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[r0semaryt3a]

PLEASE write a soulmate au with the phantom troupe and reader. Reader hiding away from them for so long, only for one of them to find her randomly and take her away to the troupe

BOY OH BOY- I’m a sucker for soulmate aus so you better bet I JUMPED at the chance to write this!

I will admit I wasn’t entirely sure if you meant like the reader being each individuals soulmates separately or a Polycule type of situation…so I did the former-

DAMN DID THIS TAKE LONG-

I fell to the authors curse so some of this (up to Machi’s) is proofread.

As with any of my PT work focusing on Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Machi, Shalnark and Paku

Cw: kidnapping, yandere themes (ish?), drugging and torture vaguely alluded to.

Chrollo

Chrollo was never particularly interested in soulmates. There was no clear path to you, no set strategy for getting him where he needed to go; for a man always three steps ahead: Chrollo didn’t like that very much.

This predetermined destiny it bored him. The troupe gave him the ability to pick and choose where he wanted to go and how he wanted to do things. This soulmate speil didn’t. So, he wouldn’t let himself get wrapped up in it.

Or, that was until you probed his interest. No matter where he was, it was as if some unknown force was pulling you both apart. As if you didn’t want to be found. And that? Well that excited him.

Now you were a heist, a thing to acquire, his shiny new trinket to steal. And you know Chrollo: he loves a good heist.

When he first met you, it was as if fate itself had smiled upon him. You’d dropped your guard; allowed the string binding your two souls to slacken. This happened to occur when he was in the area: dressed to the nines no less. A perfect facade, with you right at his fingertips.

He approached you with a smile, dawdling away from his current objective, you were simple. If he had to put a word to it, endearing would’ve fit the bill.

Getting you to agree to dinner was simpler. He put up a perfect act, the definition of chivalry: chin resting upon his hand, a charming smile painted across his face as he admired you through half-lidded eyes, swirling a glass of wine idly in his hands, far more interested in drinking every aspect of you in.

He played dumb on the soulmate front and you seemed to play dumber, perhaps that was giving you a bit too much credit. However, by the struggle it took to find you; the way you shifted and the twisting of that tormenting string. It would be safe to assume: you knew.

Drugging you wasn’t really part of the plan, I mean, having you here wasn’t a part of the plan. The plan was to steal a classical painting from some uppity aristocrat; the small dose of flunitrazepam was originally going to be used as a fail safe. Though, Chrollo welcomed this turn of events non the less.

Once he has you, you’re bound to wake up wherever the troupe had made residence. He’d played a long enough game to even acquire you; his patience had thinned far too much for him to play it any longer.

He doesn’t rush to introduce you to the spiders. No, he coaxes you into some sense of normalcy before he does that. No point in ruining a good thing before it’s even started.

On the offset you were avoiding him all this time: you best prey your reactions to this eventual introduction are in check. If you truly weren’t playing your own long winded little game of hide and seek: consider yourself lucky (In the vaguest sense of the term).

The spiders took to you quickly, most of them having heard (and many witnessed) their boss’ onslaught of restless nights when he’d finally committed to finding you. A few of them were even impressed that you’d proved so difficult to find: the barrage of compliments on a feat you might not have even been guilty of proving quite confusing. Aside from this little introduction however, you don’t see much of the Troupe. Chrollo prefers to keep you as his own little domestic facade: a microcosm in his pocket.

The very few times you do see them is when Chrollo just needs to be around you. You rest somewhere close, on his lap, agaisnt his shoulder, a few centimetres off hand in hand, the specifics don’t matter. You’re with him and that’s all he needs. The Troupe hardly gives you a second glance: far too used to this little charade. Their leader playing absentmindedly with some aspect of you as he relays the rules of their next heist.

Once the Troupe disperse he always pulls you closer to him, head buried in the crook of your neck as he takes you in for a few seconds.

You’re a gem he’s acquired; he wishes to revel in you a little bit longer.

Feitan

Similarly to Chrollo: Feitan didn’t care. Hell he probably cared less. It was Phinks who actually started talking about it.

He saw no reason to care, you weren’t any use to what the Troupe was doing.

Then your hiding became evident. He liked that: a chase. Every time your string tightened, a part of Feitan lit up.

The time he spent curating your capture filled his waking days. The occasional torturous thought slipping in every now and then.

And oh boy, when he found you? You hardly had time to react. A small whoosh of air and the rest’s a blur to you. He’d slugged you back to where the Troupe reconvened.

Unlike Chrollo, Feitan wastes no time in integrating you into the troupe. It proves no use to him having you in the dark; he doesn’t care much for the facade. You’re his now, soulmates: whether either of you liked it or not. So, it’s best you know his colleagues as soon as possible - they’ll be partly responsible for keeping an eye on you afterall.

You won’t leave his side. Ever. He’s surprisingly adamant about it.

Spindly arms wrap around you, pressing you against his chest. “Staying here.” The ever familiar hiss of his voice rang loud in your ear, the broken lilt of it as alluring as it was fear inducing. Feitan was usually like this, twirling the string that bound you two in between his fingers. He often held you just as he was: close to him. There was no comfort in his hold, for either of you: he just needed it. Needed you.

If you were purposefully hiding? You’ll be quickly introduced to his torturous pastimes.

If you weren’t? Good. Be glad.

After you get used to the whole arrangement he’s actually quite ‘sweet’ (in a twisted sense of the word).

Phinks

One of the only people to court you normally. Like sure, he’s short tempered about it. But, he’ll see it through (maybe.)

Actually wanted to find you, a person bound to him by forces stronger than either of you could comprehend? I mean come on! That’s perfect!

Hours were poured into getting to you. Which, made your hiding all the more obvious. Like some odd rendition of hide and seek, he’d get hairs away only for you to flee again.

He found you eventually, of course, it was inevitable! He was rather rough with the way he restrained you and hauled you back to the troupe. Phinks is another who didn’t waste time in shoving you headfirst into the troupe’s business. Admittedly, with far less grace than any other member.

You’ll spend most of your time with his chin resting on your scalp and his arms swung around you: a distorted sense of a regular relationship. The troupe are an acquired taste to get used to, but Phinks seems to try his best to act as an outlier. For the most part, it works, though, old habits are hard to break.

Once you get used to him, he’ll revert back to his typical idiosyncrasies. He’s actually quite stupid with you: if you can get past circumstances.

Phinks tends to treat the whole ordeal as if the string binding you simply wasn’t there. It’s a fact about him that you’re not quite sure if you enjoy or hate. The way he’ll swing an arm over your shoulder, casual as can be, talking idly. There’s a few questions on your day; how you were. Which, soon snowballed into a refresher of the troupe’s work. All as if he wasn’t glued to your side through the whole ordeal

Which, speaking of, you’ll be bound to get involved in. It’s probably the most nonsensical thing about your arrangement. If Chrollo allows it you’ll simply become a part of the troupe. Apparently you took the place of some clown (from descriptions you’re not sure you want to know anymore).

Machi

Did. Not. Care.

Like at all.

Seriously.

She found you by happenstance; out of sheer boredom used a nen thread to tail you. It wasn’t like she followed you for hours (she actually forgot about the thread quite quickly).

It was only when you’d become so much of a nuisance that she was mistaking your string for her threads that she even bothered.

Machi excels in tailing targets so unlike the others you were quite an easy find. When she found you, she was quick to fall into a “civilian” persona. You hardly knew what to expect when the woman first came up to you, a smile that charming it was hard not to trust. The two of you walked for a while, sharing facts about your life, Machi tailoring her own stories: making herself appear a simple person with a simple life.

Given she didn’t really care much, Machi is completely willing to play the long game, building her facade through a series of weeks. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact you struck a chord inside her she would’ve probably kept up for longer.

When Machi does finally want to cut the charade you’ll know. The snarky redhead you’d been getting to know will have you where she wants you in an instant.

Don’t worry though, Machi’s a doctor (all things considered). Any pain you might wind up with will be quickly rectified. She’s also a lot more level headed than some of the others, she knows not to bombard you…to a degree. Once she’s set on something having to dance around the subject tends to irk her and this is a fact you’ll come to know very quickly. Machi is only amiable for so long.

She keeps you away from the troupe for the most part, you aren’t a spider so there’s no reason for you to be there. If anything the others would probably just make her job harder (and you being there would truly just be a pain).

She’s one of the only ones with a fool proof contingency plan for your escape. Her threads can chase you as long as she needs them to; as short a distance as you’re sure to manage.

Overall despite the circumstances she’s fairly tame. Always having been nonchalant about these sorts of things Machi was never one to chase romance and considering the thread reminding you of your inevitable fate she sees no need in forcing what’s bound to happen anyways. You’ll eventually wear down if you’re angsty and if not? Well it’s a win, win.

She mellows out with you overtime, if not for the constant threat of what might happen if you run off to far your relationship threatens to be…normal? If you could get past all its unique idiosyncrasies.

When she finally caves and introduces you to the Troupe it’s mainly because she has to move for a job. She’s very particular with who you do and don’t meet (Hisoka and Feitan) though tends to leave you about Nobu and Shalnark, with the odd night out with Pakunoda and her.

As I said, as odd as it may be, you’re actually fairly normal.

Shalnark

There’s no amount of information this man can’t find.

And so, there’s no real reason to fuss over you.

Romance is complicated and Shalnark would rather stay clear of the whole thing when he can. He’s after money and Troupe jobs not settling down with soft kisses.

Still, it’s a rather humorous game when he truly gets going.

Watching your life; the way your days play out. Finding all the little puzzle pieces that tie the whole picture together winds up quite the exhilarating pastime. It’s rather humorous in a way, you’re so obviously hiding from your fate that he can’t help but want to shatter the hope you’ve built up. Afterall, even without his license or the information at his disposal your string would guide you to one another sooner or later.

Shalnark is well aware that simply finding you one day and dragging you back to the troupe is a silly thing to do.

But.

It’s easy.

And he can’t really be bothered to do much else. If you run there’s always his nen; if you don’t: you don’t.

He introduces you to the Troupe as if you were an old friend he happened to run across; not the victim of an elaborate game (or well game to him.)

Shalnark doesn’t attempt to form a relationship with you, he already knows who you are and over time you’ll get to know him so it’s just a matter of waiting till you know enough.

Probably won’t use black voice on you.

Maybe.

Pakunoda

This woman actively hunts you down.

The mere thought of a person perfectly fit for her? She simply had to see this.

The way she meets you is similar to Chrollo only purposeful. She takes you out on a lavish night, treating you to wine and delights. A plethora of soft spoken words leave her tongue.

Don’t you just look stunning? Wow you have so much in common.

It’s an interesting experience for her, feeling so connected to a feeling, a fling.

The night progress almost perfectly, it’s tailored to be a blissful evening: utterly perfect in every way. Pakunoda knows how to put on a show and she’s fully prepared to. The Troupe is her life and she’s never cared much for the domestic aspect of the world. And yet, whether it be the string or mere curiosity, she can’t help the way she wants to feed into this. The way she wants to find out if you’re well aware that she’s who you’re tied to or if you truly are blissfully ignorant.

Where she diverges from her close friend is how quickly she pulls you into the Troupe.

You may be entering, endearing even. But, the Troupe is her family (all things considered) and she won’t leave the introductions till later.

Pakunoda works to settle down any and all nerves with ease. Though it may not work she’s certainly skilled at trying to butter you up. She paints a picture of normalcy, a picture she claims the spiders to be a part of. She does care, or tries to? Out of all the spiders she’s the one with the most affection for you. Call it her nature, call it what you want. Pakunoda

Can you tell I haven’t written for these people in a while? Cause I can. I will probably come back to this and give it more content when I have time but by God life kicked me in the shins and ran off with my firstborn the second this ask came in istg.

[thewidowsledger]

Secret Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 10: Everything's Personal | 2.4k

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, slow burn, angst, details of drugging, mean Yelena

Author's Note: This is my first time posting again after a year of abandoning this fic. I promise to post every week and expect 4 to 6 more chapters for this series, happy reading everyone!

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

"I took a urine sample, you're right about drink spiking," he confirmed, his voice carrying a hint of concern. This isn't new to him or something of a big problem, but Strange felt that there is more to this situation and he couldn't help but to feel slightly alarmed.

"Yeah, I found her almost unconscious in the club," Natasha sighed, her eyes never settling, "What drug? Maybe I could identify the dealer or even the manufacturer, is it a party drug? M&M? Eccy? Something illegal here or no—"

Strange interrupted her gently, "Rohypnol, it's illegal for medical use." Strange crossed his arms and gave Natasha a concerned look, "In my line of work if I have my license it's called Flunitrazepam but in your world, well…our without license, it is known as a date-rape drug."

"What?" Natasha's jaw tensed as she absorbed the information. “Well I found her in a bar, these drugs can be commonly found in clubs so it makes total sense.”

Stephen Strange, known for his extraordinary medical skills, had earned a reputation not only among the general public but also among certain secretive circles. While he mostly focused on healing and saving lives, he had occasionally and secretly found himself providing medical assistance to individuals involved in criminal activities, including members in darker organized crime syndicates.

"I was shock she remembers a tiny bits of what happened to her, people who gets drugged by roach doesn't remember anything at all. She remembered mostly herself getting dragged and being thrown in a dark room," Strange then finally sat on the couch of Natasha's office, "She also remembers her shoulder burning like hell. And about that, I already cleaned and applied dressing on it. You should've brought her to me earlier. It's a 3rd degree burn, she could've gotten infections from and if she did I might have to perform wound debridement on her."

"I-I never saw it, Yelena did. She was the one who told me." Natasha slightly moved in her office chair, not comfortable as she shared the information.

"Family reunion, I see." Strange cocked his brow and once again took a glance at her.

Natasha huffed, "I'm way past that." She finally stood and made her way to a small corner of her office where she kept a personal stash of beverages. She poured a small amount into a glass, "I know you're a doctor and it's so early in the morning but care for a drink?" She slid the glass on her desk and gestured Strange to sit in the chair across her office chair.

"What's on her skin, the mark…it is something." He finally stood and grabbed the glass of whiskey before settling himself in front of Natasha. "Have you identified it yet?"

"No."

"You know you're in—"

Knowing what he was going to say, Natasha replied instinctively and immediately not allowing him to finish. "You don't need to remind me that, Stephen."

"You should know what you're going into, Natalia." Strange said, now they're both playing the game of using their real name, a gesture that reflected the seriousness of conversation. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as they exchanged sharp glances.

"And I do." Natasha held her gaze on him, masking her frustration growing. "I always do, Stephen."

Strange sighed, his eyes never leaving Natasha's. He leaned forward to her, "This…" he circled the glass he's holding onto the table, "Whatever this is you're entering, it's dangerous and the stakes are higher than ever. I know you've faced countless situations before, but this…this is different. This is personal." He warned, he then reclined in his seat, both of his elbows were positioned at the chair's armrest. "You have to be careful, Natalia."

"Everything's personal, Stephen." She didn't flinch under Strange's cautionary words. There are only a few things Natasha resents: Being reminded of her vulnerabilities, being told of the things she's supposed to do and not to do, and on the top of her list, men. Natasha just nodded acknowledging Strange's concern.

"I'm just looking out for you."

"I know." Natasha replied softly.

"Well I think I'm done here, if something happened you know where to find me," he paused and finished his drink. "Well I do know where to find you too."

Natasha chuckled and apologized, "I'm sorry for making you go here without notice." But Strange waved it off, "I'll walk you out, Stephen."

As they both reached the door, they were surprised to find Yelena lounging on the couch.

"Family reunion, I see." Strange teasingly muttered against his breath. And his comment didn't go unnoticed by Natasha, who tried to maintain her composure despite her growing frustration for her sister once again.

"Hey, Doc." Yelena greeted lazily.

"Hi." He glanced at Natasha, noticing her stifled groans and huffs. "Don't kill her, I don't wanna overstay here." Strange jokes as he quickly puts on his suit.

"I'll try not to."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, he immediately shifted the topic not wanting to frustrate her more. "Clean and change the bandages every 4 hours, I already gave her some antibiotics and a pack of fine mesh gauze. It'll heal probably in 2 weeks or so."

As soon as the elevator closed, she quickly marched to the living room. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I said I will come in here whether you like it or not." Yelena replied groggily as she shifted herself in a more comfortable position on the couch.

Natasha immediately grabbed Yelena's tank top by the neck. Natasha glared angrily at her sister before focusing on the jacket she was donning. "Is that my jacket?" she questioned even more angrily.

"Well you didn't get most of your stuff when you left home." Yelena replied her shoulders slumped trying to move away from Natasha's hold. She raised both of her hands to her ears.

"Still doesn't explain the jacket." Natasha groaned.

"Woah!" Yelena mockingly exclaimed as soon as she saw you peeking, "She still here huh?" She glanced back at her sister. "Hiiiii!" Yelena looked behind Natasha's thighs and greeted you mockingly.

Once more groaning, Natasha roughly pulled her sister deeply in the couch before hesitantly letting go of her. Her piercing glare stopped Yelena from reacting as she was about to whimper in pain over her sister's harshness.

"This girl is always coming to my rescue." Yelena smirked as she muttered to herself. She threw a pillow on her sister's back testing her because she knows that she won't do anything now that you're there.

"You okay?" Natasha asks.

"Yeah, my wound feels so cold though. But yeah, I'm fine physically but not entirely fine…" You awkwardly chuckle as you get frustrated again because the whole situation hasn't dawned on you really.

"I ordered some food, do you eat Italian?" Natasha softly asks and you sheepishly nod, you look at Yelena sitting behind Natasha's standing figure; she gives you an uneasy smile before averting her eyes from you.

Natasha walked past you and went to the kitchen, you immediately followed her leaving Yelena alone in the living room. You sat in one of the chairs of the kitchen table as Natasha set up the food for you. "Here, krasivaya." She muttered under her breath as she handed you a fork and gently placed a plate of pasta in front of you. Of course you heard it, you never missed it.

"What else did you remember the other night?" She asked, "If you don't mind me asking. If you're not comfortable it's totally okay but at some point you have to tell me so I could help you."

"What does that mean?" You finally spoke but awkwardly.

"What?" Natasha blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your question.

"You called me something…I don't understand it." You murmured as you tried to avoid her eyes while you played with the fork in your hand.

"Beautiful." Yelena appeared from behind, Natasha scowled at Yelena who was slowly heading towards the kitchen. "Why?"

"Nothing." Your voice was so small that you were not comfortable with Yelena's presence. You looked down to your plate trying to hide the fear and discomfort forming in your face as you remembered what happened the other night.

Natasha sensed your discomfort as Yelena continued to linger around the room. She shot her sister a glare, hoping she'd take the hint and give some space. Yelena, though mischievous, could be sensitive to such cues when she wanted to be.

Yelena huffed, turning to look at her sister with a sinister smile, "Don't be flattered by it, Natasha calls every girl that."

Natasha's scowl intensified as Yelena continued to intrude on the conversation. She clenched her jaw and shot her sister a stern look once again, but Yelena continued to give her a playful smirk. She inhaled trying to calm herself and remembered Strange's joke-ish reminder not to kill her sister and right now she thinks she couldn't handle the urge not to.

You looked down at your plate, almost slamming your face on it. You felt a sudden jealousy and insecurity swirling in you, you gave her an awkward and sad chuckle. "Well I uhh, uhm t-the Maximoff lady…the Maximoff lady called me that." You managed to say before taking a bite of your pasta.

"Maximoff lady?" Natasha slightly clenched her jaw, she couldn't help but immediately ask.

"Oooh…" Yelena tilted her head as she eyed her sister with a smug in her face, "Wanda... that's interesting." She murmured something that you couldn't quite make out—was it because she spoke in such a feeble voice or was it because she spoke in a different language? "What else did she say to you, huh?"

"Yelena." Natasha warned. And you started to panic, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Or things you let her do to you?" Yelena methodically sifted through the pantry shelves, all aware of your growing unease but she still continued. She put her elbows on the table across you, she looked at you in the eyes and smirked, "I bet you let her fuck you."

"Enough!" Natasha glared at her sister and walked towards her, "Why is she still here Natasha?" Yelena asked angrily.

“I want you to fucking leave Yelena. And don't worry she's not gonna be here anymore because we're moving to the manor. And I want you gone.” Natasha's demand cut through the tense air. She looked at her straight in the eye with anger evident in hers.

Yelena nodded and backed down with a sad smile on her face. “Thank you for telling me that you're moving to that pretty property of yours. A new place to barge in.” She looked again at Natasha, the before sad smile turning into a grin before walking out.

“Sumasshedshaya malen'kaya suchka.” (Crazy little bitch) Natasha whispered to herself before turning to you. You saw her closing her eyes, inhaling as she tried to calm herself.

The tension didn't vanish when you heard the elevator ding, a sign that Yelena is already gone. As the tension thickened in the air, your appetite vanished, your stomach churning with unease. The clinking of cutlery against plates echoed in the silent room.

“The Maximoff twin...the Maximoff lady didn't do anything to…to me.” You broke the silence, but you felt that you just made everything worse. “I just served some drinks to them that night before—”

“You don't need to talk about it if it's not comfortable for you.” Natasha interrupted. Your heart sank. You knew you couldn't avoid asking any longer. "Natasha," your voice wavered slightly as she turned to face you. "Why—why are you doing this? I know we talked about it already but, why? Your sister’s right, why are you doing this?"

Natasha's gaze faltered for a moment, a shadow passing over her features before she quickly masked it with a composed facade. She opened her mouth to respond, but her words seemed to catch in her throat.

“I…” Natasha avoided your innocent gaze, she knows how much it will ruin her looking at those eyes of yours. “We're gonna leave now," She finally said, her tone clipped as she rose from her seat. The abrupt change in topic caught you off guard, leaving your question unanswered and your heart heavy.

Secret Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 8

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 8 - Excision Part Two (Criminal Minds Case Time)

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Smoking. Slow Burn. Murder. Depictions of Flaying. Implied Rape. Mentions of Date Rape Drugs. Strangulation. Restraints. Mental Institutions. PTSD. Childhood trauma. Psychological Trauma. Implied references to child abuse. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6k

AO3

Chapter 7

You were hanging out in Prentiss' hotel room later in the evening. She was able to reserve three rooms for you all at a hotel in Indio to be close to the unsub’s hunting grounds. You all decided to eat dinner together while processing the information gleaned from the M.E. and Rossi’s interviews, which ended about an hour ago. You all felt you could think clearer here than at the station. Sheriff Grosch was breathing down yours and Prentiss’ necks every step of your investigation since the tox screen came back. It was unbearable. Even you being direct that you needed space to work without constant interruptions that had nothing to do with the case fell on deaf ears. So, the two of you said fuck it and called Rossi to meet you at the hotel. The station knew how to contact you if anything further came up. Local law enforcement had given you everything you needed and were just in the way at this point and explained you would have the profile nailed down soon to announce at the station late tonight.

Garcia had given you a brief update on the ‘Home Team’. JJ, Luke, and Tara almost had the unsubs but were distracted by them hacking into the Bluetooth speakers to lead the BAU away from their exact location in the house. They were able to flee the scene with two more dead guards to process. They worked out the profile and announced it to local PD. They believe they’re local so they’re hoping they can make an arrest soon.

You also feel that the unsub is local based on the geographical profile you worked out that was taped on the mirror over the flatscreen. You had marked up the dumping grounds of both bodies, where they lived, worked, and where they were last spotted. There was far too much overlapping for the unsub not to be familiar with the area. They were staying inside safe hunting grounds.

Dave was able to find out that McGarth was meeting a woman for drinks at the bar. It wasn’t just a wind down and hopefully get laid. The meet up sounded like a date. Unfortunately, his boss and the other members of the firm had no idea who this mystery woman was. Garcia was running through dating apps to see if there was a match with McGarth, but the guy was a player. He had several apps and lots of ladies that he was chatting it up with. That would take time on top of Garcia working with the home team in tracking down the security guard murderers, but she assures you all that she’s got this.

Sulliven’s family and his assistant were not helpful. The timeline indicated that he left work like usual but never made it home. His family thought he was working late at the office, which was not unusual.

You also learned that neither victim was sexual assaulted nor had any trace residue of semen. That was the part that was baffling the three of you – the method didn’t match up with the assault.

Rossi was sitting at the desk, using a fork to eat his orange chicken which made both you and Prentiss poke fun of him since the two of you were using chopsticks.

Prentiss was currently on the bed plucking out a peapod. “So why drug them? I get the sedation but drugging them with no signs of sexual aggression doesn’t add up.”

“The drugs were used on both victims,” says Rossi. “It’s possible that’s what they had access to.”

“But flunitrazepam isn’t sold in the US. Even doctors barely use it in other countries” you add before munching on a steamed shrimp. You had made yourself comfortable on the floor sitting cross legged.  

“But they can?” Rossi leans back thoughtfully. “Not common but possible.”

You shrug. “Not unless you bring a script to your local drug dealer. And by script, I mean cash.”

“With how meticulous our unsub is, I find it hard to believe that they’d visit a drug dealer.” Prentiss shakes her head and motions animatedly with her hands, keeping a firm grip on the veggie between chopsticks. “They like being in control. Everything’s done with precision and going into the wrong part of town meeting a drug dealer gives up a lot of control.”

“A lot of countries have access to it. Australia, Japan, Mexico … quite a few countries in Europe.” You were well aware of this having worked with Interpol investigating a serial rapist in the UK and Ireland. Despite being legal, flunitrazepam was used as a date rape drug in other countries as well. “Can always narrow down our doctor pool with any international travel.”

Garcia’s search brought back over five thousand surgeons in Thermal area. With the flaying technique used, you narrowed it down to plastic surgeons but that only got the suspect pool down to over two thousand. You were in California. There were a shit ton of plastic surgeons.

“And with the bodies being relatively untouched, the unsub is probably female,” says Rossi. “Majority of rape victims are women. Especially with the use of date rape drugs.” He pauses in consideration. “Is it possible that our unsub picked her victims because they’re sexual offenders?”

Prentiss immediately facetimes Garcia on her laptop who immediately appears with a friendly wave. “Hello my fine furry friends. What’s up?”

Emily stabs her chopsticks into the food and sets aside the container. “Cross check police reports on our victims.”

“Anything specific we’re looking … Oh…” Her voice drops solemnly. “Am I looking for something extremely bad like rape charges? Cuz, I’m finding that both of them have that in common. As in they both were charged for the same incident.”

“They were convicted?” you ask in bewilderment since nothing came up on their background checks.

“Uh, no. Both of them had the charges dropped. Oh, get this. Alcohol was involved and it was indeterminate if consent was obtained or not and the poor darlings took some time before they reported the assault. Both men lawyered up really good, which is not surprising for a paralegal and a psychiatrist. One being able to use connections and the other having the money. They just up and ran with the lack of physical evidence even though hair samples on the victims detected our unsubs drug of choice. There was no way to prove these jerk faces did it.”

“Who pressed charges?” Rossi asks.

“Uh, Desiree Villanueva and Lauren Conway. Couple of friends trying to have a nice girls’ night when … ah damn. There was a third man involved. A Robert MacDonald - some banker at Wells Fargo.”

“Lovely. Little rich boys club wanted to play and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” states Rossi with disgust.

“Are either victim on our plastic surgeons list?” Prentiss questions next.

“Nope. Waitress and jeweler.”

“But we’re on to something with the unsub being a woman. How many are those plastic surgeons are female?” you request of Garcia.

“Little over four hundred.”

“Any of them show up on McGarth’s dating apps?”

“Ah … yes! Dr. Sandra Duncan! Has a practice in La Quinta.” Garcia brings up her driver’s and medical license. She had short brown hair with wavy bangs and piercing blue eyes. She was caught in mid-smile.

“That’s in our geo profile,” you confirm.

“Has she been a victim of sexual assault?” presses Emily.

“Unfortunately. She accused a Benjamin Riley of drugging her at a bar called The Treehouse in 2015. They were students together at Standford. Charges were dropped in a similar manner like our victims. After that, she went on to finish medical school, get married to an engineer named Drew Arnold. Oh no…” she whimpers while continuing “… her daughter, Charolette, died of leukemia six months ago. Then her jerk of a husband served divorce papers.”

You, Rossi and Prentiss share a knowing look and immediately leave dinner where it is and grab your coats.

“Two triggers in such a short time is more than enough to make someone lose control,” you state. “The family she had to ground her is gone, so she’s turn vigilante. Helping those women when no one helped her.”

Prentiss nods. “And she’s taking off their faces, their masks as you said, to show them for the rapists they are. She’s angry they got away with it and regressed back to when this happened to her.”

“And being a physician, she has access to drugs like midazolam,” says Rossi as you all walk out of Prentiss’ hotel room, already on the phone with the sheriff station to get the location of Arnold’s personal residence and place of business. “We’ll need a unit on Robert MacDonald, DOB 2/23/97, out of Palm Springs. Our unsub’s going for him next if she doesn’t have him already,” he explains to dispatch.

“Any chance she’s gone abroad?” questions Prentiss as you all head outside to the parking lot where the two SUVs waited. Garcia was now talking over speaker phone.

“Why yes she did. Two months ago, in fact. Visited a cousin in Ipswich, just outside of Brisbane. Happened after the divorce.”

Prentiss stops in front of the vehicles. “Garcia, work with local law enforcement to get us warrants ASAP on Duncan’s home and work. Does she have a business partner?”

“She does not. All solo.”

“Good. We don’t have to wake anyone else and waste more time. Once those warrants are in have SWAT meet us at both locations. Rossi?” Prentiss calls out to get his attention. He places the phone against his chest, giving her his full attention. “You take Duncan’s home. We got the clinic. No moving inside without the warrants unless there’s signs of a victim. Clear?”

“Crystal. I’ve got Grosch on the line who’s grumpy about things moving so fast …”

“Fucker’s always grumpy unless he’s calling the shots or up our asses,” you mutter while leaning against the front of the car.

Rossi chuckles. “Yes, but he’s waking the judge to get everything legal. Units will meet us there and set up a perimeter. They’ve got a squad car heading to MacDonald’s right now.”

Prentiss nods. “Let’s roll.”

“Be safe my loves!” Garcia says and hangs up.

Without warning, Prentiss tosses you the car keys and you deftly catch them in surprise. “You’re letting me drive?”

“Why not?” she says, opening the passenger door. “Or is driving twenty miles too hard for the maniac driver of the CIA?”

You grin ear to ear. “No, Ma’am.”

A Toyota SUV with no headlights on makes its way down the driveway of a multibuilding business center. It slows and makes a right and then swings around to back up into the driveway for deliveries at the one-story single building at the far end of the complex.

The garage opens and the SUV disappears inside. Only until the garage door closed, did the driver side open. Dr. Sandra Arnold was dressed in nice blue jeans, black boots, and an off the shoulder floral blouse. Hair and make-up were pristine, complementing her features for the faux date. She made her way to the patient cart that was already set up with sheets and pushed it over to the side of the trunk. With a quick wave of her foot under the car, the trunk slowly opened revealing an unconscious Robert MacDonald.

She brought the cart around, locked it in place, and then slid Robert onto it by the sheet he was laying over. After a few adjustments of scooting him around, she pulls up the slide rails, hovering over his face with blue eyes filled with malicious intent.

Her black gloved hand gently strokes down a chiseled cheek, then chin, and repeats the gesture back up the other side. Fingers play with brown strands of short hair. She roughly combed her fingers through it and looks at his face objectively, pulling it side to side to finish making the mental notes required to mark her incisions.

She pulls back, nostrils flaring as her eyes closed. Hands ball into shaking fists as she breathes through the rage building inside her, stopping herself from injuring this bastard. She had plans and could not ruin them with a violent outburst. Her heart now races with anticipation knowing that the victims that could not find justice just like her would have the peace they deserved. The peace that was denied them with a broken system easily manipulated by rich men who didn’t want their careers ruined.

Can’t have a career if you’re dead. Can’t hurt another woman if you’re dead, too.

“And how many more women did you rape since then, huh?!” she hisses with clenched teeth as she unlocks the cart and roughly pushes him into the next room.

Captain Robles met you and Prentiss outside La Quinta Cosmetic Surgery with a warrant in hand close to sixty minutes later. In that time, you and Prentiss were vested up as SWAT had set up a perimeter around the stucco and modern style office building. It was closed to 1am and there was little public to redirect since this area was all businesses. The building itself was dark with no vehicles in the parking lot or immediate surroundings. Chances of Arnold and or MacDonald here was slim after the first walk through around the building, but you all had to move fast to be sure.

Chattering over the radio indicated Rossi and Sheriff Grosch were about to enter Arnold’s residence after no response to announcing FBI presence.

Now it was your turn.

Prentiss had already ordered Robles and his officers to set up positions by all exits of the building. You, Prentiss and the SWAT team were going to coordinate entrance on the section chief’s orders. You and Prentiss had your guns at the ready, pointed at the ground, as you flanked the doorway together.

You lock eyes with Prentiss who gives the go ahead and you speak into the radio that Robles provided both of you. “Ready in five … four …”

You go silent as all units would finish the count down and on one, a SWAT officer came swinging in with the two handed breaching tool to place right between the lock and jamb. With two soft slaps that sound like a piston, the door is breached and Prentiss heads in first, shoulder blocking the door fully open.

A cacophony of clears starts echoing in the empty rooms. You call some out yourself as you clear a utility closet and bathroom and work your way with Prentiss and SWAT down the hallway. You all fan out to cover the rest of the rooms. There were two offices and six examination rooms. All empty.

One of the officers comes up to Prentiss, assault rifle securely pointed to the floor. “Building’s secure. No one’s onsite, Ma’am.”

Holstering her Glock, she licks her lips in thought. “Spread out and search for anything connecting Arnold with the victims or where she’s at.”

You already wandered away from her to do just that and landed in the supply room to look around at all the basic medical equipment an office like this would have. All the sterile processing of surgical tools would be done somewhere else. You were about to turn around and leave when something caught your eye. A white strap dangling out of a floor cabinet. You lean forward to open it and feel a rush of memories.

“FUCK YOU!” you screamed, spitting at the male nurse’s aide’s face. Two of them were trying to grab your flailing limbs as you thrashed about on the bed. “I’M NOT GONNA GO!”

“Damn it!” the one orderly huffed, shaking his head along his shoulder to get his eyes clean of saliva.

It gave you the chance to kick him in the stomach when his grip loosened. But with the commotion you were causing, two more men came in to assist and grabbed ahold of you. You were outnumbered as they forced your hands and feet into the padded restraints.

Then there was the hated sharp sting into your thigh of forced medication …

You come out of the memory, not realizing you were already cradling the wrist restraint. With a hard swallow, you now know why those indentations seemed so familiar with the victims. You had them yourself at one point when some asshole tech tightened your restraints too hard. Of course, part of you still wondered if you deserved the rough treatment. That guilt that since you were a bad patient, you deserved the treatment you got. You were always physical and uncooperative with staff, and you didn’t give a shit who you hurt back then …

“Hey, Whitlock?” Prentiss’ voice forces you to look up and you curse the fact that you just know your cheeks are burning. There is no way she didn’t notice it, but she didn’t press. “Got something?” she asks instead.

“Uh, yeah.” You toss the restraint over to Prentiss and she catches it. “Pretty sure this is what Arnold’s using on her vics.”

She turns it over thoughtfully. “And we found midazolam in the med room. Arnold’s home’s empty but Rossi did find untouched ampules of flunitrazepam.”

You free the phone from your belt and call Garcia. “The princess is in another castle. We’re 0 for 2 here.”

Prentiss looks up at you but was unable to catch your gaze. You were focused on the call with Garcia. She did have some reservations with how you reacted to the restraint she was now holding and wondered if it would affect your ability to remain in the field.

“Let’s see what my crystal ball can tells us. Ah! Arnold did set up shop at a different office before the one you’re currently standing in. About eight months ago she moved from there before her whole world unraveled. Former office locale is currently vacant and just like that, you have messages with the address.”

You take a peek at your texts before responding. “Thanks, Garcia. We’ll keep in touch.”

“You better, missy!” You wince, hearing the commanding tone of wholesome concern. “Queen Penelope out.”

You start moving out of the room while pulling up directions to the office. “We’re six minutes away.”

You were focused and the section chief would keep her concern to herself and stay close to you as this unfolds. Prentiss’ voice carries loud and clear throughout the hallway as she leads the way. “Alright everyone, we’re moving out!”

Fully gowned with hair tied back under a blue surgical cap and face covered by a mask, Arnold adjusts her goggles as she leans forward to inspect her work one last time. MacDonald’s face was centered inside the hole of the surgical drape to where the markings were clearly visible. His neck and upper torso were covered as well with wrists and ankles secured to the cart by restraints.

With a practiced hand, she reaches for the instrument tray to pull closer. She slides a finger down the length of the scalpel handle before picking it up. Despite her malevolent intentions, her grip was gentle as she tilted his head to secure him for the first incision.

But she was interrupted by the double doors to the exam room being kicked open. Her eyes widened in terror as officers start shouting orders.

“FBI!!!” Prentiss yells, gun lined up for a shot as two SWAT follow suit to cut off Arnold’s escape routes.

“FREEZE!!!”

“LOWER YOUR WEAPON!!!”

You watch Arnold pull the scalpel closure to MacDonald’s neck, securing his head in a headlock. “Get away! Get the fuck away!!!”

All four of you had a clean shot to take Arnold, but there was a chance she could still do irreparable harm with how close the blade was to MacDonald’s neck.

“Sandra, you need to put the scalpel down,” Prentiss says firmly.

“Like hell I do!” she shouts back. “He fucking deserves this! They all fucking deserve this!”

“It’s bullshit the justice system failed you. Failed Desiree and Lauren. But this won’t take the pain away of what happened to you. To them,” Prentiss implores.

“No … but at least there’s some justice,” she hisses, the blade digging in just enough to draw a bead of blood on his neck.

“But is it really? Justice?” you ask as you lower your gun. Prentiss quickly looks at you and wonders what the hell you’re doing.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she bites back, puffing her chest out arrogantly. “With him gone, that makes three less rapists in the world.”

“Alright. Let me ask it like this.” You hold your hand up as you put your gun away. Arnold remained engaged. “Does it feel like justice to you?”

She blinks her eyes several times and looks around the room, passing over Prentiss and the officers without focus. Your question stumps her. You can see how she is struggling to reconcile what justice means to her. You could even see the face mask crinkling as she was trying to find her words.

You nod with understanding, your eyes betraying the same conflict that Arnold has in trying to reconcile the feelings of violation and anger right now. You fight the shiver that threatens to run down your spine, needing to stand firm as the two of you share the same haunted look that does not go unnoticed by Prentiss.

“It’s doesn’t. It never will, Sandra. Even if you were able to find the one that hurt you, that you do this to him and declare justice in victory, through their death,” you slowly motion with your hand to the guy on the cart, “you’re trying to find peace.” You lick your lips as your throat tightens, regaining the control you need to get through to Sandra. “But there’s no peace.” You shrug tearfully. “It never comes. It never will. You just … have to find a way to live for yourself. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. You just have to find the strength to survive.”

You watch as Sandra’s throat bobs up and down several times as you all wait to see how this will go. Will she surrender or cause someone to pull their trigger and end this stalemate.

But then you hear her sniff as she blinks back tears. “You know.”

A statement that you affirm with a nod. “I do.”

She fights back a sob. “I was really trying to help them …”

Your watery eyes soften as you sadly smile. “I know.”

And it was in that moment that Arnold made her decision to step back, letting the scalpel fall to the floor with a loud clang. SWAT immediately went in to put cuffs on her and read her rights as you vaguely were aware of Prentiss calling in for a medic. Right now you are focused on watching Arnold being escorted away. The two of you kept eye contact, her watching you over her shoulder until more officers came running in to obscure the view.

“Hey…” Prentiss voice was like a loud boom that went off by your ear. The anxiety of forcing yourself to come back from such raw memories heightened everything around you.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You look passed Prentiss as a group of officers’ start assessing MacDonald.

She places a hand on your shoulder and since you didn’t flinch, she squeezes. “You did good getting her to surrender.”

There was a lot to unpack with what happened here. The enigma that you are just grew with what Prentiss learned tonight. It already started with the faraway look you had holding the restraints back at Arnold’s office. This unsettling revelation amplified so many questions that Prentiss wanted to know about you.

“Thanks,” you say, offering a forced half smile at her. “Better than her getting shot, right?”

She drops her hand and nods. “Yeah. She’ll get the help she needs.”

At that you laugh shakily. “Remains to be seen, but yeah. Hope so.” You felt conflicted about knowing that MacDonald was going to live because you understood where Arnold was coming from. There was a reason you didn’t share with Sandra that you personally rid yourself of your abuser. You would have lost the connection of trust built on shared trauma.

Prentiss watches you shambling off, unsettled with how your eyes had lost its luster. Seeing you sullen and devoid of your usual concealing humor was concerning.

Prentiss catches up with you after giving out last minute directives to secure the area until forensics arrive. Emergency lights flash brightly as officers were carrying out orders. Robles was here delegating tasks to where his people would contain the crime scene in and outside the building. You heard MacDonald moaning as the paramedics guided the gurney passed you to the ambulance. Whatever they had given him started to get the guy into some conscious awareness.

Rossi was waiting outside waiting for the two of you with a satisfied smile. “Sorry I’m late, but clearly you didn’t need me.”

You had stopped off to the side of Prentiss with hands tucked into your vest, your attention on watching Arnold being put into the backseat of a squad car.

“Whitlock talked Arnold down.” Prentiss explains with a small nod your way.

“How ‘bout that.” His smile grows and fights to catch your eyes. He raises a brow in question if he should push things, but Prentiss lightly shakes her head no. Getting the hint, he shifts gears. “Should we pull an all-nighter to tie things up on our end?”

“Might as well. I’d like to get the hell outta here. How about you?” She looks at you still staring off. “Whitlock?”

You didn’t acknowledge her, and Prentiss calls out your first name. That jars your attention as this was the first time you heard her say it. “Yeah?”

Rossi smiles patiently. He knew Whitlock was a seasoned officer but everyone’s first case with the BAU had a track record of rattling an agent. “We’re going to the station to get things squared away so we can hand it off to local PD. Sound good?”

You nod firmly with a tight smile. “Definitely.”

“It’s unfortunate this case’s a bust regarding Sicarius.”

“True. Maybe JJ and the others fared better.” Prentiss nods in agreement as both her and Rossi watch you wander off to the SUV.

“What happened in there that spooked her?” Rossi asks, moving closer to speak with Prentiss.

It didn’t feel right to explain it so candidly what you had gone through. It was best that Rossi read what the official reports said that you and she would write up. Anything more just invites a difficult conversation that she knew you wouldn’t be ready for. There was a burgeoning trust that had sparked between the two of you over drinks and she didn’t want to fuck that up.

“I think she just needs some time.” She watches you climb into the driver’s seat. “Like we all do when shit happens.”

You were sitting alone on one of the four seaters close to the window as the pilot confirmed you were at a safe altitude to move around the cabin. Rossi was passed out on the couch and Prentiss had just gotten up to head to the back of the plane.

You barely noticed, too focused on the music playing in your earbuds as you debated how to answer the text from Brian.

Dad sent 0330: How are things going?

You got that at the station over an hour ago and made a note to answer once the BAU wrapped things up. You were grateful that Prentiss and Rossi took the lead on what was needed to secure the case and that their official reports would be completed midweek. You tried to make mental notes on these protocols but your mind was elsewhere. Once you all signed off on what was required onsite, you drove the team back to the hotel to pack up and then it was off to the airstrip. An officer met you there to take the loaned vehicle.

You barely said a word except what was necessary. You hardly smiled. There were no quips, and you offered non-committal, I’m fines, when the two of them asked how you were. Prentiss was already piecing things further silently and was concerned. There was no way that a crime like this rattled you like Rossi had presumed. She knew you had seen far worse, and she can imagine in great detail what those situations were, having lived through many herself. You just hadn’t anticipated old wounds being ripped open with memories of darker times in your life to surface that made you feel like that lost tween Brian had recruited.

A soft thunk on the table startles you and you see Prentiss taking a seat across from you. There were two tumblers of whiskey before the both of you.

You stop the music with a furrowed brow in silent question. Prentiss explains gently. “Rough day. Thought you could use one.”

“Uh, yeah.” You take the glass to swirl the liquid around. “Though, isn’t it a bit early to drink?”

She shrugs. “Not in our line of work.”

You bring the glass up to your lips with a cleansing breath and figured, why not? You note the smell of whiskey and … “Did you just make me a Jack and Diet Coke?”

Prentiss’ head tilts slightly to the side, pleased you noticed. “I did.”

You raise your glass and give her your first genuine smile since talking Arnold down. “Thanks. Really.”

You both take a well-deserved drink and close your eyes at the warm burn that moves down your throat before radiating towards the rest of your body. You didn’t immediately relax, but the thoughtful gesture helps to provide focus. Enough so you found the strength to really look at Prentiss. You’ve seen enough as her brown eyes narrow in concentration, working on how to broach the unspoken but known.

You quickly lick your lips and set down the glass in a rush. “Don’t.”

Prentiss cautiously questions your reaction. “Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that. With pity.” You curl a hand into a fist to stop it from visibly shaking, but you watch in dismay that Prentiss already spots it.

She remains resolute in maintaining a steady eye contact once she has yours and emits a level of comfort and understanding. “It’s not pity. It’s understanding …”

Your felt your stomach sink, your chest tighten as a breath of surprise escapes without permission. You attempt to recover by clearing your throat and ask with hesitation. “Um. Really?”

That was a such a fucking dumb response to a monumental admission. Prentiss took the need for affirmation in stride. “Really.”

You pinch your brows and swallow hard, your lips trembling ever so slightly. “Well …that really fucking sucks.”

Prentiss chuckles bitterly. “Ain’t that the truth.” She opens a compartment under the table and pulls out a deck of cards. Tapping the case on the table, skilled fingers open the lid to remove the cards and starts shuffling. The methodical way she splits the deck and layers it back together with a rippling noise was comforting to you. “Did you wanna talk about it?”

You shrug still watching slender fingers be in complete control of the cards. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Well, it’s usually polite.” Her face scrunches up coyly.

You half snort and appreciate what she’s attempting to do. You finally look up at her. “What’re we playing?”

“Anything you want. Gin, poker, cribbage…?”

“Well, Rossi’s sleeping.” You sit up just enough to confirm he still was and sit back down. You thoughtfully rub your cheek as Prentiss finishes shuffling. Her compassion had truly touched you and even though your emotions were not fully boxed up as tightly you liked, you decided to say fuck it and have some fun. You waggle your brows, showing Prentiss you were feeling a little better. “There’s always strip poker.”

Prentiss cackles and you shush her, waving your hand to lower her voice. She starts dealing for a five-card draw. “There’s the Whitlock I know.”

You take each card that comes your way to sort them in your hand after rolling your eyes. “Figure you were missing her. I know you just love my antics.”

She wouldn’t admit it just yet, but she was. She fans the cards in her hand and studies them. “Possibly.”

You fall into companionable silence taking turns picking up cards, sipping your drinks, and showing your hands. You play several rounds and the two of you end up being even for wins and losses.

It was your turn to shuffle and you off-handedly ask a question that’s been on your mind. “Did they get the guy that hurt you?”

The two of you gaze intently as she slides her cards over. “Yes.”

You set the deck between you and reach for your glass. “Is he dead?”

The answer is immediate. “Yes.”

You take a healthy swallow as you debate on asking your next question. You slide your tongue along the front and back of your top teeth and find the courage to ask. “Did you kill him?”

She shakes her head no. “Someone else pulled the trigger.”

You lean back, shoulders slumping forward as the small similarities that could exist between two survivors ends. You fiddle with the cards, forcing them to ripple against the table as Prentiss waits you out calmly.

“I pulled the trigger,” you confess quietly. “I didn’t have to do it. But I wanted to. So … I did.”

 With no response from Prentiss, you dare to look up but see no judgement, just an attentive listener that sought whatever you wanted to reveal.

 “It’s partially why I was recruited.” That admission caught both of you by surprise and you try to backpedal. “I … fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.” You roughly sit up and lean over the table to get your cards in order. You’re such a fucking idiot!

“Hey, it’s alright,” she says gently. “I won’t say anything.” She could tell you weren’t convinced by how your eyes darkened with fear. She reaches out to lightly touch your arm and was glad you didn’t pull away. The warmth of her fingers soothed the fast-paced beating of your heart for fucking up again. Though this one was far worse than letting slip up about the AWOL matter. You really should have cut Rebecca off when she mentioned it and not join in the frivolity.

She takes a chance and squeezes your arm. “Promise. It’s like you keeping the sleepovers in my office a secret.”

Prentiss’ cheeky remark made you smile. Then you chuckle. “Okay, to be fair? You sleeping on your office couch isn’t a national secret.”

“Work with me here, Whitlock.”

“I am!”

You both share a smile and when Prentiss starts to pull away, you place your cards face up so you can cover her hand. She found it impossible to hide the astonishment at your gesture. “Thanks, Emily.”

She pauses for the right words to say, further touched by using her first name. She softly says yours and simply adds. “You’re welcome.” Then brown eyes look to the hand you gave up and tsks at you.

You’re confused. Did you do something wrong? “What?”

“Honey, you gave up a pair of aces.” She gestures to the cards as you both finally untangle your hands.

“Well, fuck me, I did.” You chuckle and pull out your phone after sliding the cards to Prentiss. “Here, get us started. Just gotta check in with Brian.” You point an accusing finger at the section chief. “And you especially can’t tell him anything about this conversation.”

She scrunches her face playfully. “What conversation?”

You grin brightly. “Exactly.” And then finally type up a simple response to Brian.

Whitlock sent 0527: Going very well.

Chapter 9

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven @maybe-a-humanbean

[menhera-info-archieve]

Recently found the brand SLEEPING TABLET, where a lot of their prints are about insomnia/sleep/etc.

(btw C16H12FN3O3= flunitrazepam, an insomnia medication. so...sleeping tablet)

[moodysnowflake]

So much for managing to finally get some sleep, Vash...

Someone give this poor li'l flower a tank of flunitrazepam. This bud needs R E S T.

[john-macnamara]

It took us a little while to find the file for this, but we wanted to successfully wrap up PEIP's infamous portal incident. As you know, the Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional Phenomena division of the United States' Military interrogated one Johnathan S. MacNamara after the incident. He was twenty-four at the time. We thought it would be beneficial to share this portion of the story. Give all you loyal followers the full picture.

cws: implied torture, degradation, drugging, implied sexual assault

Interrogation Records: Major Johnathan S. MacNamara; Feburary 15, 2006.

Interviewer: Lt. Gen Joseph N. Brown (JB)

Interviewee: Maj. Johnathan S. MacNamara (JM)

Purpose: Prove connection to ex-Colonel Wilbur R. Cross, now under alias Uncle Wiley

At 2:38 AM, MacNamara was forcibly removed from his bed and taken to interrogation room C. He was confined with handcuffs in case of an escape attempt, and injected with 0.7 ml of flunitrazepam combined with 5 ml saline solution. As soon as the injection was completed, the interrogation began.

[Begin Transcript 00:00:05]

JB: What is your relation to Wilbur Cross?

JM: I don't see how this has any relevance to our current problem. Nor how you have any right to request that information. Sir.

JB: You've still got a mouth on you, huh? Don't know what I expected. You're that street whore we hired, are you not? Of course your mouth would be the most important part.

JM: I'm not sassing you, sir. I'm simply stating my misunderstanding of the situation. If I was woken up in the middle of the night for this, I'd appreciate knowing why I happen to be important enough to question.

JB: You don't need to know that. Simply answer me. What is your relation to Colonel Wilbur R. Cross?

JM: He is- was my friend. Is that all you wanted from me? Can I go now?

JB: Oh, a friend you say? Well you weren't his only friend, and yet you were the only one unharmed yesterday. Why is that?

JM: I don't know, sir.

JB: I'm sure you know something. You went to him first. You could have very well had something to do with the attack.

JM: I would never. I am loyal to this organization above all else. I have been nothing but loyal to you. I swear on my life.

JB: Swearing on a traitor's life doesn't mean much.

JM: I'm not a traitor, you fucking pig! ...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry sir. I'm so sorry.

JB: Board him. He should know how to address his superiors with respect.

JM: Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

[Indistinct]

[00:11:56]

JB: Do we have an understanding, Major?

JM: ...yes, sir.

JB: Will you refer to your superiors by anything other than "sir" or "ma'am"?

JM: No, sir.

JB: Good. Now, would you like to truthfully answer my previous question about your relationship to Wilbur Cross?

JM: My apologies, sir, but I thought I already did? We were friends, and then he swore fealty to whatever resides beyond that portal. Now we're not.

JB: I was looking for a concise answer, Major.

JM: Sorry, sir.

JB: Are you telling the truth about your relationship? There was nothing romantic there, no hidden feelings that may have lead to assisting him after he left?

JM: Of course not, sir.

JB: I don't believe you. Tell me the truth, or we'll put you under the water again.

JM: I'm not lying, we had nothing between us except for a friendship and a mentorship. I promise, sir. If we had anything else together, I'd have told you as soon as it occurred.

JB: Alright boys, you know what to do.

JM: No. Please-

[Indistinct]

[00:18:31]

JB: Would you like to tell us anything yet?

JM: I...

JB: Yes? Spit it out.

JM: I was in love with him...

JB: There we go! Look at you, finally admitting something. At least you have some sense.

JM: I swear to you, sir, that just because I was in love with him doesn't mean I would have betrayed PEIP for him.

JB: Well, I don't know if I can trust that. But I'm nice, so here's what I'm going to do. We're going to dose you with something that'll make you more... malleable. You'll be more likely to tell the truth and to cooperate. Don't try to resist, it'll be easier if you let it take effect.

JM: I- yes sir.

[JM dosed with 150 ml sodium thiopental]

JB: How ya feeling, soldier?

JM: 'ired...

JB: Good. Where are you?

JM: Uhhhh... I dunno? Sorry...

JB: Wow, you just fall right under this shit, huh? I bet I could do anything I wanted to you, and you wouldn't even know. Maybe you'd even like it, you slut.

JM: Mhm...

JB: But that's not what we're here for. Tell me the true nature of the relationship between yourself and Colonel Cross.

JM: Uh- righ', Wil. Yes. We'r frens. I love him, he doesn love me. Simmle.

JB: We already got that part. What was your relationship to him after he went through the portal?

JM: Oh, sorr'... I aven seen 'im ince the portal.

JB: So you weren't lying to me, then?

JM: No sir.

JB: Were you in cahoots with any entity from beyond that portal since he entered?

JM: Nosir.

JB: Well, considering I don't think you can lie in this state, I'm going to assume you're telling me the truth. Our apologies for the misunderstanding.

JM: Issok.

JB: There must be something we can do to make this up to you. What would you like?

JM: ...sleep?

JB: Well that sounds very nice. Unfortunately, we can't let you go to sleep until the drug wears off, you see. But I do have an idea of what we can do while we wait. Does that sound nice?

JM: Mhm, sure...

JB: Now, if I asked you to do anything right now, you'd do it. Isn't that right?

JM: Yessir...

JB: Wonderful. You all may leave, I have something to do here. Now, stay still, pretty boy, and open up your mouth.

JM: [Indiscernible slurring. Reminiscent of protests]

[End Transcript 00:32:17]

[killacharacterbingo]

Roofie

The colloquial name of the drug Rohypnol (flunitrazepam). It's a central nervous system depressant from the benzodiazepine family. Its medical uses are related to inducing sleep, combating anxiety and relaxing muscles. However, it is notorious for being used as a recreational drug due to also causing side effects of relaxation, disinhibition, increased sociability, euphoria and feelings of being high.

Its most infamous use, however, is its use as a date rape drug. In higher quantities it reduces reaction time, impairs physical and cognitive abilities, and can be known to induce amnesia.

It is colourless, scentless and odourless. It can be snorted, swallowed or dissolved. It typically comes in tablet form.

When cosumed with alcohol, other drugs or other CNS depressants, it can cause an increase of side-effects: more dinsinhibition, higher excitability and sociability... But it can also cause more dangerous side-effects such as slurred speech, loss of coordination, weakness, headache and respiratory depression.

In case of overdose, it can cause unconsciousness, coma, slowed cardiac rhythm and death. Overdose is more frequent and easy when consumed with alcohol, other drugs, or CNS depressants.

This prompt is related to any use of Rohypnol (or similar drugs like GHB) causing death. Used willingly or otherwise, recreationally, accidental consumption, overdose, impaired decision making leading to death, allergic reaction... As long as Rohypnol is involved, the prompt works.

[quantumfrail]

Watching The Skin I Live In and the daughter lists the medication she takes:

Trankimazin (Alprazolam) 2mg

Cipralex (Escitalopram) 20mg

Deprax (Trazodone) 100mg

Lyrica (Pregabalin)

and no longer on Rohypnol (Flunitrazepam)

I haven't read the book but I'm curious if her dad prescribed this and if he was overmedicating her. It doesn't tell why her mother had an affair, but there might be a reason his daughter can't stand to be in the same room as her dad - although in the films it's because she can only see his face as the abuser's face (trauma transference) but he was also very controlling and maybe this has something to do with it? I have a lot of questions but there are no answers - only viewer interpretation.

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Poedit Cut/Unused Content: Haworth Labs

So the quest "Haworth Labs" was originally quite a bit different. Its sutitles are titled "Fun and Games" in Poedit and contains some cut eavesdroppers as well as conversations Arthur participates in that imply the structure of the quest involved more environmental storytelling and choice making based on it.

Basically, rather than immediately being recognized as an interloper as you are now, you'd be infiltrating Haworth Labs and pretending you worked there. You'd periodically be dragged into conversations with other workers and if you said the wrong thing, they could determine you were a spy and raise the alarm. It explains Arthur's objective note "I'll have to sweet talk my way past these check points if they spot me in here" for the first room after decontamination.

F_DL Do you smell burned motilene?

M_AH I always smell motilene. There's cracks in most of the pipes.

F_DL No, burned motilene. You don't think they mixed up the motilene and the methyltransferase?

M_AH How? One's a fuel and the other's a catalyst. One goes in the heating coil and the other goes in the reaction vat!

F_DL I heard Frankland saying motilene when he meant methyltransferase. I thought it was just a slip of the tongue, but with Dr. V swapping around all the precursors...

F_DL Could have been worse. What if they'd swapped it for the propanyl?

M_AH Do you want tell Dr. V?

F_DL Of course not! He'll tear my head off!

M_AH Well it's not going to be me. I like my job.

M Mr. Watt seems so upset. What if we got him a present?

PC How about a pinata? Uncle Jack did a whole episode on it.

F_M But Mr. Watt hates the Spanish. Ever since Gibraltar. Everybody knows that. You're an imposter! SPY! SPY!

PC He loves art. Maybe we could get him a painting of horses, or something.

M Oooh, my stomach's growling at the very thought of horses.

F I'm sort of worried about the tunnel rats. They haven't sung in a while.

"What? They just sort of squeak, don't they?"

F The Tunnel Rats! They came to serenade us -- who are you? A SPY! A SPY!

PC I hope they're not all gone on holiday. They were down to a duet, weren't they?

F If they're all gone, who's going to fix our pipes?

F_M I should have never left the flower store. I should never have taken this job.

F Calm down, for heaven's sake. You haven't worked at a flower shop in five years!

M Have you got roses? Oh, yes, long stem or short stem. Short stem, please. And would you like some greenery with that.

F Snap out of it! It's just another day on the job!

M_EF This place has gone to the dogs since that Boyle girl left.

F_DH Oh, she broke his heart, she did.

M_EF It's worse than that. I think she was checking his calculations.

F_DH And now they won't even let her in. Oh dear. No wonder things keep exploding.

And a bunch of stuff that didn't fit neatly into the above.

The fog smells ... sort of sweet. It's not cyanide, is it?

Cyanide smells like almonds. It's probably nitrous oxide. I'd still stay out of it. Unless you need dental work!

Righto. ...Who are you, again?

I'm Reg.

Reg! Of course! I didn't recognize you.

The dimethylamino-phenylpropanol has turned into a salt!

Yes, that's normal. We isolate it as an oxalate salt.

No wonder there was an explosion! At 57 Celsius, motilene's practically itching to burst into flames!

Stop it! Just stop it! you're driving me out of my mind!

The flunitrazepam seems to be ... on fire.

05 There's a fire extinguisher in the office.

F I'm sure Dr. Verloc will come up with a better formula!

F Stop it! Just stop it! you're driving me out of my mind!

F_MS You don't work here, do you? SPY! SPY!

F_3 Oh. That's all right then.

F_6 Right! Forgot about that.

F_M Who the hell are you? INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

F_MS You don't work here, do you? SPY! SPY!

M Who the hell are you? INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

M You're an imposter. SPY! SPY!

M It's not! It's not! They've changed the formulas! The new ones have never worked. And now they're exploding.

PC Well, that'll make it easier to bottle, then, won't it?

PC Oh, Christ, where are the gas masks!

PC Ah. The good doctor left his keycard. I can get into his storage room now.

PC Heavens! Hit the alarm!

Stubbs I do not drink alcohol, nor should you attempt to induce a constable to be derelict in his duty!

Stubbs is the white bobby, by the way, for the all the apparent Stubbs/Verloc shippers out there. You could try to bribe him at a point based on this line, but he would be immune to your bullshit.

Anyway, the reason I went looking for these in the first place is because every time I play this game for someone, they get hung up on the part of the cutscene by Verloc says to do whatever they did the last time and then says that no one should know that.

Which I still don't know what it is that no one should know, but if they had kept the information checkpoint part of the gameplay, then it would have created a cool narrative twist where you had to look around for clues and information in the factory all the way up so you would know what you were talking about and not arouse suspicion, only to know too much when you get to Verloc's white bobby.

I also think that more gameplay like this would have been helpful in teaching the player how to examine the world more deeply. There's not really many quests where the information you need in is the world rather than told or given to you, but the game does use environmental storytelling a lot to enrich the narrative, only to have a lot of players not even knowing to look.

[apotheekonlinewinkel]

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[er-cryptid]

Sedative-Hypnotic Generic Drugs

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Benzodiazepines -- alprazolam -- chlordiazepoxide -- diazepam -- flunitrazepam -- lorazepam -- oxazepam -- temazepam

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.

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[nightmarefuele]

( hostage ) - rachel for jonathan

She likely deserves better. It's less a 'thought' and more distant, trivial knowledge. Doesn't factor into Crane's equation. She should be so lucky he hasn't gone a step farther— but he needs her lucid. For now.

Arkham's independent facility somewhere in the distance, sputtering smoke and medicinal steam. It's musical declension of factory zeal, in this air, many dozens of blocks deeper in the Narrows. Crane listens, chin tilted to the dilapidated peak of a twice-burnt roof overhead, as she stirs. He might wish, sometime sooner or later, that the peons under his thumb be of brighter stock. Intelligence, though, it's clear— Ms. Dawes, reduced to all but a sack of bones and body (thanks to one particularly concentrated perscription flunitrazepam), who in her prime becomes but an example— will only get you so far.

Ah. He hears her, murmuring to herself. The sweet caress of a dream, fading. How rude, that it has to be this face to wrest her afloat, into the ropes and bonds of her nightmare-present.

The Scarecrow sifts free of their shadowy surrounds, emerging, as though from an inky smog, into light. The enamel-decay radiance of a standalone bulb, hanging from the ceiling. Suit and tie, everything black, imperfect; he leans.

“Don't scream. Don't call for help. No one will hear you. Take a moment; study your surroundings. There is nothing here.”

The urge is there. But he needs her lucid. So instead, his fingers, long and lithe as the branches on winter trees, reach down. Brush the underside of her chin. Then smooth in, the palm curling to support her jaw. He sinks thumb and forefinger into both mandibular joints.

“Tell me what you know. About the Bat-man.”

[neysaadept]

*type type type away on Excision Part Two*

** mention of sexual assault, date rape drugs.

You also learned that neither victim was sexual assaulted nor had any trace residue of semen. That was the part that was baffling the three of you. The whys.

Rossi was at the desk, using a fork to eat his orange chicken which made both you and Prentiss chide him since the two of you were using chopsticks.

Prentiss was currently on the bed plucking out a peapod. “So why drug them? I get the sedation but drugging them with no signs of sexual aggression doesn’t add up.”

“The drugs were used on both victims,” says Rossi. “It’s possible that’s what they had access to.”

“But flunitrazepam isn’t sold in the US. Even doctors barely use it in other countries” you add before munching on a steamed shrimp. You had made yourself comfortable on the floor sitting cross legged.  

“But they can?” Rossi leans back thoughtfully. “Not common but possible.”

You shrug. “Not unless you bring a script to your local drug dealer. And by script, I mean cash.”

[obscure225]

Flunitrazepam