moved or thought - and Spencer was always a friendly face.

Derek was considerate and David was a genius in the line of duty, a marvel to watch work.

What really made it difficult, was Hotch.

In the beginning, he was wary of you. You could feel him lingering when you worked, every decision you made or observation you gathered was held under the magnifying glass of Aaron Hotchner.

With time, he eased up. Trusted you with more, scrutinized over less.

It was then that the next - considerably more concerning - problem began, when you began to miss having his presence over your shoulder.

When your eyes began to linger over his hands where they rested on his holster, or fixate quietly when he brought that steaming morning mug to his lips - sipping oh, so gently.

You were so sure he'd kiss with the same tenderness. The thought kept you up at night.

The feelings you so embarrassingly held for your boss were pushed deep into the corners of your brain.

You felt secure in the knowledge that you acted as casual as possible. Nobody had mentioned anything, and the thought of Hotch ever catching even an inkling of an idea would be enough to never walk back into BAU headquarters ever again.

The only person who really knew anything was Emily.

It had slipped after a drunken night out, on the couch in her apartment, your fat tears staining her blouse: "he's so fucking hot I can't do this!"

And there he was. Silhouette dark against the cast of the sunlight through the window, looking down at you from his towering height. "You're sure you're ready for this?"

His voice wrapped carefully around your throat and you almost choked on its softness.

You coughed instead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded once, turning back to Derek. "The male?"

Derek shook his head, "Rossi and I went over there a couple days ago to question the owners. They know we're FBI."

The room turned to Spencer, who blinked big hazel eyes at the room innocuously.

You did little to suppress the giggle that bubbled out from your chest. Your heart knocked loudly when you felt Hotch's eyes flicker over his shoulder back at you.

"You wanna be our dominant alpha, Reid?" Emily's lips tugged into a playful grin, clicking the end of her pen loudly.

Soft laughter permeated the room, David knocked Spencer’s shoulder teasingly.

Spencer flushed a light pink, his gaze finding purchase at the open space between his two feet. "Yes. Very funny."

It took more than a few seconds for you to realize that without Spencer, there stood only one other possible candidate.

Your eyes climbed the length of Hotch's long black blazer sleeve. When you reached the top you found him already looking at you. You shivered.

"I suppose that means it’s me then."

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you found Emily staring right at you - a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth.

"Mr and Mrs Hotchner." David chirped, a mischievous edge to his words. "Congratulations."

You managed to squeak out a sarcastic "thanks Rossi" but Hotch stayed quiet. It made you want to sink into the crevice of your desk chair.

Instead, he turned back to Spencer.

"Get Garcia on the line. She needs to set up aliases and get us registered for the next couple's course as soon as possible."

Spencer nodded once before disappearing into the next room wordlessly.

Next, he turned to you - sucking all the breath out your lungs.

God, he made it so hard to act normal when he showed up in that fucking suit and that perfectly professional haircut.

"I want you to go over the backgrounds of the women again. Get a feel for the unsub's preference, there may be a personality type that he likes best. I'll do the same with the men." You nodded, going to stand and finding yourself always just a little too far from his chest.

"While we're away, the rest of you need to work off the intel we feed. Let's solve this before there's more bodies."

Agents began moving in every direction: out the door, back towards boxes of evidence, but Emily crossed the room to you: eyes wide and alight with mischief.

She grabbed your hand, pulling you from the room and leaving Hotch behind. "This is going to be so fucking good."

Your stomach churned.

-

Just shy of two days later, you found yourself sitting in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz - god knows the bureau has its ways - only two streets down from Shellshore drive, where tucked into the curve sat Seagull's Rest: the beautiful lodge on the Cape Cod coast that offered couple's courses for new and old marriages that delve into the depths of the soul and connect partners in love and touch.

At least that's what the pamphlet said as it stared up at you from your lap.  

It sat at the top of the stack of case files, documents and photos hidden beneath. You pulled out the ID from the midst of the stack.

The photo you'd taken the previous afternoon glimmered up at you: Mrs Eleanor Thompson.

With less than a couple inches of space dividing you, in the driver's seat, sat Hotch.

Penelope was talking over the car speaker.

"I signed you guys up for the Honeymooner's Retreat. It's six days long, but I'm sure you'll be out by then. There are five other couples doing this course with you, you'll find their names in the documents I sent. All their records are clean."

"Garcia, I want you to cross reference all the course instructors with anybody who has—"

Hotch's voice faded from your surroundings, your brain stuttering electrically as your eyes raked over his outfit.

A tight fit black polo that was hugging his chest and chino pants begging for relief over those long thighs.

The last two days had been painful.

You'd slept almost nothing: tossing and turning for hours over the idea that you'd soon be in much closer proximity to Aaron Hotchner than you'd ever been. Too close.

Emily had tried to calm you down, "just ... focus on the case, okay? whatever happens happens."

It was easy for her to say.

Her legs didn't liquify every time Hotch sent small praise her way, like they did on you, and she didn’t have flashing images of taking care of him in the way he never does himself plague her in the small moments of quiet throughout her day.

Making him breakfast, or taking his blazer off after a long case ... undoing the buttons down his shirt—

"They're expecting you for check in at five o clock."

Your eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard, it blinked red at you: 16:47

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yeah," you added quickly, "Thanks Garcia."

"Good luck lovebirds." The teasing lilt in her voice did nothing to calm the high power washing machine your stomach had transformed to.

Heat rushed over your face.

You could feeling Hotch watching you from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Sliding your stack of pages into the Louis Vutton handbag at your feet, you forced a smile to press up into your lips.

"To marry you, Hotch?" You feigned a soft sigh, "I've only waited all my life."

The bubbling in your stomach simmered only slightly when Hotch rolled his eyes, what was almost a smile teasing at his lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

The car rumbled to a start beneath you, the expensive engine purring.

"We know what to look for. Keep your eyes on the guests, the instructors, anybody we interact with."

It was hard to focus on Hotch's advice when his wide hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

But you nodded anyways.

It felt like less than a few seconds before the car was being pulled into a luxurious white cobblestone driveway. A sign etched in ivory-coloured wood overhead marked the road: Welcome to Seagull’s Rest.

Bellboys stood in the distance under a grand arched entrance in cream uniforms, luxury cars stretched out in every direction of the parking lot.

The car rumbled to a stop. A valet attendant was already approaching before you’d even a second to gather what was left of your courage.

Hotch turned to you, slow and deliberate as was his manner, leaning precariously over the console. "Remember, we're being watched."

The door opened abruptly on your side, you glanced up to meet the face of the young man holding open the door. He couldn't be older than twenty.

He smiled. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Seagull's Rest."

Your eyes flickered back as Hotch climbed out from the other side, you smiled up at the boy before lifting the end of the olive-green sundress you'd been coerced into wearing and stepped out.

Hotch had rounded the car before you'd even straightened out. He tossed the keys at the attendant.

You were taken aback by how quickly he could escape his usually impeccable manners.

"Be careful with the luggage. There's things in there worth twelve times your salary."

You sucked in a sharp breath when he took your hand into his, sliding his fingers between yours. His palm was pressed so firmly you thought you might collapse.

He made matters worse when he cleared his throat loudly, "Come on, honey, let's go."

The reception was a bright open room, preceded by a tall oak arch, and a high ceiling loomed over the expensive wood of the front desk.

A small framed woman stood behind it, smiling as you approached. "Good afternoon, welcome to Seagull's Rest."

Hotch only nodded curtly in greeting, pulling you abruptly up against his side so that his hand wrapped over your waist. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart thumping hysterically against your ribs.

"James and Eleanor Thompson." He grumbled, "We're here for the Honeymooner's Retreat."

"Of course sir, if I could see some identification please?"

Hotch slid over the two fake ID's and the woman began to tap away at the computer.

Your eyes slid up to the view from the window beyond the desk, how the sun was almost setting over the ocean visible through the crystal-clear window.

Unsure if it was driven by purpose or simply instinct, your arms snaked up to rest around Hotch's hips, letting your head lull against the side of his chest just softly.

His chest swelled. You tried not to read into it.

"Baby," it took a moment, presumable for Hotch to realize you were referring to him, but he hummed in response, not looking down at you.

"Hm?"

You motioned to the window, "Look how beautiful it is. You couldn't have chosen a better spot."

Instead of Hotch, the woman at the front desk spoke in response.

"We boast one of the best spots along our coast. The morning yoga sessions are spectacular if that's something you enjoy, and we have cocktail evening tonight at our restaurant on the beach." Her voice dripped in sugar, sliding the two ID's and the keycard to the room back over the counter.

"That sounds wonderful—"

Hotch's stern voice pierced through your own, "Yes, well, we'll see."

The woman - Leslie, as her tag suggested - glanced carefully between Hotch and yourself. She offered you a quietly sympathetic look before meeting Hotch's face again.

"Y-Yes, of course sir."

You stayed quiet after that, allowing her to direct James and Eleanor to their room. Second floor at the end of the hallway.

Hotch huffed dramatically, grabbing the cards from the desk.

His hand slid from your waist and you almost had enough time to mourn the loss of his warmth against your side before that large hand wove itself back between yours - simultaneously warming and chilling every blood vessel in your body.

Hotch pulled you in the direction of the elevator. Nothing was said between you, only the swish of your dress and the heavy step of his leather shoes against the floors.

You two followed the corridor as instructed, gaze flickering curiously up to your fake husband every few moments before your interest caught the better of you.

"You're a little too good at playing the asshole, James." Your hand squeezed gently against his, "Something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind."

The luggage was already waiting at the foot of the bed when Hotch pushed the door open, allowing you to step in first.

A gasp escaped you.

The room had to be the most exquisite thing you’d seen in all your life.

It was lined in crisp white and cream decor, a velvet couch along the one wall and a sprawling balcony that overlooked the ocean - the sound of the waves filling every crevice of the space.

There was a thud and you turned to find Hotch opening his briefcase, pulling out the neatly packed pressed shirts that lay within.

"Hotch—"

Quicker than it took you to blink in fright, Hotch's hand closed over your mouth. He shook his head, tapping his ear. "Wires." He mouthed.

You nodded quickly, feeling stupid.

His hand dropped and embarrassment flushed hot over your neck. You looked away from him.

This wasn't a holiday and Hotch wasn't your husband.

Eight people were dead.

Unease burnt at your chest, the same kind that had been building with every passing day and every piling body. You moved in silent to unpack your own handbag where you'd placed your files.

Hotch watched you carefully, as you leaned over the bag - silhouette forming against the red and purple tones of the picturesque sky behind you.

He stared a little longer than necessary, capturing the view to his mind.

It was something he found himself doing too often. Whenever he could find a moment, an excuse. His gaze would linger on your frame, your face.

When your fingers would twitch against your necklace or when you laughed a little too loudly for the Quantico office when Spencer told his terrible, very specifically not funny jokes.

But he was Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and nothing if not the epitome of professionalism.

He planted himself far enough from the line to where he could go about his day and pretend like he didn't lose sleep at night thinking about you.

"James, did you pack the charger?" Your voice was loud, but wavered slightly. You didn't look up to his face as you usually did.

Hotch tried to convince himself that he didn’t notice.

"Yes, honey, it's in the side pocket."

There was no charger and definitely no need to ask about one besides making casual conversation in the case that wires tapped the room.

Reminded of the very real circumstance, Hotch abandoned the shirts on the bed to move around the room.

Behind him you were doing the same.

He lifted lamp shades, checked under drawers, desks and the headboard for any listening device that could have been planted before they came in.

You shuffled around behind the television stand and at the railings of the curtain before slipping into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes passed in silence before Hotch climbed back to his feet from where he was crouched down under the bed frame.

"We should be in the clear." He announced to you where you still occupied the bathroom.

"Check what I found." You emerged, sundress flittering around your ankles.

He cursed the sway of the material. Somehow you'd arrived in that green dress to the sheriff's station and it had made every nerve connecting his body to his brain turn fuzzy and the man of steel that was Aaron Hotchner was having a harder time than usual keeping his eyes to himself.

You waved a white envelope at him, "It was stuck to the window."

Hotch took it from you, it was addressed to a Mr and Mrs Thompson.

"That's us." He muttered, finger sliding to break its seal.

You stood against his side, close enough to read the letter where he slid it out but also just close enough to make Hotch's head spin from the waft of your perfume.

Good afternoon Mr J and Mrs E Thompson,

We welcome you to Seagull's Rest and want to thank you for choosing to participate in our Honeymooner's Retreat. The next few days will work to strengthen the bond of love and trust between any new married couple, and of course up the intimacy!

Tonight we will be hosting a champagne evening where you will be afforded the opportunity to meet the couples that you'll be spending the next six days with.

Meet us at the Pelican Perch Restaurant on floor 1 at six o clock. We look forward to meeting you!

Kindly, Seagull Rest Staff.

The page crinkled beneath his fingers.

"This is perfect." He muttered, looking sideways at you. "It'll give us a chance to see the unsub in a social environment if he's here."

The unknown subject (unsub) was clarified before you and Hotch had left the station that morning.

David's voice still rung in his ears:

"Someone who is calm and casual in social settings, easy to get along with but holds a position that allows people to trust them. It's what he uses to lure two people at a time to their deaths."

You glanced up at the antique clock on the wall hanging above the television. "That means we should leave soon."

Hotch nodded, "Leave the packing, we'll do that when we get back."

The sun was disappearing behind the glittering ocean surface when the door shut behind you and Hotch again.

His hand slipped down over your wrist before sliding into your grasp, between your fingers and over your knuckles.

Hotch could spend all night convincing himself that holding your hand was imperative to maintaining your cover because you were married and that was in the best interest of the case, but it would still do little to calm the way his heart began to beat from his throat when your grip tightened gently around his.

You made small talk on the walk down to the restaurant, as any couple would.

Mentioning the spa and the interior designs of the glamorous hallways you passed on the walk down to the Pelican Perch restaurant on the water.

The views of the lodging was almost nothing compared to when you two walked under the green vine archway into the restaurant.

Hotch heard your little gasp beside him and was sure it made his heart grow two sizes.

Above your heads hung a glittering maze of white fairy lights overviewing a large wooden floor with tables set in every corner. The bar glittered with bottles of every colour, size and shape that lined the shelves and the wide stacking doors were opened out onto the shoreline.

A soft jazz played and near the center of the room, ten chairs were stacked in a semi-circle around a small podium.

"This is so beautiful." You whispered, almost so soft he didn't hear it.

He looked down at you, enamored by the way the lights reflected off your eyes and your lips were parted in surprise.

"It is." But his eyes never left you.

Already, three or four couples had taken seats, keening over each other as if they two were the only people in the room.

It was almost six. Hotch tugged your hand gently in the direction of the expensive looking chairs, leaning down close to your ear: "Keep your eyes on the people."

You giggled as if he'd said something naughty, putting on a good show for the surrounding guests before leaning down to sit.

The lull of the music in the room almost convinced you that it was all real.

That as you sat and Hotch settled his arm over your thighs, pulling you close against him: that it was because he wanted, not needed, to be there.

Your eyes flickered over the people, a man and a woman were ushering people to take their seats and a tall thin waiter was sauntering around with a tray of champagne glasses.

You took two from his tray, handing the other to Hotch. He gave you a look to remind you to be careful, you could practically hear him chiding "remember, we're on the job."

The champagne was as close to velvet as you'd ever tasted, sliding down your throat far too easily as the man and woman took to the podium in front of you.

The room quietened.

"Good evening to all our lovely young couples!" The man's voice was smooth, warm.

He was older, every spit of hair from his body a stark shining white. The woman was the same, they matched the decor of the resort in the cream beach sets they adorned.

Wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled, "We're so glad to have you with us. Thirty years ago, we opened the Seagull's Rest to help any couple who felt they needed a place to connect with nature and each other, and since then it's become not only a home to us - but a home to every couple who steps through our doors."

You met Hotch's eye. Owners.

Laurie and Howard Ralph. The founders of the Seagull's Rest.

Howard spoke again: "every class is taught by a qualified, friendly and helpful instructor to make you feel safe in what Laurie and I like to call the education of love."

You'd seen their photos in files and on your tablet, somehow they looked even more pretentious in person.

While you knew you weren't looking for an unsub team, their demeanors didn't put them completely out of range for being possibly responsible.

At least that's as far as your brain could conjure up with Hotch's wide thumb rubbing circles into the side of your thigh - a motion you weren’t entirely convinced he realized he was making.

"We'd like to start off the evening with a few introductions, just to break the ice between you."

They were looking down the line of people, pointing to a Hispanic couple closest to the edge. "How about you two? Tell us your names, where you're from, how you met and your favourite thing about your partner."

The man stuttered, looking to his wife for support. She smiled up at him and you couldn't help the momentary swooping ache to have somebody to look at in that warm, soft way.

"Well I'm Alice and this is my husband Marco." She patted him fondly on the chest, "We're from New York."

"We met when we were kids, we lived next door to each other for fifteen years." The husband was a shyer speaker, but his adoration for his wife leaked through his words. "Before she left for college I asked her to be my girlfriend. The rest is history, I guess."

Laurie and Howard smiled plastically, like the grin was surgically attached there.

"That's lovely, and your favourite thing about one another?" Laurie pressed, before adding, "Remember ladies and gentlemen, this experience is about making yourself vulnerable to each other and to yourself!"

"I love how he can make me feel brand new after a terrible day."

"I love the way she knows me in little ways that nobody else does."

Slowly, the couples spoke down the line.

You were introduced to the Taylors, the Andersons, the Fletchers, the Schmidts.

As the line drew shorter, your breath grew faster.

Of course you knew your story, you'd had it drilled into your brain for the last two days, but your favourite thing about Hotch?

No, you corrected yourself, not Hotch. James.

Your brain fished for a lie, dipping past the bundles of things you loved about Hotch that could so easily be picked from the bush.

But would it be so out of line to admit something honest, something he'd never even realize was true?

Eyes fell on you.

Hotch cleared his throat, his grip over your thigh tightened.

"We're the Thompsons. I'm James  and this is Eleanor. We're from Colorado."

His voice was strong, stern. Someone who didn't know Hotch might say it was how he always sounded, but there he held a jagged edge to his tone. "We met at—"

"Woah, woah," Howard interrupted, chuckling nervously. "James, you're running a bit away with us here. Why don't you let your wife tell us how you met?"

Hotch mustered the audacity to look affronted. "Alright."

You fought hard to suppress a laugh. Hotch was an abnormally good actor.

He turned to you, "Darling?"

You sighed, practically scribbling ditzy airhead over your forehead and lifting a hand to fiddle with the buttons on his polo, "Well, I met James in my last year at college—"

"Screwing the professor, very classy."

The whisper came from somewhere to your left and surprised you.

It was soft enough that you were sure Howard and Laurie hadn't heard.

The look on Hotch's face, however, proved that he had. He'd grown completely stiff under your hand.

You fought to regain composure, "H-He was working at a law firm that I was doing an internship at. It was love at first sight, right baby?" You patted his chest slowly.

He nodded, eyes darting anywhere but you.

The owners nodded, urging you to continue. "That's beautiful."

You looked up, met with the side of Hotch's face - he didn't look like he was going to speak first.

"My favourite thing about James is ..." your mind flickering between some cliché or just spitting out what you really wanted to. "The way he looks out for me. Always makes sure I'm safe, even if it's risking himself."

It was mild enough to pass off for just a casual comment but nearly specific enough that if he knew how you felt that he'd catch on.

He pulled his gaze from where it was fixated on the foot of the podium, sinking it into yours and making the room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

"My favourite thing about Eleanor is her laugh."

It was short and sweet and deep down you really hoped it was laced in truth.

By the time you looked away from your partner, the introductions had already moved down a couple. Judging by the way the tall blonde woman who'd just announced herself as Jade Atkins was staring at you, you could already gage that she'd been the one to make the professor comment.

You could still feel Hotch's anger radiating off of him. He was hard, tense and his jaw was set tightly.

Hotch was older than you, sure. You knew that.

It was one of the things that assured - plagued - you that he would never reciprocate your feeling.

He was mature and worldly, handsome in a way no man you knew could even remotely compare.

You were younger, not that much, but still. Enough that you could be looked at sideways by stuck-up bitches like Jade Atkins.

You knew you'd never be afforded a chance ... but then why did Hotch look so angry?

He knew he was older, but he also had to know that he left a trail of swooning women wherever he went?

"James ..." you whispered.

He looked quickly down at you, clearly of the impression that it was enough of a response.

"What's wrong?"

The word looked like they hurt forcing itself from his mouth. "Nothing."

You bit the corner of your bottom lip slowly, turning over his response in your mind.

Before you could find the sense to stop yourself, you reached up and took Hotch's jaw into your grasp, pulling it down closer to your face.

Following hesitantly until he was practically leaning over, you whispered into his ear: "ignore her, she just wishes her husband wasn't a cheating alcoholic."

You pressed a warm peck against his upper cheek, close to his eye and pretended that the brush of his almost-there stubble didn't make your heart swoop down into your stomach.

Letting go, Hotch straightened out again. He looked calmer, almost like he could smile.

His eyes flickered over the man, taking in his form. It took him a moment before he whispered back, "You're right."

Within a couple minutes, the last of the couples finished their introductions and the Ralph's were speaking again.

"Thank you all, again, for coming. Please, spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, enjoying more of our champagne—"

"Imported straight from France!" Howard interjected and the couples laughed sporadically,

"—and savor the rest of your week."

Around you, couples rose from their seats. You detangled yourself from Hotch and did the same.

Initially, you had the full intention of floating around the room together, connected at the arm to analyze the guests quietly.

However, almost immediately, the women had dissected from their husbands to form a small group by the balcony.

The men had done the same, converging near the bar.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to Hotch for further instruction.

He nods towards the women, "You should go join them."

Your face crinkled in reluctance, "Don't make me go over there, James ... our friend isn't even supposed to be a woman."

Amusement was alight in his brown eyes, but his mouth remained a thin line.

"Then," he almost made you jump when his wide hand closed softly over your cheek, dragging the side of his thumb down your face, "go enjoy the company. I'll focus on the men."

Sparked by Hotch's warm touch, slightly dizzy on it, you nodded softly before turning to the women.

It was cool out on the balcony and the women greeted when you joined the circle.

You took a long gulp from your second glass of champagne, listening only half-committed to Patricia Anderson's story about their new condo on the Los Angeles beachfront.

"So, Eleanor was it?"

Recognizing the voice as the one who'd whispered brashly behind you not more than twenty minutes previously, you turned to the woman.

Your grip tightened around your champagne glass.

"Yes. Jenna, right?"

The woman gathered the nerve to look affronted, her tennis skirt swayed with the breeze over long bronzed legs.

"Jade, actually. Jade Atkins." She cleared her throat, "My husband is Richard Atkins, he owns all the Sonja Hotels north of the equator, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Another woman - Anne Schmidt - indulged her. "That's amazing, Elijah and I stayed there a couple months ago in Switzerland."

Jade nodded, looking proud, but seemingly intent on swerving the conversation your way.

"Speaking of husbands, yours is quite the catch isn't he?" The chatter of the other women dimmed slightly, the wives sensing the change of direction.

Taking another necessarily big gulp of your champagne, you nodded. "Indeed."

"He's very handsome ... how did you manage to tie him down?"

Her words dripped in condescension.

"Just got lucky, what can I say?"

Jade nodded, twisting a long golden strand between her fingers. Heat was beginning to curl at your cheeks.

"And he's so much older," she laughed airily, lifting her glass to sip at her drink, "but I guess that life insurance money makes him all the more attractive, hey?"

"Oh definitely. He also got a huge penis which helps."

Jade choked loudly around her glass and the women around you burst into fits of high-pitched laughter.

"Don't mind her," Imani Taylor pulled you aside, "All the Botox has gone to her brain."

You smiled kindly at her.

"So a lawyer you said, what's that like?"

Across the room, Hotch was sitting through a similar game of verbal tennis.

A circus of who's car is newer, bigger, better, who's company makes more money or sells more stocks.

He doubted he'd ever been so bored. That's maybe why his eyes flickered so often to where you were talking animatedly with a short woman in a hijab.

A heavy hand against his shoulder sucked him back into the conversation.

A sandy-topped man who Hotch quickly identified as Elijah Schmidt was patting him boyishly, "Don't worry about the girl, Thompson."

He didn't love the idea of you being referred to as girl but said nothing on it.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head vaguely. "Got to keep on eye on them. She can barely feed herself most days, only knows how to spend my money and crash my cars."

The words were bitter, like hot bile on his tongue but he insisted on maintaining a mutual expression. Nobody promised that playing an asshole was going to be any fun.

A handful of the men grimaced at his comment, while the rest just tutted offhandedly.

While the men were far from the nicest he'd met, in the couple minutes he'd spent with them, Hotch was almost sure that his unsub was not among them.

Despite most of their more than patchy backgrounds - mostly corporate scuffles, dug up by Garcia - none of them spoke with the ease that the suspect needed to have, the charisma and the trustworthy character. Hotch's  energy was better placed elsewhere.

"Barely feed herself?" A gravelly chuckle filled the space, "Sure doesn't look like it."

Hotch's eyes narrowed on the short bald man laughing to himself, glancing over to where you stood across the room - a fat cigar between his fingers.

He recognized him as the man who sat with the woman who'd commented when you spoke. Richard Atkins.

Turning his whole body to the man, towering over his structure, Hotch's face twisted - his stomach contents boiling hot at the comment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pulling at the cigar, the end lighting up, the man shrugged. "Just saying, y'know, she doesn't look like she's skipped a meal anytime recently—"

The expression curling onto Hotch's face must've been cause for alarm, if not the way his fist tightened at his side, because almost immediately two other men stepped in.

One at Richard's side,  "Hey, hey, Richard, that's enough man."

The other patting Hotch's shoulder, "Thompson ... he's had a couple drinks, just let him go."

Richard seemed to find the situation amusing because he was chortling still to himself. "Of course, of course. My bad, just locker-room talk you know. No harm, no foul."  

Seething white anger was tugging on every muscle in his body, and he fought hard to maintain composure - taking a cautionary step towards Richard Atkins.

"I'd watch how you talk about my wife if I were you. Otherwise we're going to have a problem."

Atkins only huffed, turning back to his friend and his cigar. The conversations started up again around him, but Hotch had lost interest.

His wrist watch told him they'd been standing there for almost an hour.

Cleaning out the bottom of his glass, he set it down on the nearest table before excusing himself, offering handshakes and a couple shoulder pats before moving towards the women.

A handful of men followed him, clearly keen to leave as well.

He found you by the railing, laughing gently at something the woman across from you said.

Hotch's arm slid over your waist from behind, dipping his head closer to your ear: "ready to go?"

You nodded, offering a quick goodbye to the woman and some others.

The walk back to the room was quicker than he remembered, or maybe it was the light buzz of champagne against the side of his head and how you were humming something that sounded like Etta James that made it feel too fast.

On return, the prospect of unpacking awaited.

"Anyone interesting among the husbands?" You asked from across the room, lifting shirts and dresses to stack into the open cupboard.

Hotch shook his head, dislodging the secret compartment at the bottom of his suitcase where the case files had been hidden. "The unsub isn't one of them. They're all, for lack of a better word, assholes. Nobody trustworthy enough to follow to your death."

You chuckled lightly, "The women were alright. Except for this one woman, that one who whispered that rubbish when we introduced ourselves."

Hotch's stomach turned at the thought of the woman's words. Screwing the professor, really classy.

The implication on your character made his blood boil.

"Let me guess, Atkins?"

You nodded, "How'd you know?"

"Her husband's a real piece of work too. I'm gonna find something to arrest him for before the end of the week."

Your giggle permeated the space and it worked to ease the knot in Hotch's stomach.

"Don't be so dramatic, James." You draped a towel over your arm, "Mind if I grab the shower first?"

"Of course." Hotch nodded, desperately trying to fan out the image that was quickly rendering in his mind of you in the shower. "I'm gonna phone Garcia."

The bathroom door clicked behind you and you sighed into the emptiness of the room.

You took your time showering, enjoying how the hot water eased the tension over your shoulders, before drying off and slipping into the most appropriate pair of pajamas you'd brought along.

It took some convincing to let yourself pack the silk shorts and tank top, after all: you would be sharing a room with your boss.

Quickly after you'd walked back into the room, Hotch had slipped into the bathroom himself with a towel and pair of pajamas hanging over his arm.

Images of all the people you'd met that very evening sifted through your mind like a deck of cards, flipping through them and filtering the ones you knew couldn't be involved.

The spray of the shower was loud and your mind reached precariously for an image of what Hotch looked like under the fancy head in the shower that had more than enough space for two ... how the hot water was probably gliding over his long strong arms, down his chest and through the happy trail at the base of his stomach leading down towards—

The water shut off and silence echoed across the room.

You heard shuffling behind the door, wondered quietly what he could be doing, but pulled your eyes back to the case file.

The list of connections between the victims and current guests were numerous, too many to be significant as people in this wealth category generally moved in similar groups.

The door clicked open.

"Put that away, you should get some sleep."

"I—" You looked up to meet Hotch's eye and almost swallowed your tongue.

His hair was still wet, drooping over his forehead in a way you'd never seen before, and his blue t-shirt stuck to his chest with dampness. He wore plaid shorts that exposed those long legs that had been so criminally hidden beneath his usual suit pants.

He looked so ... domestic, and it set every nerve ending in your body alight.

"I ... yes, boss. Was just looking." You set the file on the bedside table.

He nodded at you, a warm look on his face. "Want you well rested for tomorrow."

There was a short silence and the look cleared from his features to be replaced by another.

Hotch's eyes flickered between the bed and the couch, and for the first time in more than a while, a look of unsureness occupied his face.

"I ... I think I'll take the couch."

Your heart sunk.

"Why?" The question chased its way out of your mouth before you could reach to snatch it.

"I don't wanna make you ... uncomfortable, considering I'm your superior."

"I mean, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us, Hotch." You stammered, desperate to be close to him. "It's probably gonna be painful to sleep on that couch anyways."

He hesitated.

"U-Unless you think it's weird, you can sleep on the couch it's fine." You wished you could sink into the sheets and disappear.

But to your surprise, Hotch nodded.

The bed sunk on his side as he lifted the covers, as close to the edge as he could from what you could see.

His head hit the pillow before he leaned over to flick off the light, you took it as a sign to do the same.

There was quiet for a long moment.

The door to the balcony was open, it was just too hot to close it, and the breeze curled over the sheets, wafting the smell of Hotch's shower gel into your face.

It took all you had within you not to sigh loudly and dig your face into his neck.

You thought the conversation had closed for the evening, but Hotch surprised you when his voice emerged from the darkness.

"You did well today. I know you were nervous."

A smile tugged at your lips. He could read you better than you thought he could.

"You've got a lot more practice at the husband thing than I do at the wife thing."

You could almost see the outline of his face against the light of the moon.

"Well, I hope this wife ends up better than the last one."

The memory of finding Hotch's ex-wife's body came starkly into view.

"O-Oh, Hotch." Your hand came to your face in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, hey," he stopped you, "it's my fault. It was a bad joke, I shouldn't have made it."

You couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you, "I've never heard you freestyle a joke before, Hotch."

"Wasn't good?"

"It was terrible." You managed around the now growing laugh.

"And yet you're still laughing. Isn't that the goal?"

You shuffled over in the sheets to face him, even though you couldn't see much - the thought that he lingered there in the darkness comforted you.

"Not at that really bad attempt at a joke, I'm laughing at you."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore when the light from the lighthouse flickered quickly over Hotch's face that he was grinning.

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Come on Hotch, you're telling me you don't have a single good dad joke?"

He was quiet a long moment, and for a second you thought you'd pressed too hard.

"Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?"

Absolutely surprised by the question, you shook your head in the darkness. "Why?"

"Because they're really good at it."

The light from the lighthouse hadn't passed over his face again but now you were sure he was smiling and every muscle in your body twitched to grab his face in the darkness and kiss him until he was oxygen depleted.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Aaron." But you shook with small laughter.

"Worse than the dead wife joke?"

"Okay, maybe not that bad."

Quiet fell again.

"You should go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Fishing for the sheets, you lifted to tuck them under your chin. "Goodnight James."

"Goodnight."

-

Tags:

@montyfandomlove @aurorastuffsstuff @cdizzleswzzlebonzy @pureblood-blake @kad00x @lena-1895 @marimorena06 @farrah-444

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fake dating #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid #emily prentiss #David Rossi #Derek Morgan #penelope garcia #only one bed #mutual pining

[pixlokita]

Buncha sketchy random doodles from @soniccrazygal ‘s crossover fic: Pitfalls 💖

Tbh this was long overdue =w=💖 really love the story and def recommend it to anyone who hasn’t read it yet ✨👌

Also !! had to include these, thank you @cloudwhisper23 and @blog-seijin for coloring some of the little doodles they are so much nicer now

#pix habla #fnaf #security breach #mike pines au #into the ballpit au #crossover #pitfalls #Soniccrazygal #Michael afton #Gregory #Evan afton #henry emily #mabel pines #dipper pines #Vanny #security puppet #charlie emily #gosh darn did I miss anything

[ollierachnid]

normal people mountain

#until dawn #ud #josh washington #hannah washington #mike munroe #emily davis #jack fiddler #also dr hill very sporadically #pretzel's art #hiiiii ive been normal today (lying through gritted teeth) #keep listening to pine point by pup which is a Very untildawn song #jacks beanie hair based on mr fessenden's... untamed ordeal which rocks #anyway enjoy ive been having an internal renaissance hence the icon change lol #you could find my ancient ud art if you wanted But why do that when ive finally drawn it again

[section-chief-prentiss]

'tis the damn season

Summary: You bring a fake date to make your ex-girlfriend, Emily, jealous at your high school reunion. But you’re taken by surprise to learn that she did exactly the same thing. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader, JJ/Will LaMontagne 

Word Count: 2669

Ao3

You stood in front of your bed, where half a dozen dresses lay, scrutinizing your options. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, half-naked, hands on your hips, but a knock at the door pulled you out of your indecision.

You’d tried on each dress countless times, and none of them felt right. But they were the only options you had.

You wanted to look amazing—no, better than amazing, stunning—when you reunited with your ex-girlfriend, Emily, at your class reunion tonight. You started dating not long after Emily transferred to your high school during your junior year, and your relationship lasted almost all the way through college. When neither of you was sure what your future laid for you, it seemed easier to figure it out apart.

And you hadn’t spoken since.

You hadn’t wanted to come to your reunion at all, but your friend, Wren, was in charge of organizing it, and you asked her to let you know if Emily RSVP’d. Shortly after she did, you did the same.

You threw on the black, lacy dress—black was always safe, you figured—before grabbing your heels and rushing to let in your date for the evening. 

You opened your door to find Will LaMontagne, his dark hair styled and light eyes sparkling. He was dressed in a bright blue button-down and slacks, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside. “You look great.”

“So do you,” he drawled in his thick, New Orleans accent. “Your sister said this color blue would… bring out your eyes?”

The earnest confusion in his voice earned a genuine laugh from you. Will’s brother and your sister had gotten married last year, and ever since they got engaged, they kept pushing you and Will together, hoping that you’d fall in love.

While neither of you felt that way about each other, you had found a best friend in Will. A confidante.

So when you needed a fake date for your ten-year high school reunion, he offered freely.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” you said, for what was probably the hundredth time. “High school reunions are a drag under the best of circumstances.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he joked. “Plus, I do get something out of it. We get to tell our siblings we gave it a real shot. Maybe after this, they’ll leave us alone.”

The other deception of the night, aside from Will pretending to be your boyfriend to make your ex jealous, was telling your siblings this was a date. At the end of the night, you’d tell them you were better off as friends and hope they finally left you both alone.

“I brought a tie,” Will said, taking a patterned blue tie out of his pocket. “Is this a tie event?”

You stuck your tongue out in a disgusted face, which earned a laugh from Will. “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t go to my high school reunion, so I wanted to be sure.”

“Don’t change a thing,” you said, reaching for your purse. You were equal parts itching to get out the door and hoping you didn’t arrive too early. 

“Should we go?” Will asked, sensing your nerves.

You smiled gratefully. “Please.” 

***

A silver lining to the evening was that the reunion wouldn’t take place at your actual high school. Instead, Wren and the rest of the planning committee rented out the ballroom at The Plaza downtown, a hotel you’d always been curious to see the inside of. 

The lobby itself had your jaw on the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Below it, on the floor, was a sparkling fountain. Gold pillars plunged from the floor to the ceiling, and the perfectly placed white and gold couches and chairs felt too pretty to sit on. Against the far wall were the check-in desks, with perfectly maintained attendants standing behind them. 

“This place is too fancy for me,” you murmured.

Will chuckled. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

A sign posted near an adjoining hallway pointed toward a room you couldn’t see, with Roosevelt High School Reunion written across it.

“Must be this way,” Will said.

“Your detective skills tell you that?” You joked.

Ignoring the jab, Will led you down the hall and toward the ballroom, music already floating out to meet you. You smiled, recognizing it as one of Wren’s favorites, and wondered how much of her influence you’d hear in the music tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised to find the ballroom relatively crowded when you entered. Decorations with your school’s colors—royal blue and silver—draped from the ceiling, colored the tablecloths, and reflected in the centerpieces, but it wasn’t over-the-top. You had to admit it—you were impressed. 

“You made it!” A familiar voice trilled.

You turned to find Wren, dressed in a vibrant pink dress, scampering toward you, arms out to embrace you. You opened your arms just in time to receive her and held her tight.

“Wren, this place looks incredible,” you gushed.

When she pulled away, she was blushing. “Well, thanks, doll. You guys look great.”

“Oh! Wren Taylor, Will LaMontagne Jr. Will LaMontagne Jr., Wren Taylor.”

“Date?” Wren whispered.

You laughed. “No, just a good friend. Unless you see Emily, then… date.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“When you told me she RSVP’d with a plus one, I couldn’t exactly show up here alone, could I?”

“Yes, you could, actually,” she said. Her eyes widened, focusing on something behind you. “Speaking of…”

You stiffened—sensing her presence before you saw her. Even after being separated for six years, you still recognized the buzzing in the air you felt when she was around.

You braced yourself as you turned toward the entrance to the ballroom, and her beauty took your breath away.

Emily’s dark hair was curled, and she’d grown her bangs out. She wore a white dress and black heels, and your heart skipped a beat.

She was stunning. And you were feeling very plain in comparison. 

But then you spotted her hand in someone else’s and froze. Because next to her was a beautiful woman with blonde hair pulled back in a high, curled ponytail and a light blue skirt and white blouse. 

They matched, you realized, the sensation a punch to your gut.

Seeing Emily with her partner reminded you of your mission, and you reached for Will’s hand instinctively, who was waiting to take yours. 

“It’s now or never,” you muttered, sounding braver than you felt. Will’s advice from earlier rung in your head—fake it ‘til you make it. 

You made your way toward the other couple, meeting them halfway, using each step to force a smile across your face before you reunited.

“Y/N!” Emily said, not letting go of her partner’s hand. “You look great.”

“So do you,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking. “This is Detective Will LaMontagne Jr., my date.” 

He reached his free hand forward to shake both of the other women’s. “Pleasure,” he said.

“This is my date, Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau,” Emily countered. Were you imagining it, or was she putting emphasis on supervisory? 

“JJ,” the woman said, offering her own hand. You shook it, fighting to not squeeze it too hard.

It didn’t escape you how Will’s gaze lingered on JJ a second longer than you expected. 

“You know, that color brings out your eyes,” Will drawled, gesturing to her vibrant skirt. 

You bit back a smile from spreading across your face and embarrassing him. 

“Thanks,” JJ flushed. 

“Special Agent?” You asked, calling Emily’s attention away from Will’s attempt at flirting before he blew your cover completely. “So, you chose the FBI after all?”

“Not at first,” Emily hedged. “It’s a long story.”

“Right,” you said. And not one you were entitled to anymore.

Wren, ever your savior, marched over to talk with Emily, and you used that moment to excuse yourself with Will. 

He led you onto the dance floor as a slow song came on, and you were grateful for the distraction. You took one of his hands and placed the other on his shoulder, letting him lead you.

“Should we come up with a safe word in case you want to leave early?” Will asked.

You smiled. “That’s okay, but thanks, Will.”

One song bled into another until you lost track of how long you’d been dancing. You kept your focus on Will because you knew if you watched Emily and JJ for too long, your heart would shatter completely, washing away your carefully crafted facade.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” you said, dryness scratching your throat. “Want anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks.”

You made your way toward the bar—an open bar, which was half of the reason you agreed to come at all—just as the last person in line got their drink and walked away.

“Old fashioned, please,” you said.

The bartender nodded, and you fished a few dollars out of your purse for the tip jar. 

“Make that two,” said a familiar voice.

Your back stiffened, and you glanced over to find Emily standing next to you. 

“Having a good time?” Emily asked, throwing in a few dollars of her own to the tip jar.

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Yeah, Wren did a great job.” You glanced around, surprised to find her partner nowhere in sight.

“No JJ?” 

“She had to take a call,” Emily shrugged. “The job follows us sometimes.”

“Here you go,” the bartender said, holding out both drinks.

You thanked him and wandered away to make room for other patrons. To your surprise, Emily followed. 

“Do you like it? The FBI?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s rewarding,” Emily said. “Difficult, but rewarding.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say to that, and took a sip of your drink.

“How’s your photography business going?” Emily asked, and you startled, nearly choking on your cocktail.

“How’d you know I have a photography business?” 

Emily flushed. “I’ve kept up with your career over the years. Is that such a surprise?”

Yes, you thought. You’d considered doing the same countless times over the years, but you knew if you tracked her down in any capacity, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out. It was easier, less painful, to wonder instead. 

“I guess not,” you whispered.

“So? How’s it going?”

You sighed, setting your drink down on a nearby table. “What are you doing, Em?”

She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Are we just acting like nothing happened? Like we didn’t have a fight the day before graduation? Like you didn’t ditch the ceremony the next day and never talk to me again? I just need to know what page we’re on here if we’re going to pretend.”

Emily set her drink down near yours. “Y/N…”

“I thought seeing you again would make me feel better,” you said. “But I’m not sure it was such a good idea anymore.”

Emily started to speak, but you turned on a heel and beelined for the hallway. Tears were brimming in your eyes, and you’d rather run than have her see you fall apart.

The hallway outside the ballroom was still too public, so you didn’t stop until you were safely around the corner. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself, and wiping away the hints of tears in your eyes before they could fall. You wouldn’t lose it. Not here, at least. That could wait until you got home later.

A hand on your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus, Will, announce yourself…” you chastised. But when you turned, it wasn’t Will.

It was Emily.

“Are you everywhere?” you snapped. “Go back to your date; I’m sure she’s wondering where you went.”

“I could say the same about your date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that what this is about? Fine, Will’s not my date. He’s my friend; I brought him to make you jealous. Happy?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, stepping toward you.

You frowned. “Wait… what?”

Emily took a deep breath. “I was immature in high school. That doesn’t excuse what I did, but I think it explains a few things.” 

“So?”

“So,” Emily continued, “Our futures were pulling us in two different directions. And I didn’t want to go in two different directions. Y/N, I would’ve followed you anywhere, my own ambitions be damned, and I knew if I showed up to graduation, I’d do just that. If I apologized for the fight we’d had, I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. And one of us would’ve made sacrifices for the other, and we would’ve ended up hating each other in the end. So it was easier to just… run.” 

You laughed bitterly. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Em. We should’ve talked about that together.”

“Can you tell me I’m wrong? That one of us wouldn’t have given up our dream career for the other?”

You opened your mouth to argue but clamped it closed when you realized you couldn’t. Because she was probably right.

“Exactly. So watching from afar as you accomplished everything you dreamed of… I considered that a consolation prize. If I looked at the pictures long enough, it was like I was there with you.”

You blew out a long breath. “Em, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re with JJ now, and it’s not fair to be with her and say these things to me.”

Emily took another step closer; she was only a breath away now. You took a step back, but you were against the wall now, and Emily closed the gap between you immediately.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not with JJ,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Your knees wobbled, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out for the woman who still owned your heart.

“What?” Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure you could trust your hearing. 

“I lied,” she said, planting kisses from your neck up to your face. “To make you jealous. She’s just a friend.”

You grabbed Emily’s shoulders and turned so it was her against the wall. “You’re not in a relationship?”

Emily smiled. “Not since we broke up. You’re the only one I want. If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grinned, crashing your lips against hers. Every nerve in your body felt like a live wire; Emily’s touch was electric. 

She buried her hands in your hair, and you shivered. How were you ever apart from this woman? The thought seemed unbearable now.

“You know,” Emily said, pulling away just long enough to speak. “I have a room. Upstairs.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, kissing her again. “Don’t tempt me, Emily Prentiss.”

“We should tell our dates we’re leaving so they don’t worry,” Emily whispered. “And then I’m going to spend every minute of tonight making up for the last six years.”

“Fine, but let’s hurry,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you practically ran back into the ballroom, praying that Will and JJ wouldn’t be hard to find. 

Blissfully, you got your wish—you both staggered to a halt when you found your dates on the dance floor together, arms wrapped around each other, kissing like they were the only two people in the room.

“Huh,” you said. “I have to say, I didn’t see that coming.”

“She said I owed her for dragging her to a high school reunion that wasn’t her own,” Emily mused, lacing her hand through yours. “I think I’ll consider that debt repaid.” 

You giggled. “Can we go now?” 

“I’ll follow you anywhere you want.”

You brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Let’s start with tonight. Everything else can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Emily nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

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[thelastspeecher]

Amphibious Tendencies - Chapter 9: Cryptobranchus alleganiensis

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   AO3

Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this fic.  Hopefully this chapter (the longest one in the fic so far) was worth the wait.  And if you haven’t seen the wonderful art I commissioned for the fic, you can find it here.

— 

Summary: Grauntie Angie has returned from her trip, but when she contracts a mysterious illness, Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy search for the cause and the cure.

The hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis) occupies a very specific niche in its habitat, and as such, is vulnerable to inconsistencies in its environment.

——————————————————————————————

             “This is where he lives?” Dipper asked.  Soos nodded.  He rang the doorbell.

             “Old Man McGucket lives right next to the dump so he has easy access to free scrap metal,” Soos replied.

             “Why does he need free scrap metal?” Mabel asked. Soos shrugged.

             “I try not to ask Old Man McGucket too many questions.”

             “Fair,” Mabel conceded.  The door opened, revealing Old Man McGucket.  Old Man McGucket grinned toothily at the three of them. His gold tooth and ever-present round reading glasses glinted in the morning sunlight.

             “Visitors!” he chirped.  “Please, please, come in!”  He stepped aside, allowing Dipper, Mabel, and Soos to enter the small house. “So, what brings y’all here?” he asked as he closed the door.

             “This,” Dipper said, holding up the beaten-up laptop for Old Man McGucket to see.  Old Man McGucket took it from him with a frown.

             “This poor thing’s been through the wringer. Didya want me to fix it or somethin’?”

             “Well, yes, that would be great, but that’s not the reason we came here,” Dipper said.  “We saw that on the inside, the laptop was labeled ‘McGucket Labs’ and since your last name is McGucket…”

             “Y’all thought I built this here piece of machinery,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  His posture, already slumped, hunched further, and he paled, nearly going as white as his trimmed beard and what bits of hair stuck out from under his wide-brimmed hat.

             “I mean, how many people are there named ‘McGucket’?” Mabel asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled weakly.

             “I have three older siblin’s and two younger, kidlet.  And more cousins ‘n you could shake a stick at.”

             “Why would I shake a stick at my cousins?” Mabel mumbled.

             “I’m tellin’ ya I’m far from the only person named ‘McGucket’,” Old Man McGucket said, not unkindly.  He handed the laptop back to Dipper.  “I didn’t build this.  In fact, I ain’t ever seen it ‘fore.  You’d be better off askin’ someone else with my name.”

             “But even if you’ve got relatives, how many of them are in Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket raised an eyebrow.

             “I’m mighty surprised ya can’t answer that question yourself.”  Something in another room began to beep.  “That’s the kettle.”  Old Man McGucket stretched his back, producing popping sounds, then clapped his hands.  “And it’s as good a cue as any fer y’all to skedaddle on out.  If ya want me to repair that there laptop, feel free to bring it back.  But I’ve got to do my mornin’ yoga, and I reckon none of ya want to see that.” 

-----

             Wendy was sitting at the register, her feet propped up on the counter, when Dipper, Mabel, and Soos walked into the Gift Shop. She looked up from her magazine.

             “Oh, hey dudes,” she said lazily.  “Where have you been?”

             “Talking to Old Man McGucket,” Dipper replied. Wendy raised an eyebrow.

             “That old weirdo?  Why?”

             “While Soos was fixing the laptop, he opened it up and found out it had the name ‘McGucket Labs’ in it.  So we went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it.” Dipper scowled.  “But he just said he didn’t build it and sent us away.” Wendy sat up straight, bringing her feet down to the floor.

             “You saw the name ‘McGucket’ and went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it?” she asked.

             “Who else were we supposed to talk to?” Dipper asked defensively.

             “Uh, I dunno, maybe your great-aunt?”

             “What?” Dipper and Mabel said together.  Wendy looked at Soos.

             “C’mon, dude, I know you know Dr. Angie didn’t change her name when she married Mr. Pines.”  Soos winced slightly.

             “I…may have gotten caught up in the mystery and forgot,” he said.  Wendy rolled her eyes.  She looked back at Dipper and Mabel.

             “Dr. Angie’s last name isn’t Pines.  It’s McGucket.  Old Man McGucket is her older brother.”  Dipper and Mabel’s jaws dropped.

             “That explains why there are pictures of Old Man McGucket in the house,” Mabel said slowly.  “And why they have the same nose.”  Wendy nodded.

             “Grauntie Angie just keeps getting implicated over and over again,” Dipper said to himself.  “I feel like, at this point, she either knows the Author or is the Author.”  Wendy groaned loudly.

             “C’mon, dude!”

             “No, I think Dipper has a point,” Mabel said. “She’s been connected to this stuff too much for it to be a coincidence.”

             “Soos, back me up,” Wendy said.  Soos shook his head.  “Traitor.”

             “Why are you defending her?” Dipper asked quietly. Wendy stilled.  “Do you know something we don’t?”

             “All of this is news to me, too.  It’s just…”  Wendy crossed her arms and looked away.  “Dr. Angie’s my godmother, okay?  She- she saved my mom’s life, way before I was born.”

             “She did?” Mabel gasped.  Wendy nodded.

             “Yeah.  Mom always called it the ‘favor’ that she owed Dr. Angie.  She told me to keep an eye on Dr. Angie and help her out if she needed it.  Protect her.”

             “You’re protecting her?” Dipper asked.  “From what?”

             “You guys dragging her name through the mud!” Wendy stood up.  “Look, I’ve gotta go.  Talk to Dr. Angie about the laptop or whatever, but don’t go around accusing her of being the same guy who put Jonah in a cage.”  With that, Wendy stormed out of the Gift Shop.

             “I think we might have touched a nerve,” Soos said softly.  Dipper groaned and slapped his forehead.

             “I didn’t mean to offend Wendy!  I just can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie knows more than she’s saying.”

             “She hasn’t had a chance to say much,” Mabel pointed out.  “She got back from her work thing last night and we still haven’t seen her.”

             “That’s a good point,” Dipper said.  “Where is she?”  As if on cue, Grunkle Stan poked his head into the Gift Shop.

             “Kids, Soos!” he barked.  All heads turned to face him.  “Angie went to run some errands this morning but hasn’t come back yet. Go see if you can track her down, okay?”

             “Why not call her cellphone?” Mabel asked. Stan scowled.

             “She doesn’t have it on her.”

             “Why not?”

             “She didn’t want it to get stolen.  Now, get outta here.  We’ve got tourists coming in a bit and I want Angie back before then.”

-----

             After half an hour of looking for Grauntie Angie at the stores Grunkle Stan said she might be at, there was still no sight of her.

             “Okay, I’m starting to get worried,” Soos said. “You don’t think a werewolf or fairy or something got her, do you?”

             “Grauntie Angie seems like she has magical street smarts,” Dipper said.  “I’m sure she’s fine.”  He frowned. “But it is weird that she’s not at any of the places Grunkle Stan said she would be at.”

             “Maybe she finished her errands and decided to go somewhere else,” Mabel suggested.  “Like, maybe she went to the museum?  She’s a scientist, she probably likes boring places like that.”

             “We’re near the museum right now,” Soos pointed out. “Want me to drive by just in case?”

             “It won’t hurt,” Dipper said with a shrug. Soos promptly jerked the wheel, causing the pickup to take a sharp U-turn.  He slowed down his speed as they drove past the museum.  “Uh, is that her?” Dipper asked nervously, pointing at the person collapsed on the sidewalk.  Soos slammed on the brakes and bolted out of the truck to be by Grauntie Angie’s side.

             “Dr. Angie!” he said desperately.  Grauntie Angie let out a soft moan.  She sat up, rubbing her forehead.  Dipper and Mabel exited the truck as well and came over. “Are you all right?”

             “I think so,” Grauntie Angie mumbled.  She looked around.  “I can’t quite recall why I’m here…”

             “Maybe you had a fall like old people do in those commercials,” Mabel suggested.  Grauntie Angie frowned.

             “Sweetheart, I ain’t nearly that frail yet.”  Soos stood up and helped Grauntie Angie to her feet.

             “Do you need water or food or-” he started. Grauntie Angie shook her head.

             “No, no, I’m fine.  Just confused.  And in pain from this headache.”  She let out a hiss and said something under her breath.

             “What language was that?” Dipper asked. Grauntie Angie looked at him.  “You muttered something just now, and it wasn’t in English.”

             “It was probably Irish,” Mabel said. Grauntie Angie nodded.

             “It was.  How’d ya know that?”

             “Well, Emily said she learned how to swear Irish from you.”

             “That’s news to me,” Grauntie Angie said after a moment.  “I never got ‘round to teachin’ the kids any Irish.  They just know the bits of Spanish Stan taught ‘em.”  She slumped against Soos.  “Jesus, would ya mind takin’ me back to the Shack?  I need some rest.”

             “Of course, Dr. Angie!”  Soos helped Grauntie Angie get into the truck.  Mabel and Dipper climbed into the back seat and buckled up.  Soos looked at Grauntie Angie nervously.  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.  Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yes, Jesus, I’m fine.  A bit confused, I’ve got an awful headache, but other than that, fine.”

             “If you say so…”

             “Grauntie Angie, we’ve been waiting for you to get back,” Mabel piped up.  Grauntie Angie turned around in her seat to look at Mabel and Dipper.

             “Oh?”

             “We need your help to make a nixie trap.”

             “A nixie?”  Grauntie Angie’s tone was politely bemused.  “Now, what could that be?”

             “A kind of fae,” Dipper said.  Grauntie Angie nodded slowly.

             “I do have a lot of knowledge ‘bout the Fair Folk. My Pa, he says that our ancestors encountered ‘em a lot back in the old country.”

             “The old country?” Mabel asked.

             “Ireland.  That’s where my Pa’s fam’ly came from.  It’s why I know Irish.  My Pa taught me.  Humans and the Fair Folk coexist in Ireland in a way they don’t anywhere else.  More like neighbors than anything.  Neighbors what might kidnap yer child if ya don’t take the proper precautions, but neighbors nonetheless.”  A twinkle entered her eye.  “In fact, fam’ly tradition has it that one of the McGucket ancestors caught the eye of one of the Fair Folk, to the point that they had a child together.”

             “So you’re part fairy?” Mabel gasped.  Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Well, if the story’s true, yes, the blood of the Fair Folk runs through my veins.  But I don’t know fer sure, given that it ain’t one of the tests they give ya at the doctor’s.”

             “A nixie is specifically a frog-like fae,” Dipper said, putting the conversation back on track.  Grauntie Angie raised an eyebrow.

             “My doctorate is in herpetology.  I know quite a bit ‘bout frogs.”

             “That’s why we wanted your help.”

             “Well…”  Grauntie Angie sighed.  “I’m sorry, sugar-cubes, but I’ll have to turn ya down.  If the Fair Folk truly live ‘round here, it’d be quite foolish to draw their attention, let alone try to trap one of ‘em.  The Fair Folk ain’t the fluttery lil butterfly girlies ya see on TV. They’re dangerous.”

             “What do you mean ‘if’?” Soos asked.  Grauntie Angie looked at him.

             “All’s I have as proof the Fair Folk are here is Dipper and Mabel’s word.  I’d need to see ‘em fer myself to know it’s true.”  She glanced at the backseat.  “No disrespect, darlin’s, it’s just the scientist in me.”

             “But you have seen them,” Soos said slowly.

             “The only time I ever saw the Fair Folk was when the Headless Horseman showed up at the farm on Samhain when I was a girl.  I ain’t ever seen ‘em in Gravity Falls.”

             “You have!” Soos insisted.  Grauntie Angie frowned.  “You’ve told me about it!”

             “Jesus,” Grauntie Angie scolded, “I think I’d know if I’d seen the Fair Folk ‘round these parts.  And I haven’t.”

             “He’s telling the truth,” Mabel said.  Grauntie Angie sighed.

             “He roped ya into this, too?”

             “Grauntie Angie,” Dipper said, “the day after we got here, you told us to be careful in the forest, because you’d seen fairies growing mushroom rings.”  Grauntie Angie’s brow furrowed.

             “I don’t recall that at all.”  She shook her head.  “Y’all must be misrememeberin’.”

             “Or maybe…you are,” Dipper suggested. Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Not a chance, honey.  My mind’s like a steel trap.  Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to fall out of it.”  She yawned widely.  “Oof, I think I need a nap.”

             “Are you sure you’re fine?” Mabel pressed. Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yer worse than Stan!  Yes, I’m fine.”  She turned back to face the front.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look, the same thought running through their minds.

             She’s not fine.

-----

             By the time they pulled up to the Shack, Grauntie Angie had fallen asleep.

             “Dr. Angie,” Soos said nervously, poking her. Grauntie Angie grumbled something and turned away.  “Dudes, I don’t think she’s gonna wake up.”

             “Not if you try like that,” Mabel said.  “The best way to wake someone up is to pinch their nose shut.  That always works.”  Dipper side-eyed her.

             “How many times have you done that?” he asked.

             “Enough to know it works!” Mabel said cheerfully. “Try it, Soos.”  Soos reached over and pinched Grauntie Angie’s nose.  Promptly, she punched him in the face.  Soos let out a yelp and let go.  Grauntie Angie settled back, still asleep.  “Maybe she’s under some sorta spell?  That could explain why she was saying all that stuff about not seeing fairies.”  Mabel opened the back door and got out of the truck, closely followed by Dipper.

             “If she’s under some sort of sleeping spell, I don’t know if we’ll be able to wake her up,” Dipper said, paging through the Journal.  Soos got out of the truck as well.  He tenderly prodded his nose with a wince.  “Are you all right, Soos?”

             “I don’t think she broke it,” Soos said. “Dr. Angie’s stronger than I thought she would be.”

             “A lot of people make that mistake,” a voice said. Dipper, Mabel, and Soos looked over. At some point, Grunkle Stan had exited the Shack and joined them by the truck.  He looked at Grauntie Angie, his eyes soft with fondness.  “I was gonna ask why you three were just standing around shooting the breeze, but it’s pretty obvious.”  Grunkle Stan opened the truck door.  He carefully unbuckled Grauntie Angie and hefted her into his arms. “Angie’s always been a heavy sleeper. I’ll take it from here.”  He paused.  “And…thanks for getting her.”

             “No problem, Mr. Pines!” Soos said, saluting. Grunkle Stan grunted in response. “She was acting a bit weird earlier, though…”  Grunkle Stan frowned.

             “That’s normal for her.  She’s weird.”

             “No, not like-” Dipper said.  He blinked.  “How come you’re holding her just fine?”

             “Old people aren’t supposed to lift heavy things,” Mabel put in.

             “I’m not that old and Angie’s not that heavy.” Grunkle Stan adjusted his hold on Grauntie Angie.  “How was she acting earlier?”

             “She kept saying that she’d never seen a fairy before.  And she has! She’s told us about it!” Mabel said. Grunkle Stan furrowed his brow.

             “She also said she didn’t believe Bigfoot was real, which is weird, because the first week we were here, she told us she was stepping out to bring Bigfoot some iced tea,” Dipper added.

             “It’s like she has no memory of magical or supernatural creatures at all!” Soos said.  Grunkle Stan went pale.  “Mr. Pines? Are you all right?”

             “Yeah,” Grunkle Stan said in a tight voice.  He shifted Grauntie Angie around slightly again. “It’s just- I’m not used to carrying Angie for so long.”  He cleared his throat.  “She was probably just yanking your chains or something.  Now, get to work.  I’ve gotta put Angie in bed.”  Grunkle Stan turned around and marched back to the Shack.  When he got to the porch, he sighed heavily.  “Soos, come get the door.”

             “On it, Mr. Pines!”  Soos sprinted away.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged an unnerved look.

             “Is it just me, or did Grunkle Stan look worried about Grauntie Angie not remembering the weirdness of Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shook her head.

             “It’s not just you, Dipdop.  But it might not mean anything.  He might just be worried ‘cause she’s his wife.  Y’know?”

             “Yeah.”

             “I hope Grauntie Angie is all right.”  Mabel perked up.  “Maybe she just needed a nap for her brain to work.  That happens to me all the time.”

             “Yeah, I know,” Dipper said.  Mabel punched him playfully.  They both laughed and went inside.

-----

             Soos made his goodbyes and left the Shack. Mabel turned the sign on the door over so that it read “CLOSED”.  She turned to face Dipper and Emily, who were completing the end-of-day tasks.

             “Emily?”

             “What’s up, lil cuz?” Emily asked, looking up from the register, where she was counting out the day’s profits.

             “How’s Grauntie Angie doing?  She seemed a bit…off earlier.”

             “Dad’s checking on her now, since she’s been sleeping most of the day.”  There was a bloodcurdling scream from somewhere in the house.  Mabel and Dipper jumped.

             “What was that?” Mabel squeaked.

             “Should we, uh, look into that?” Dipper asked. Emily had gone as pale as a sheet. “Emily?”

             “That sounded like Ma,” she whispered.  She swallowed.  “I’m gonna go check it out, you kids stay here.”  She headed for the entryway to the living room.  Before she could take more than a few steps, however, Grunkle Stan appeared, panting heavily.  “Dad, was that Ma?”

             “She was just a bit, uh, a bit disoriented when she woke up,” Grunkle Stan said.  Emily frowned.  “She’s not used to sleeping for so long in the middle of the day, so she was confused and thought she saw something…abnormal.”

             “Really?” Emily asked, crossing her arms.  “That doesn’t pass the smell test, Dad.” Grunkle Stan glared at her.

             “Don’t question me, squirt.  I need you to go do something.”

             “Is it because I talked back?”

             “No, I was gonna ask you to do it anyways.”  Grunkle Stan glanced at Dipper and Mabel briefly before focusing on Emily again.  “I need you to go see Gobby.”  Emily’s eyes widened.

             “Why?”

             “Your ma isn’t feeling very well.  Ask Gobby if she can think of a reason for it.”

             “What are her symptoms?”

             “I’ll call you on your way.”

             “I didn’t finish the stuff with the register-”

             “I’ll take care of it, just get going,” Grunkle Stan said impatiently.  He handed Emily a set of car keys.  “Take the Stanleymobile.”  Emily swallowed nervously and nodded.

             “Got it.”  She exited the Gift Shop.  Grunkle Stan turned to Dipper and Mabel.

             “Go to your room.”

             “Who’s Gobby?” Mabel asked.

             “An old friend.  Go to your room.”

             “We didn’t finish-” Dipper started.  Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes.

             “Kid, I’m letting you get out of your chores for the day.”

             “But-”

             “No buts,” Grunkle Stan snapped.  “Go to your room and read that weird book or make a new sweater or whatever, okay?  I’ll close things up.”

             “But-” Dipper tried again.  Grunkle Stan glared at him.  “…Okay.”  Dipper and Mabel headed into the living room and upstairs into the attic.  “That was weird.”

             “Yeah…”  Dipper looked at Mabel.  She seemed thoughtful.

             “What is it?”

             “Emily told me the other day that when Grunkle Stan gets nervous or worried, he tries to take care of everything himself.” Mabel met Dipper’s eyes.  “He does all the chores, all the cooking, all the work for the Shack, and he won’t let anyone help him.”

             “You think he’s worried?  About what?”

             “Grauntie Angie!  Doy!”

             “Oh.”  Dipper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  “Right.”

             “Hopefully, he’s overreacting,” Mabel said.  “I’d really hate if there was something wrong with Grauntie Angie.”

             “Same.”  The engine of the Stanleymobile roared to life.  Dipper and Mabel raced over to the window to watch Emily drive away.  For once, the radio wasn’t blasting so loudly that they could hear it from where they stood.  “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it, Mabel.”

             “Me, too.”

-----

             The bell over the door to the Gift Shop jingled. Dipper and Mabel looked up from their chores.  A tall young man with long blond hair in a ponytail stood in the doorway.

             “Junior!” Mabel shouted excitedly.  Stanley Pines Junior, Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s oldest child, smiled weakly at her.

             “Hey there, kiddo,” he said.  Of Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s kids, Junior was the one Dipper and Mabel saw the most after Emily.  Junior ran a car dealership that doubled as a mechanic shop, and Grunkle Stan had a tendency to tell Dipper and Mabel to go help his son out on days where business for the Shack was slow.  Luckily, Junior was more easy-going than Grunkle Stan, so working for him wasn’t that bad.

             “What’s going on?” Dipper asked.  “Why are you here?”  Junior was too busy with his children and shop to come by the Shack often. The sight of him was either a very good thing or a very bad thing.

             “Dad said Ma isn’t doing too well.”  Junior rubbed the long, thin nose he had inherited from Grauntie Angie.  “He asked me to come by and see what I could do.”

             “Why would he ask you?” Dipper asked.  “I thought you just worked on cars.”

             “Why he asked for my help doesn’t matter,” Junior said firmly.  “You kids should get back to work.  I’ve gotta talk to my folks.”  He strode through the Gift Shop and disappeared into the living room.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

             “It is weird that Grunkle Stan asked Junior to help with Grauntie Angie, right?” Dipper asked.  Mabel nodded.

             “Yes, it is.  I mean, she’s been sick for a week now.  They should take her to the doctor, not have Junior come over.”  She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “Unless Junior is going to drive them both to the doctor.”

             “Grunkle Stan won’t take Grauntie Angie to the doctor,” Dipper said.  “He told me the other day that he doesn’t trust them.”

             “Yep, that sounds like our Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said. Soft voices carried from somewhere in the house.  

             “Wanna eavesdrop?” Dipper asked.  Mabel threw aside the broom she had been sweeping with.

             “Duh!” she scoffed.  “Let’s go, bro-bro!”  Dipper set down his own broom and the two scampered out of the Gift Shop and into the living room.  They snuck down the hall to Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s bedroom.  The door was ajar.

             “Ma, you don’t remember?” Junior’s voice asked.

             “I’ve been told, but I ain’t seen it with my own eyes, so’s I can’t confirm it,” Grauntie Angie said.  Dipper looked at Mabel in horror.  Her eyes were wide with concern as well.  Grauntie Angie sounded incredibly weak.  Like she was on death’s doorstep.  “I…I’ve seen you ‘n yer sister ‘n Stan, but I ain’t seen it with me.”

             “Angie, you’ve gotta believe me,” Grunkle Stan’s voice said desperately.  “If you don’t…”  He trailed off.

             “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I can’t.  Not without proof.  You know how I am.”

             “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.” Grunkle Stan took a deep breath. “Junior, did you find out anything about memory junk?”

             “I asked around.  I guess there are some freaks in red cloaks that mess with people’s minds for some reason.  That’s the only possible explanation I could come up with fer what happened to Ma.”

             “Red cloaks?” Emily’s voice asked.

             “Aw, shit,” Grunkle Stan swore.  He groaned loudly.  “It’s that damn thing Fiddlenerd got mixed up in.”

             “Whattaya mean?” Junior asked.

             “Wait, why’d you call him Fiddlenerd?” Emily asked.

             “Old habit.  And, well…”  Grunkle Stan sighed.  “It’s a long story, but I guess that cult your uncle started never went away.”

             “He started a cult?!” Emily demanded.

             “I’ll tell you later.  After you get back from finding Fiddlenerd.  Bring him here.”

             “You got it, Dad,” Junior said.  There was a sound like someone getting up from a chair. As quietly as they could, Dipper and Mabel raced back to the Gift Shop.  They picked up their brooms again and pretended to sweep.  Shortly after, Junior and Emily walked into the Gift Shop.

             “Are you guys going somewhere?” Mabel asked. Emily ruffled her hair playfully.

             “It’s top secret, cuz,” she said with a wink. “When we get back, though, I’ll play with you, okay?”  She and Junior left.  Mabel and Dipper looked at each other.

             “Where’s Soos?” Dipper asked.

             “Grunkle Stan told him to replace the rotting boards on the outhouse,” Mabel answered.  Dipper dropped his broom.

             “Good.  Grunkle Stan won’t get suspicious he’s not in the Gift Shop, then,” Dipper said.  Mabel cocked her head curiously.  “Junior and Emily are looking for Old Man McGucket, but I don’t know if that’s the right move.  We need to go to where this whole thing started.  The museum.”  Mabel grinned and dropped her broom as well.

             “Normally, I don’t like museums, but if there’s an adventure involved, you can count me in!”

-----

             Wendy was waiting for them when they got to the museum.  She looked up from her phone as they rushed over to her.

             “All right, what’s going on?” she asked.  “All the text from Soos said was to come here.”

             “Grauntie Angie’s sick,” Dipper said.  Wendy’s eyes widened.  “She started getting weak and everything after we found her here, so we thought it would be a good place to start.”

             “Huh.”  Wendy looked at the museum entrance.  “I did just see Old Man McGucket go in.”

             “Wait, really?” Dipper asked.  Wendy nodded.  “Why would he know to be here?”  Wendy shrugged.

             “Grunkle Stan said something about Old Man McGucket being involved with a cult,” Mabel pointed out.  Wendy’s mouth dropped open.

             “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

             “No, that is what we heard Grunkle Stan say,” Dipper confirmed.  He frowned. “But what could that have to do with Grauntie Angie being sick?”

             “Only one way to find out,” Wendy said.  She opened the door.  “Let’s track that guy down.”

-----

             Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy walked through the empty, darkened halls of the museum.  They had yet to see someone who didn’t turn out to actually be a poorly made statue.

             “Where could he be?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shrugged.  Wendy came to a stop.  She held out her arm, stopping the others as well.

             “Do you hear that?” she whispered.  Soft muttering sounded from a nearby room. “That’s gotta be him.”  Mabel snuck over to the room and stuck her head in.

             “Hi, Old Man McGucket!” she said loudly.  Old Man McGucket let out a shocked yelp.  The others came over as well.  “What are you doing here?” Mabel asked.

             “Uh, just- just checkin’ out my fav’rite room in the museum,” Old McGucket said in a tight voice.  Dipper looked around.  The room was full of eyes.  Paintings, statues, even eyeballs in jars.  Adding to the sinister atmosphere was the only source of light: a crackling fireplace.

             “Really?” Dipper asked flatly.  “This is your favorite room?”  Old Man McGucket crossed his arms, scowling.

             “I reckon I ought to ask y’all what yer doin’ here, too,” he said shortly.  “If’n I recall correctly, all four of ya ‘re s’pposed to be workin’ at the Mystery Shack right about now.”

             “We’re on a rescue mission!” Mabel said.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “A rescue mission?  What for?”

             “Dr. Angie,” Wendy said.  Old Man McGucket’s eyes widened.  “She’s sick.”

             “And y’all came to the museum to help her ‘cause…” Old Man McGucket prompted, his voice wavering.

             “She only got sick after we found her here,” Soos answered.  “She was on the sidewalk and had a headache and couldn’t remember what happened.” Old Man McGucket’s shoulders drooped.

             “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.  “They- they went after her?”  He rubbed his eyes.  “No, I- I can believe it.  She’s always been mixed up in the weirdness ‘round here.”

             “Uh, what are you talking about?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket sighed.

             “I’ve been lyin’ to you kids,” he confessed. “I know more ‘n I’ve been lettin’ on.” He walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, his gaze a thousand miles away.  “I first came to this town over thirty years ago to help someone out.  But I couldn’t- I couldn’t handle this town’s oddities.  They were too much fer me.  So’s I- I came up with a way to forget ‘em.  If I could go back in time, I’d destroy the darned thing.  All’s it did was ruin my life, make me lose m’self. Turn my memory into a block of Swiss cheese.”

             “Okay, but what does that have to do with Dr. Angie?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket sighed again.

             “I figured I weren’t the only person in town what wanted to forget somethin’ horrible they’d seen.  So’s I started goin’ ‘round, helpin’ folks forget.  But things- things got out of hand.”

             “It turned into a cult?” Mabel prompted.  Old Man McGucket whipped his head around to stare at her.  “We overheard Grunkle Stan say something about you and a cult.”

             “…Yes,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  “Yes, it turned into a cult.  Thanks to Angie ‘n Stan, I got out of it, but I guess the other members kept it goin’.  They hid it well enough I didn’t realize until recently, when I caught one of ‘em sneakin’ through the alley by the junkyard.”

             “Grauntie Angie and Grunkle Stan got you out of the cult?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.

             “Without ‘em, my mind would be an even bigger mess ‘n it already is.”  He scowled. “If what ya say is correct, that Angie woke up outside the museum with a headache and no memory of how she got there, the Blind Eye Society was definitely responsible.  They must’ve wiped her memories after they caught her witnessin’ somethin’ paranormal.”

             “The Blind Eye Society?” Soos asked.

             “The name I came up fer the…”  Old Man McGucket winced.  “…cult.”

             “So how do we fix all this?” Wendy asked.  “I mean, it’s nice to know the problem, but it’s not super useful unless we also know the solution.  Y’know?”

             “If’n they ain’t changed things, then the memories should be stored in a secret room under the museum,” Old Man McGucket said. “But I can’t quite recall how to get there.  All’s I remember is that this room is the key.”  He shivered.  “It’s awful difficult to try to remember, with all these eyes starin’ at me.”

             “Wait…”  Dipper took a second look at the many eyes in the room.  “They are staring at you!”  Every single eye in the room was pointed in Old Man McGucket’s direction. “Move aside.”

             “If ya insist,” Old Man McGucket muttered. He took a step to the left, revealing a triangular stone with an eye carved on it.  This eye was staring straight ahead.  Dipper walked up to the stone and pushed it.  There was a loud shudder from the fireplace.  Everyone turned around, watching as the fireplace slid to the side, revealing a staircase.

             “Whoa,” Mabel gasped.

             “Thanks fer findin’ that,” Old Man McGucket said. “Who knows how long it might’ve taken me to figure out on my own?”  He frowned. “Yer all plannin’ on comin’ with, ain’t ya?”

             “Yep.”

             “Yes.”

             “Duh.”

             “Yeah!”

             “Of course,” Old Man McGucket sighed.  He crossed his arms.  “All right.  I think I can lead us to where they keep the memories from here, but I want y’all to stick close to me.  No wanderin’ off.  And most importantly, don’t look at any memories ya find.”

             “Aw, buzzkill!” Wendy whined.  Old Man McGucket scowled.

             “It ain’t right to pry into someone’s private memories.  Understand?”

             “Yes,” everyone muttered.

             “Good.”  Old Man McGucket turned to somberly face the staircase.  “Good.”

-----

             They stood before a set of large wooden doors. The top of the door was carved to looked like a massive eye, with a hydraulic tube going through the eye’s pupil. While the doors were intimidating by their mere size, there was an added uneasy air from the red spray paint crossing out the eye.

             “Now, if’n I recall proper, this is the Hall of the Forgotten,” Old Man McGucket said.  He took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.  Everyone but Old Man McGucket let out a soft gasp at the sight of the massive room.

             “Whoa.”

             “What are all these things?” Dipper asked, picking up one of the many glass tubes laying around in piles.  He squinted at it.  “It’s got Robbie’s name on it.”

             “Then Robbie’s memories were erased at some point,” Old Man McGucket replied.

             “These tubey things are memories?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket nodded.  “…How?”

             “Let me see if…”  Old Man McGucket looked around.  “Ah-ha!”  He walked over to a large pile of memory tubes.  At the foot of the pile was a strange device that looked like a futuristic ray gun of some sort.  On top of the gun was a compartment that held one of the tubes.  He picked it up.  “You enter in this here gun what it is ya want to forget.  Once it’s fired, those memories are saved in a tube.”

             “How do you get your memories back, if they’re in a tube?” Wendy asked.

             “Oh, ya put it in a special TV to watch it.” Old Man McGucket gestured towards a strange television tucked away in the corner of the room.

             “And that gives you your memories back?” Dipper said slowly.  Old Man McGucket shrugged.

             “Sort of.”

             “I found it!” Mabel called.  The others looked over.  Mabel stood in front of an ominous stone statue of a hooded man with outstretched arms.  Above the statue was a shelf with multiple memory tubes.  “Grauntie Angie’s memory thingy is right here!  And so is Old Man McGucket’s!”

             “Do ya have to call me that?” Old Man McGucket muttered.  He blinked. “Wait, they’ve got some of my memories?”

             “Guess so,” Mabel said with a shrug.  She grabbed two memory tubes, then threw one to Old Man McGucket.  “If you have to watch these in order to get your memories back, how is it going to help Grauntie Angie?”  Mabel’s eyes widened.  “Do we need to take the TV, too?”

             “No, I think there’s still one in the Mystery Shack’s basement,” Old Man McGucket said.

             “The Shack has a basement?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  Dipper looked at Soos and Wendy.  “Did you guys know that?”

             “Nope.”

             “I had no idea, dude.”

             “Stan can show ya when ya get there, then,” Old Man McGucket said.  He sighed softly, looking around the room.  “I really tarred it up, didn’t I?  All sorts of good folks ‘re gettin’ their memories erased all over town. ‘Cause of me.”  A determined look settled on his face.  “Guess I’ll have to clean up the mess what I made.”

             “Uh, you’re gonna take down a cult on your own?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.

             “Oh, no.  Don’t worry, I know some folks what can help me out.”

             “Who?”

             “That ain’t information fer you to know.”  Old Man McGucket took a deep breath.  “But I will come clean ‘bout somethin’.  It’s the least I can do fer yer help in findin’ my mem’ries and wantin’ to help my baby sister.”  He closed his eyes.  “I did make that laptop.”

             “I knew it!” Dipper said, punching the air. “But…why did you lie, then?”

             “I didn’t want you children to get mixed up in what awful things that laptop comes with.  But it’s pretty obvious that yer goin’ to be in trouble no matter what, so I might as well tell y’all the truth.”

             “Then- are you the Author?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “Author?  Of what?”

             “I found this journal in the woods and-” Dipper reached for the pocked in his vest where he kept the Journal.  Nothing was there.  “Dang it! We were in too much of a hurry to leave; I forgot it back at the Shack!”

             “I think…” Old Man McGucket said slowly.  “I think I know what yer referrin’ to.  The book had research on the supernatural things here in Gravity Falls?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  A shadow crossed Old Man McGucket’s face.  “I reckon I used to know the Author.  But I can’t quite recall.  I- I can almost hear his voice, almost see his face, but I might need some time ‘fore I remember who he was.”

             “Once you remember, will you tell us who he is?” Mabel asked.

             “Only if I know the answer won’t put ya in danger. And given the lengths I’ve gone to forget him, I get the feelin’ that danger is a close friend of his.”  Old Man McGucket shook his head.  “Ya best get goin’.  My baby sister needs her memories back.”  He stared down at the memory tube in his hands.  “Y’all can leave without me.”  His fingers brushed his name on the label.  “I thought I remembered just ‘bout everything, but clearly I’ve got some left to do.”

             “Are you sure you can find your way home?” Soos asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.  He put the memory tube underneath his hat.

             “You’d be surprised what this ole feller can find.”

             “So is that a yes?” Soos asked slowly.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  “Oh.  Good.” Soos turned to Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy. “Let’s go bring Dr. Angie’s memories back to her!”

-----

             “All right, we’ve gotta get this to Grauntie Angie!” Dipper shouted as he burst through the door of the Gift Shop, closely followed by Mabel, Soos, and Wendy.

             “What are ya gettin’ to me?” Grauntie Angie asked. Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy froze. “If it’s a gift, ya don’t need to get me anything,” Grauntie Angie continued.  She was standing by the vending machine, whose door was currently open. “I’m just goin’ to grab m’self a quick snack ‘fore I went out.”

             “Grauntie Angie, you’re- you’re all right!” Mabel squealed in delight.  She rushed over to Grauntie Angie, tackling her in a hug.  Grauntie Angie chuckled, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

             “Were ya concerned I wouldn’t be?” she asked.

             “You’ve been bedridden for days,” Dipper pointed out.

             “Hmm, that’s true,” Grauntie Angie conceded. “But-”  She paused.  “Jesus, are you cryin’?” she asked.  Soos wiped away his tears.

             “I’m just so glad that you’re not sick anymore, Dr. Angie,” he sobbed.  Grauntie Angie tsked sympathetically.

             “Honey, ya don’t need to cry over me.  It’s okay.”

             “How’d you get better so fast?” Wendy asked. “Dipper and Mabel said you were doing really bad this morning.”  Grauntie Angie beamed at Grunkle Stan, who was closing the door to the vending machine.

             “Stanley’s just quite excellent at nursin’ me back to health,” she cooed.  She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Grunkle Stan on the cheek.  Mabel and Dipper grimaced, grossed out by the public display of affection. “Thank you fer yer help, darlin’. I better go.  Who knows what state the lake is in after I left it alone fer so long?”

             “Oh, yeah, those frogs go nuts when you’re not around to keep them in check,” Grunkle Stan replied.  Grauntie Angie giggled.  “Junior’s gonna come by in a few minutes if you wanna wait for him to give you a ride.”

             “Excellent idea, my dear.”  Grauntie Angie smiled at Dipper and Mabel.  “I’ll catch up with the two of ya later, okay?”  She left the Gift Shop, the bell over the door jingling with her exit.  Dipper turned to Grunkle Stan, who was staring at the door wistfully.

             “Seriously, how did she get better so quickly?” he asked.

             “You heard her,” Grunkle Stan said.  He grinned.  “I’m good at taking care of my wife.  Wouldn’t still be married if I wasn’t.”

             “But-” Dipper started.

             “I gotta go work on the newest exhibit,” Grunkle Stan said, talking over Dipper.  “I’ve been too busy with Angie to finish it up.”  He went through the “Staff Only” door, disappearing into the house. Dipper frowned thoughtfully.

             “Dipper,” Mabel said in a warning tone.  “I don’t like that look on your face.”

             “I can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie is hiding something,” Dipper said quietly.  Mabel gasped.

             “Are you gonna watch her memories?  We promised Old Man McGucket we wouldn’t!”

             “Old Man McGucket isn’t here,” Dipper retorted. “Her memories could answer the biggest mystery in this town!”  He reached for the pocket he had put Grauntie Angie’s memory tube.  Nothing was there.  “Uh oh.”

             “Uh oh?” Mabel said.  “What’s uh oh?”

             “I don’t have her memory tube.”

             “What?!  Did you drop it somewhere?”

             “I don’t think I did!” Dipper said.  He dragged his hands down his face.  “We’ll have to retrace our steps to find it!” Wendy’s phone chirped.  She took it out of her pocket and blinked in surprise.

             “I got a text from Emily.”

             “What’s it say?” Mabel asked.  Wendy squinted at her phone’s screen.

             “Huh.  They tracked down Old Man McGucket and apparently the tube fell out of your pocket or whatever before we left.  He’s got it, so we don’t need to look for it.”

             “Oh.”  Dipper sighed.  “I guess that’s good.”

             “Uh, duh, it’s good that Dr. Angie’s memories aren’t on a sidewalk somewhere,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. She pulled the brim of Dipper’s hat down over his eyes.  “Dork.” Dipper laughed.  “I’m gonna go wait outside with Dr. Angie.  I bet I can get Junior to give me a ride back home.”

             “Bye, Wendy!” Mabel called.  Wendy grinned and went outside.  Mabel looked at Dipper.  “Maybe it’s for the best that we accidentally left without the memory thing.  This way, you can’t sneak around and watch Grauntie Angie’s memories without permission!”  Dipper rubbed his arm, abashed.

             “Yeah,” he mumbled.  He sighed.  “I just want to find out what she’s hiding!”

             “Is she hiding anything?” Mabel asked.  “I mean, we haven’t really been able to ask her about what she knows about the Journal.”

             “Good point,” Dipper muttered.  His eyes shot open.  “The Journal!”

             “Oh, it’s over here, dude,” Soos said.  Dipper and Mabel looked over.  Soos held the Journal up in one hand.  “It was behind the checkout counter.”

             “I left it next to the register, though,” Dipper said.  Soos shrugged.

             “Maybe Mr. Pines put it somewhere a tourist wouldn’t see it and want to buy it,” he suggested.  Dipper frowned.  “Or Dr. Angie moved it.”

             “That’s more likely,” Dipper said.

             “Soos, kids!” Grunkle Stan’s voice shouted from somewhere.  “Get back to work!”  Dipper and Mabel groaned.  “I heard that!”

#Gravity Falls #Nixie AU #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #Soos Ramirez #Fiddleford McGucket #Wendy Corduroy #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Emily Pines #Junior Pines #Stangie #Stangie Family #Amphibious Tendencies #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

[darkomoth]

Insomniacs

Chapter 1: Violets

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You and Hotch are both workaholics, but when you start showing up earlier and staying later, he starts getting concerned. A case will give you something to preoccupy yourself with, but something goes severely wrong.

Cause when doesn't it?

Notes: I recommend getting the InteractiveFics extension for chrome! It's really good and will replace the y/n and l/n with your name :)

Also uploaded on Ao3 under the same title

Word count: 9.7K

Ch. 2 Ch.3

It was another night of not being able to sleep at all. Not that you hadn’t tried. After the plane touched back down in Quantico, you should’ve felt relief at the thought of home and a comfortable bed to lie your head, but you felt nothing other than anxiety at the thought of nothing to do. 

You got to your apartment, dumped your used go-bag clothes into the washing machine, showered, cleaned up the dishes that cluttered in your kitchen, even vacuumed up a bit in the living room. You looked over at the clock on the end table by your couch, it read 3:33 am. With a sigh, you decided to give rest a shot. 

Your bed was made perfectly already, not wanting to mess it up, you decided the couch was good. You grabbed a blanket and pillow and turned on the TV, volume all the way down. The time passed achingly slowly. Seconds crawled by and the silence was unbelievably deafening. You looked at the clock once again, 3:39 am. Another attempt to close your eyes and you were met with 20 minutes of tossing and turning. 

“That’s enough.” You mumbled to yourself before throwing the warm blanket off your body and getting up. You made a pot of coffee, moved your clothes to the dryer, and packed a new go-bag. 4:05 am. It was agonizing, every second you waited for your phone to ring. You watched it, the dark screen with no new notifications taunting you. You sat on your couch, watching the characters on your screen move and laugh silently, your eyes drifted closed once or twice, but never long enough for it to be called sleep. 

You sipped your coffee, hot and caffeinated and perfect. 4:17 am. When the drink went cold you decided it would be a good time to get ready for the day. You got dressed, black slacks and a dark blue long-sleeved button-down. You brushed your hair and did your makeup. 4:29 am. You considered whether to just go straight to the office, ultimately deciding it best to grab some food first. 

You arrived at the building at 5:02 am. It wasn’t too early, you decided. After all, there have been nights that you’ve seen your boss not leave until past 5:00 in the morning. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the parking lot this morning, however. That was good, it meant he was getting sleep and time with his son. 

The bullpen was dark, you decided to only turn on one light, enough for you to see. The case report on your desk was already finished since you worked on it during your team's flight back home, but there would be no harm in going over it. You wouldn’t classify yourself as a perfectionist or even a workaholic, though you presented that way to others. You just didn’t enjoy doing nothing like other people. 

Footsteps coming from your left made you pause what you were doing and look up. 

“Good morning.” You said as Hotch came walking into the bullpen with that perfectly pressed suit of his. The time on your watch read 5:30 am, he was very punctual. 

“Good morning.” He said, with that usual furrow of his brow and the tight-lipped look that meant a question was coming. “You’re here early.”  

Okay, not really a question. 

“So are you.” You say, too tired to engage in your typical banter. 

Hotch only nodded once in response, then took a few steps towards his office before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Did you actually go home last night?” 

“Yes.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers beneath your desk. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Mm.” He hummed in response. “Don’t burn yourself out, we need you alert.” 

“Do we have a case?” You asked, maybe a little too quickly. 

“Not until the rest of the team gets here... but yes.” 

You nodded and any trace of tiredness from the night dissipated. Blood pumped in your veins and your anxiety disappeared, anticipation for the new work ahead of you completely replacing it. 

“Okay, would you mind if I got the case file now? I have nothing else to do.” You asked. 

Hotch studied you for a moment with that serious frown of his, “I’ll make copies now.” 

“Thank you.” 

Sometimes you felt like Hotch was the only one that understood you. Maybe it was because he was the resident workaholic in the department before you showed up, and he still is, but it feels deeper than that. Most days you come in at the same time, leave at the same time... honestly the only time you don’t see your Unit Chief is when you’re home. You hated being home. 

In the very late hours when the whole building was quiet and not a soul lingered, you would see that one light from Hotch’s office and feel comfort. His blinds would be open, and you could see him reading and writing, looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Since the death of his ex-wife, Haley, he’s stayed later and later, coming in earlier, only departing when he knows Jack needs him. It’s a heartbreaking thing to watch. 

But often you would be sitting at your desk, getting lost in the paperwork as your eyes strained to read every bit of information in the dim lighting, when a warm hand would land on your shoulder. Hotch’s soft, tired voice telling you to take a break, rest your eyes. It made your chest warm, and body relax if only for a few minutes. He knew better than to try to get you to go home, it never works out. Unless of course, he leaves at the same time. It was a very rare occurrence, to say the least. 

Right now, Hotch is in his office making enough copies of the case files to be passed around to the team when they get in. You tap impatiently on your desk, drumming your fingers along to a song that only exists in your head. When you can’t stand it anymore, you get up and make your way over to him. 

You knock once on the open door, “What is it?” 

Hotch turns to you with a serious look. “You’re very impatient this morning.” 

“I know. So?” 

With a sigh, he hands over a manila folder with the FBI logo. 

“Three women in three weeks, all were strangled and beaten to death, abducted from their homes. Last victim was found 4 days ago.” 

“That’s a strict timeline... and they’re just calling us in now?” You ask. 

“Local sheriff thinks it could be even more and I’m inclined to agree. So far, this presents as organized. No one starts out like this, there are no hesitation marks on the bodies and no DNA was left behind on the scenes.” 

You nodded along as he spoke, already going over the possibilities of this unsub in your mind. Organized means older, that rules out teenagers and younger. No hesitation could mean psychopathy, lack of remorse, etc. Most likely white given the victims were, possibly sexually frustrated. 

“Any sign of sexual assault?” 

“We’ll go over everything when the team arrives.” Hotch states firmly. 

“When were they called in?” You asked. 

“If you check your voice mail, you’ll see.” He says with a small smile. “Look, go to the conference room and read over the files some more, I’ll make some more coffee.”  

You want to argue, but you know he’s right. You were definitely getting ahead of yourself here. With a grateful nod, you head to the conference room. 

The pictures were gruesome, but when aren’t they? The girls were pretty when they were alive, their faces were mutilated during the attacks. Could have something to do with the unsub’s view of women. You turned over theory after theory in your head and before you knew it, Hotch was back and sliding over a mug filled to the brim with coffee, just the way you like it.  

“Thank you, Hotch.” You say, taking a sip. He nods and sips his own cup. 

“How long were you here before I came in?” He asks you, glancing up from the file in his hands. 

You shrug and say, “Not long... half an hour?” 

“You need to rest.” He says, in his usual commanding tone. It makes you smile a bit, though you try to suppress it. 

“I know, and I will.” You look him in the eyes to try and convince him, but he looks doubtful. “Promise.” 

Hotch nods, seemingly satisfied for the time being. You knew he was just checking in on you out of concern for a team member, but you hoped it was just a little more than that. Anytime he looked at you, it made your heart rate pick up a little. You weren’t as sure of yourself as usual when you were around him. 

Five minutes later the team starts filtering in, first is JJ, then Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid. Then it’s Garcia, who did not seem very happy to be awake at 6:30 am, followed by Rossi. When everyone finally gathered into the conference room, you could feel your body relax. Your work could finally start for real. 

After the initial ‘good mornings’ and bantering, Hotch started to present the case to everyone. You suggested the same preliminary profile traits from earlier and most everyone agreed. 

“Well, if this unsub has killed before, it will most likely not be in the exact same spot.” Reid says. “We should widen the range to a fifty-mile radius to see if there were any similar murders in the past couple years or so.” 

“I’m so on it.” Penelope says.  

“What else did the unsub do?” Prentiss asks, looking at the photos of the victims’ neck wounds. 

“A call was placed to each of the victim’s significant others, a voice modifier was used but the message remained the same. ‘Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.’” Hotch says. “He keeps them for at least a day, given the various stages of healing with the victims bruises.” 

“Well, that’s definitely sadistic, torturing not only the victims but those close to them as well.” You add. 

“Was the call placed before or after their deaths?” Rossi asks. 

Hotch’s eyebrows knit further together, “Before, according to the coroner's report.”  

“Which gives the victim’s family hope only for that to be snuffed out almost immediately.” Reid says. 

“If this guy’s seasoned in his kills, why risk dumping the bodies in such a public way?” Morgan asks. “All of the victims, Susanne Yearly, Brenda James and Larissa Buckly were all found in public parks, somewhere he could’ve easily been seen even at night while disposing of them.” 

“Maybe there’s a part of him that wants to get caught? Wants people to know that this was his work.” You say. 

“If that’s the case, we’re dealing with a narcissist.” Rossi adds. 

Prentiss jumps in again, “Yeah, but this level of body mutilation feels personal. Their faces were left nearly unrecognizable, I’m willing to bet his stressor involves a woman that has similar features.” 

“The families are distraught.” JJ says. “They confirmed in the police reports that all the girls lived alone, having just moved into new places weeks or even days before their abductions took place.” 

“Well, that’s certainly a connection.” Hotch states. “Chicago PD will be expecting us when we arrive, wheels up in 30.” 

- 

Arriving less than three hours later, Hotch orders you and Reid to establish a timeline in the precinct while Morgan and Rossi take the newest crime scene where Larissa’s body was found. Hotch has JJ speaking to family members and Prentiss goes with him to the morgue. 

Garcia’s on the speaker with Reid, “I did what you asked and widened the range for possible attacks fitting this creeps M.O., however absolutely nothing came up. Soooo, I changed the parameters. Hotch and L/N mentioned that most likely this guy wouldn’t have been as confident as he is now, meaning the kills may not have been as brutal. I included any and all deaths as a result of suffocation from the last ten years surrounding the Chicago area and wouldn’t-ya-know-it I got a hit. Well, hits.” 

Garcia explains that there were at least 5 possible victims, all of them died of various forms of suffocation. You and Reid went through the past reports of the deceased women and ruled out two of them since they both drowned, which didn’t fit this unsub’s specific fantasy. That left you with three girls, one found in an alley behind her work with a bag around her head, no other injuries except a hit on the head with a blunt object. The other two were covered in bruises and strangled with rope. Since then, the unsub’s gotten smarter, switched from rope to wire making it less bulky and conspicuous. He’s also leveled up his damage to their face and body, becoming more intense with each kill. 

You and Reid explain your findings to Hotch and Prentiss when they return from the morgue. They corroborate the theory with their own findings, since each body was more disfigured than the last. The thin lines on the necks of the victims were so deep, you wondered if that’s what the unsub focused on the most. 

“There was no sexual assault present on the bodies.” Prentiss states. “But there were marks on their wrists and ankles, they were most likely tied to something while the unsub beat them.” 

“Which means the act of killing is more than enough for him,” Hotch adds. “He derives all of his pleasure from brutalizing the women, then watching them die in front of him.” 

“The bag around the head on the very first victim, Miranda Jall, along with the hit on her head suggests a sort of de-personalization.” Reid says. “He didn’t make a call to her fiancé and there was no abduction. He hit her over the head as she walked out of her workplace, and the bag obscured his view of her face, he couldn’t have gotten off on it.” He says. 

“It was practice. He was figuring out how he was going to incapacitate his victims.” You say. “He probably felt a rush after the initial hit, and realized he wanted more of that aspect.” 

“So, he amps up the beatings.” Hotch adds. “He isn’t satisfied with just the kill, he wants more time.” 

“And then he switches to rope so he can see their faces.” Prentiss says. 

“The two victims that were strangled with rope still have yet to be identified. He started out by blitz-attacking his victims in isolated areas, where-as now he targets newly independent women inside their homes.” Reid says. 

JJ walks up with a look on her face that you all know means bad news, “The victims' families have no idea who the caller could be, all the young women appeared to be well-liked, in stable relationships. They can’t think of a single person that would want to do this to their daughters.” 

Just then, a call comes through to Hotch’s phone. “Hotchner.” He listens for a moment and then nods, “Okay.” He hangs up. “Morgan and Rossi found violets at the crime scene.”  

“The flower?” Prentiss asks. 

“Yes.” 

“Was that present at the other dump sites?” You ask. 

“If it was, it wasn’t mentioned in the files.” Hotch answers. 

“If he’s leaving flowers for his victims, it could potentially be a sign of remorse.” Reid says. 

“This guy isn’t capable, he’s narcissistic and psychopathic, the flowers have to mean something else.” You say, frustrated now. 

So far all you’ve really gotten is the confirmation that this guy has killed at least six women, and not a whole lot else. You decide to call Garcia. 

“Speak and be heard by residing genius PG.” 

“Hey Garcia, can you get me everything on the early victims? I think the unsub knew one of them personally.” You say. 

“What makes you think that?” Prentiss asks. 

“Well, if the first kill was a trial, maybe he was practicing for a specific target. He could have already gotten who he wanted and now he’s chasing the same high.” You reply. “While you’re at it Garcia, see if you can find any mention of violets being present at the crime scenes.” 

- 

Everyone had converged back to the precinct nearly an hour ago. The last victim, Larissa Buckly, was found 4 days ago. If the unsub is continuing at a consistent rate with no sign of slowing down, the police will be finding a new body in 3 days.  

You all knew this, the stakes were high and given the profile of the unsub, he wasn’t someone that was going to stop unless he was behind bars. Still, the team needed sleep. 

“Alright, we’ve done all that we can for the night. The profile is out there, the press conference warned women of Chicago to remain vigilant, you all can head to the hotel.” Hotch says. 

Hotch could tell that the team wasn’t in high spirits and exhaustion wasn’t going to make it any better. It’s usually a good idea to take a step back, take a break, and come back with fresh eyes. And yet, as the profilers filed out of the precinct, still talking back and forth about victimology and M.O., he noticed not all of them were leaving. 

Y/N stayed planted where she was at the round table, eyebrows knit together in frustration or confusion. She tapped her fingers the way that she does when she's nervous or focused, or both. Hotch takes a step towards her, his arms crossed, and a frown set on his face. 

“I said you all can head to the hotel.” He says pointedly. 

“Yes, I heard you. I’m not tired.” Y/N says, still not meeting his eyes. 

Hotch’s jaw tenses a bit. She can be incredibly stubborn and, in some cases, it was an asset. Not right now, though. 

“It wasn’t a suggestion, L/N. Go get some sleep, come back tomorrow morning with everyone else.” 

“Are you going to sleep?” She asks, finally snapping her head up and meeting his stoic gaze with her own. 

“Yes. I have to do a few more things here, and then I will be heading back to the hotel.” 

“I’ll leave when you do.” She says. It was a challenge, he knew. He was used to it. It was also extremely frustrating.  

Hotch swipes a hand across his face tiredly, “Y/N. You haven't slept since our last case. It’s been over 48 hours, and our judgement is severely impaired after 24 hours without sleep. You can become drowsy and irritable, your memory is affected, your coordination will be off-” 

“You think my judgement is impaired?” She asks, sounding offended. That would be the part that she focuses on, Hotch thinks. “Hotch, I have been trying to put all of these puzzle pieces together for over 12 hours now and nothing is going to get done if I’m knocked out.” 

Hotch understands where she’s coming from, truly, but right now, he doesn’t care. “L/N I am giving you a direct order, leave the precinct. Go to the hotel. Do not come back until at least 6:00.” 

She huffs out a frustrated breath, and it’s hard to not find that a little bit cute. The thought makes Hotch feel guilty, that’s definitely not what he should be thinking about right now. Before he can dwell on it though, Y/N is gathering up all of the papers that were scattered around the table. 

“No- leave it.” Hotch commands with his hand coming down on top of the file so she can’t take it, brushing her hand in the process. It spreads a warmth through him, but he thinks he does a good job at not showing it. “I know you won’t sleep if you take these with you.” 

Y/N’s angry, he knows by the way she doesn’t even respond, just shoots him a look and grabs her bag to leave. It’s fine though, if that’s what it takes to get her to finally rest. Hotch lets out a long sigh once she’s out of sight, taking a seat at the table and finishing collecting all of the papers on the table. That’s when he notices an image of one of the Jane Doe victims, she’s wearing a necklace, gold and dainty around her slim, pale neck. It was blurry, hard to make out, but certainly a cursive “V” pendant hung in the middle. 

“Violet?” 

-  

Hotch ordered you to leave the precinct, so you did. But he didn’t say you couldn’t make a detour on your way to the hotel. A yawn overcame you as you drove towards Grant Park, where Larissa’s body was found. You knew that if Hotch found out about this you would be in a lot of trouble, but the thought didn’t really faze you when faced with the alternative. How could you sleep when there was a serial killer out there hunting for his newest victim? A young woman was going to be dead in less than 72 hours, who were you to sleep at a time like this? 

At the same time, you can’t condemn your friends for needing that sleep. You wished you functioned like they did. You wished you could take a step back and rest and come back refreshed with a whole new outlook. But the truth was that you just couldn’t handle the nightmares. 

They started not long after joining the BAU. It was only natural; you were assured by Morgan as he noticed how off you’d been after a few months with the team. He also suffered from nightmares. They were fewer and further between now, which was good. You weren’t so lucky. For some reason they came in waves. Each case you worked on added to your memory storage of gruesome death and horrific imagery that was reflected back at you anytime you closed your eyes.  

It’s true that you hated the nothingness of your home life, the boredom of being alone with nothing but your thoughts, but that was only part of it. You figured, the longer you could stay awake, the less you’d have to worry about the nightmares bleeding into your reality. 

When you arrived at the spot where Larissa was found, you saw yellow crime scene tape wrapped around trees and some blood on the floor where the body had laid in the center of it. She was positioned laying face up, arms at her sides, clothes intact. No overtly sexual displays, no attempt to cover her up, just a corpse. 

Without the files to work off of, you only had your memory of the crime scene photos. You closed your eyes and imagined you were the one dumping Larissa’s body.  

“I would scope out the area first, without the body.” You say to yourself. “Take note of how many people were here during the day, how many at night... but I’d have to seem inconspicuous. Can’t be in a black hoodie standing still and staring at people. Someone would notice.” 

“So, I don’t cover my face... people saw me, interacted even. I’m not standing out, I’m moving. Maybe running?” You sigh and open your eyes. All that means is that this guy will be harder to catch than most. “What was with the violets...” You walk in circles around the scene, looking from every angle possible. You take note of the shrubbery, all green grass and occasional daffodils, nothing even resembling violets in the area, so the unsub definitely brought it with him. 

Before you had a chance to continue, you heard some movement from behind you. You quickly spun around but saw no one. 

You moved carefully from where you stood, a hand resting on your hip where your gun was. Taking careful steps towards the parking lot, you glance at your watch. 1:34 am. Anyone out here at this time is either a stoner or a serial killer, you found yourself almost hoping for the latter. 

Once you reached your car, you still saw nothing. “FBI, if someone is there come out now and show me your hands.” You said as loud and clear as possible. 

Nothing, only crickets sounded in the night. With a sigh, you thought maybe Hotch was right, your judgement was seriously impaired, and you needed some sleep. 

As you reached for the handle of the driver's side door, you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head, and everything went black. 

-  

Hotch felt confident in his theory that the third victim, Jane Doe #2, was the unsub’s intended target from the beginning. The first kill was fast and sloppy, he didn’t move the body and her face was practically untouched. The second, Jane Doe #1, was also blitz-attacked, but it was in a grocery store parking lot at night, somewhere higher-risk where he could have been caught. So he was getting bolder, he hit her more, but still didn’t take her anywhere new. Just left her body where she was strangled. The third though, that’s when things shifted. 

Jane Doe #2 who wore the ‘V’ necklace, was found in a public park, but that isn’t where she died. Hotch has been referring to her as violet for the time-being, since he didn’t know her actual name. No “Violet” was ever reported missing in the area, which means it could most likely be a nickname. Her real name would potentially still start with a V, he thought.  

On the phone with Garcia, he relayed all of this information and was waiting for something to turn up on her end. “I did what L/N asked and tried to find everything I could on the first three victims. Miranda Jall, like you said, was a victim of opportunity and a trial-run. Jane Doe #1 though, while similar to the first, was beaten more and found more quickly. Jane Doe #2 was unrecognizable, I mean like, her face was so swollen from being beaten it’s surprising she was found in one piece.” Her voice was tight and rushed, like the words in her mouth made her feel physically sick. 

“I know,” Hotch says. “Which is why I need everything you can find on her, search for missing persons from the past few years again, but narrow it down to only women whose first name started with a V. She would’ve been in a relationship, either long-term boyfriend, fiancé, or new husband.” 

“Okay, stay on the line aaaandd.... there are four women, Venessa Traer, Veronica May, Victoria Jennings, and Valerie Hill. None of them look like the other victims.” Garcia says, clearly frustrated. “Traer was an elementary school teacher in her late forties, May had gone missing during a boating trip out-of-state and presumed dead, Jennings was reported missing but turned up a few weeks later, apparently on a spontaneous vacation with her friends, and Hill was an elderly woman who was suspected to have left her care-facility of her own free will.” 

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, until a thought struck him. “What about middle-names that start with V?” It was a long shot, he knew it, but he would try anything at this point. 

A few seconds passed as he heard Garcia’s furious typing on the other end, “Aha! Sir, you are in fact a genius. Samantha Vivienne Garner, reported missing only eight weeks ago. She’s a spitting image of the other women, her name shows up on a lease for a newly remodeled home with one Riley Perkins, her soon-to-be husband.” 

“Garcia, I’ll need an address for Perkins.” 

“Already being sent.” 

“Oh...” She said, sadly. 

Hotch’s frown deepened, “What is it?” 

“Perkins had posted an image of Samantha saying yes to his proposal, it was in the middle of Millenium Park.” 

“Where Jane Doe #2’s body was found.” Hotch said, now 100% convinced that his theory was correct. 

Hotch knew that he would be at the precinct all night, the irony of his situation with Y/N not lost on him. She was dedicated, maybe too dedicated, but the same could be said of him. 

“Good work, Garcia. We’ll call you when there’s another update.”  

“Oh, just one more thing, sir.” 

“What is it?” 

“L/N had asked me to look into whether there were violets at the other crime scenes and the answer is yes and no. It wasn’t reported or even see as a connection because the first Jane Doe had bought a bouquet of violets from the grocery store, which seems like a coincidence, but Susanne, Brenda, and Larissa all had violets show up on their doorsteps after they were found dead. They were presumed to be condolence gifts from friends, but now...” 

“Alright, we’ll look into this further, thank you.” 

Hotch ended the call and checked the time. 3:00 am. Three more hours before the rest of the team would show up. He was already setting up in his mind where everyone would be assigned once they got here. Hotch wanted JJ to get in contact with Samantha Garner’s parents, Morgan and Reid would pull the missing person's report and find out the details of that. He would keep Rossi and Prentiss in the precinct to dig into Garner and Perkin’s lives with Garcia. He wanted L/N with him to interview Perkins himself, if he had gotten the very first phone call from the unsub about Samantha, why didn’t he identify her? 

5:58 am, Hotch read his watch as everyone started walking in. They were tired, but still looking better than they did the previous night. There were only two days before the next body would be found, and if he’s keeping them for one day, he may have already taken someone. 

Hotch was half-expecting (half-hoping) that Y/N would show up early. She usually did, even when it was against orders. Still, he was glad that this meant she may have actually gotten a few hours of rest. 6:00 am and no Y/N, Hotch shrugged off the pit-like feeling in his stomach. 

“Good morning.” He says to the other members, who’ve taken their spots at the table. Hotch speed-dials Garcia and puts her on speaker so that the two of them can go over what they discovered last night. 

“Well, then if this Samantha girl was the real target and he’s still going, there’s no telling when or if he’ll stop.” Rossi says once they’re finished. 

“Exactly,” Hotch replies. He assigns them to their designated tasks and just before he can dismiss everyone, Prentiss speaks up. 

“Has anyone seen L/N?” She asks. 

“I called her when we got here but didn’t get an answer.” JJ says. 

The group of FBI agents share some looks but no one says anything. That feeling in Hotch’s stomach has doubled. 

“She wasn’t at the hotel this morning?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow together and jaw tenses when no one answers immediately. 

“I didn’t see her.” Morgan speaks up. 

“Me neither.” Reid says. 

Everyone else only shakes their head in agreement. 

“I sent her back with all of you, she tried to stay late but I wouldn’t let her.” Hotch says, fists clenched in the position at his sides. “She didn’t take the files with her so she wouldn’t have had anything to work on.” 

“Well...” JJ starts. 

“What?” Hotch asks. 

“If she couldn’t be at the precinct and she didn’t want to sleep, she could’ve gone to one of the dump sites.” She replies. 

Hotch’s chest feels tight, his breathing is shallow and can’t think straight at the moment. If that is what she did, it was very, very stupid. They had profiled this unsub as a psychotic narcissist with sadistic tendencies, there’s a good chance he would visit the crime scenes afterwards. Of course she would go straight there, he thought, what else would she do? 

“Alright, the plan hasn’t changed. All of you know your assignments, go.” Hotch says, before he turns to stride away. 

“Wait a second, if Y/N’s in danger, we need to find her.” Prentiss says, clearly upset and standing up from her chair. 

“That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Hotch shoots back, unable to keep the anger and worry from showing in his voice. 

He didn’t give anyone else a chance to argue as he stormed out of the precinct, heading towards the car. One of the cars was gone, which means Y/N definitely left here last night, it was just a matter of which scene she ended up at. 

With Garcia still on the phone, Hotch has a thought, “Garcia, send me the last location registered on the GPS of the rental car that Y/N used last night.” 

“Y-yes sir.” Penelope typed quickly and Hotch’s anxieties grew with each passing second. “Uh, the-the last pinned location was Grant Park, which was where-” 

“The last victim was found. Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch hung up the phone and pulled quickly out of the parking lot, heart beating out of his chest. 

- 

You were pretty sure you could feel your heart beating in your head. The back of your skull hurt very badly, but when you tried to feel for an injury you found that you couldn’t. Both your wrists and ankles were tied to a chair, which was bolted to the floor. 

Your mouth felt dry, all you could think about was water. That was, before someone came walking towards you from the corner of the room. 

“How are you feeling?” The man’s rough voice was too close to your ear, making you jerk back. The sudden movement didn’t help your head injury at all. “Ah ah ah...” He said, gripping your face with one large hand. “Stay still.” 

He was ugly. That was honestly your first thought while looking at him. Maybe he hated women cause he couldn’t get a date. 

His face was scruffy with a patchy beard, his brunette wavy hair receded away from his face revealing forehead wrinkles. He must’ve only been in his late 30’s early 40’s, but his strung-out appearance aged him. 

“Where am I?” You ask as levelly as you could in your state. Looking around, the only thing you noticed was a concrete floor and barren white walls, which hung some wire. A house? Maybe a basement, given the musty smell of the air in the cramped space. It was dark, the only light source coming from a small lamp to your right. 

“I thought you were the profiler.” 

So, this guy knows exactly who he took. You weren’t just a victim of opportunity, but a target. “You’re right, I am. Which is why I know that you are an extremely...” You take a steadying breath in preparation, “weak individual with no genuine real-world skills who overcompensates for his lack of personality with a massive ego.” You say, staring him in the eyes. “Am I getting warm?” 

The unsub pulls his fist back before it lands across your left cheek. You knew this would be the response, though. It’s why you did it. The punch snapped your head all the way to the right, where you spit out the small amount of blood that formed in your mouth. You can’t pretend it didn’t hurt; your eyes squeezed shut against the pain. 

Challenging a narcissist usually incurs some type of violence or retribution, but that makes them emotional which can make them sloppy and prone to mistakes. Maybe those mistakes would reveal to you where you were, or even lead your team right to you. You hoped you were right. 

The stranger in front of you takes in a rattling breath and exhales in your face, making you recoil. He grips you by the chin once more, putting some extra pressure on the bruise that was sure to form soon. “You are going to die here. But first, I have to make a call.” 

The man reaches into your front pocket, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. Your phone isn’t locked, it never is since you never leave it behind, ever. That of course means the unsub has full access to each number in your contact list. Your heart rate picks up at the thought of who he was about to call. 

You didn’t have a significant other, maybe that meant he wouldn’t call anyone? No such luck, though. The man scrolled through your most recent calls and only one name showed up the most consistently. 

SSA Aaron Hotchner. 

His name made your head light and your stomach churn. This really was a waking nightmare. You pulled yourself roughly against your restraints, feeling the thick rope cut deep into your bare skin. It burned and you kept going until you received a punch to the stomach for your efforts. 

“Shut the fuck up.” The ugly man said. Then with a finger raised to his lips as if to demonstrate to you that you need to keep quiet, he presses the call button and raises the phone to his ear. You scream at him and that irritates him enough to punch you once more in the face, harder than the last time. 

You groan at the sensation, the pain from your skull and your cheek and your stomach combining to make you feel ill. 

“Y/N?” You could hear Hotch’s voice faintly from your phone that the unsub still had in his hand. 

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.” Is all that the unsub said, before ending the call and tossing the phone away. It lands several feet behind him on the floor, and you know there’s no chance of you getting it. Not when you’re still bound to the chair. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the unsub, watching as he stares you down. He was predictably irrational, moving around you like a wild animal, as if trying to decide what to do with you first. 

You may not know where you are exactly, but you know that this unsub likes to keep his victims alive for at least 24 hours after kidnapping them. If he does stick to that pattern, that leaves you with about 20ish hours for your team to come find you. And while you did have complete faith in them, it didn’t stop your heart from pounding faster the closer he came. 

-  

Hotch saw the call with your caller ID, and he felt like he could breathe again. He had just stopped in the lot of Grant Park and was walking towards the yellow taped scene when he paused and answered. 

“Y/N?” He asked as soon as he hit accept. 

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.”  

Hotch felt ice in his veins as the line went dead immediately after. The worst thing that could have happened, did. And Hotch felt helpless. His jaw was tense, and his hand curled into a white-knuckled fist around the cell phone. He dropped it to his side, not able to think for a moment. 

Then he took a deep breath and dialed Garcia. 

“Sir?” 

“Can you track L/N’s phone right now?” Hotch asks, feeling the weight of what was happening in his throat as it closed around his words. 

“Um, yeah, yes if it’s turned on and if it’s near cell phone towers I should-I should be able to triangulate its location...” While she spoke, she typed. Another few seconds passed without words. 

“Garcia?” Hotch said as firmly as he could. 

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t- if the phone was turned off or destroyed, I won’t be able to get even an approximation, nothing is coming up at all-” 

“Get into contact with the rest of the team, tell them Y/N’s been taken by the unsub.” 

“Oh, God. Oh my God, okay.” 

Hotch hung up and pocketed his phone. He wipes his hands down his face, frustrated and so fucking angry. With himself, with this case... he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get you back. Now was the worst time to dwell on it, though. You needed the team's help, and he was going to find you. 

Looking around at the scene, he noticed that the rental car wasn’t here either. That means the unsub took it with you inside. He must’ve disabled the GPS, either broke it or threw it away before leaving. Hotch immediately contacted the local Police Department’s office to put out an APB on the black SUV. 

Think, think... “Okay, he had a personal connection to Samantha. Not only knew her, he loved her or thought he did. He was angry that she was getting married.” 

Hotch drives as fast as he can back to the precinct where he finds everyone else, back from their assignments and looking at him for answers.  

“When was she taken?” Prentiss asks first. 

“And from where?” Reid adds. 

“Between 1:00 and 4:00 am, from the park where Larissa’s body was found.” Hotch says, trying to remain in his usual stoic façade. “He wouldn’t have risked taking her while it was light out. This unsub is bold but he’s still a coward like the rest of them.” 

“Did you find anything at the scene?” Morgan asks. 

“The car was missing, the unsub had to have taken L/N in it.” Hotch took a deep breath. “He called me from her phone.” 

That made everyone stiffen. 

Rossi speaks now, “Same message?” 

Hotch nods once, which is all he can manage. The team speaks in hushed tones as anxiety takes over. “Right now, we have to assume that she’s alive. This unsub keeps his victims so that he can... torture them so let’s get to work.” 

“Yeah, but Hotch... if he knows that L/N’s an FBI agent, there’s no telling if he’ll remain on schedule.” Morgan says, obviously troubled by the thought himself if his face is any indication. 

Hotch had considered it, of course. But he refused to accept it. Until there was a body, Y/N was not dead. She couldn’t be. 

“What did you find out about Samantha Garner from the missing person's report?” Hotch asks, ignoring the implication of Morgan’s words. 

“It was called in by her Fiancé, Riley Perkins.” He replies. “He called the police once he noticed she didn’t come home from work.” 

Hotch nods, thinking that the unsub wouldn’t be stupid enough to call in the missing person’s report himself. As much of a narcissist as he is, he wanted to keep pursuing his fantasies. 

“And JJ, what’d you get from her parents?” Hotch asks, fingers curled into fists as his arms cross in front of his chest. 

“It’s the same story as the other parents, everybody loved her, there was no one who held any grudges.” JJ says. “Her mother did mention an admirer, though.” 

“An admirer?” Prentiss repeats. 

“Yeah, I guess Sam was getting love letters. Innocuous enough to not raise alarm, but still out of the ordinary.” 

“Did she say who they were from?” Hotch says hurriedly. 

 JJ shakes her head, “No, she had no idea.” 

“Prentiss and I got Garcia to dig into Sam and Riley’s relationship,” Rossi says. “They were together only one year before deciding to tie the knot.” 

“They seemed to love each other.” Prentiss adds. 

“Well looks can be deceiving.” Hotch says. “Garcia got his address, Morgan and Prentiss, with me. The rest of you stay and find out absolutely everything you can about this secret admirer, he’s our unsub.” 

- 

When Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss arrived at the suburban home at the end of a cul-de-sac, all three stepped out and quickly made their way to the front door. 

Three loud knocks on the front door from Morgan and a few seconds later Riley came out. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you Riley Perkins?” Hotch asked, though he knew the answer. 

“Yes, I am. What is this about?” 

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, these are special agents Morgan and Prentiss, may we come in?” He didn’t leave room for Perkins to answer, as he was already stepping inside. 

“Um, what-what is this about?” He asks again nervously, stepping aside to let the three of them into his living room. 

The house was a mess, laundry and trash littered most of the surfaces. The man himself didn’t look too good, like he hasn’t slept in a week. 

“We’re here about your fiancé, Samantha Garner.” Morgan says. 

Perkins shifts his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably, not making eye contact. “Did you, um, did you find her?” 

“Yes, sir we did.” Morgan responds. 

The man's nodding, fidgeting where he stands. “And?” 

“Sir, I’m afraid she’s dead.” Morgan explains as calmly as he can. 

Hotch notices the way Perkins handles the news, the tenseness of his shoulders dissipating. Not necessarily relieved by the news but accepting. Like he already knew that she was dead. 

“Oh my God...” He lifts a palm up to his face and sobs for a moment. 

“Mr. Perkins, I’m going to ask you once and if you’re not honest with me, trust that I will know.” Hotch states after he finally stops. The man looks him up and down and nods. “Did you receive a phone call the day your fiancé went missing?” 

“I uh- I don’t remember...” Perkins says, again breaking eye contact. 

“Yes, you do.” Hotch says, now invading his personal space. “It was the day your fiancé went missing, you knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home from work, you called the police. And then someone called you, didn’t they?” 

“I- I mean no I don’t...” Perkins finally looks up and then sighs. “I don’t know who it was, I really, really don’t.” 

“What did he say, exactly.” Prentiss asks. 

Perkins looks at her and shakes his head a little, “He said... that I shouldn’t look for her, that I- I'll never see her again.” He starts crying again after that. 

“Anything else at all? Was he calm, erratic?” Morgan asks. 

“He was like, mumbling, I don’t know.” 

“There’s something you’re not telling us, if you’re withholding essential information to interfere with a federal investigation, I will see to it that you are charged with obstruction of justice.” Hotch says, angrier by the second. 

Perkins looks like he’s going to throw up and his legs give out. He slumps down onto the couch before he can speak. “He said... he said that he would kill me too if I spoke to the police again.” His head is in his hands as he talks. “I knew, I knew the second the news said they discovered a body in Millenium Park.” He was almost incomprehensible through his sobs. “They couldn’t identify her, but I knew.” 

“Mr. Perkins... Riley.” Prentiss takes a seat next to him and speaks softly, trying to establish trust. “This man has killed at least five other women.” His cries stopped for a moment when he turned to look at her, a shocked expression on his face. “We need your help in order to stop him.” 

“I told you, I swear, I don’t know who it is.” 

“We think that you do, you just don’t know it.” Morgan says. 

Hotch jumps in, “Samantha was his target from the beginning, he knew her. He may have even known you. Think, was there anyone new in your lives? Someone who seemed a little too friendly too quickly? He would have made you uncomfortable, he was domineering and egotistical.” 

“Well, um I didn’t know him, I mean, I never met him,” Perkins says, “but there was a guy. Sam would complain about how annoying he was at work, a new hire. She said he talked her ear off about his life, asked too many personal questions...” He trails off for a minute looking between the three agents. “Do you think this man killed my fiancé?” 

“Possibly.” Hotch replies. “I have one more question and then we’ll leave.” Perkins nods, tight-lipped. “Did she mention that this man called her by a different name, maybe her middle name?” 

His face changed completely, mouth dropping open and blinking, “Yes! Yeah, she mentioned that he would call her ‘my Violet’ like every day, it bugged her.” 

“Thank you for your time.” 

- 

Hours had gone by while you stayed strapped to this god damned chair. The torture felt never-ending. The unsub landed blow after blow to your face and stomach, only offering a reprieve when you had temporarily passed out from the pain. You couldn’t see very well out of your left eye and your fingers were involuntarily twitching. The blood in your mouth was metallic and awful, adding to your nausea.  

“You know,” The man said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I appreciate the way you’re hanging on. It will make the ending a lot more fun.” 

If you had the energy, you would recoil from his closeness to your face. His breath repulsed you, but you stayed completely still, barely blinking, shallow breaths lifting and lowering your chest. 

“Mm, you really need to wake up.” He pushes your head back so that you’re forced to look at him. With his grip in your hair, he strikes you in the face with the back of his hand. “Nothin.” 

You couldn’t say with any real accuracy how much time had actually gone by since you were first taken, but you had a feeling that your time was running out. Your thoughts wandered to your team.  

You missed talking and joking with Prentiss and JJ, you missed Garcia’s cheery voice over the speaker phone. You wanted to hear Morgan’s stories about picking up women and Rossi’s input that made everyone laugh. You wanted to hear Reid ramble about nothing and everything. Mostly, you find yourself thinking about Hotch.  

You missed walking into the BAU and knowing you would find him in his office. You thought about his stern face and wanted to know what it would be like to reach your hands out and touch him, wipe away his anger and guilt. You wanted another silent morning where the two of you would sit in the conference room and drink your coffees, enjoying the comfortable silence of the early hours. 

You wanted to see his rare, but beautiful smile. The kind of thing that had to be earned; it was the best. As you thought more about him, the sadder you got. You should’ve told him, even just once, how much you liked his company... how much you liked him. 

- 

When Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss get back to the precinct, Reid’s discovered something. He and the rest of the team have been working the secret admirer angle, which they now knew was a coworker at Samantha’s law office. 

“All of the bouquets of violets left at the victim’s families homes came with a note, they all said the same thing. ‘My condolences, -K.M.’” Reid explains quickly. 

Hotch knows they’re running out of time, it was already past noon, and the team was restless, but this gave him a spur of hope that they were getting close. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia’s number. 

“Ready and waiting.” She said. 

“Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was stern if not a little shaky with anxiety, “was there anyone in Samantha Garner’s workplace with the initials K.M.?” 

“Uhhhh, nine.” 

“Cross-check those names with anyone arrested for minor charges, assault or something similar, he would be in his 30’s or 40’s now, white.” 

“Only one, a Kyle Mazdin, arrested four years ago for breaking into an ex-girlfriend's home and burglarizing it, then arrested again for a bar fight where he nearly killed a man.” 

“We’ll need his address immediately.” 

“You’ve got it.” 

20 minutes later Rossi and JJ were at Mazdin’s office, and the rest of the team was at Mazdin’s home. 

Hotch screeched to a stop in the front of the seemingly normal house, “Prentiss with me, Morgan, take the back of the house, Reid through the garage.” 

All of them nodded in silent acknowledgment. Morgan and Reid broke off, headed to the side gate, while Hotch and Prentiss entered through the front. 

“FBI! Kyle Mazdin, open up!” Hotch yelled. They only waited a few seconds before bursting inside. 

The door was unlocked, and they quickly moved from room to room on the first floor with their guns out and ready, yelling “Clear!” before heading upstairs. There was nothing on the second floor either, making Hotch exhale a frustrated breath.  

“Hold on.” Prentiss said, stopping Hotch. “You hear that?” 

Hotch furrowed his brows and listened. “No, I don’t-” 

Just then, a creaking noise from below. Like light footsteps, moving carefully.  

Prentiss and Hotch shared a look before running back down the stairs, but there was still nothing. Morgan and Reid were inside, also trying to find the source of the noise.  

“The rental car is in the garage.” Reid said quickly and quietly. 

“Anything out back?” Prentiss asked Morgan, who shook his head. 

Another noise came from behind the team as they stood in the living space, next to the staircase. Hotch moves silently over to the cabinet door that’s connected to the wall under the stairs. It swings open and his gun and flashlight point at nothing. It’s empty save for a few coats hanging on a rack. But looking down, he sees a square-shaped covering with a latch. 

Hotch motions for Morgan, who stands ready to open it. As soon as he does, Hotch points his flashlight and gun down, where he sees another set of stairs leading to a hidden basement. Hotch’s jaw tenses and his grip of the glock tightens as he makes his way down, hearing the footsteps of his team behind him. 

As he gets halfway down, he sees a lamp illuminating your figure which is tied to a chair in the center of the room. Mazdin is behind you, the metal wire already wrapped around your neck, not tight enough to kill you, but forceful enough to threaten. 

“Let her go now.” Hotch’s voice is strained, his anger making it hard to remain still. He can hear the rest of the team coming down the stairs and stopping by his side, also training their guns on the man. “You have nowhere to go, it ends here.” 

“Yes, it does.” Mazdin says, pulling the wire tighter against your throat, making you jerk back a little in your chair. 

Hotch dared to look at your face, bloody and bruised, and it made his stomach churn. You were conscious, making eye contact with him and taking shallow breaths. Hotch’s heart was beating out of his chest, unable to stop when he took a step closer to you. 

“Another step and she’s dead.” The man said, keeping his grip on the wire. 

Hotch’s gun was burning in his hand as it was aimed at the unsub’s head, finger twitching on the trigger. “Drop your weapon and no one else dies today.” Mazdin was taking deep, shaking breaths, debating his next move. Hotch knew the man didn’t want to die, but he most certainly didn’t want to go to jail either. “Everyone will know what you did, and why. How the love of your life betrayed you, how you got your payback... even how you managed to abduct a Federal Agent. But only if you let her go.” 

Hotch could tell the words were at least getting through to him. His grip slackened, his back straightening a bit. Morgan and Prentiss took the opportunity and rushed him, immediately tacking Mazdin to the floor. He struggled and yelled, but Morgan kept him still enough for Prentiss to cuff him. At the same time, Hotch rushed to Y/N, holstering his gun. 

“Get him out of here.” Hotch told Morgan, who roughly dragged Mazdin up to his feet and forced him up the staircase and out of the house where the local police had finally shown up. Reid and Prentiss followed, holstering their guns as well, only after Hotch informed them to grab paramedics for you. 

“It’s okay.” Hotch was saying as he knelt down to your level, all anger dissipating and worry replacing it. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He holds Y/N’s head in his hands gently, trying to gauge the damage to her face and body. The blood coming from her nose was extensive, and the blood on his hand indicated a serious head injury. He couldn’t tell if anything was broken just yet. 

“Okay, I’m going to get these off of you, alright?” Hotch asks you while tugging on the ropes, but your eyes were drifting closed. “No, Y/N, no you have to stay awake for me, you may have a concussion, the paramedics are on their way, okay?” She met his eyes finally and then smiled a little bit. It made his chest tighten in response. 

“Okay.” Her voice was uneven, probably because of lack of hydration and near strangulation. It made his frown deepen, but he made sure to work quickly at untying the restraints. “Aaron.” 

He stopped at the sound of his first name on your lips. It was very rare that you called him Aaron, it made his breath catch for a moment as he removed the last bit of rope from her ankles and looked up at her. Y/N was staring at him with an indescribable look on her face, exhaustion and relief but also pain. “Thank you for finding me... I knew that you would.” 

Hotch didn’t know what to say. He had sent her away- their last interaction wasn’t a very good one, but she was here, alive and thanking him. It made that warmth from the other night in the precinct return. “Let's get you out of here.” Hotch gently slipped his arms up underneath Y/N so that he could lift her to her feet as the paramedics came down. Her groan of pain made his jaw tense, but he didn’t stop. 

The EMT’s asked if she could walk and Y/N nodded, though she leaned most of her weight onto Hotch. He didn’t mind, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist and helping her up the stairs, into the living room. Once the two of you had made it outside, Hotch allowed the EMT’s to take her. She lay on the cot in the ambulance, and Hotch kept his hand in hers the whole ride to the hospital. 

He watched as you drifted off, thinking just how much trouble they had gone through just to get you to sleep. 

#aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch fic #angst #hurt comfort #kidnapping #mutual pining #insomnia #protective hotch #concerned hotch #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

[pureheroine2013]

“One day last year I came home from work to find R raking leaves in the garden. He smiled and I noticed in the bright autumn light the new strands of silver at his temples. And it hit me. We are growing old together. This is what it will be like as we watch each other age, as our partnership ages. And this unexpected moment made me happier than I could have imagined. I see a life ahead for us, a shared life. A great life.”

Notes to self, Emilie Pine (2018)

#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ #this book is so incredibly beautiful and moving #writings #notes to self #Emilie pine

[feelingtheaster99]

In this recap, Brennan mentioned the curdling feeling and Fig’s strange accidents right before talking about Gilear and Hillariel leaving Fabian which has me more convinced than ever that Gilear and Fig have switched luck

#I am very behind so if that is confirmed later whelp #dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #not all who wanda are lost #it all who wanda are lost spoilers #fig faeth #gilear faeth #emily axford #brennan lee mulligan #this plot point kind of reminds me of the movie just my luck? #with Lindsay Lohan and Chris Pine? #I’m really wondering how Fig is going to deal with a sudden turn in fortunate #and how will Gilear function if everything is going well for him??? #fhjy speculation #d20 fhjy #live reaction #fhjy ep 3

[weepynymph]

Why has no one written a Princess Diaries au for Gilmore girls???

Rory is Mia! Lorelai ran away from the monarchy! Emily is Julie andrews!!!

#it’s RIGHT THERE #Deans the first guy and then Jess is Chris pine??? #I know Logan’s probably a better fit for that but I’m currently in an I hate Logan phase #gilmore girls #literati #rory gilmore #emily gilmore #lorelai gilmore #jess mariano #jess x rory #rory x jess

[birdie-ghost]

Hidden In The Sand

Dude I love @inkspottie's Mike and Jeremy so much man. if only their situation wasn't what it is. Sometimes things simply can't be though. :).

#maybe in another universe #jeremike #laughing at tragedy #lolmike #lolbit #micheal afton #jeremy fitzgerald #hidden in the sand #animation #animatic #this is the first time i did a whole song for an animation #a gift for a friend #jeremichael #i love these two so much #birdieghostart #my art #doodle #tis an angsty one mwehahahah #henry emily #sad pining hours

[yen-sids-tournament]

Live Action 1: Pitting The Girls Against Each Other *Happy International Women's Day, you're welcome.*

Mary Poppins Returns v 102 Dalmatians v The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement

Mary Poppins Returns {original- Mary Poppins (1964)}

>none submitted<

102 Dalmatians {original- 101 Dalmatians (1996)}

Thanks for reminding me about this one! love Glenn Close as Cruella, best Cruella!

The Princess Diaries 2 {original- The Princess Diaries (2002)}

Chris Pine <3, Julie Andres MATRESS SURFING, "I have to tell mother" "I have to tell everybody else" "Good Luck"/"Good luck", The whole sleep over actually, Joe, Everyone's a Princess! and of course the moose hair. <3 <3 <3

#yen sids poll #sequelmovies #round 1 #disney sequels #disney #marry poppins returns #102 dalmatians #the princess diaries #anne hathaway #chris pine #julie andrews #princess mia #curella de vil #glenn close #emily blunt #lin manuel miranda #mary poppins #dick van dyke #101 dalmatians

[emilybrontesghost]

“The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!”

-Emily Bronte

#unrequited thoughts #emily bronte #wuthering heights #beautiful quote #unrequited pining

[dadfemme]

maybe tonight

Emily brings a surprise late one night at work. Because that's what friends do.

AO3 // Wattpad

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss wlw #emily prentiss x y/n #it's giving cute little fall pining #sees one pumpkin prompt and sprints away with it