#Madame Lacroix

[gogmstuff]

Dress for the Afternoon in 1910 -

1910 Annina Morosini by Lino Salvatico (Villa Foscari - Venizia, Veneto, Italy). From lamalcontenta.com/index.php/it/vita-in-villa/in-villa-1924-1965/annina-morosini; filled in shadows and increased exposure 591X1137.

Left 1910 (December) Afternoon dress by Maison Agnès, Les Modes - photo by Félix. From les-modes.tumblr.com/page/23; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 756X1920.

Right 1910 (December) Afternoon dress by Rivain & Cie., Les Modes - photo by Félix. From les-modes.tumblr.com/page/14; fixed spots w Pshop 714X1920.

Left 1910 (July issue) Afternoon dresses by Martial & Armand, photo Félix, Les Modes. From tumblr.com/catherinedefrance.

Right 1910 (July) Les Modes Afternoon dress by Drecoll. From les-modes.tumblr.com/search/1910s/page/12.png; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 1000X1556.

Left 1910 (May) Afternoon dress by Drecoll, Les Modes - photo by Chéri-Rousseay & Glauth. From les-modes.tumblr.com/page/27; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 944X1920.

Right 1910 (May) Les Modes Afternoon dress by Beer photo by Félix. From les-modes.tumblr.com/search/1910s/page/12; fixed spots w Pshop 1280X1781.

Left 1910 (May) Les Modes Afternoon dress by Bernard, photo Félix. From les-modes.tumblr.com/search/1910s; fixed spots w Pshop 782X1920.

Right 1910 (winter) Afternoon dress by Lanvin (Tessdier Sarou - 21Nov22 auction Lot 21). From tumblr.com/fripperiesandfobs/701955600969596928/afternoon-dress-by-lanvin-winter-1910-from tumblr.com/beautifulcentury 1280X1920.

Left 1910 Madame Lacroix by Giovanni Boldini (?). From artrenewal.org/artists/giovanni-boldini/332; fixed spots w Pshop 2580X2600.

Right 1910 The American Girl in France by Harrison Fisher (location ?). From Claudia's photostream on flickr via pinterest.com/veroniquelovescats/peintres-1900/harrison-fisher 1446X2047.

[kacperabolik]

Madame Lacroix

20x30in. Acrylic and ink on linen

Kacper Abolik, 2023

[theoriginalsupermodels]

Madame Figaro, 1993

By: Tyen

[dorianwolfforest]

(speculation in tags is fine but if you know/figure out the correct answer please don't state it. keep it fun for everyone :])

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

The two committees signed arrest warrants against Danton, Desmoulins, Philippeaux and Lacroix for the following night. In the morning, Marat's sister, having learned about it through the indiscretion of an employee of the Committee of Public Safety, who had heard a few words, ran to warn Danton. As he had already left for the Assembly, she went there and called out for him. “Mount the rostrum,” she said to him. ”You have no time to lose, because the rumor is that you have already been arrested: the opportunity is favorable: Tallien presides: your friends are numerous, and your eloquence will crush the committees. In circumstances such as these, it is the one who attacks who wins.” ”I would have to proscribe them, replied Danton; because I know Billaud and Robespierre: they are relentless.” ”But since they want your head, take, if necessary, theirs, remember that, without you, Robespierre will very quickly be swallowed up himself. My brother told me the day before his death* that he was only good at making speeches, that he understood nothing about government, and that he would lose his head at the first crisis. If he abandons you, his friend, you, the man of August 10, he is only a villain; he must perish. Collect your thoughts for an hour, and mount the rostrum: change the committees; proscribe them if necessary. "Well! Once they have me arrested, would I not be acquitted by the revolutionary tribunal and brought back in triumph, to the Convention, like the Friend of the People was? Then my enemies will be confounded and order will be restored without bloodshed.” ”Don't be fooled: last year the tribunal was impartial; now it is only the slave of the committees, which after having hindered the defense of the Girondins and that of Vincent, will prevent you from speaking.” Danton fell into reverie.  “Above all, remember,” added Mademoiselle Marat, “that you must neither flee nor hide. Several patriots, in their friendship, have proposed it to you; you were even offered asylum. Danton has no other place than the rostrum. Get up there without delay; this is not just about your salvation, but of that of all of your friends, but of the salvation of the republic. Farewell." Danton shook her hand and left her, promising to not lose time.

Histoire de la Révolution française (1850) by Nicolas Villiaumé, volume 4 page 40-42. Villiaumé had gotten into contact with Albertine Marat before her death, so it’s most likely she herself who is the origin of this anecdote. It ties in rather well with the by Alphonse Ésquiros, who him too interviewed Albertine near the end of her life, reported part: ”She then spoke to me about Robespierre with bitterness. ”There was nothing in common,” she added, ”between him and Marat. Had my brother lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmoulins would not have fallen.”

*According to a woman who lived next door to Albertine at the time of the latter’s death in 1841, she didn’t arrive in Paris until after the murder of her brother, at the request of Simonne Évrard — ”One day I said to her: “But, Mademoiselle Marat, you say that you came to Paris after Marat's death, however, I read a book where the author says that you attended his wedding with your brother.” - “That’s a lie, madame,” she replied. And, you see, Mademoiselle Marat was incapable of lying.” (Cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe). So either she or Villiaumé is mistaken here.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader ) - Chapter Five

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Five Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 6718 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

You watched from your place against the wall as Spencer, Kate and Hotch left the Pit, keenly aware of Spencer's eyes seeking you out and adjusting your hiding place accordingly. But you kept eyes on him, and when his own turned away from the Pit in defeat, you let yourself relax.

You hadn't been expecting your old team to come down and put pressure on Madame Lacroix, especially not tonight when a meeting had already been arranged. As long as they didn't allude to what they know, you thought, everything should be fine.

The plan would remain the same: you would meet the seller, play it casual, seem willing and pliant, gain as much evidence as possible that would expose him and the rest of the managers, then high-tail it back to your team ready for the take down.

You rubbed your temples as opposed to your tired eyes to avoid ruining your makeup. All Madame Lacroix had said about the meeting was that you would be summoned sometime tonight. And while you knew you needed to be focusing on the upcoming meeting, on the seller, on taking him down, all you could think of was him.

Dr. Spencer Reid, with his brilliant, amber eyes that could freeze you in place with one look. Dr. Spencer Reid, with his strong hands - the hands that held you close to his body only minutes beforehand. You'd initiated the contact, but it had been instinct, a defence mechanism as Serena Vanderguff. Once you'd realised the position you'd placed the both of you in, you knew you had to pull away as fast as possible.

He'd looked at you like he had that night in the office. Looking up, the soft light of the booth had illuminated his eyes to appear warm and alive - and so full of admiration you could hardly believe such a wondrous, more beautiful sight existed on earth.

But that voice in the back of your head, Serena's voice, nagged at you. Not yet, she said, it's too risky. But hadn't you risked it all already? Hadn't you done your duty to the fullest? No. That voice belonged to you, and that was what pulled you away from him, what made you send him away.

'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

It wasn't that you were surprised he asked the question. It was inevitable, and you had practiced your answer everyday since you'd left, hoping you'd get to finally say it to him.

What surprised you was how he said. It was like his whole life surrounded the question, like it would determine how he would live the rest of it according to your answer. It was important to him, but something as trivial as an answer to a date didn't seem like the thing Dr. Spencer Reid would be hung up on almost a year later.

But Spence - your Spence - would. The man behind the facts and figures, statistics and books; the man you'd befriended; the man you had stood by and who had stood by you in return through the hardest of times. The man who'd quoted you Shakespeare when you were tired, and made you laugh by recalling a memory of you two you had sealed away so carefully you'd almost lost it.

The question was important to Spence, in all his vulnerable glory, and it was for that reason you did not answer him. The mere thought that you mattered to him in the way he mattered to you was too much to handle, especially now.

A gentle hand on your shoulder jolted you from your silent state. It was Ajani, worry creasing her gorgeous, dark features.

'You good, Serena?' she asked, observant eyes raking over you in a quick check.

You nodded, using the action to bring you back to the present. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' you answered, slipping back into your Serena Vanderguff costume. 'Just feel a bit crowded in here, you know?'

'That's why I stay behind the bar,' Ajani quipped, and you were thankful for the break in solemness.

'Then what are you doing with us peasants out here?" you asked, a cheeky smile pulling your lips up.

Ajani pushed your shoulder she was holding lightly, her laughter making it feel you were in your own little bubble. 'You're in luck, it seems,' she said, and your stomach dropped along with her smile. 'Madame wants you in the loading dock.'

You didn't question it. The request could only be one thing. You nodded your thanks and made your way through the masses towards the loading dock. Making sure no one was watching you leave, you opened the door partly and slipped through the small gap before gently closing it behind you.

You were met with Madame Lacroix at the garage entrance to the dock, three men in black S.W.A.T.-like outfits, mouth masks, and a limo behind them. None of the men moved at your appearance which told you they were trained guards of sorts, maybe ex-military. You noticed one of them had a tattoo peaking out from under his pushed up long sleeve shirt. It was a tail of sorts, maybe an ancient Chinese dragon's tail.

You switched your focus back on Madame Lacroix and approached her, the perfect picture of calm and grace. You didn't flinch as you spotted each men with an assortment of knives attached to their legs, and a gun each holstered at their hips.

Madame Lacroix stepped closer to greet you, a hopeful smile adorning her red lips. 'It's time,' she said, taking your hands in hers, giving them a squeeze, and leading you to the limo. The men didn't move as you approached, instead waiting until you were closer to make a move. The middle one - the dragon tattoo guy - stepped forward as you approached, a canvas bag in hand.

'Is that really necessary?' you asked, pulling your head away slightly.

He raised it to your head. 'Nothing personal. Just protocol.'

You scowled at him but didn't argue further, allowing the man to place the bag over your head. Your world went instantly pitch black, and then you were moving again towards the car thanks to the men and Madame Lacroix. She sat next to you in the car based on the hand that still held yours, and from the sound of the other door opening on the opposite side one of the three guards was sitting in the back with you, too.

The car trip was silent and an hour almost passed before the car pulled to a complete stop, the engine rumbling down to a soft purr, then silence. You'd counted the minutes that passed in your head as an anchor. Not being able to see made you a little anxious, and counting kept your mind occupied. It also helped you listen out for anything happening outside of the car.

The men and Madame Lacroix had been careful not to speak the entire ride, but that allowed you to hear the blaring of car horns and city traffic fade about twenty minutes into the trip. You'd noticed the slight change in road when that happened too; slick tarmac like a highway. The road became increasingly rougher the longer you travelled, and the last ten minutes you turned off the highway and onto a long dirt road.

Out of town, you concluded internally. Secluded, off the beaten track, south bound. While these people were bringing you into their elite circle, you couldn't shake the feeling that something might go wrong. It was important you had some idea where you were in case you needed to escape.

You were gently tugged out of the car by Madame Lacroix, who had never let go of your hand the entire time. In an odd way, it was comforting, knowing someone was there supporting you, looking out for you. Even if it was someone as shady and two-faced as Madame Lacroix.

Your opened toed heels tripped on gravel and dirt, lodging a few loose stones between the straps. It was summer, but the cool breeze of the night had you shaking in your skimpy red dress. Yep, definitely off the beaten track.

You heard a tin door open by the way it echoed and creaked with the motion, and you were guided into a darker place where the moon couldn't illuminate the bottom edge of the canvas bag that kept you connected to the outside world. Immediately your nose was hit with the sterile scent of bleach, like a hospital. You mentally counted your steps, mapping out at what number you turned left, then right, then right again, and finally straight for about ten paces. One of the men fiddled with a door handle, but this one sounded more solid, not rustic like the outside one.

Another ten paces forward and you were pulled to a stop. The door behind you closed, and finally the canvas bag was taken off.

You blinked a few times, gaining your eyesight back and catching your bearings. Once both had returned, you found yourself in a room with a long table and thirteen chairs around it. In eleven of them sat men and women, some of whom you recognised as your old managers like Alfred Royalton and Melton Jones.

Behind them stood women, all different, but all undeniably beautiful. But for some, being called a woman was a stretch. Some of them couldn't have been older than eighteen at best, their faces too youthful, too innocent. And yet they were here, standing behind their bosses like trophies or handbags. You couldn't tell which label was worse.

You noticed an empty seat. No doubt Madame Lacroix's place at the table. That made the twelve establishments. But there was still one more person sitting down, appropriately at the head of the table.

He was a burley man, white button up under a grey suit jacket barely holding in massive muscles. His dark hair was slicked back from dark, slitted eyes, pale face glowing with health under the fluorescent light. The Boss, you concluded. The Unsub. His ringed hands were clasped in front of his face, and you forced yourself to hold your ground as those slitted eyes narrowed on you.

The emptiness you found in his eyes scared you more than anything. You expected him to be lecherous, perverted and possessive in all aspects of his being. That was how you profiled him after learning of the sadistic manner the girls were killed in. But he showed nothing but a void of emotions or care.

And a man without feeling was a man worth fearing.

You held his gaze for a moment longer before he waved a hand in the direction of the empty seat. 'Madame Lacroix. So good of you to join us. And I see you've brought a guest.'

Like a proud mother, Madame Lacroix grabbed your arm with one hand and wrapped her other around your opposite shoulder, red lips drawn back in a wide smile. 'Yes! Everyone, some of you may know her already, but this is Serena. She'll be hanging out a lot more often after tonight.'

'Bold of you to assume I will approve of her,' the Boss said, and his gaze returned to you. 'You know I have... requirements she must meet.'

'Trust me, she will, Walter,' Madame Lacroix said, her smile slipping into a scowl as she narrowed her snake eyes on him. 'Besides, if you'd stop killing off our girls, we wouldn't have to keep bringing in new ones to teach everything all over again.'

You held back your surprised gasp. So she did know this whole time he was the killer. She'd practically just called him out in front of everyone, and none of his men were in the room to protect him if things went south.

Agreeing murmurs dribbled around the room, but a single raise of the Boss' - Walter's - hand silenced them in a second.

'You'd do well to remember your place, Madame Lacroix,' he said, deathly calm as he returned his hands to clasping one another, his dead eyes locking onto her. 'You may make money off your girls, but I'm the one who still owns them; therefore, I suggest you keep your accusations to yourself unless you don't want to have any employees tomorrow.'

Walter either truly didn't kill Roxy and the others, or he wanted the managers to be looking over their shoulders in constant fear that they would be next. Either way, by not out-rightly admitting to it, he retained power over them all because it was too ambiguous to determine whether he did or didn't kill those girls. And you didn't get a confession.

Like it would've been that easy anyways.

The threat was enough to dull the ire in Madame Lacroix's eyes, lowering her gaze from him in defeat. You looked between her and Walter, terrified at how such a man could tame - no, make cower - a woman as bold and powerful as Madame Lacroix. He re-offered his hand to the empty seat, and you followed your manager as she followed his silent order without question.

'Now, anyone else have something to say?' Walter asked, but the room remained silent, every spokes girl with heads bowed and every manger looking sheepish as they avoided his steel gaze. Walter leant back in his seat. 'You know I will not tolerate insubordination. I have given you lives, prospects, something to call your own. Those girls... met an unfortunate end. Work with me, and I can protect you from that same fate.'

Again, he danced around the confession. He spoke with such threat, but acted like a protector. It frustrated you. It was like he was taunting you specifically, knowing that you were recording-

Your breath escaped you as fear crept into your bones. What if he did know? What if you'd already given yourself away and he was just biding his time until he could finish you off himself?

The thought niggled at the back of your mind as the meeting continued. They talked about stock and other deals, all the while the spokes girls remaining silent as the managers discussed business. The thought had almost slipped your mind until the end of the meeting came about.

'What do you want us to do about the FBI?' Alfred asked. 'There are only so many lies and half-truths we can tell to cover for all this.'

You watched Walter's reaction carefully. But he didn't flinch at the thought of your team getting closer. Confidence oozed from his every movement as he sat back in his seat, arms resting on the chair's arms.

'Leave the FBI to me,' he said. 'The feds won't be a problem much longer I can assure you, Alfred. For now, it is business as usual. Everyone is dismissed.'

All the managers stood up and made their way to the exit door, their girls walking promptly behind them. You waited for Madame Lacroix to stand, but she never did, and neither did Walter. You all remained at the table even when the last person left, agonising silence suffocating you as you waited for someone to break it.

Walter broke it. 'So you're the Serena I've been hearing so much about,' he said, his dead eyes flicking to you, his face not giving anything away.

You waited for him to continue, but you quickly realised in the following silence that he wanted you to speak. 'Only good things, I hope,' you said, offering your best flirtatious smile. If there was one thing you had learnt over your eleven months in the business, it was that men like him always softened for a confident smile. 'Or, you know, bad things, depending on how you look at it.'

To your luck, the corner of his lips lifted in a slight smile. The void in his eyes changed then into desire and a weird sense of admiration as they raked over your body, as if just realising how skimpy your outfit really was. 'Confident,' he said after he stopped gazing at you. 'I like that.'

You held your smile as he stood up from his chair for the first time that night. He was a good head-and-chest taller than you, causing you to strain your neck to look up at him as he came around to you. You forced yourself to keep breathing evenly as he stood over you, dark eyes alight with lust and desire.

'Six of my different establishments in eleven months,' he said. 'Some would say that was suspicious.'

'Or just ambitious,' you challenged, not allowing him to continue. 'You're not as sneaky as you'd like to believe, Walter. But I'm not one to kiss and tell. All I ask is to be let in on the secret. You've heard about me, so I don't need to tell you what I'll do to be let in the room where it all happens.'

'That's Mr. Khan to you,' he said, lust and desire trading in for dominance. His stare was cold, but you held it. Men like him who craved power and dominate would react to a headstrong, daring woman like you in one of two ways:

They get angry at being made impotent or an imbecile compared to a woman, and the anger is most of the time physicalised in violent actions against women; or

The man will admire the woman's confidence, and reward her for not backing down from his otherwise dominant presence.

You were hoping for the latter.

And when his gaze softened with that lust and desire once more, you knew you had won.

'But maybe one day that will change,' he said, and he held out his arm towards a door at the back of the room. 'You're impressive, Serena. I will admit. But there's just one last test I'd like to put you to.'

You looked between him and the doorway cautiously, keeping in the back of your mind the notion that he might actually know who you are. But seeing as it was only you, him, and Madame Lacroix left in the room, your odds of refusing him and leaving unscathed were low. So you smiled like the obedient employee you were and said, 'If you say so, Mr. Khan.'

'Be gentle with her, please,' Madame Lacroix said, remaining in her seat. She sounded defeated, tired. It made you wonder how many girls she had handed over to him before you and Roxy like this. Maybe she really did care for her girls, for you.

'Always, Madame,' he said, then ushered you in front of him towards the door. 'Don't bother waiting around. We're going to be a while.'

You repressed the shiver of terror that wanted to run down your spine. That doesn't sound good, you thought, but smiled appreciatively as Walter opened the door and allowed you to enter first. The click that echoed through the dimly lit hallway when the door closed was like the hammer of justice used in court, sentencing you to whatever horror he had hiding in the shadows.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you when Walter's hand pressed firmly into the small of your back. Your dress was thin and did nothing to stop the cold that came along with his touch.

'I won't lie to you,' Walter started, walking the both of you forward steadily. 'I've been following you for some time now, Serena. But usually those who climb my corporate ladder, so to say, come through me first. So where did you come from?'

You made sure to keep your features relaxed as you twisted your neck to look up at him. You've presented yourself as a confident woman now. The moment you show otherwise he'll start to suspect you. If he hasn't already, that is. 'Like I said, I'm an ambitious woman, Mr. Khan. If there is something I want, there's nothing I won't do to get it.'

'And what is it that you want, dear Serena?' He leaned in closer, warm breath brushing your cheeks. You were even more conscious of his touch on your back and arm now. You wouldn't be able to run even if you wanted to. Just relax, just relax, just relax.

'I want what everyone of those other girls want,' you answered, turning your attention forwards again. 'To have control over my life. To make something more of myself than what this wretched world had predestined for me.'

You were pulled to a halt out the front of door. You'd been walking for sometime, so whatever place this was had to be big. That wouldn't be easy to hide. But instead of opening the door, Walter turned you to face him, his hands now holding your arms in a grip that bordered between gentle and harsh.

'I don't believe you,' he said, a coy smile tugging his lips. 'You don't strike me as the kind of girl that is like every other girl. If you were, you wouldn't have bothered worming your way up to where we stand now, Serena.'

'You make it sound like dirty work,' you quipped.

'That's because it is.' For a moment, his eyes softened, and you saw a kind man. Maybe he once was before. But you quickly realised it was the face of a liar, a mask he put on to get people to believe him and his cause.

You would not be another victim to his lies.

'So tell me the truth,' he demanded. 'Why are you here? Right now?'

You couldn't exactly tell him the truth unless you had a death wish. But he'd already seen through your practised lies, so another one wouldn't work. So you settled on a half-truth. 'Because I want to be as powerful as I can be in this world, to protect my own and deal out punishment accordingly to those who wrong me. It is, after all, a dangerous world out there. I just want to be one that makes it so.'

He contemplated you for a moment, for the first time that evening looking shocked and unsuspecting of what just occurred. But that quickly dissipated into a devilish smile, dark eyes burning with promise. 'See? I knew you weren't like the other girls.'

You had no time to respond as he opened the door and once again allowed you to go in first. You hesitated at first, as the room was pitch black so you couldn't see what potential trap you were heading into. But you walked in anyways, Walter right behind you. You held your breath as he closed the door behind him and blanketed you in darkness briefly. Your eyes didn't have time to adjust as you heard a switch flick, and fluorescent lights flickered on.

You blinked, but not from the lights, but from the sight that met you underneath them.

Girls. In a cage.

The cage was positioned along the back wall of the long room, cramming what seemed to be thirteen or so girls crammed into the small cell. You took a step closer, both out of horror and a need to help those girls, but also so your camera got a clear view of the girls. Horror coursed through you like cold water, and you had to bite your inner cheek to contain the urge to hurl at the animality of it all.

The eldest girls of the group couldn't be older than thirteen, their youthful faces smeared with dirt, littered with cuts and painted with bruises. The more you looked over them the more you saw how diverse they were in race. Caucasian, Latina, and African-American. He had them all.

You bit your cheek harder when Walter seized your arm and pressed his mouth close to your ear, trapping your gaze forward. 'Welcome to the Warehouse, Serena,' he murmured, his tone almost proud of what you were seeing. 'This is where all the magic happens.'

You couldn't speak even if you wanted to. Your throat was clogged trying to hold back bile; your voice was silenced, and words escaped you as you couldn't believe someone could actually do this to young girls. What sickened you even more was the space in the middle of the warehouse, littered with hay like a manger. A chain hung from the ceiling above the hay, straps for wrists dangling on its end. And off to the side laid a table of all kinds of tools and instruments one could mistake for sex toys. But you guessed otherwise.

You'd profiled Walter to be sadistic and all about the message. Those tools weren't for sex. They were to teach the girls he kidnapped who was in charge of them, who owned them.

This was where he brainwashed them.

This was where he killed them.

Girls looked at you with tired eyes, but none called out to you. You saw tear streaks cutting through the layer of dirt on their cheeks, but still they remained silent. He'd already taken their voices.

You never knew you could hate a man as much as you hated Walter Khan.

'Well, what do you think?' he asked, walking around to block your view of the girls. 'Isn't it just... magnificent?'

You wanted to slug him, kick him, bite him, shoot him if you had your gun. You wanted to scratch his eyes out with the fake talons the nail salon called nails. He liked what he saw, and you wanted so badly to make him regret enjoying someone else's pain, let alone young girls'.

You didn't say any of what you truly felt, however. Instead, you forced yourself to look at him, trained your voice into a steady tone as you said, 'They are magnificent.'

His grin widened and he squeezed your arms. 'Welcome aboard, Serena. Come now, we have much to discuss.'

He guided you towards the door again, but not before you looked one more time at the girls and mouthed, I'll be back.

You concentrated on steadying your breathing as he closed the door behind you, as if there was more air in the tiny corridor than the Warehouse. After he did, he guided you down the hallway a little before he spoke again. 'Now, where were we?'

Before you could answer, a phone dial blared, pinging off the walls of the corridor. Walter quickly realised it was his phone that was ringing, and fished the phone out and answered the call. 'Rufus... Yep... I see... I'll be right there.'

He ended the call then turned his attention back to you, pocketing his phone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 'Business never sleeps, I'm afraid. You know the way back right? One of my men will meet you there to take you back to the Chateau.'

'Of course,' you said, offering an understanding smile.

He picked your hand up and kissed the back of it, like he thought he was some gentleman. You resisted the urge to hurl everything up on him at the delusional thought.

'Until next time, dear Serena,' he said lowly. 'I'm very much looking forward to the future with you here.'

'So am I.'

He turned away and walked down the corridor, the opposite direction of the meeting room. You decided to head back to the meeting room slowly, but your mind was reeling with what you'd just seen.

Those poor girls. You couldn't get their faces out of your mind. How they silently pleaded for help with big, doe eyes that were weighed down by dark circles of exhaustion and starvation. How could anyone do that to a child let alone a group of them, you would never understand. But after meeting Walter Khan in person finally, the man behind all the trauma and deaths, you had someone to be angry at.

You halted in front of the door back to the meeting room. You knew a man in a mask was waiting on the otherwise, and that if you stayed any longer than was necessary, he'd suspect something wrong and come find you. I've got enough, you told yourself, I have enough evidence to get this man to court.

But you didn't have a confession. And if he was as feared and powerful as everyone claimed him to be, he'd get out of it without so much as a slap on the wrist.

The girls' faces haunted you as you stared at the door, hand unable to bring itself to open the door and walk away. I should go. I need to go, your training screamed at you.

But your heart...

The door suddenly opened, startling you out of your frozen state. One of the men that brought you there stood in the opening, eyes narrowed in confusion. 'What are you doing? We've got to go.'

You reacted before your mind could convince you otherwise. You jabbed your hand to his throat, punching hard to silence any cries for help he'd try to make in the next few seconds. He choked at the sudden loss of air, reaching for his throat with both hands. Big mistake.

Next, you drove your knee into his groin, sending him sprawling to the ground in a choking, gasping heap of pain and agony. You crouched by his hip and pulled out the gun holstered there, and just as he started to regain air, you slammed the butt of it into the back of his head.

He was unconscious before his head hit the ground again.

Knowing you didn't have much time, you grabbed the man's shoulders and dragged him under the table somewhat out of sight. It wasn't a full-proof hiding place; someone would find him eventually. But it would buy you just enough time to do what you needed to do.

Running on your toes so as not to clack your heels, you quickly made your way back to the Warehouse, checking your surroundings before entering and closing the door gently behind you.

You surveyed the room, gun aimed ready to fire in case someone else was there. It might've been luck or someone looking out for you from above, but it was just you and the girls.

'You're that girl from before,' one sweet voice said across the long room.

You ran over to the girls, hand pressed to your lips in a quieting motion. Only once you were crouched close enough did you speak again. 'Don't worry, girls. I'm going to get you out of here.'

'Who are you?' The question came from one of the older girls, dull brown eyes narrowed at you with scepticism. Sadly, you didn't blame her.

'I am with the FBI,' you answered. 'My name is Y/N. How long have you been here?' When no one answered, you noticed their scared eyes, darting away from your sight. They didn't trust you.

'Look,' you started, 'I know you have no reason to trust me. I can't imagine how many lies these people have told you to trap you here. But I promise you I am not with them. I've been searching for a way to stop this from happening for a while now. So please, let me help you now before anymore bad things happen to you.'

Some lifted their gazes back to you, and you were happy to see a glimmer of hope shining in them. Gosh, how long had they been trapped for?

'Some of us only a few days,' the girl with the dull eyes finally replied. The way she spoke made it out that she was the leader of the group, as some girls nodded in support of her. 'Others a couple of weeks already. He's... done things to us, you know... down there.'

Your anger came roaring up from inside you with such ferocity you wanted to scream. He raped these girls? They were children.

You silently vowed to slaughter that monster if it was the last thing you would do.

But you remembered where you were and composed yourself, pushing your anger down to speak again. 'He won't do that ever again to you, I promise.' You looked around the room and saw another door just off to the side. Looking upwards, you noticed a window high above shining moonlight into the room. An exit.

You stood back up and moved to the lock on the cage. It was heavy duty, but you weren't good at undercover missions for no reason. You unclipped one of your hoop earrings and inserted the pointy end into the keyhole. You listened for specific clicks, twisting and turning the earring until you heard a resounding click and the lock unlocked.

Swift hands took the lock off the door and swung it open, offering your hand to one of the young girls to take. 'Come on, we don't have a lot of time.' Thankfully the girl understood your urgency and took your hand, and you guided her and the others to the exit door.

You were met with a cold breeze as you stepped outside into a cleared lot of the woods. Looking around it seemed you were on some sort of hidden farm, as you couldn't see any road beyond the tree line except for the driveway out of there. Bright lights lit up the entrance to the facility where cars were parked and men in black guarded, guns ready in their hands.

Okay, stealing a car is not an option, you concluded. You looked to the woods, but found only darkness staring back at you. You could risk it, but who knew what wildlife you'd meet.

You looked around desperately. Come on! There has to be something! But when the answer didn't hit you straight away, you looked up to the moon. Hang on, you thought, eyeing the moon's positioning. You'd concluded you'd driven south bound. And since it was near early morning, the moon's arc would be more to your left if you were looking north.

You twisted yourself to stand in such a way, and once you'd gotten your bearings, a mental map of New York State entered your mind. Even before you went back undercover, you'd always helped Spencer with geographical profiles, having looked at pretty much every state's map once or twice. While you didn't have Spencer's eidetic memory, you prided yourself on image relativity and mentally mapped out big landmarks you recalled from the map in relation to your bearings.

Even when he wasn't here, Spencer Reid was there to save the day.

You crouched by the girls, bringing them closer to listen to you. 'There should be a set of train tracks about two miles east of here, okay? We're gonna head in that direction, and when we hit it, we're going to head north, or left, until we get to a station or New York, you hear me?'

The girls nodded, and you were about to start moving them when an angry cry echoed from the Warehouse. 'The girls are gone!'

You pulled the girl with the dull eyes towards you, making sure she looked you in the eyes and understood what you were about to say. 'You girls go now. I will hold these guys off and I'll catch up. But whatever you do, don't stop. Follow my instructions and don't look back.'

'You're leaving us?' the girl asked, fear shaking her voice slightly.

You grabbed ahold of her shoulders and said in a low voice, 'What's your name?'

'Ellie.'

'Okay, Ellie. I know you're scared, but I need you to be brave for me and these other girls right now. Lead them to the tracks and run along. Find the police and tell them everything. You think you can do that for me?'

'I-I guess.'

'That's good enough for me.' You clapped her shoulders before standing back up and pointing towards the woods, easterly. 'Now go!'

Ellie nodded, and grabbed two young girls' hands before taking off in a run in the direction you pointed. The other older girls followed Ellie's lead and grabbed or picked up some of the younger girls and disappeared into the dark woods, knives of moonlight cutting through the trees occasionally to light their journey.

You didn't allow yourself to ponder them any longer as you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You unlocked the safety on the gun and didn't wait to be shot at, firing the first bullet as some of Walter's cronies came running out of the Warehouse.

One man fell with an agonising cry, but the second ducked back inside briefly as you shot. By now, other men had noticed the commotion and had started running over to you.

I'm not getting out of this alive. The realisation came as you fired another shot before running towards the second man in the warehouse, shooting him down as you sought refuge back in the room. You weren't scared, you realised, to die fighting for those girls. But a sense of regret gnawed at your subconscious.

Just as you stepped inside, however, your face exploded with pain as a ringed fist slammed into your nose, producing a resounding crack. You gasped as blood ran like a river down your face, into your mouth and down your chin. But your attacker didn't give you time to recover, slamming another fist into your stomach and sending you stumbling outside and onto your back.

The gun fell from your hand in the fall, leaving you disoriented and flailing as you tried looking for it. But a strong grip on your throat stopped your movement. You spat blood as you gasped for air, desperately clawing at the hand in your weakened state. Your vision was blurry from the lack of oxygen, but you had a second of clarity which revealed your attacker.

'Oh Serena,' Walter Khan drawled, his tone more like a disappointed parent than angry. 'Or is it... Agent Y/N L/N?'

Your eyes widened with fear and surprise. He did know. You wondered how long for. Had your mission been compromised from the start?

'I knew the FBI would try something like this eventually,' he said casually, his grip never slipping. 'Which is why I had my people look into you when you started making yourself... more useful to us. I must admit, I admire your commitment. How much did it kill you to help with all our illegal dealings?'

You didn't respond, only kept clawing at his hand with your bloody ones. More of his men arrived, guns aimed at you, but Walter halted them with one hand.

'I thought you'd do the smart thing and just go back home, no doubt deliver all the information you knew about my operation to your little FBI friends. And I was going to do what I did to the others in your own home before you could, just to show those FBI fools that they aren't as smart as they think.'

His eyes raked down your body, and you flinched as he leaned in closer to the camera button on your dress. 'Did you guys hear that? You think you outsmarted me? Think again.'

With his other hand, he ripped the button off and dropped it to the ground where he stepped on it, shattering it completely.

'They'll.. find me,' you managed out, spitting blood in Walter's face as you did. 'My team... They will find me... and take you down... When they find those girls...'

'They're not going to find those girls,' Walter interrupted, arrogance radiating from him as he leaned in close to you 'You want to know why? Because you're going to tell me what direction they went and where you told them to go.'

You gathered blood and saliva in your mouth and spat it all in his face. 'Over my... dead body... bastard.'

For the first time since meeting him, his arrogance slipped and anger took its place as he stared directly into your eyes through the blood and spit, his own eyes again void of any emotion. 'Careful what you wish for, Agent.'

His free fist hit the side of your head before you knew what was happening. The world went dark before you even hit the ground.

[polin-erospsyche]

I'm curious: what love confession?

Well I’m just guessing we’ll get a big love declaration, like we get for all couples. Also I’m pretty sure Nic commented on the carriage scene saying that wasn’t the love confession and I have a hard time believing that the « I love you »’s we got in ep 5 are the love confession.

I’m personally hoping for something that can ground them firmly into the belief that this is a good thing, a solid thing. A confirmation that the other will not back out, that they will choose to step into every cyclone together and fight their battles side by side. Because we saw it in ep 5 and with that clip dropped earlier today where Pen goes to see Madame de Lacroix. These two are rushing into things because they love each other so much but that also means that things are going REALLY FAST and understandably they have their doubts. Colin on whether Pen actually really does want this and what he brings to the table. Pen on whether she is good enough to be worthy of this love and him. Both fears emanates from their flaws as characters. We’re gonna see growth in the last three episodes from both of them individually and together and I’m hoping it culminates into a love confession for the ages. But so yes, essentially it’s not a love confession because those are all over the carriage scene and part two. It’s more a confirmation of their love for one another. An assured, loud, and fervent confirmation of their love for one another despite all (and maybe due to) all the obstacles they’re going to go through ❤️

Also the love confession from the book is also just so 🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️ and I want it

[therealmofamorus]

(Ask, OG Stud, Crossover, SMB) 9s, who between Mercy, Widowmaker and Sombra?

9s stared at Mercy, Widowmaker, and Sombra with his blindfolded gaze. His lips set into a deep frown of contemplation.

"I would smash Sombra." Causing the Mexican hacker to smirk and blow him a cheeky kiss making his artificial heart skip a beat.

"I would marry with Ms.Ziegler." This made the angelic-like swedish woman smiled a beautiful smile that had his heart beating like a high-powered machine gun.

"And I would breed with Madame Lacroix." He admitted making the blue-skinned french woman look at her with intense look in her fiendish yellow eyes.

[therefpoint]

• Maison Margiela Artisanal 2024 Collection by John Galliano, Look 1.

• Young Couple Wearing a Two-in-One Suit at the Bal de la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève by Brassaï, 1931.

• Mr Pearl by Photographer (Maybe Adrian Green)

Brassaï was a Hungarian-French photographer, sculptor, writer and filmmaker who gained international attention in the 20th century for his black and white street photography, he captured the alluring and mysterious streets and underbelly of Paris with his voyeuristic approach.

In 1933 Brassaï published a book of his nocturnal photographs of the dimly lit Parisian streets titled ‘Paris de Nuit’ (Paris at Night), he would stroll the streets visiting cafés, bars, dance halls, opium dens and bordellos photographing those on the fringes of society, such as transvestites, gay couples, prostitutes, madams and Parisian lower class. The book was very successful and helped launched his career in photography.

When Brassaï attended one of the large balls held in Paris in 1931, he noticed a diverse crowd of every class, race and age. That night he photographed a gay couple at the event. He wrote about the occasion, “Every entrance and every costume gave rise to shrieks of surprise, cries of astonishment, of joy. . . . Two young men wrapped in each other’s arms had to demonstrate the perfect union of their souls, their bodies-dressed in a singlesuit: one was wearing the jacket, with his legs and buttocks naked; the other wore the pants, his torso and feet bare, since he had given his boyfriend the only pair of shoes.". There is a resemblance to the style and look in the Maison Margiela 2024 show when fashion model Leon Dame came out posing and featuring Look 1 of the collection.

Mark Erskine-Pullin famously known as Mr. Pearl is what one could say is a 21st century genius, he was a committed corsetier training his waist down to 18 inches, not only did he wear corsets but he became a sought-after corset maker working with fashion designers such as Alexander McQueen, Christian Lacroix, Thierry Mugler and John Galliano. From conception to materialisation, a Mr Pearl piece can take months of hard work and craftsmanship. No wonder he became an eternal reference for designers today, especially Galliano having worked with him previously. The inspiration is apparent in the look that first walks out on the runway of the Maison Margiela 2024 show, featuring the model wearing a white boned corset and black trousers baring similarities to a photograph of Mr Pearl and his extremely small waist.

Follow and keep your notifications on for more posts on this current Margiela collection and other runway, art, film and media references!

Sources:

Maison Margiela 2024 Collection Look 1 image: https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2024-couture/maison-martin-margiela

Brassaï photograph of a homosexual couple image: https://www.vintag.es/2021/07/one-suit-for-two.html?m=1

Mr Pearl image: https://www.per-spex.com/articles/2019/6/7/mr-pearl-and-the-history-of-corsetry

[ryttu3k]

had this conversation with a mutual and wanted your take on it

so Christopher the toreador elder was embraced at 13 and remained mentally stagnant his entire unlife, forever both physically and psychologically a child. meanwhile, ilias cel frumos was ghouled at 15 and embraced not long after, but he has the mindset of an adult despite not having aged physically. so that opens two distinct paths that cainites embraced as kids could follow, and of course everything in between those two extremes. there’s also the factor of christopher’s embrace being traumatic and ilias’ being empowering. which culminates in this: what else could contribute to the fate of an embraced teenager? and why such a wide variation of outcome?

Oh yeah, it's interesting as hell. Part of it may be cultural - Ilias was born in the 11th century, Christopher in the 17th, and teenagers in the dark ages may have had to grow up a fair bit quicker, whereas Christopher would have still been considered a child. Ilias' exact age at Embrace is unknown, just that he became a ghoul in his mid-teens (which is anything between 14 and 17), whereas Christopher was Embraced on his thirteenth birthday, and there is a big developmental jump between "was twelve years old the day before he died" and "older teen, spent indeterminate amount of time able to develop mentally as a ghoul before Embrace".

There are also child vampires like Nicolai Antonescu, who was ten, has a creepy, overly-grown-up aspect and a ton of responsibilities, and 'Child' as his Nature, and then characters like Damien, who still sees himself as a teenager after his Embrace at fourteen, but only has 'Child' as his Demeanour, not Nature. Just a few years between them, but while Nicolai tries to act like an adult but still feels like a child, Damien recognises his adolescence and thus is almost... able to grow beyond it? I can see Nicolai as being comparable to Christopher, then, and Ilias being closer to Damien.

Other child/teen characters: Halsey in Swansong, who was Embraced at nine and acts precisely like a nine-year-old (although that's attributed to her being Malkavian), Madame Guil, who was Embraced at sixteen but is treated like an adult by the narrative (possibly because she was treated as being on the cusp of adulthood anyway prior to her Embrace, she was about to marry her sweetheart when Vollgirre found her), Genina (aged nine), who responded to her Embrace by going full monster but never quite going full wight, Elaine (aged ten), who explicitly is described as not being able to cope with her Beast due to her age and did go wight in response, tragic cases like six-year-old Cherubim, who still very much is a child even after over a century but has horrifically un-childlike behaviours due to her traumas (but is still a solid 4 on the Path of Nocturnal Redemption and so not in danger of going wight in the near future), and... whatever the hell is going on with Ur-Shulgi. Lots of ways to do child/teenage characters.

Anyway, really quite variable in how child and teenage Embraces are treated. Some may be cultural, some may be just that character's personality. Ilias may have seen himself as emancipated by leaving home and finding Dorinta, maybe a few years before true adulthood but he was never going to be his parents' son again. He saw himself as an adult, and so he carried that mindset through to his unlife.

I could see Ilias' age at Embrace coming up in things like... oh, he's learned to think things through, absolutely, but he still sometimes makes rash decisions like eating the seed, just because the parts of his brain that determine decision-making weren't fully developed or something? So coming across as adult, but there are some developmental areas that never finished 'cooking'.

(I actually hc that this is the case with LaCroix, too. Like he's a 200-year-old Prince, but he also has the impulse control, decision-making skills, and temper of a twenty-one-year-old guy. He's an adult, yeah, absolutely, but the Embrace meant he never got the chance to fully develop those skills.)

[psalm22-6]

Adele Hugo recounts the publication of Cosette & Marius

In researching the publication of Les Misérables and its reception, you will find evidence almost exclusively of the contributions of men, whether it be the book’s printers and publishers, or its supporters and detractors. Of course, Hugo wrote it, Lacroix (in Belgium) and Pagnerre (in Paris) published it, Jules Claye (in Paris) printed it, and a whole bunch of male journalists tripped over themselves to review it. But it was Juliette Drouet, Julie Chenay, and Victoire Estasse who, in Guernsey, transcribed Hugo’s manuscript into something readable to be sent to Belgium. Meanwhile Adele Hugo, in Paris, worked to get the book published and publicized. And this letter she wrote to her husband highlights the role of the women of the Pagnerre family and those employed at Pagnerre’s store in selling Les Misérables.

Sunday, 17 May 1862 Wednesday, I went to Pagnerre’s. You can’t imagine how his store looked that day. The ground floor is very large and the store continues. In the store were two high walls of books, which could have served as barricades. Their weight made us fear for the floor. Pagnerre was absent, I believe he was making his deposit. I returned the next day to Pagnerre’s to find out if they had thought to send you your copies. It was quite a different sight than the day before. The citadelle of books was quite dented by the buyers crowding the store. Madame Pagnerre was reading the incoming orders and dispatches; a woman was writing actively at her side. Other women, at other counters, tied up packages. Mademoiselle Pagnerre, in that same employ, stood before a desk. “Ah, madame,” she cried, “It’s going too well! We can’t take it anymore.” “Yes,” continued Madame Pagnerre, “It is only two and we are already at our limit. At six in the morning, there was a line in front of our store, which was still closed. They knocked, they banged, they wanted to kick down the door. We did not want to open, because the store would have been overrun and we wouldn’t have been able to control the crowd. I stood at the upstairs window and spoke to them, trying to make them understand that each must enter at their turn. A policeman came to my aid so I opened the store and we served our crowd. But phew! What a morning! It’s just that, Madame, we’ve had a real riot, the neighborhood has rioted. While I was preaching from my window, the neighbors were at theirs. Here, let’s see if we can have a minute to ourselves. They’re calling me to open the dispatches that are arriving.”

[nightingaletrash]

I was talking to @ryttu3k about Millicent and her childer and they said it'd be cool if Amicia was archbishop of Seattle while still seeing Cross and tbh I want to see that AU

Ooh, that's a fun idea. This would need to be an Amicia who wasn't abandoned by Millie and was taught the ins and outs of what goes into being an Archbishop, and the kind of patience and cunning that's required of a successful one. Her going to Seattle and becoming a Blood Trader would be all part of a plan to establish herself in the city before making her move and claiming domain as Archbishop.

So Madam de Lacroix arrives on the scene, becomes powerful and influential fairly quickly, and starts a relationship with the Prince much like usual. Except she's not looking for safety, but information. Who are the power players, what weaknesses can she exploit, what strengths does she need to subvert, etc. It's all part of a carefully calculated plan to cultivate a Sabbat presence beneath the Camarilla's nose before sweeping in and seizing control.

Therefore, the oh moment is a tad inconvenient. Cue the covert meetings and secret continuation of the relationship despite her operating openly as a new Sabbat Archbishop.

[fashioneditswebsite]

Diane von Furstenberg says documentary is ‘homage’ to Holocaust survivor mother who ‘refused to be a victim’

The glamorous fashion designer talks to Prudence Wade about reliving her past in a new documentary and how male and female designers differ. Fashion designer Diane von Furstenberg says watching the documentary about her life was like “being at the gynecologist.” Diane von Furstenberg: Woman in Charge follows the extraordinary life of the Belgian designer, who was born in Brussels in 1946. When she first watched the Disney+ documentary, von Furstenberg admits laughing through it, adding: “But laughing for me is a defense system, so that doesn’t explain anything. “It did feel a little bit like being at the gynecologist – and then, for a few weeks, I got crazy. I got a little paranoid, I said, ‘People are going to think who does she think she is?’ and blah, blah, blah, that I prostituted my family, and for what?” The film was chosen to open the Tribeca Film Festival, and von Furstenberg appreciated its authenticity and realness. Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, a two-time Oscar winner, co-directed the documentary. She explains that Diane’s story is extraordinary. A woman born after World War Two immigrated to America and started a business despite gender discrimination. The story of Von Furstenberg includes contributors like Oprah Winfrey, Hillary Clinton, and Marc Jacobs. Von Furstenberg reads a message from Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton about the film. “She said: ‘Diane, wow – the doc is fabulous, honest, charming, poignant and a Valentine to your amazing mother’,” von Furstenberg reads aloud. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Diane von Furstenberg (@therealdvf) “‘I loved every minute and felt such pride and affection for you and the life and legacy you’ve built my friend. Brava for the woman in charge’.” Von Furstenberg’s mother, Lily Halfin, who died in 2000, is central to the film and helps you understand how the designer became who she is. “My mother refused to be a victim; my mother refused to die,” von Furstenberg says. “That desire to live and honor life was so strong in my mother, and she gave it to us. "I realized the documentary is an homage to my mother because she gave it to me without crying." Diane von Furstenberg, 77, remains glamorous and effervescent. She is renowned for creating the iconic jersey wrap dress, which instantly became a smash hit. At one point, von Furstenberg said she sold 25,000 dresses a week. “I made her, but she made me,” von Furstenberg says of the wrap dress. “And because she made me, and she made me an independent woman, I was getting more confidence… And that confidence was contagious.” Obaid-Chinoy adds: “The wrap dress came at a time when high fashion was not accessible to women. At that time, people told women to dress more like men to be taken seriously. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Diane von Furstenberg (@therealdvf) “It liberated the way women saw themselves in dresses and was a garment of freedom.” This speaks to the way von Furstenberg designs clothes. “Christian Lacroix once told me, ‘Men make costumes, and women design clothes’ – and it is true,” she notes. Please remember this text: "If you think about it, from Madame Vionnet to Coco Chanel, to Donna Karan..." Von Furstenberg's career had its ups and downs, but she always had one eye on the future. The designer says she’s been thinking about her legacy “since I was five years old,” as she knew that “the only power I had was me.” So, what’s next for the fashion powerhouse? “I’m going to try to use all the things I’ve learned – my wisdom, my knowledge, my connections, my resources – to help other women be the woman they want to be.” Diane von Furstenberg: Woman In Charge is available on Disney+ from June 25. Read the full article

[alexielacroix]

឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵Bem-vindo (a)!

Alexie nasceu no dia 31 de Julho, e pertence ao signo de Leão. Alexie é a filha mais nova de Lucy Blanc e Philippe Lacroix, sendo 2 anos mais nova que seu irmão, Stephen. Originária da cidade de Nantes, Alexie raramente tinha contato com sua tia materna, Agatha. Aos 15 anos, Alexie e sua família se mudaram devido à mudança de cargo de seu pai para uma filial mais próspera. Dessa forma, eles passam a morar em um apartamento próximo à casa de Agatha. Ela e seu irmão passaram a frequentar uma escola particular, de período integral. Na metade do segundo ano do ensino médio da filha caçula, Philippe recebeu uma proposta de promoção em seu emprego, mas para isso, ele precisaria retornar a Nantes. Assim, ele e a esposa retornam, deixando Alexie e Stephen sob cuidados de Agatha.

Alexie tem 1,55m de altura e apesar de parecer paciente, se frustra muito facilmente, principalmente quando se trata de não atingir um objetivo ou superar uma meta pessoal. Possui um senso de humor cínico, que contrasta com sua personalidade extrovertida. Aprecia pessoas transparentes e generosas, podendo se deixar facilmente distrair pelo humor. Tem um hábito de repreender a si mesma em pensamento sempre que sente que está sendo invasiva ou curiosa em excesso.

Atualmente, recém graduada, atua em sua profissão de ofício, Psicologia, participando semanalmente na supervisão acadêmica de forma voluntária em um abrigo. Adora livros de romance e aventura, sendo o seu preferido Madame Bovary. Ama comida picante, e é alérgica a camarão (apesar de adorar o prato), podendo somente provar o gosto após o uso de antialérgicos. Sua cor favorita é azul, e tem uma cicatriz na região das nádegas após cair devido à uma picada de abelha, que posteriormente a levou para o hospital por conta de uma nova alergia. O episódio a fez desenvolver um medo patológico contra o animal.

Alexie possui sardas em seu rosto, colo e costas, sendo uma característica herdada de seu pai, Philippe. Costuma colecionar ingressos e tickets de lugares que visita e tem uma ótima lembrança a recordar. Sua comida favorita é pizza e se interessa por filmes e séries do gênero de suspense e horror. Costuma ser o ouvido de seus amigos, a fim de ajudá-los com seus problemas. Alexie costumava ser muito tímida em sua adolescência, sendo sua amiga, Rosalya, quem a apresentou aos seus dois primeiros amigos na Sweet Amoris: Lysandre e Alexy. Apesar de não estudar na instituição, passou a facultativamente matar suas aulas para visitar seus amigos.

Alexie adora cozinhar. Aprendeu em torno de seus 13 anos receitas simples com seu pai a fim de ajudá-los em preparações de jantares durante a rotina. Atualmente, apesar de ter uma exímia habilidade culinária, ela tem como hobby testar diversas receitas novas para aprender culturas culinárias diferentes, ocasionalmente usando Castiel como cobaia para experimentar. Muitas vezes, quando se sente ansiosa ou aflita, Alexie costuma fazer receitas doces.

Alexie encontrou a si mesma nas artes, principalmente no ramo musical, aprendendo desde seus 5 anos a tocar instrumentos como violino e piano, consequentemente aprendendo também a cantar para aperfeiçoar sua produção musical. Apesar de seu violino ainda estar consigo, Alexie preferiu deixar seu piano na casa dos pais, em Nantes. Muitas vezes, quando distraída, ela acaba reproduzindo notas de piano em qualquer superfície próxima.

No período de curso da sua faculdade, enquanto esteve em Nantes, Alexie desenvolveu outro hobby: a pintura. Desde aquela época, ela guarda consigo uma caderneta surrada com algumas pinturas de ambientes que ela considera especial, apesar de achar que com o andamento da sua vida profissional, ela não tenha mais tempo para despender com a prática.

[outdraws]

notable heads were spread across the vast arteries of vestibules and chambers contained on the property. like a ship, on a predesignated course he'd navigated by with little preference for the attendees and only the briefest of nods to the most helpless of souls. he recognized most of the languages shared amongst them and relied on the translator modified into his earpiece but kept it on out of courtesy. due to the large breadth of conspiring, the party yawned well into the night.

eventually the man does make his exit from the louder spaces. onto the fringes of the manor itself, and there, he stays much longer than usual. he polishes the little bit of whiskey he'd managed to find before checking in on the conversations taking place across the valley of gardens. where he knew private militia was hidden and on standby, just far enough to be forgotten but not so far as to be completely useless. a woman's voice occasionally told them to remain vigilant and cassidy continued to say nothing. he knew these lassitude notes were most prime for unauthorized entrances or surveillance.

the world seemed to always teeter on the edge of insanity. he props himself heavily against the balustrades and removes his stetson so it was hanging between his fingers and lolling like a large blackened tongue over the railing. for a long time he only breathes and listens until his eyes are pulled by the flashing of something reflective in the gloom beyond. the garden drones didn't look back at him.

within this harmonious coexistence the man finds a moment to pull out a packet and lighter. parts of his face soon light up in a glow. he knows he's been alone far too long, instinctively, in the same way he's learned never to fully relax. and it is here when he's joined by another person.

a part of him feels the faintest urge to staunch the cigarillo but it's quickly vetoed on the simple fact he didn't want to waste it, so the newest addition would just have to stomach it or leave. it's only a moment later when he realizes the identity of this intruder. by her voice first and her face second. amélie lacroix was not someone to forget, “ no need. this isn't my house. ”

he retrieves himself fully, setting the mouth of his hat carefully on his head again. the man's cheeks push at the underside of his eyes but there isn't a smile to cause it. there is no immediate move to answer or satisfy any curiosity.

“ you won't like it. ” they state simply. it seemed as though the space of time between her entry and idling was all that was needed. his conviction is clear but not hostile. “ forgive me, madame, i jus' don't believe we share the same taste. rather, didn't think we did. ”

a more evident civility returned to his face alongside a wry smile.

ever the graceful host, she has made the rounds tonight. picture of poise with a merlot in hand, it seems her duty perhaps to the cause to abate and abet her husband's guests. she may not be fully privy to the details of overwatch but the public knows enough to deem this a cause worth aiding. amélie thinks of her once beautiful paris and looks upon the people in this room with admiration, wholeheartedly believes they will do what they can to save it. her conversation with jack is suitably clipped : she has heard many a respectable tale from gérard but understands the reservations he holds. if their work is truly so dangerous, why should the head take any chances with ma petite personne ? ana on the other hand is welcoming — if amélie is the perfect host, amari is the perfect guest. insisting on helping out in the kitchen, sharing home remedies and life advice like secrets. they are forbidden from sharing much about their lives but amélie would be thoroughly surprised if ana didn't have a child. motherhood suits her.

the head held high starts to wear towards the later hours of the evening, meals doled out with compliments to the chef. she tires of small talk, prim and proper demeanour starting to slip like a veil. with a final admiring gaze she leaves gérard to his party tricks, to reminiscing over the war, and times before. making her grande évasion to the balcony, she is only mildly surprised ( and not at all perturbed ) to have company. despite not being acquainted she knows his name, has pored over the guest list studiously to ensure she doesn't make a fool of herself over such an important business. cassidy. she mouths it silently, french tones giving a dulcet curvature to the vowels.

❛ forgive me— ❜ politely coy as she steps into the outdoors, idly watches the trail of smoke drift from his vice of choice. ❛ i didn't realise there was anyone outside. ❜ smile peaks at her cheeks, budding apples in the orchard of her face. she doesn't fit in overwatch's grand scheme.

❛ do you have room for one more ? and, peut être, a smoke i could have ? ❜ a bold question served on such a sweet platter it comes across meek.

@outdraws. ♡

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 5598 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

'So, what do you say, Serena? Do you want to be one of us?'

Madame Lacroix's words looped through your brain as you walked as fast as possible back to the third shitty flat you'd been set up in by your undercover team. You attempted to keep your pace steady but not panicked, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

The invisible gaze had weighed on you since you'd left the Chateau, since you'd left the meeting. But this new information couldn't wait.

You unlocked the rusty gate to the apartment building, and flew past the bags of garbage that piled up at the doorstep without a single crinkle of your nose - you'd been desensitised to New York's poor pollution a while back. Swift feet carried you up two flights of stairs to your apartment door, where you scrambled for the key to open it.

The moment you stepped over the threshold you finally let the mask of Serena Vanderguff down. Your shoulders sagged as your brain finally recognised the pain in your feet from the six-inch heels you'd been wearing all evening. Despite that, you scrambled to push the heels off, not bothering to place them neatly by the door with the other pairs, and ran for your computer. It was hidden in a false back behind the kitchen sink. Most people would look for a computer in the bedroom or the lounge room, so you'd made the modification in every apartment yourself in case you were broken into by some amateur thieves in the neighbourhood.

You pulled the false back away to reveal the small device and grabbed it out, placing it on the kitchen bench and turning it on. You quickly pulled up the chat room you'd been using to communicate with Holt the whole operation.

You typed a quick message: Face to Home Please.

Not even a minute went by and a reply came: Welcome Home.

A window popped open on your screen with an image of the FBI sigil. You picked up the computer and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You quickly checked your windows. The moon was on the other side of it's peak; New York was the city that never slept, but it had it's low points, and the precious hours between midnight and sunrise were the perfect time to commit all kinds of crime and other unspeakable things.

You pulled the blinds down once you cleared the street, and sat on your bed as the screen changed from the sigil to the image of a room with a long table and a board in the background. That was odd. It wasn't the usual dark room with just Holt and a headset. Instead, Holt sat in a chair closest to the screen, files spread out in front of him.

But he wasn't the only one in the room.

'L/N, you're on,' he said, but instead of speaking the new information you'd just learned and moving on like you always did, your throat closed up at the sight of familiar faces now swarming the camera.

'Y/N...' JJ breathed out as she took a seat opposite Holt. A beautiful brunette sat beside her that you didn't recognise, only emphasising the missing presence of a certain Alex Blake. It saddened you to think she'd moved on since you'd left - you never even got to say goodbye. But you could've cried at the sight of Hotch and Rossi walking closer to the table with the others. You found Derek leaning on the end of the table beside Spencer, who seemed frozen by the board as he looked at you with everyone else.

This time, you were the one to look at him - at all of them - with shock and surprise, not expecting to see any of them so soon after your initial questioning. Tears stung your eyes, but you remembered you were still wearing makeup and kept them from welling over.

You couldn't help yourself, you raised your hand in a half wave motion, your voice returning. 'Hi,' you said, that one word coming out breathless because the weight that one word carried was almost too much to accept. You hadn't been allowed to be yourself outside your apartment and beyond the one minute conversations you had with Holt once a week.

You had imagined your return to the BAU a hundred times over; you had your explanation ready, your apologies on the tip of your tongue. But now, with the opportunity at your feet, you could barely form a cohesive sentence.

Hotch put you out of your misery, a small smile gracing his stoic features. 'Good to see you, L/N.'

'I second that,' Rossi added, giving a little wave and a smirk back to you. 'Nice hair, by the way.'

You couldn't stop the smile that pulled your lips wide, and it suddenly felt like you were back in the BAU round table room. Like you'd never left.

'Thanks,' you managed out, reaching up to touch the mess of H/C hair on top of your head. 'Not really my style, but then again, I'm not really me right now, so...'

You hadn't meant to bring the mood down, but eleven months was a long time pretending to be someone else. You were starting to forget how you liked your coffee and your style and your way of walking down the street. Just little things, but they added up, and you felt the weight of all the little things you were losing on your shoulders and back everyday.

Your eyes sought out Spencer, half expecting him to look sad or sympathetic like the others. However, what you found was a steeled expression of determination and anger on his handsome features. Not at you (even though he never took his eyes off you), but at the situation you had been put in, you realised.

So he did get my message. That one thought brought a sense of relief to you.

'You had something, L/N.' Holt said it more as a prompt than a question. He knew you wouldn't call up off schedule without a reason, and he didn't want to waste any more time than you already had.

'Yes,' you answered, shoving down your tears, shoving down your delight at seeing your friends, and fell into your other persona: analytical, emotionless undercover operative. 'We were right. There is a big seller that hangs above all the managers heads. They just told me tonight that they have been impressed with my work and so has he. They asked me to join the upper ranks of their scheme.'

'Your work?' Hotch asked.

Holt turned over his shoulder to address everyone. 'L/N has wormed her way into the top spots of each establishment to see where the girls have been coming from, but we've also found out that these places deal in a lot more than just human trafficking. Illicit drugs, money fraud, you name it. These places are screwed a hundred times over when we nail them.'

'So why not make an arrest now, then?' Spencer asked from the back. 'You have enough evidence to do so.'

'Yes, but not on the man that we really want,' Holt replied. 'We make an arrest now, we potentially scare off the seller for good. Girls will keep disappearing, and the killings continue.'

'We figured out that sooner or later, if I offered myself to do the dirty jobs and keep it all quiet, they would learn to trust me,' you explained. 'But I couldn't just do it at one place, I had to do it at as many places as I could to garner trust from multiple witnesses so that their boss would take their recommendation and bring me in himself.'

'And now he has,' Holt added. 'What exactly did they offer you?'

'Each establishment has a spokes girl, for lack of a better word,' you explained, recalling Madame Lacroix's own explanation to you about the Business. 'Roxy was the Chateau's, and these spokes girls would be called in at any time to... appease the seller. It was a sign of good will and thanks from the managers to the man that brings in their workers. I bet anything that that's where Roxy would go on her odd days off, and why she would come back looking like she did.'

'She was his personal play thing...' the brunette said, her tone indicating her disgust to the subject. Her eyes flashed with realisation as she looked directly at you. 'The other girls that were killed, were they also spokes girls from their establishments?'

You weren't surprised that she'd made the link. You didn't know her, but if she was on the team, she must be a good profiler and filled in the gaps.

You nodded. 'All of them. My guess is he wasn't happy with the service he was getting from those girls...'

'Or he could be sending a message to the managers themselves,' JJ finished.

'Maybe it's both,' Rossi offered. 'Maybe he isn't happy with what the managers have turned the girls into since he sold them and this is his way of telling them to pull it together or else.'

'But why twelve stab wounds?' Hotch asked. 'We've profiled this unsub as someone who is calculative and calm. He wouldn't leave those marks without a reason.'

'We've suspected that there may be more than the six establishments that L/N has infiltrated so far,' Holt offered. 'The first kill wasn't planned, based on the jagged and messy stab wounds on her body and the time between the first and second kill. His message wasn't received so he started killing with purpose, making sure that everyone who knew those girls knew who killed them.'

'So you think there are twelve other establishments he runs?' Derek asked. 'And that's who he's trying to warn?'

Holt nodded. 'We've got a list of potential places, but nothing solid like the first six. We figured if we found the guy behind it all, we could shut down everything at once.'

'Well, we think we've found out how these girls are being found,' Hotch said. 'We've been visiting homeless shelters and unofficial orphanages in the quieter, low-risk suburbs where if someone went missing, people wouldn't bother looking for them, not even police. We managed to figure out where the victims and some other missing girls came from including Roxy and her real name.'

'Missy Wright,' JJ added. 'That was her name before she was taken.'

Missy. It didn't sound right; you couldn't imagine that name upon a girl like Roxy. Thinking about it, though, that made sense. Just like you, she'd spent so much time believing she was someone else that her true self was someone completely unrecognisable.

You hated to think that Y/N L/N would be gone for good if you stayed as Serena Vanderguff much longer.

'Garcia is trying to match some more missing girls with the girls in the clubs,' the brunette explained. 'She's also looking into security footage from the aquarium Missy was taken from to see how our unsub did it. Although, whoever this guy is had probably been nabbing girls way before he found Missy, so she might find nothing if he was smart.'

Holt turned back to you. 'We'll keep looking into the girls past, L/N. What else did they tell you about these spokes girls?'

You heard the urgency in his tone. You needed to wrap up in case someone was listening.

'Not much. Just that, after I said yes, they would be in contact with me about having a first meeting.'

'Wait. You said yes?' The question came from Spencer, and you turned down the volume on your computer at how loud he was. He walked down the side of the table until the the bags under this eyes were visible on your small screen. 'Why would you do that?'

You didn't appreciate the tone he spoke with, like he couldn't believe what he heard. As if you'd made a dumb decision.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your gaze on Spencer. 'Because this is what we've been working for this whole time. Once I'm in and amongst the dealings, I can gather enough evidence and we can shut this whole operation down for good.'

'You're assuming you won't get caught,' Spencer argued, hands splayed on the table now. 'You have seen what he's done to the girls who haven't given him what he wants, right?'

'I have, which is why I said yes, Spencer.' You never thought the next time you would say his name it would be out of frustration towards him. But it sounded like he didn't trust you. After all the crap you had both been dragged through, you would've thought he of all people would've had your back.

But beneath the anger, you saw his hurt. You saw him sitting at his desk that Monday morning just waiting for you to walk through the doors and maybe ask you out again, not even realising you'd already left. You saw the walls he had rebuilt after you'd worked so hard to pull them down after Maeve's death. The sad irony of it all was that those walls were because of you this time.

So you reigned in your annoyance and said in a steady, calm tone, 'I didn't stop him in time to save Roxy and the others. But there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

It was silent for a moment, but the moment dragged as you held eye contact with Spencer. You saw his internal battle through the somewhat blurry image of him, and you hoped he saw your own. It sickened you to think about what you were walking into, but you were not going to let another innocent girl be killed because of an impotent, psychopath who got off on overpowering women.

The moment ended when Spencer pushed himself up from the table and stepped away, dropping his gaze from yours for the first time since you'd appeared on screen. It saddened you to think what was going through his head, because you knew that he was blaming himself for your situation. But you were relieved that he dropped the matter for now, at least.

'All right, L/N,' Holt started, standing from his seat. 'That all?'

You dragged your gaze from Spencer back to your unit chief. 'Yes, sir.'

He nodded in approval. 'Okay then. Keep us up to date about this meeting. We'll be in touch.'

'Yes sir,' you said, but instead of signing off straight away, you allowed yourself a few seconds to look at all your friends and give them another wave and small smile. 'I'll see you guys around, then.'

'You got it, kiddo,' Rossi said, waving back.

'See you soon, L/N,' Hotch said.

You spared one last glance at Spencer, whose head had risen again so he could look at you. Determination, once more, steeled his handsome features, giving you hope that he wasn't completely mad at you.

It took all your strength to look away from him and press the button to end the call. One second you were staring at your friends, and the next you were staring at a black screen. You closed the video window and chat group and shut down your laptop.

You finally rubbed at your eyes, not caring if you smudged the makeup anymore. You were about to go take it off anyways before going to bed. It had been a long day, and knowing that you would only get a few hours sleep before the sun rose and you were expected back in at the Chateau for more dirty business, you rose, returned the laptop to its hiding place, and grabbed some takeaway Thai from the fridge.

You would eat, then shower, then go to bed, as you always did day-in and day-out.

Soon enough, you thought as you laid in bed that night, allowing exhaustion to lull you into a dreamless sleep. Soon enough, I won't have to do this anymore. Soon enough, I can go back home.

~~~

Spencer was on the precipice of exploding with so many emotions as you ended the call.

Frustration, hurt, hysteria, confusion. Some of it, he hated to admit, was aimed at you. Only because he wanted you safe, he convinced himself, but the offended look on your face when he'd told you to back down told him that you didn't see it that way.

He couldn't help it though, trying to micro-manage. Change wasn't something he liked. While he easily adapted to any situation he was placed in, that ease didn't always coincide with agreement with Dr. Spencer Reid. You leaving was a big change for him, and since then he'd grown more anxious to be in control of every aspect of his life, including the choices of the people around him.

'...there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, brushed away the loose curls drooping into them. He knew why you were doing all of this, why you were risking your life. Your selflessness was one of the many things he adored and admired about you.

The small, selfish gremlin inside of him sometimes, however, wished you weren't so selfless. Especially now.

'I definitely wasn't expecting that hair,' Rossi said, breaking the silence that had filled the room since you ended the call. 'I haven't seen that style since my grandmother died.'

'Well, it seems to have paid off finally,' Holt said, standing from his seat. 'She's in, which means we're only one step away from finding who this creep is that's kidnapping children and then brainwashing them into being prostitutes for his own personal gain.'

'Don't forget that he kills them, too,' JJ added, a worried look shining in her doe eyes. 'If Y/N makes one mistake, she could be in real trouble.'

Spencer gulped down the bile that rose at the image of you lying in the morgue like Roxy and the others, all cut up, beaten and bruised. But his heart tightened with disapproval, as if berating his mind for playing cruel tricks on him, on his faith.

On you.

'She won't.' Spencers words echoed through the room, and it surprised him how calm and steady they rang. Realising everyone was looking at him, he repeated. 'She won't. She's made it this far without our help, and she knows what's at stake. All we can do is support her...' He looked to Rossi then, making eye contact with the man who had over time become his mentor. The salt-and-peppered Italian nodded slightly in approval. '...and have faith that she'll do the right thing.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about that,' Holt said, drawing attention back to him. 'She's got a mini camera hidden that looks like a button she attaches to many of her outfits. Anything she sees, we see. The moment we get eyes on the seller and solid evidence that he's behind all this, we'll swarm in on him before he can even think of running.'

'But we can't just rely on Y/N to get that information for us,' Derek countered. 'We've still got to treat this whole operation as two separate cases. Didn't you mention there might be other establishments that are part of this and that's why the girls are being stabbed twelve times?'

'Morgan's right,' Hotch said, looking to the man in question. 'If we back off now, we may alert them to L/N's involvement. Tomorrow, Morgan, work with JJ, Rossi and Garcia and see if you can find out if more girls from other similar establishments have gone missing or turned up dead mysteriously with the same MO as the current unsub. Kate, Reid and I will go back to other establishments we know and ask them where they have been getting their workers from. It's time to put them under some pressure. For now, though, let's go rest. It's late, and there's nothing else we can do until tomorrow.'

Spencer didn't like the thought of another night of you sleeping wherever it was you were chatting from - you must have been in a small room with dark green walls as your voice didn't echo; no light flooded in but you would've pulled the blinds down to ensure your privacy, so you were staying somewhere busy where people could see into your window if the blinds were up. Most likely some sleazy apartment building in lower Manhattan so you could walk to the Chateau in a hurry if needed.

Spencer didn't like that thought at all, but Hotch was right. They couldn't do anything until morning, so might as well try and sleep before chaos unfurls completely. But before Spencer could pack up his satchel bag, his boss called his name.

'Reid,' Hotch called gently, pausing Spencer's motions while everyone else exited. 'I'm bringing you along tomorrow because I need your questioning skills, but I need to know that you're going to be impartial to the matter when we question Madame Lacroix and other employees at the Chateau. Can you do that?'

Hotch didn't mention you at all, but Spencer knew that you were what his boss meant. Silently he was asking: can you keep your cool around Y/N?

In every other circumstance, no. He could barely breathe when you were near him, even then when he saw you on a giant monitor covered up by a mask that made you almost unrecognisable. But what you were doing was important work, otherwise you wouldn't have left him without so much as a goodbye, or even left at all. You'd suffered eleven months for this, he would not screw this up for you even if all he wanted was to bring you back home.

Back to him.

So he nodded, confidently and with purpose. He felt like an imposter doing so, but it was convincing enough to Hotch, as he nodded in return. 'Good. Now let's go rest. I don't think we'll get another break like this for a while.'

~~~

Spencer could just tell the Pit was going to be loud before he'd even stepped inside the Chateau itself. The noise was only amplified by the neon lights that flashed and waved all over the dark room as he followed Hotch and Kate down the stairs into it.

They'd spent the majority of the day going all over New York asking the same questions to the other establishments. Some genuinely didn't seem to know, speaking to their lack of involvement with the Business, while others went on the defensive straight away and lawyered up. They might as well have stamped GUILTY all over their foreheads.

The Chateau was their final stop. Unfortunately it appeared to be peak hour currently, as Spencer could barely squeeze through people to get to the bar it was so packed. But they managed, and were greeted by a beautiful woman with charcoal skin, dark eyes and rainbow braids that picked up the neon strobe lights brilliantly.

She looked up from the drinks she was making - some sort of vodka concoction and scotch on ice. 'Sorry, sir. Won't be a moment.'

Hotch pulled his FBI badge out and flashed it at her. 'Actually, we're not here for a drink. Where can we find your boss, Madame Lacroix?'

The woman finished the drinks and placed them on the bar where another girl put them on a tray and left. She wiped her hands on the towel over her shoulder, face dipping with sadness. 'This is about Roxy, isn't it?'

'We just have a few more questions we think your boss can clear up,' Kate injected.

The woman nodded, turning to her left and pointing to Madame Lacroix's office that Derek had gone to only a few days ago. 'She should be in her office. That's where she usually is on busy nights like this.'

'Thank you,' Hotch said before turning to talk with Kate and Spencer only. 'Stay here and see if anyone would be willing to talk about where they've come from or anything else about how this place started up.'

They both nodded as Hotch left for the office, disappearing within the crowd. Kate turned to Spencer then. 'I'll talk to the bar staff first.'

'All right,' he said. 'I'll scope out the floor.'

Kate smiled. 'Don't get lost on the dance floor, now.'

'I won't,' Spencer replied, amusement on his lips. Kate spared him one last smile before turning back around to speak with the bartender. Spencer took that as his cue and turned to walk into the fray of sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke.

He tried not to focus on how many germs were being passed around between the number of people pressed together as he squeezed through. He needed to be looking for girls that were younger than the rest, most likely new. They would be the ones to talk.

Keen, calculative eyes landed on a girl no older than twenty with long, strawberry-blonde hair, doe eyes and a skimpy lilac coloured outfit sitting on an older gentlemen's lap. There was another man there too, the three of them sitting around a small table as they chatted and the men laughed occasionally. And while she laughed and smiled with them, Spencer could just tell she wasn't having a good time.

It stirred a sickening swirl inside of him at the sight, spurring him to walk at such a pace he almost knocked a few people over. 'Sorry gentlemen, but I need a moment with, ah...'

'Lavender,' the girl kindly offered, and Spencer noticed the hope that glimmered in her innocent eyes.

'Hey, now wait just a minute,' the man that Lavender sat on said, his words slurred, clearly intoxicated. 'Did you pay for her time? No? Then scram.'

The man grasped at Lavender's hips possessively, fuelling Spencer's disgust and anger more. He pulled his badge out and shoved it in the men's faces. 'I'm with the FBI, and we're conducting an investigating that you're obstructing right now. So get your drunken hands off Lavender and-'

'Wow, doll face! Aren't you a cutie!'

Spencer couldn't finish his sentence as he was pulled sharply away from Lavender and the men and dragged through a sea of people. He was shoved into a private booth where his kidnapper closed the curtains in a flurry and only turned around when she was sure they were the only two in the room.

It shouldn't have surprised him when you turned around, your hair puffed up, face dolled up, and a red dress sticking to you like a second skin as you stormed over to him in your matching six-inch shoes.

'What do you think you're doing here?' you asked in a harsh whisper, your Brooklyn accent dropped in favour of showcasing your annoyance at him. 'You can't just go throwing your badge in front of big shot men like them. Do you even know who they are?'

'I was just asking a question,' Spencer argued, making sure to match your whisper with his own. 'And they were obstructing my investigation. I mean, they had their hands all over her-'

'Because that is what she is paid to let happen to her,' you interrupted, sitting beside him with a sigh of exhaustion. It was, after all, just before midnight, and the night was still young. 'I don't like it either, but we can't do anything about it. Hopefully those doofuses didn't see your name so they don't know who to complain about.'

Spencer looked around the room, but it was too dark to see into the top corners. 'You're not worried you'll be caught?' You'd dropped your accent without a second thought, so he assumed the booth was somewhat safe from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

You shook your head, brushing a puffy piece of your hair out of your face. 'These booths are used to do some... well, I think you know what kind of things happen back here. It wouldn't be good for business if any footage of what happens behind closed curtains got out, so Madame Lacroix eliminated the risk.'

It was as if you both finally realised that you were the only two in the room. No cameras, no overbearing bosses (on both sides). Just you and him.

Synchronistically, you and him wrapped your arms around each other, holding one another in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of the time that passed and all the hugs you'd missed in that time.

Everything you'd miss in that time.

'I'm sorry,' you spoke first, words muffled by Spencer's shoulder. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No, no, don't be,' Spencer soothed, hating how you felt you were the one to blame for the mess you both had landed in. 'This isn't your fault. You had no choice.'

You pulled away from him at the threat of tears, but you kept your hands clasped within his, finding his warmth comforting in the depths of the Pit. You blinked rapidly as you looked upwards, stabilising yourself. 'No. But it's the right thing to do. And we're so close, I can feel it.'

He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. If only that action could swipe away all the guilt and pain you'd experienced for so long. 'I know... I just wish you didn't have to keep being someone else. I've missed you.'

Your smile filled a small part of the hole you'd left in him when you'd left, though it was tinged with sadness. 'There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you guys, that maybe one phone call wouldn't have compromised the mission.' You let out a deep breath, and your smile slips into a flat line. 'What are you doing here, really?'

'Hotch is putting some pressure on Madame Lacroix by asking about how she gets her employees,' Spencer answered. 'Hopefully that will prompt her to get you that meeting with the seller faster.'

'Or blow the whole case apart,' you countered, brows furrowing with worry. 'There's been no mention of human trafficking so far in Roxy and the others girls' murders. Madame Lacroix will get suspicious.'

'Which is what we're betting on.'

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth in a combination of concentration and frustration. 'That's quite a risk you're taking there, Spence.'

'So is what you're doing,' he said, squeezing your hand in his. 'We're going to end this, I promise. And then you're going to come back to the BAU, and... it'll be like you never left.'

'Alex is gone.'

He doesn't hide his surprise at your words, as you spoke them more like a statement than question. But, just like him, you were a profiler. You were paid to be observant.

'I didn't see her in the video chat last night,' you explained, though Spencer didn't ask for one. 'After this is all over, I'll give her a call.'

'I'm sure she'd like that,' Spencer said softly, a melancholic feeling saddening him at the thought of his absent friend. 'Kate's nice though. She has a daughter, though she's not Kate's. Kate's technically her aunt, but her sister died in 9/11 alongside her husband, leaving the kid an orphan.'

'So she took her in.' Your smile returned ever so slightly. 'I'd say that's more than nice, Spence, and more like what a saint would do. She sounds like a great addition to the team.'

You spoke the last sentence with a hopelessness Spencer did not like one bit. Like you'd given up on coming back to the team - coming back to him - a long time ago.

'Hey,' he said, pulling himself closer to you. 'Don't be like that. You're going to come home. I won't let this end any other way.'

You opened your mouth to reply, but the rumbling of footsteps alerted you both to newcomers that didn't understand the meaning of curtains closed. You reacted quicker than Spencer, who just sat frozen in terror at being exposed or caught or he really didn't know what, just that he was terrified.

You unravelled your hands from his, and instead clasped them around his neck so you could pull yourself onto his lap, barely-covered breasts pressed dangerously close to Spencer's face. He was so used to being above you that he never imagined what it would be like to have the roles reversed.

Was it possible to be simultaneously embarrassed and happy at the same time? According to Dr Spencer Reid, the answer was yes.

He consciously placed his hands on your hips just as the curtains to the booth were reefed open and an overtly drunken man stumbled in with another Chateau girl on his arm, this time a dark-haired beauty with tan skin and dark eyes.

'Sorry, Nadia,' you said, Brooklyn intonations slipping easily from your tongue as you smiled devilishly. 'This booth's taken.'

'Oops!' Nadia squeaked, turning to the man with laughter. 'Sorry!'

And once more the curtains were closed. And it was just Spencer with you.

And your chest pressed right into his face.

You let out a sigh of relief before returning your attention to Spencer. You had to look down to get a proper angle at him, and despite your gaudy makeup and exaggerated hair and jewellery, he couldn't have thought of a more beautiful sight than looking up at you in that moment.

You looked so angelic, your lips so sweet and kissable-

'Well, that was close,' you breathed out, and Spencer heard your heart pounding even without his head pressed to your chest anymore.

Spencer swallowed thickly. 'Yeah,' was all he could manage without making a fool out of himself. He was alarmingly aware of his hands still holding your hips, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of you just yet.

You leant back a little, still not hopping off him, and pointed to one of the black-domed buttons lining the front of your dress. 'Holt has a feed directly linked to this,' you explained in a hushed voice. 'Madame Lacroix said I would be meeting the seller later tonight, so you better be watching.'

Only when he nodded did you make an effort to get off him much to Spencer's disappointment. He'd hugged and held you many times before - but maybe because this time was more intimate, or because there had been so much time since you'd last been together - but he craved your touch again. Soon, he told himself, and he kept his hands at his side.

You stood up and so did he, but just as you went for the curtain, he gently grabbed your wrist. 'Hey, uh,' he started, unsure if now was the right time to ask or not. But all things considered, would it ever be the right time? Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, 'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

That one unknown answer had been torturing him for months, mainly because he'd thought you left them all behind without a single thought. But he knew better now. He knew it hadn't been your fault you couldn't say or promise him anything.

Now - now there was hope again.

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity to Spencer, mouth moving but no words coming out. Your hesitation to answer saddened him. Maybe he'd read the signs wrong. Maybe all you'd ever wanted to be was his best friend. Had he just ruined your friendship twice by asking that damned, schoolboy question?

Again, you couldn't answer, as another man with a prostitute came barreling through the curtains.

'Oh, looks like we have some company,' the girl said, but not making any move to leave with the attractive gentleman on her arm.

'Don't worry,' you said, gripping Spencer's shoulder and guiding him out of the booth. 'Doll face here was just leaving.'

You shoved him and he stumbled back into the messy, sweaty fray that was the Pit as you closed the curtains behind you.

'Hope you enjoyed your time, doll face,' you said, the guise of Serena Vanderguff slipping back on scarily so. You flashed him a sickeningly wide smile as you held out your hand for a shake. 'If you want more, you know where to find me.'

And just like that - you disappeared into the sea of bodies that somehow seemed to have increased since Spencer left for only a few minutes. Spencer had half a thought to chase you, find out your answer once and for all, but there were too many people watching. He would only cause a scene.

'There you are.' Kate's voice prompted him to spin around and be greeted by the woman in question as well as Hotch, obviously having finished his interview with Madame Lacroix.

'Was that Serena just now?' Hotch asked in a quiet voice, but loud enough for Spencer to hear over the loud music.

Spencer nodded. 'She said something is going down tonight. What did you find out?'

'Lawyered up in the end. She's definitely hiding something. Anything from you, Kate?'

'I tried asking a few girls, but they all seized up or ignored me. They appear trained that way, just like we suspected. Brainwashed, of some kind.'

'All right,' Hotch said. 'Let's get back to the office. L/N's feed is our only lead now.'

Spencer followed his colleagues through the Pit to the exiting stairs, all the while looking for you. He couldn't find you, however. Maybe she's already having the meeting, he thought. If so, he just hoped you wouldn't do anything stupid in the mean time.