#hotel near soho

[thehistoricbluemoonhote]

The Historic Blue Moon Hotel

Website: https://www.bluemoon-nyc.com

Address: 100 Orchard Street, New York City, NY 10002, USA

The Historic Blue Moon Hotel in NYC, an award-winning 1879 establishment, offers a unique blend of history and luxury. Nestled in the vibrant Lower East Side, it provides an immersive experience with its artful decor and museum-like ambiance. The hotel features beautifully restored rooms, each with a balcony, offering stunning city views. Guests can enjoy modern amenities like free Wi-Fi, large bathtubs, and handcrafted Italian cuisine at the on-site Trattoria. Ideal for both short and extended stays, the Blue Moon Hotel promises a memorable stay in the heart of New York City.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BlueMoonHotelNYC

Twitter: https://twitter.com/bluemoonhotel

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bluemoonhistoric/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@bluemoonhotel7282

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/randysettenbrino/

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[wellourgerdes]

The Soho Hotel London

The Soho Hotel London The Soho Hotel, located 5 minutes’ walk from Oxford Street, boasts a fully equipped gym with an on-site personal trainer. This elegant boutique hotel in bustling Soho occupies a former warehouse and is only a 2-minute walk from Soho Square and  12-minute walk from the British Museum. Five-star luxury is an understatement; this hotel is magnificent for the posh and…

[ktkellart]

Good Omens London Trip 🐍💞🪽

It's my Birthday today and I treated myself to a trip to London last weekend to see my favourite actor Michael Sheen in Nye at the National Theatre. I made the most of my weekend by combining it with a Good Omens filming location self-tour and I'd love to share it with you all. So, are you ready for the tour?

Here we go!

Starting off with Soho, and the inspiration for Whickber Street, where Aziraphale's bookshop, Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, The Small Back Room, and the Dirty Donkey are located.

It’s Berwick Street and a record shop that is very similar in shape to A.Z Fell & Co. Bonus points for spotting Duck Lane!

Next is Berkeley Square, a short walk from Soho. The first two photos are of the real Berkeley Square gardens in Mayfair, and the last two photos were taken in the filming location of Tavistock Square across the other side of central London near Kings Cross. I’m sitting on their ‘body swap’ bench in the last photo!

As you can see, the benches are turned around facing inwards now but are the other way, facing outwards in Good Omens.

Oh, and I can confirm that there were no nightingales singing in either location 😭

Heading up the road a few minutes from Tavistock Square to The Enterprise pub where I met a fellow fan who kindly took photos of me posing (I bet the staff thought we were off our rockers!). This is where Crowley drowns his sorrows in Talisker Whisky whilst waiting for the world to end after thinking he'd lost Aziraphale. Omg that poor poor demon, he was really just gonna die along with the world.

Also, one of my favourite moments of season 1 is Crolwey's line: "I heard that. It was the wiggle-on..." then shrugs. 😆 So many emotions in such short a time.

Onto the Ritz. The first two photos are of the real Ritz (a stone's throw from Berkeley Square) and the last one is inside Masala Zone in Piccadilly Circus where the ‘Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol’ and ‘To the World’ scenes were filmed.

I ate in here alone to get the photo and was so lucky with the table I was given! Perfect discreet snap whilst eating my curry! Haha!

Next up is Battersea Park and the Bandstand. It was a bit of a faff to get there, it's an 8-minute walk from the Battersea Power Station underground and we walked the full length of the park to find the Bandstand, but it was so worth it.

Also filmed here was Gabriel and Aziraphale’s run/jog. Poor Angel is soft scene.

The trees were a little leafier with it being mid-May and the park was very busy because the weather was glorious. They also have a beautiful lake here with herons!

The Heaven & Hell staircase escalators are right over the east side of London in Broadgate Tower, Bishopsgate. I got the overground to Liverpool Street station to get there. It is in a private business building so I politely/awkwardly asked the receptionist if I could take a photo and had to explain about the scene from Good Omens… eek! But he kindly let me snap a photo anyway! (Phew)

The Windmill Theatre was three minutes away from my hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so I wandered up the road to take a photo of where Aziraphale ‘performed on the West End stage’ as Fell the Marvelous. And wasn’t he just?

The scenes weren't filmed here but it was fun to find it anyway.

St James’s Park is up next! I sat on their bench and got my friend to take photos of me posing and had fun editing the first photo. Haha! We enjoyed walking through the park, watching the ducks on the lake and had a nosey at Buckingham Palace while we were there.

The Duke of York Statue steps are at the other end of St James's Park and were fun to walk up. I smiled to myself as I thought of the scene where Crowley says ‘Well let's have lunch? Hmm,’ and Aziraphale turns around, as it was the first time I realised that these two were more than just friends.

Heaven’s top floor, the Sky Garden in Fenchurch Street near Monument is a very tall building with a botanical garden on the top floor. You can visit the sky garden for free, but you do need to book in advance so it’s best to plan ahead for this one. The views of London are breathtaking from the 35th floor and the tropical plants are fun.

My last stop for this visit was Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. I booked a tour on the morning I was due to go home. The first tour is 10 am and lasts an hour, so I dashed off as soon as the tour guide was uttering his last words about the gift shop, across London back to Kings Cross to pick up my suitcase from luggage storage and get the 11:48 am train home!

One I missed and could have easily gone to is St Margaret Street where Newton and Shadwell meet, and Shadwell fleeces Newton for a cup of tea with nine sugars and pockets the change. A bit gutted I missed it to be honest – I love Jack Whitehall (I’m back in London with the family in June so I’ll swing by and update then!)

There are also some other locations a little further afield that I might try to visit on a later date, such as Shadwell's and Madam Tracy's flat down Hornsey Road in Islington, Crowley's Flat exterior in Eastfields Avenue, Best Cafe on Garratt Lane where Crowley meets Shadwell, Crystal Palace Dinosaur Park where the ineffable husbands watch Warlock defacing a dinosaur sign and Antonella's Cafe and Bistro where Crowley and Aziraphale are thinking of ideas to track down the antichrist whist Aziraphale eats cake.

Okay, I’m gonna finish up with the man himself. The very kind, very charming, and VERY patient Michael Sheen The reason for my London visit in the first place. Nye was spectacular OBviOUsLy, but he was super generous with his time at stage door for us all. I got a hug and asked him to pass it on to Aziraphale (that angel really needs a hug) and it made him laugh, which made my night!

Check out my reblog for extra locations when I visited London again a month later, and for a hilarious bonus photo of.... Gabriel??!

Here’s the wonderful map I used -

from this website:

[sgiandubh]

Señorita Nothingburger

🎶When you see her, say a prayer /And kiss your heart arse goodbye 🎶

Lauren 2.0. Wow: after The Paid Companion, The Wannabe. Unlike the first round of revelations, this time the output has been totally disappointing. Very few things and zero context, which I have to say I was totally expecting, because it didn't exactly fit the agenda being pushed by Marple (amen!). Lightning never strikes the same place twice, right? And then, we had The Follow - a very interesting foolish, yet telling move: but on this, a bit further down the road, mind you.

So, let's ask ourselves along with La Ciccone: '¿Quién es esa niña?' For once, his IG follow has been very explicit:

Leading whoever to this account...

Elix Wellness is offering a very specific range of treatments, of which the one for hangovers really got me interested:

And yeah, even if I have apparently been scooped out by Marple on this one (my bad for sitting on it for a day), shamelessly using my patented methods (that is a lame joke), Lauren 2.0's LinkedIn account is, for once, very clear:

Her contract as a Travel RN was over by August 2023, as pointed out across the street:

And then she decided to go independent and open her own company. So, by far not a hooker - decent education, even, at NYU.

Lo and behold, who had Ibuprofen in his hotel room, in May 2023, when they were spotted on that NY Soho terrace, having lunch (didn't we laugh? you bet we did, it was one of my first posts in this fandom!)? S, of course. Hangovers could use both ibuprofen and a good IV cleansing treatment ( see above - such a common offering in that particular town, soon to be out of fashion - but hey: if she believes it can bring money, not my problem).

But... dating her? Not a chance in hell. You see, just a cursory survey of her IG account between the moment her contract as a Travel Registered Nurse was over and the moment her company started to be active, reveals a very busy Mediterranean summer, hitting all the possible cliches:

Before ending that contract, even, some days in Paris with her real interest, (again) checking all the tourist/romantic tropes you can imagine, from dining at the Au pied de cochon restaurant to having a quick macaron bite in the Luxembourg Gardens...

... then off to Paros, a posh island Greek destination, very much in vogue with the creative crowd, followed by (we are talking mandatory island hopping, here) Mykonos (unapologetically posh and very expensive, LGBTQ+ friendly destination - also beloved by the glam and glitz crowd)

Oh, hello Soho Roc House, part of the Soho Houses network - rings a bell? What a small world, really.

... a couple of days in Rome, followed by some quality family time (Mom and Pop, at a minimum) in Puglia, then Croatia (again, the glam crowd of Hvar island), back to Paris for a girls' trip (Montmartre, the Eiffel Tower and a couple other spots in the Marais and around the Rue de Rivoli - cliche forever):

... then back in Rome for cacio e pepe pasta, Piazza Navona and the Pantheon oculus (artsy girl, told you), followed by Positano and Capri (with Mom and Dad, again). Nothing to write home about, but still trying to sell herself as an up and coming influencer of sorts, perhaps.

Nowhere near S for the entire 2023 Sassenach Summer Tour. How is this equating with dating, that is really beyond me. Seriously. For instance, just before the second sighting, in NYC (June 10, 2023), she was having fun in the Algarve region and Lisbon (of course, Portugal). Probably posted those pics upon her return to NYC:

Dating? More like convenient pretext. He knew people would hang around that hotel (fans, autograph hunters, etc), especially during OL promo peak time. And he knew someone will take that pic, which was then conveniently placed in *urv's lap, for lengthy talks and more innuendo. Just as the first sighting was conveniently placed in Marple's inbox, to see if topic garners interest and sticks around/can be reused for further shits and giggles. Innuendo and nothing more would be my best bet: neither *urv, nor Marple had ANY positive idea about who she was, back at the time.

And now, the third drop was again placed in Marple's inbox, because attention had to be redirected to this particular gossip topic, in rather dire circumstances following Lauren 1.0.

And for your information, she does not follow S and he does not follow her. But he follows her newly opened joint: hangovers are a bitch, I know.

Why? I think it is clear enough why.

Who dunnit? I will let you draw your own conclusions, really. Again, it is rather plain to see. My belief is that this is not TPTB. And for once, I do not think he met her via Raya. Nope.

I took one for the team and listened to that podcast (if you are very foolish or brave or foolishly brave, you can do the same here: https://youtu.be/vBmcnhe2kwg?si=rRu5YCLHS3eZhuFs ). I mean, what is WRONG with those women? That is legit 14 year old bullshit talk about relationships (or the immature impossibility to have a satisfying one). They essentially explain in that podcast they have trouble decoding 'the man' in some relationships and the way they play out. I was laughing so violently my abs (or lack of them) hurt. At some point, I even thought it was some sort of sophisticated second degree, but NO (#cringe).

Also, I think I should be burning my pineapple pajama summer pants. Seriously. If you listen to the whole bullshit, you'll see there is no damn way to substantiate anything based on that. Zero connection.

[thetardigrape]

Tagged by @internerdionality to share the first lines of my 10 most recent fanfics. All of these except #9 are Good Omens. #9 is OFMD.

Inheritance (WIP, will be ~25k, E) Aziraphale stands near the wall of the ballroom, eating a delightful custard tart and watching the dancers.

One of a Kind (4800, T) “So what’s with all the animals?” Crawly says, eying the parade of dogs and camels and chickens and such being herded up the gangplank to the ark.

Your Smile in Mine (64k, E) Crowley tries not to shift in his seat as Headmaster Metron frowns at his CV.

You Are in the Earth of Me (6k, E) It’s actually embarrassing, the tickle in his throat.

Devoured All My Waking Hours (6.4k, E) Aziraphale, seated at a small table in the corner of the hotel bar, watches a rather revolting scene play out across the room.

I'm Almost Me Again (5.5k, E) Aziraphale spends a lot of time these days very decidedly not thinking about Crowley.

Separation (22k, E) After Aziraphale disappears into the lift, there’s nothing left to do but go home, really.

And Then in Soho (7k, E) As she makes her way to the address in Soho she’s been given by the agency, Crowley goes over her plan.

Ice Skating and Other Disasters (10k, E) The living room of the cabin smells irrepressibly like Christmas—fir trees and cinnamon and gingerbread and cloves.

When In Rome (5k, E) Aziraphale leans back against the tiled edge of the bathing pool, the cool tile contrasting pleasantly with the warm water.

Tagging @4nationsinharmony, @veeagainsttheday, @gaypiratebrainrot, @ghostalservice, @chocolatepot, and anyone else who wants to play!

[consultingcompanion94]

Once Upon an Eternity

Chapter 1

Months after Aziraphale left for Heaven, Crowley finds himself waking up back in the bookshop after months of coping with his broken heart. But… is it the first time he’s been back? Why does it seem like there’s something he’s missing? When he’s reunited with the new Archangel for the first time since that day, he can’t stop the overwhelming dread that something is very, very wrong… AU of my interpretation of S3 as inspired by the show Once Upon a Time. If you’ve seen it, no spoilers for anyone who hasn’t!!! If you have, hope you enjoy my little mash-up!!!

Notes:

Hello everyone! Welcome to my first fic in the GO fandom! I fell in love with the show after binging the whole thing just in time to dive right into S2 when it aired (and experience all the devastation that brought us all). I was finally inspired enough to dive back into fanfic after a very long hiatus by the show and by Rebecca Flutter’s amazing GO podfics on Youtube (seriously, do yourself a favor and check them out!) I couldn’t stop picturing certain scenes from another one of my favorite shows, Once Upon a Time, with Crowley and Aziraphale, and this is the result! Hope you enjoy, and let’s get on with the show!

The storm must have been what finally caused Crowley to come to. Lighting lit the sky as rain beat against the windows, thunder crashing just far enough away to not be an immediate concern. 

Speaking of immediate concerns…

Now that Crowley was slowly regaining awareness, he shot to his feet from his current position on the floor. Not his floor, mind you, his flat strewn with bottles as it had been for months. Not even the floor of one of the hotels of questionable quality he vaguely recalled bolting to the numerous times he couldn’t bear being anywhere near Soho since…

Since he’d last been here in the bookshop.

Tensed and alert, Crowley fled from the back room. He was fully set on outrunning the memories ready and waiting to spring like arrows notched and ready to fly, before freezing at the sight of another figure slumped near the register.

“What the…” the flash of panic and concern that struck Crowley seemed out of place (at least in its intensity), considering how comparatively little he’d had to do with the small Scrivener to warrant such a reaction on their behalf. “Muriel?”

Apparently his words did what the storm had not, Muriel shifting weakly as Crowley crossed the room and bent to help lift them from the ground.

“M-Mister Crowley?” Muriel groaned, eyes still unfocused and leaning against Crowley for support. “W-when did you come back? I- I thought you’d driven off after Archangel Az-”

“How many times have I gotta tell you to drop the Mister? I’m ancient, not old,” Crowley cut them off with a huff, and where the Heaven did that come from? As if it was a long standing argument? He very pointedly shoved aside acknowledging that his interruption also served to prevent Murial from saying his name (He included himself in the list of people he was very good at lying to.)

Frowning Muriel questioned again, “When did you get here? How did you get here?”

Having no answers, Crowley could only shrug noncommittally. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every inch as he’d done when assessing the bookshop after the Armageddon that wasn’t. He failed to find even the smallest of changes this time around, but that didn’t stop his hands from twitching uneasily as he felt the air faintly stir with an energy he could only describe as wrong.

Both beings jolted at the sound of the front door’s bell ringing, Maggie and Nina stumbling their way into the shop looking as if they were in a similar state of disorientation.

“What the hell have you gotten us into this time?” Nina snapped, marching up to Crowley and crossing her arms with a pointed glare.

“Does it look like I have any clue what’s going on here?” Crowley retaliated, only stopped from advancing on Nina when he saw Maggie place a calming but firmly restraining arm on Nina’s arm.

“She’s just tense and jumping to conclusions. Can’t blame her really. Both of us woke up in Nina’s shop with no idea how we got there, on top of it being the first time in months we’ve seen your car hanging around rather than just passing through…” Maggie paused her explanation, brows furrowing before she continued questioningly, “It.. it is the first time you’ve been back… right?”

“Course it is, what kind of question…” Crowley trailed off, matching Maggie’s state of confusion. 

Now that he paid attention, he had that feeling of an unexplainably increased sense of familiarity, eerily identical to what he’d felt with Muriel and equally as uncountable. Not only that, but how was he so much more unaffected than he should have been by being back in the place he’d had his heart obliterated? He hadn’t expected his first time back (assuming he ever did come back), to feel anything less than agonizing, yet here he stood, heart still unmistakably raw and scarred over far more than he expected but not actively bleeding out.

“See, not as far of a stretch to link you to whatever's going on as you thought, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve meddled in something and caused a right mess,” Nina grumbled, still visibly on edge but less openly hostile.

“Excuse you, but if you recall, you know very well the main meddler last time was…” Crowley swallowed, flinching at coming even close to mentioning him.

“What’s that lovely human expression? Oh yes- guilty as charged,” a posh voice replied from the shadows near the front door as they all whirled to face the intruder. Crowley shivered at the familiar cadence he’d know anywhere, though not from pain as would be assumed, but from the unfamiliar iciness he’d never heard from that voice.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley breathed, frozen to the spot as he took in the figure walking into the dim lighting the storm had brought on. 

“Speak of the devil as they say,” Aziraphale smirked, stopping just shy of the group clustered in the middle of the shop. The sterile white of the new suit was less surprising than the harsh, sharp angles of the design that contrasted so severely with the soft lines and curves of the Angels usual ensemble. It was nowhere near what Crowley would have imagined from the new Archangel, had he been in any state of mind to ponder such things, anymore than the flecks of dark gray mixed in with the halo of blond curls that had never changed until now.

Unsettling as all of that was, what caused Crowley's blood to freeze in his corporation was when he finally met Aziraphale’s eyes. Gone was the ocean blue Crowley had gotten lost in far more times than his sunglasses would have allowed anyone to know. 

The gaze that met his eyes now was not the lavender he wasn’t sure if he would have recoiled from due to its association with a certain former Archangel, or embraced despite everything because it still would have been his Angel gazing back regardless of the hue of his irises.

What Crowley saw now was a twisted shadow of that same flowers vibrant shade, if left uncared for to grow dark, decayed, and withered, long since abandoned to rot. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Crowley stammered, breathing erratic as Aziraphale slowly continued his progress towards the group, “You’ve been plenty content to piss off to Heaven without a backward glance until now, don’t let trivial little connections like ours hold you back now Archangel,” Crowley spat, doing his best not to shrink away every step closer Aziraphale advanced.

Chuckling darkly, Aziraphale lifted his hand to caress Crowley’s cheek, smirking at the shiver his touch was able to cause in the Demon even now. 

“Ah, you see, therein lies the problem. I admit that you were right in one respect. My newly appointed position wasn’t exactly as I expected. Some… Changes were required,” Aziraphale paused with a curl of his lips. “However, I suppose you could say that leaves us even, considering I was also right.”

“In what way?” Crowley barely managed to choke out, stomach dropping as the Archangel snickered sinisterly.

“That you had no idea what I was offering you,”  Aziraphale sneered. One of his hands fisted into Crowley’s lapels as the other rested on his face, a lovers embrace that should have been warm and tender but was instead forceful and possessive. Breaths mingling for only a moment, Aziraphale hissed quietly enough only Crowley could have heard it, “And I’m going to ensure you regret turning me down, that you beg me for another chance. And don’t worry, when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

Breaking the embrace, there was a flash of blinding light, and the Archangel was gone.

Thank you all for reading! If you want to read more now, here’s the link to what I have up so far on AO3. See you all in the next chapter!

Next Chapter

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

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

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Three Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 3173 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

~~~

Spencer stared hard at the map of Manhattan that was pinned to the board, eyes flickering between each location the bodies were found at. He'd circled them, hoping to visualise some sort of map or pattern between the kill spots, but nothing emerged to his despair.

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. The team had gone to their hotel soon after his outburst at Holt, but he'd been back in since around six o'clock. He checked his wristwatch. Quarter-to-eight it read.

'You're in early.'

Spencer swivelled around at the sound of Hotch entering the room, the rest of team following closely behind. JJ held two coffees in hand, walking around the big table in the middle of the room to hand one to him. He didnt know how JJ knew he needed the caffeine, but he smiled gratefully nonetheless and took the hot brew from her hands.

'Yeah,' he said after a deep sip, scrunching his nose slightly at the slight bitter taste he detected. It was sweet, but not sweet enough. 'I... couldn't sleep.'

How could he, when his whole world had been turned upside down in the span of a couple of hours? You were risking your life - had been for eleven months already. He wanted this case to be over, and sleeping in his uncomfortable hotel bed while you were constantly looking over your shoulder was not going to help make that happen.

The way his friends looked at him now only confirmed that he looked a little worse for wear. But before anyone could comment, Hotch intervened.

'Where are we on the unsub's comfort zone, Reid?' Hotch asked, looking at the map over Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer was grateful for the change in topic, and turned around to point at the map with one hand, the other still cradling his coffee. 'I marked out where each body was found in relation to their establishment,' he explained, pointing at each marked spot for emphasis. 'Unfortunately, they range from up to downtown, even the Upper Eastside to SoHo. Geography doesn't seem to be a factor in the killings. What does seem to be a factor, however, is that all the other girls, like Roxy, were killed either outside or not far from where they worked.'

'That could speak to the unsub wanting to deliver a message,' JJ suggested. 'If the unsub is someone who has been double-crossed by these girls or the establishments, maybe their deaths are a warning.'

'Penelope said she couldn't find anything on these girls prior to their employment,' Kate said, reading a text off her phone no doubt from the technical analyst herself. 'Y/N's intel was correct. These girls were like ghosts, but like, before they had a life.'

'They had to have come from somewhere,' Rossi said. 'They couldn't have just... invented these girls.'

'No...' Derek trailed off, hand reaching for his jean pocket. '...but they can be reinvented.'

'What do you mean?' JJ asked, but Spencer's brain worked faster than Derek's mouth.

'From the initial notes from each body find, we know all girls were quite loyal and involved with the establishment's business,' Spencer answered, feeling reinvigorated suddenly. Or maybe that was just the coffee. 'They would've had to have been isolated for a few years prior to their re-emergence back into society to be that conditioned to their owner's orders.'

'Most of these girls were around seventeen and eighteen when they started working,' Kate said. 'That's when girls usually establish their independence from families.'

'But these girls have stayed as they've entered their twenties,' Hotch noted.

'Which means they would've been taken away from society before they could figure out how to be independent.' Derek's finger pressed a speed dial button - the first person on Derek Morgan's list for all things knowledgeable.

'Greetings my love,' Penelope greeted, her perkiness like another shot of espresso in Spencer's system. 'Did you see my good morning text with all my notes - and by all of them, I mean nothing - on the girls' history? Sent with love.'

'We did, baby girl,' he answered. 'But we might have a new lead to go on and we need your help.'

'You've rubbed the lamp, and as the genie I am now at your command. What do you need to know?'

'See if you can find any missing child records from over the last decade, particularly girls,' Derek said.

'They might not be made by parents, per say,' Spencer quickly added. 'The seller is choosing girls he knows people won't look too hard for. They'll be low-risk victims, so look up any mysterious disappearances from homeless communities and even unofficial orphanages and shelters in the New York state.'

'Boy Wonder, you certainly live up to your name,' Penelope quipped, the soft pattering of her frantic typing filling the room for a moment before she stopped. 'Aha! There have been over fifty girls who've gone missing over the past decade that fit those perimeters. I almost missed some of them because they weren't officially reported, but they popped up in local newspaper adverts noting certain kids in their community had been missing for a while. I've just sent a list of places they all went missing from to your phones.'

Another flurry of fingers flying over her keyboard and she spoke again. 'And if you look at your tablets, you will find the picture a young girl, aged twelve, gone missing from a trip to an aquarium with her orphanage. A Missy Wright. She had a record for running away and hiding, so when she wasn't found after twenty four hours, police disbanded the search party and declared her a runaway. But does she look familiar at all to you?'

Spencer looked over JJ's shoulder as she looked at her own tablet, seeing the similarities before anyone else did. 'That's Roxy Vega,' he said.

'I'm running out of gold stars to give you, Boy Wonder,' Penelope quipped. 'I'll try and find more pictures of the dead girls and match them with any of the missing girls on my list.'

'Thank you mama, you're best,' Derek said.

'I know, sugar,' Penelope replied before ending the call promptly.

'Let's go talk to those establishments, particularly Roxy's old orphanage,' Hotch announced. 'Let's cover as many as we can by splitting up. Spencer and JJ, Derek and Kate, and Dave you're with me.'

Kate squinted at her phone, eyebrows furrowing in distress. 'There are over thirty addresses here. And they're spread all over the New York state. This could take days.'

'I'll get local police as well as Holt's team to help,' Hotch replied. 'We find out who these girls were before they were abducted, we find out how the unsub finds them.'

'Then we can find him,' Rossi added with an assertive nod. 'All right then, let's get going. We're burning daylight.'

Spencer downed the rest of his coffee then grabbed his satchel and suit jacket and scrambled after his team. Before he left, he turned back to the board, to the marked map and the pictures of the managers and the mutilated girls. Girls who died as different people to who they were born as.

We will find you, he silently vowed, and followed his team out the door.

~~~

The pounding music of the Pit replicated the consistent thuds in your head as you walked your way around the floor.

Three glasses of single malt whiskey balanced precariously on your tray as you made your way through the crowd of gentlemen and girls enjoying themselves. It was a fine art, one you had perfected over the eleven months you'd been undercover.

You tried not to crinkle your nose in disgust as you passed by a certain lecherous man getting handsy with one of the girls, Lavender.

She was younger than you, a pretty little thing who started around the same time as you did. You'd come to the assumption she was also one of the girls who'd been taken as a a child and reinvented, as she always dodged any questions you asked about her life before... working.

And maybe she just didn't know the answers or she just really valued her privacy as a girl in her late teens did. But the way she would always always redirect the subject or blatantly not answer didn't sit right with you.

Lavender's eyes met yours briefly, and you saw the defeat and disgust she felt as she let the man's hands grip her curvaceous hips. It was a silent cry for help - you'd seen the same look in the other girls' eyes before. Not just at the Chateau, either. At all the establishments you'd wheedled your way into.

You wanted nothing more than to slug the bastard who had to be forty years Lavender's senior, and shame him for defacing an innocent like her. For going behind his wife's back because God forbid she age like human beings do. You saw the ring tan wrapping his ring finger. That was an easy spot after being in the workplace as you long as you had. Or maybe that was just your profiler background giving you an upper hand.

Before you could do anything, however, Lavender was dragged back into a conversation with the lech, forcing a fake smile to crinkle her beautiful features. And you still had three drinks to deliver.

'There you go, boys,' you drawled out, slapping on a flirtatious smile as you placed the three glasses onto the small round table between the three occupied chairs.

'Why thank you, sweetheart,' one said, flashing your smile back at you in return. 'I've been looking forward to this all night.'

'Why don't you sit down with us,' another one said, patting his lap as he took a sip from his glass, never losing eye contact with you.

You repressed the shudder that instinctively rattled your bones, and instead you waved a hand carelessly. 'No, no. I can't. I'm on bar shift tonight, boys. I mean, who else is going to get you your drinks?'

'I'm sure someone else could cover for ya, sweetheart,' the third man suggested, hand reaching out to graze your hips. 'Come on, just ten minutes won't hurt anyone.'

Bile rose up in your throat at his touch, how it sent an uncomfortable chill through you despite the heat inside the Pit. But you were Serena Vanderguff, and this was not your first rodeo.

You gracefully yet pointedly slapped his hand away from you, laughing boisterously like you hadn't purposefully done that. 'Oh, you boys have such a wild sense of humour. But be honest... you couldn't afford ten minutes of this.'

You swayed your hips as you walked away, knowing full well they were staring after you. Wolf whistles followed your movements but none of them came after you thankfully, no doubt because they set their sights on some other poor victims.

You approached the bar and placed your tray on it, leaning on it with a sigh.

'Tell me about it,' a velvety voice said. The voice belonged to a gorgeous woman with charcoal skin, chocolate eyes, and multicoloured braids who was wiping glasses before putting them back behind the bar to use for another round of drinks. 'But I'm sad to say, but the night is still young.'

'You got that right, Ajani,' you murmured, rubbing around your eyes to avoid messing up your eye makeup. It was a little bright and bold for your taste, but it didn't matter what you liked.

It hadn't mattered for a while now.

'Hey,' Ajani said, grabbing your attention. 'Madame was looking for you in her office.'

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'For me? What for?'

Ajani shrugged, throwing the hand towel she'd been using over her shoulder. 'She didn't say what exactly, just that she wanted to see you now. Don't worry, I'll get Becky to cover for ten.'

You nodded, then cautiously turned over my shoulder to the door to the side of the stage that read OFFICE. It wasn't unusual for you to be called in to her office as of late. It was exactly what you wanted. But it didn't mean you weren't any less terrified whenever you entered, the endless possibilities of why you were in there driving you crazy.

The door opened to reveal Madame Lacroix sitting at her desk, a drink in hand, and two other men sitting in the two chairs on the other side of it. Two men, you were terrified to notice, you recognised as managers of your previous workplaces: Alfred Royalton of the Charming Times brothel, and Melton Jones from Guilty Pleasure. Their quiet murmurings silenced as soon as you came into view, their piercing gazes freezing you in the doorway.

'You wanted to see me, Madame?' you said as perkily as you could, hoping to cover your fear up slightly.

Madame Lacroix's red lips split in an award-winning smile as she waved you inside with her free hand. 'Yes, Serena. I was! How lovely of you to join us. Come in, come in!'

You quickly scurried in and closed the door behind you, happy to find reprieve in the much quieter room compared to the Pit. But that reprieve didn't last long, as you met your old bosses' curious gazes.

'You remember Alfred and Melton, Serena?' Madame Lacroix prompted after an awkward moment of silence.

'Yes,' you answered. 'It's great to see you both. You're looking well.'

'And so are you, dear Serena,' Alfred said, walking over and embracing you in an awkward hug as he tried to not spill his drink. As an older gentlemen, he seemed more like a fatherly figure to the girls in his employment. But from what you knew about the business he and the others in the room were involved in, he came off as a creepy pedophile. 'I'm so glad to see Madame Lacroix treating you so well. You know you are always welcome back at the old haunt.'

'If she's going back to anyone, it's me,' Melton said, the certainty in his words matching the intensity of his eyes. They raked you up and down, and again you repressed a shiver from the disgusting feeling it gave you to be watched like a piece of meat. Melton Jones couldn't be older than thirty-five, and was the son of one of the biggest CEO's in Eco-energy products and research.

You could only imagine what his big-time mother would think if she knew what her son was really into.

'Tough luck, boys. She's mine now,' Madame Lacroix interrupted the fight, getting up from her seat to walk around her desk and sling an arm around your shoulders. 'But why don't we get into what we really want to talk about? Have a seat, my dear.'

You didn't have much of a choice as Madame Lacroix guided you to sit in her own desk chair before joining the men on the other side. They all looked at you expectantly, but their smiles were more alarming than reassuring.

'Um... what did you want to see me for, Madame?' you asked after a moment of silence.

Madame didn't respond right away, placing her glass of wine down first on the desk. 'You are a special girl, Serena. Very special indeed.'

You raised a quizzical brow. 'How so?'

'You've impressed us,' Alfred answered, looking around at his peers. 'Your ability to keep secrets and do things without being asked has attributed to this. It's one of the reasons we've had to share you around so much and in such little time. If I had any say, you would've never left Charming Times!'

'You've done our stocktake,' Melton continued, those snake eyes of his never leaving yours. 'Kept certain... shipments under wraps. Picked up exclusive clientele that has done wonders for our business. You're like our own little personal lucky charm.'

You recounted all the times you'd hidden the secret load of drugs that were snuck into customer's drinks and food to get them so delirious they didn't realise how much money they were spending. All the times you sat in on meetings with the managers about who to target the next night, and all the shady receipts of shipments with unknown contents in them you hadn't be told about yet.

All the the illegal and dangerous deals that you'd told your Organised Crime unit about behind your managers' backs.

'That is why we would like to reward you, my dear,' Madame Lacroix said, a smile you figured to be proud gracing her lips. 'And we're not the only ones who think so too. We think you're ready to learn our... business, and so does the Boss.'

'The Boss?' you asked tentatively, not bothering to mask your slight fear. Was this the seller? Was this the guy you'd been trying to take down for almost a year now?

'Oh don't look so terrified, honey,' Madame Lacroix doted, walking around the desk to pat at your head. She leaned in close to you, and you restrained from gagging at the smell of too much wine tainting her breath. 'The Boss is impressed by your work and commitment to the trade. So much so, he wants to meet you. Soon.'

The men looked at you expectantly, and that's when you realised how you should be reacting. 'R-Really?' you mustered out an excited response, widening your eyes to appear more innocent. 'The Boss wants to see me?'

'Yes, Serena,' Alfred said. 'All the arrangements will be made when you meet, but soon you'll be seeing him a lot.'

'Arrangements?'

Melton surprisingly was the one to answer you. 'Each establishment in the Business, as we like to call it, has their hierarchy. The Boss is above us all, and he helps keep our establishments running smoothly. From there, it goes us, then our employees. That's you right now, Serena. But there is a status in between us and the employees that is trusted more than the others, kind of like our right hand woman.'

'And that woman acts as our mediator between us and the Boss,' Madame Lacroix continued, still stroking your hair. 'Kind of like a peace offering for how generous and kind he is to us.'

'What has this got to do with me?' you asked, but you already knew what the answer would be.

Madame Lacroix let out a dramatic sigh as she stood to make her way around the desk again, rejoining the men. 'Well, our mediator at the Chateau was Roxy, but, well, you know what happened to her. So what I'm offering is a chance to become the next Roxy, Serena. Be my most trusted employee, to learn the Business, and to appease the Boss- I mean, thank him.'

She stopped mid-walk to turn and look you dead in the eye, and despite her drunken breath, you saw clarity and evil flash in those emerald eyes of hers.

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

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

From a FAKE rented cottage at the San Ysidro Ranch in Santa Barbara, CA, Harry told his good global therapist:

"Meg gives me my space."

Why wasn't the good doctor allowed to meet at their massive Montecito Olive Garden SPACE?

Byrony was allowed to conduct their interview in the so called, "guest house" (as Sparry hung family photos on the wall). Afterwards she was rewarded to step foot across the threshold of the REAL "mansion" to observe and testify to the UK of the "normal" family living behind their very own security wall.

How much "space" does a spouse need? Anderson, Bradbury, Variety and even NOoprah were denied entrance to Casa de Montecito.

With so many "lemon trees," The Meghans still PAID a HOTEL to stage:

pandemic zoom calls & interviews

BLM & pro Biden Bench speeches

40th bday juggling act

chatting with teenagers

AGT (except the meghans who have zero talent)

Spotify Spots

magazine photoshoot & interviews

The very fake mockumentary megflop soap opera filmed inside various rented hotel cottages, on rented benches

All 1 hour away from Montecito at Santa Barbara's San Ysidro Ranch for megflix.

The Meghans still expect Americans to think it's normal to request discounts at a NYC hotel while suing his grandmother's government for (FREE) tax payer funded security.🧐

How convenient for megs that everytime she moved to a new country or city, her self titled "gay husband," Mr. Markus Anderson (former Soho House Bus Boy) chose to relocate to live w/her or near her

La->NYC

NYC->Toronto

Toronto->London

London->California

In LA, Meg was known as a serial celesbian to the stars. So how did Sparry & Eugenie become bffs with Omit's former gutter guyfriend, the infamous Markus Anderson?

Does MA's influence on the young BRF begin with Misha NooNoo and her friendship with Yorkie Eugenie? It would make sense that Eugenie, was the easy workaround to Sparry. What about all the photos of the York family posing, Sarah included, with sleazy Ron Burkle🤮😖😳

Of course Sparry preferred to party at Soho House instead of working on his character flaws. No coincidence that on more than 1 occasion, Sparry was videotaped pinching or sucking the nipples of male friends & male strangers.

Over the past 12-24 months we've seen Sparry become more effeminate in his motions, walk, speech, and who can forget seeing Sparry rub the back of his male partner as they enter his alleged personal man cave.

According to Caitlyn Jenner:

"supposedly they have a place in LA"

and Harry spends his free time in San Francisco. Is it any wonder Thirsty Tyler Perry who has his own skeletons declared he doesn't want love if it isn't The Meghans kind of love.🙄

Meghan, Markus & Dorito have made all of Sparry's dreams come true.

Dear Sparry, I hope finding your freedom & freebies in CA with your new "friends" was worth the price of your soul. By the way, it's not.

Meghan must feel like she can finally see a light at the end of her failed attempt to destroy the BRF via Sparry. In the end, it was the Queen of England who accurately SUSSed out the heart of Rachel Meghan Markle: an interloper who repaid good with evil.

[foxes-that-run]

2021 Haylor Timeline

Timeline Tag, or years 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 and 2024.

2 January - Harry at Jeffs wedding with OW. Holding hands at wedding photos - the Paparazzi Clint and his partner follow Olivia to a hotel in Santa Barbara. He later does an hour long podcast on following them and explains he then realised Harry was there and takes photos. After a few phone calls, the two photographers discover rumors of a romantic relationship between Harry and Olivia. 10 minutes later, photographed them together. in Nanny tell all Nanny said Olivia was still texting Jason to say she loved him, that Olivia was pretending to not have service. Nanny found out she was at the wedding online.

3 January - walking with OW in Santa Barbara

4 January - Harry hike in LA

15 January - Ted Lasso Season 2 starts filming London, in Nanny Tell all nanny said that Ted confronted her on the plane there about her telling Olivia that Jason had been crying and not coping. Jason then offered the Nanny a life coach to get info out of her and they were attending therapy with the Nanny.

18 January - Coney Island released as a single.

13 January - Taylor, Joe his mum walk London

14 February Olivia at Harry’s LA house with luggage. Don't worry Darling filming wraps. On the 21st Taylor Lover tour cancelled.

16 February - E News Harry and OW fly to London together. DWD wraps, Harry OW cast photo

20 February - OW near Jason Sudeikis /her kids London house

6 March - Oliva posts photo of Branston Beans from Harry's Kitchen, the curtains can be seen. Lockdown laws mean she should not have been able to travel there and was bragging about it and posting inside his house.

10 March Instead of congratulating Harry on the nomination Zayn posted “F the Grammys”

15 March -Talk at the Grammys, Taylor and Harry part of small group of attendees. Harry goes over to Taylor and they are polite, Harry seems a little awkward and says “well it was nice to see you”. He keeps looking at her during his acceptance speech for record of the year.

Taylor wrote High Infidelity and WCS with Aaron Dessner while in LA for the Grammy's, when she saw Harry & J Mayer.

Niall and Liam congratulate Harry on his Grammy win, Zayn and Louis do not.

31 March - architect of Harry’s Erskine House renovations posts photos of the interior to their website. It has a black, wood pale grey palette with pink stairs

13, -25 April - OW with Harry london

April 27 - Joe leaves UK to Belfast to film.

May 11 - HS & TS both at Brit awards (the 26th was a blood moon)

May - Harry’s bassist since HS1, Adam Pendergast, leaves love band (date from his LinkedIn)

20 May - Harry and Olivia dinner at Refuel Bar & Restaurant at The Soho Hotel. ET Rumours Joe and Taylor engaged.

15 June - Harry seen with fans wearing Apollo eleven tshirt

21 June - Harry wrapped My Policeman in Italy, started in Feb. Released 1 September 2022. Holiday in Italy

2 July - renegade released

3 July - Harry at England v Ukraine game Italy

8 July - Harry and Olivia on yacht and in Italy

26 July - Charlotte Clarke (Harry’s backup singer) said she was let go and doesn’t understand why. won’t be on HSLOT

28 July - Taylor posts for folklore' anniversary, "It’s been one year since we escaped the real world together and imagined ourselves someplace simpler." with a photo from Donegal Ireland. Heavily TTPD coded with Victorian gown, like the Betty speech’s on eras tour and lakes (poets), two coffee cups too, was it already a double album?! Coffee also as in the end of the Karma MV. Joe posted photos from the same trip on July 22nd

9 August - 26 August Harry in studio maybe mixing Harry's House in the behind scenes photos here you can see outfits he wore in LA on these dates.

4 September – 22 July 2023 - Love on Tour, Harry has a new bassist Elin Sandberg

7 September - Taylor in Belfast visiting Joe. Red TV entirely recorded at Kitty Committee Belfast UK (her home)

9 September - Taylor at Toronto Film Festival and to premiere all too well

11 September - Harry at Toronto Film Festival to premiere My policeman, talks about wasted time being the worst thing in presser

17 September - wildest dreams TV released, TikTok about recording Red TV and a glitch. Harry and Olivia in Phili with Xander, max and family

May 11 - HS & TS both at Brit awards (the 26th was a blood moon)

May - Harry’s bassist since HS1, Adam Pendergast, leaves love band (date from his LinkedIn)

May 24 - Joe and Taylor together in Paris

3 June - Harry OW her parents London

21 June - Harry wrapped My Policeman in Italy, started in Feb. Released 1 September 2022.

30 June - H Holiday in Italy

2 July - renegade released

8 July - Harry and Olivia on yacht and in Italy

13 July - Jason sudokis GQ that he still doesn’t know why they broke up and it ended in November 2020. Harry mentioned.

14 July - HSLOT announced for September

26 July - Charlotte Clarke (Harry’s backup singer) said she was let go and doesn’t understand why. won’t be on HSLOT

7 August - OW and Harry had guests at house, Harry has moustache and greets someone.

9 August - 26 August Harry LA in studio maybe mixing Harry's House in the behind scenes photos here you can see outfits he wore in LA on these dates. Walking with Olivia 19 August

31 August - Taylor and Joe hiking Franklin Canyon

4 September – 22 July 2023 - Love on Tour, Harry has a new bassist Elin Sandberg. OW at first show.

7 September - Taylor in Belfast visiting Joe. Red TV entirely recorded at Kitty Committee Belfast UK (her home)

9 September - Taylor at Toronto Film Festival and to premiere all too well

10 September - Harry golfing in Dallas

11 September - Harry at Toronto Film Festival to premiere My policeman, talks about wasted time being the worst thing in presser

17 September - wildest dreams TV released, TikTok about recording Red TV and a glitch. Harry and Olivia in Phili with Xander, max and family

18 September - Harry seen with Olivia near her parents in DC before show there

22 September - first heart kiss since 2018! St Paul - Falling, with Two Ghosts intro (4:31). Then again weekly till the end of the year

25 September - Taylor London Lena's wedding.

29 September - & 1 Oct Harry played Nashville and wore a white satin outfit, he played with his rings while performing Beautiful. Harry plays To Be so Lonely for 9 shows then never again, including Nashville N2 and NY. In Nashville looks up. OW at shows

3 October - OW parents at HSLOT but she is in LA.

9 October - Harry in Florida dinner

13 October - fan sends to DM that they saw Harry, no OW at Pittsburgh cathedral of learning with “more police and security than I knew existed” wouldn’t have recognised him if it wasn’t for them.

16 October - Harry wore “all things must pass” hoodie NYC OW walked awkwardly holding him. One security person.

22 October - one more photo of Taylor and joe in the bathroom leaked (the proper selfie), photos from 2016 leaked in 2020

25 October - Harry seems to be in a bad mood when he first goes on stage in Boston, also wearing no rings. Heart kiss in Falling, OW there and not seen with him until harryween in a week.

26 October - Taylor posts TikTok "Autumn Lovers RISE" as a reenactment of a 27 September 2017 Tumblr post. She writes lyrics to ATW "just between us did the love affair maim you" "and Plaid stuff and ankle boots" she's wearing a skirt but says 'stuff' plaid shirts and ankle Chelsea boots is Harry in 2011-2013. And "Maroon/Hunter Green" The ATW move included a book coming out 13 years later about the love affair.

30 October - Harry dressed as Dorothy at harryween MSG NY, Olivia as Dolly Parton posted photos with exercise bike and boobs. Olivia left for LA.

31 October - Moon Harryween Harry played MEDICINE!! For the first time since 2018

1 November - rumors Harry and OW fighting

10 November - heart kiss in falling. Tumblr anon said about OW “I was working at the venue in Sacramento when he played during LOT. Her backstage privileges were revoked after the show prior to that...which was..I think...Portland. Our backstage security was instructed to not allow her backstage under any circumstances. She didn't even arrive to the venue with him. From what I understood from Sacramento through the end of that tour her security access was no more than say..contest winners..radio personalities etc. I was shocked at the time that they lasted another year since there was clearly trouble in paradise.”

11 November - Harry has a bruise on his back I. Love on tour backstage photo

12 November - Red TV released Harry wears red in his show on the 11th. All Too Well Short Film premiere Dylan O'Brien (who is in ATW film) is included in this footage of Austin and Dylan cheering when Jack plays Question..? in the Studio. Appears on Fallon and says she easter eggs 3 years in advance in reference to ATW.

16 November - Pleasing launch with Harry on bike photo on cover of Dazed

17 November – Taylor leaves NYC for Panama to go see Joe. Taylor posts a drunk TikTok from Panama. On the 20th she went to the national theater and leaves on the 22nd. Joe stays and films. Midnights written while gone

21 November - Last time Taylor is photographed in public for 3 months is the SNL performance for All too Well

25 November Rolling Stone noted the Haylor call and response “the long-running songwriting badminton between her and Harry Allegedly is pop call-and-response the way it ought to be”

28 November- 13 December Harry MIA. after his shows. OW seen alone in LA

1 December Taylor wore Gucci lion ring to Zoe’s kravitz birthday throwback photo shared day after YLM date identified by Jack.

5 December - You're losing me written. Love on Tour in Buenos Aires

28 December - Harry and OW Italy. Fans post they saw them Hampstead NYE, no photos.

Continue to 2022

[charlotte-of-wales]

The Sussexes are frazzled, fraught and lacking romance – like any couple with young kids

Five years after their wedding, the omens are bad as Harry and Meghan seem to be heading in different directions.

It is hard to believe that five years ago today, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle rode through the streets of Windsor in an Ascot Landau carriage, cheered by adoring crowds on their wedding. At the time, household staff weren’t entirely confident the relationship would go the distance – “no one could see it lasting longer than three years”, according to one insider. Yet as the couple celebrate their “wood” anniversary, Harry and Meghan have proved their doubters wrong.

While their relationships with their own families might not be what they once were, the marriage appears to be going strong, despite the couple’s outwardly diverging priorities.

The Duchess once described them as moving together “like salt and pepper” but they seem to be heading in opposite directions – Meghan looking forward while Harry dwells on the past. The extraordinary events of this week – with the couple claiming they had been “involved in a near catastrophic car chase at the hands of a ring of highly aggressive paparazzi” in New York – seem to expose a chasm between her desire for fame, and Harry’s quest for privacy.

The couple say that after the event, they were subjected to a two-hour “relentless pursuit” by a “gang” of at least six paparazzi. New York City authorities have stated that although photographers made their journey “challenging”, “there were no reported collisions, summonses, injuries, or arrests”.

In pictures of the couple leaving the event, Harry’s discomfort was etched on his face as he used his phone to film the action from the back seat.

However, questions have been raised over how such a campaign sits with the Duchess’s plans to build her “global enterprise”. Meghan signed with leading global talent agency WME in April, amid talk of more “content creation”, a Dior clothing deal and the revamp of her defunct lifestyle blog The Tig.

Given this potential conflict, it is little wonder, then, that the couple have cut quite separate figures lately – with Harry travelling alone to the Coronation on May 6, leaving Meghan in Montecito with their two children, Archie, who turned four that day, and Lilibet who turns two next month.

The last time the Sussexes were photographed together in public was at a basketball game in Los Angeles last month, when they missed the opportunity to smooch on the “kiss cam” that pans in on couples in the stands. Some took the normally tactile couple’s reluctance as a sign all may not be well between them after Meghan’s absence from Harry’s promotional book tour fuelled split rumours.

Such is their independence from each other that the owner of a leading hotel chain in Montecito recently told The Daily Telegraph they have a room set aside for Harry where he occasionally stays on his own.

The Duke has also been known to stay at the uber-exclusive San Vincente Bungalows when visiting LA, which is a two-hour drive from the couple’s £11 million mansion.

“That seems to be his escape place,” said a source of the super secretive and selective members’ club in West Hollywood, which – unlike the Soho House chain also frequented by the Sussexes – bans journalists from joining. A refuge from the rigours of parenting two children under four, Harry has apparently stayed there after attending Barry’s Bootcamp, a high-octane cardio fitness class, at the nearby Beverly Center. One friend described the couple as “like any parents of such young kids: frazzled.”

They added: “They are really happy together and live this idyllic life in Montecito, which is essentially a giant gated community of multimillionaires.

“But at the end of the day, they’ve been through a lot and I think they’ve both felt quite ground down by it all.

“They’re like any married couple, five years in.”

As a Californian, born and bred, Meghan appears more settled than Harry who, by his own admission, still feels torn by his British ties. As he wrote in his book: “I love my mother country and I love my family and I always will.” Although he has repeatedly spoken of embracing the Santa Barbara lifestyle, it is no secret that the Duke – cut off from his family and many of his friends – is heavily reliant on his wife’s social circle.

When they first started dating, Harry was Meghan’s protector, guiding her through a royal life that was alien to her, but now the roles have been reversed and it is the Duke who appears to be struggling to find his way.

That may explain why he is still partially on British time – apparently staying up late into the night, gaming.

Yet with many of his old set still feeling aggrieved at having essentially been “ghosted” after he married Meghan, patience appears to be wearing thin even among his most stalwart supporters.

As one insider explained: “Nobody really speaks to him any more and even the people who have remained by his side have lately begun to fall away because he is so consistently negative. He’s often complaining and rarely asks after others. People had stuck with him because they blamed Meghan for isolating him and cutting him off from his friends and family. But he hasn’t done anything to help himself. Now they just see him as completely lost.”

Harry himself referred to the fact that William regards him as “deluded” – but that sentiment also seems to be shared by those in what he once referred to as his “circle of trust”. The word “narcissistic” also creeps into a lot of conversations about the couple.

According to one former military colleague: “No one in the forces has got any time for him at all, which is such a shame because he was hugely popular. You can blame Meghan, but he’s brought a lot of it on himself.”

While fully supportive of Spare, the media-savvy Duchess let it be known she raised gentle concerns about whether it was the right move. As a source said at the time: “Is this the way she would have approached things? Possibly not. But she will always back him and would never have got involved in promoting such a personal project. This was about his own life, his own journey and his own perspective.”

But with speculation about plans for her own memoir, the Duchess will want to avoid any more negative publicity diminishing the Archewell brand after the couple’s approval ratings have fallen to near Duke of York levels.

If her relaunch doesn’t go to plan, however, a blame game is likely to follow – and as someone who once worked for the couple noted: “When you’re that angry with the world, it leaves little time for romance.”

[rottenberries]

heyoo rip not me rockin up fashionably late...... anw hi it's gemma ( s/h, 21+ ) here w my serial monogamist, serial cheater nate archibald knockoff, yoon hanbin! he's the adopted oldest son of old money philanthropists n the founder of the very popular cafe chain, angelique ( cough he also plagiarised the entire idea of angelique frm some underrated cafe during his gap yr in france ). that's the gist of it but u can read a more detailed version of hanbin under the cut! as alw, pls hit that LIKE button n ill come rollin into ur dms!! mwah!!

for my sisters in the church of astrology he is a libra sun / aqua moon / pisces rising so like im not tryna justify his tendency 2 cheat but im saying it's written in the stars

anw hanbin was born broke as shit ill b honest he was put up for adoption @ gangnam orphanage as a newborn god knows why ( jk it's prob bc he's the product of some illicit affair or smt )

he gets adopted j shy of his first bday by philanthropists slash the yoon chaebols ( specifically the ones in charge of the hotel chain!! ) who took helping the less fortunate to the next level ( think angelina jolie )!! he's currently the only adopted child of theirs and they have 2 more kids after him who are both biological children so yeah ngl hanbin has some feelins ab that

said feelins are: growin up a rich kid to chaebols often means that they're far too busy to take care of u even tho it's not like they don't want to so naturally hanbin n sibs deal w some neglect even tho it's compensated w lots of money n maids thrown at them BUT the point is despite facing the same level of neglect as his sibs he kinda takes it personally n thinks maybe ?? it's bc he's adopted OR did they j adopt him for the good publicity despite havin no evidence of this ?? yea gr8 logic

despite that overall he's honestly a p nice kid?? plays w other kids well and doesn't yk misuse his wealth or family's status for Evil or no good he kinda is just vibin frankly

one thing ab hanbin tho is that he is a serial monogamist bc of his upbringing n he kinda looks for love in the wrong places and is constantly jumpin from relo to relo ( even jumpin 2 the next relo before the prev relo is over i.e. Cheating )

finally catches up to him when he's in his high profile relo re the subplot n gets caught cheating fr n is the talk of the town : )) since then it's like the ruse is up he's a cheater n everyone sorta knows but then again everyone forgives him bc yk he's Very Wealthy n very friendly and charming and kind and ""goodhearted"" when he's talking to u

regardless my man Hates drama so by the end of his final yr he jets tf off to france for a gap yr!! the impt part comes when he's staying in this soho part of france n there's this rly small rly underrated family owned cafe near his accom called angelique!! it was named after the owner's daughter n has a rly homey vibe n is beloved by the locals, v warm and friendly and welcoming w dim yellow lights and irregular flower pots and stuff on the menu that genuinely looks like it's baked by ur mom and hanbin alm feels... at home here? it's the most at home he's felt and he frequented this cafe A Lot during his stay in france!!

when he finally makes it back to sk he finds that he rly misses the place so he asks for some money frm his parents to open up a cafe in gangnam that's Just like it so that he can have his own little angelique where he lives!! the Problem is that he never bothered to ask for their rights or anyth ( tho im p sure legally he doesn't need to since they haven't bought any rights for it in sk so he hasn't committed any crime ) but yea he literally ripped off the style n colour palette n menu items,, think red bull origin story

anw the cafe clearly speaks to a lot of ppl bc it became so super popular so his parents being rly nice 2 him kinda "'""invests"" in his cafe to make it a chain1! n within 4y he opens up a bunch of diff angeliques all over seoul and even has the latest branch in busan!!

personality-wise i would say he is genuinely a rich kid down to the core...... n by sayin this i mean he has their honestly blissful ignorance like imagine j being like oh wow i love this cafe let me open a cafe Exactly like it right down my st like no askin them for permission no nth no unds of flopping or bankruptcy to j act on a whim this is some peak rich kid bs

this extends past j business ofc n even to women like !! he is out here serial monogamist and cheating on them bc he's spoiled rotten n also somehow neglected so he looks for love in a lot of women and falls head over heels in love w them then ditches for the next shiny thing like !!! sir is ariana grande atp yes and

but when u meet him in the flesh i would say he's rather soft spoken and gentle natured,, v Pleasant to talk to in general so it's alm easy to be lulled into thinking wait ig he's a good guy?? also born to well-known philanthropists n in yoon fashion donates 50% of proceeds frm his cafe to charity so it's Very easy to think he's a good guy like even he genuinely believes he's a good guy ask any lie detector but it's like .... when ur lookin at him from afar and away frm his charm u realise wait some of the shit he does is rly .... horrendous? like imagine calling a man who chronically cheats and steals ideas a good guy ???

also kinda insecure ab his birth and ig this is also why he so desperately wants to be a good guy!! overcompensates to prove that he's a yoon by doin yoon things so a lot of him being ""good"" is not so much him being a good person but a deep need to show people that he's good and he's earned his place as a yoon, a terrible insecurity that he has zero awareness of so will continue doin thanks

idk why i can never be concise atp it needs to b studied : )) anw here r some plot ideas!!

serial monogamist needs a string of exes so prob a few frm when he got back from france frm 2017-2024!! id say his longest relo would last approx 1y bc my man is honeymoon period ONLY crowd boos

on that note im guessin he is back 2 relevancy re: gg when she posts ab him cheating on his most recent gf ,, basically jan 2024 so anyone wanna have a v fresh break up frm like 2wks ago pls lmk ... also anyone who wants 2 b the person he Cheats w lmk too...

is the type to be totally against bullies then sits w ur bully durin lunch bc that's his friend but He's not bullyin or anywhere near that vicinity so !!! : )) anw that said if ur muse is a menace it don't mean he can't be friends w u bc he will be !!

on the other hand a kid who's been bullied who he's friends w then one day u find out he's friends w ur bully wud u confront his ass !!! him tryna diffuse the tension like hey bro Relax alright ik this is rly difficult for u but we gotta remain civil yea otherwise Ur the bully ( yea he's an ignorant headass )

erm movin away frm that anyone who knows him frm france!! mayb yall didn't rly meet or bump into each other in sch bc diff circles or diff yrs but ur one of the few koreans in france so he's v thankful for that n yall make fast friends!! funny if this is where u caught whiff of angelique that cafe he's obsessed ab n brought u to then now he's the "founder" of angelique in korea n it looks Exactly like the one in france hm .....

nv did uni but i imagine he's taking of getting a cert in business this yr bc it's useful for his business but yea !! if ur muse is doin uni rn mayb they could kinda meet there thru some club or smt? prob some save the planet club lbr also funny if u know ab his cheating shenanigans and how he can be a real ignorant asshole but in the uni he's all smiles n everyone loves him n ur the only one who can see thru him ( truly,, idt he can even see it himself )

someone who frequents angelique!! maybe u got stood up on some blind date set up by ur parents n he came over n tried 2 cheer u up!!!

this needs 2 b plotted extensively but a biological half-sibling ....... im gna say im not keen to explore his life outside being a yoon too much but it'd be fun to kinda allude 2 this n them j being like my mom had a kid in 98 before she was ready 2 settle down or my dad had an illicit affair w some peasant woman n knocked her up n ditched her in 98 n he's like o that's cool hey wait a min .......

er anyth and everything else!!

[stitched-mouth]

CHARACTERS I WILL NO LONGER WRITE FOR

So I’m doing a bit of a page remodel.

I am removing some masterlists and some characters from masterlist. I have no desire to write for these characters anymore so I won’t be. These characters, so far, are not characters I have ever written for but added to masterlists because at some point I did want to write for them. So no worries about deleting fics or any work.

But please understand that I only write for characters that I’m interested in writing for, I won’t write for characters just because others might want to read something about them.

Also my Diabolik Lovers masterlist is missing. I have not stopped writing for these characters, I just want to redo the actual masterlist. As well as my Black Butler masterlist and My Hero Academia, these masterlists are still up though.

Anyway, the characters I will not be writing for anymore are:

• All Hazbin Hotel characters

• Sylvie (Loki)

• Steve Rogers/ Captain America

• Stephen Strange/ Doctor Strange

• Miriam Wexler (Turning Red)

• Jang Deok-Su (Squid Game)

• Kang Sae-Byeok (Squid Game)

• Enid Sinclair (Wednesday)

• Eugene Ottington (Wednesday)

• Jack (Last Night In Soho)

• John (Last Night In Soho)

• Alan Zervi (Russian Doll)

• Sandie Milkovich (Shameless US)

• Monica Gallagher (Shameless US)

• Nina Locke (Locke & Key)

• Tenya Ida (My Hero Academia)

• Shoto Todoroki (My Hero Academia)

• Rei Todoroki (My Hero Academia)

• Himiko Toga (My Hero Academia)

• Kurogiri (My Hero Academia)

• Rachel Phantomhive (Black Butler)

• Elizabeth Midford (Black Butler)

• Edward Midford (Black Butler)

• Francis Midford (Black Butler)

• Alois Trancy (Black Butler)

• Hannah Annafellows (Black Butler)

• Charles Phipps (Black Butler)

• Tanaka (Black Butler)

• Baldroy (Black Butler)

• Nina Hopkins (Black Butler)

• Beast (Black Butler)

• Dagger (Black Butler)

• Doll (Black Butler)

• Black Star (Soul Eater)

• Light Yagami (Death Note)

• Near (Death Note)

• Matsudo (Death Note)

• Luther Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

• Otis Milburn (Sex Education)

• Jackson Marchetti (Sex Education)

• Lily Igehart (Sex Education)

• Payton Hobart (The Politican)

• Skye Jackson (The Politican)

• James Sullivan (The Politican)

• McAfee Westbrook (The Politican)

• Johanna Constantine (The Sandman)

• Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman)

• Catwoman (The Batman)

• Nega Scott (Scott Pilgrim Vs The World)

• Ashley Campbell (Sally Face)

• Todd Morrison (Sally Face)

• Tommy Maximoff (WandaVision)

• Billy Maximoff (WandaVision)

• Peter Quill (Guardians of The Galaxy)

• Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire)

Watch me add half these characters back when the next season of their shows comes out

[dankusner]

Somebody had to foot the bill for Anna Delvey’s fabulous new life.

How an Aspiring ‘It’ Girl Tricked New York’s Party People — and Its Banks

The city was full of marks.

In May 2018, New York Magazine published “Maybe She Had So Much Money She Just Lost Track of It,” which chronicles the unusual rise of Anna “Delvey” Sorokin.

The article, by Jessica Pressler, is now the basis of a Netflix limited series produced by Shonda Rhimes.

If you’re interested in reading similar stories, sign up for Reread: New York Hustlers, a newsletter miniseries that resurfaces classic tales of scammers, grifters, and strivers from the New York archives.

It started with money, as it so often does in New York.

A crisp $100 bill slipped across the smooth surface of the mid-century-inspired concierge desk at 11 Howard, the sleek new boutique hotel in Soho.

Looking up, Neffatari Davis, the 25-year-old concierge, who goes by “Neff,” was surprised to see the cash had come from a young woman who seemed to be around her age.

She had a heart-shaped face and pouty lips surrounded by a wild tangle of red hair, her eyes framed by incongruously chunky black glasses that Neff, an aspiring cinematographer with an eye for detail, identified as Céline.

She was looking, she said in an accent that sounded European, for “the best food in Soho.”

“What’s your name?” Neff asked, after the girl waved off her suggestions of Carbone and the Mercer Kitchen and settled on the Butcher’s Daughter.

“Anna Delvey,” said the young woman.

She’d be staying at the hotel for a month, she went on, which Neff also found surprising:

Usually it was only celebrities who came for such long stretches.

But Neff checked the system, and there it was.

Delvey was booked into a Howard Deluxe, one of the hotel’s midrange options, about $400 a night, with ceramic sculptures on the walls and oversize windows looking onto the bustling streets of Soho.

It was February 18, 2017.

“Thanks,” said Delvey. “See you around.”

That turned out to be a promise.

Over the next few weeks, Delvey stopped by often to ask Neff’s advice, slipping her $100 each time.

Neff would wax on about how Mr. Purple was totally washed and Vandal was for hipsters, while Delvey’s eyes would flit around behind her glasses.

Eventually, Neff realized:

Delvey already knew all the cool places to go — not only that, she knew the names of the bartenders and waiters and owners.

“This is not a guest that needs my help,” it dawned on her. “This is a guest that wants my time.”

This was not out of the ordinary.

Since she’d started working there, Neff, a Washington, D.C., native with a wedge of natural hair, giant Margaret Keane eyes, and a gap-toothed smile, had found herself playing therapist to all manner of hotel guests: husbands cheating on their wives, wives getting away from their husbands.

“You just sit there and listen, because that’s your concierge life,” she recalled recently, at a coffee shop near her apartment in Crown Heights.

Usually, these guests went back to their own lives, leaving Neff to hers.

But February became March, and Delvey kept showing up.

She’d bring food down, or a glass of extra-dry white wine, and settle near Neff’s desk to chat.

Some of the other hotel employees found Anna deeply annoying.

She could be oddly ill-mannered for a rich person:

Please and thank you were not in her vocabulary, and she would sometimes say things that were “Not racist,” Neff said, “but classist.”

(“What are you bitches, broke?” Anna asked her and another hotel employee.)

But to Neff, it didn’t come across as mean-spirited.

More like she was some kind of old-fashioned princess who’d been plucked from an ancient European castle and deposited in the modern world, although according to Anna she came from modern-day Germany and her father ran a business producing solar panels.

And despite her unassuming figure — “a sort of Sound of Music Fräulein,” one acquaintance later put it — Anna quickly established herself as one of 11 Howard’s most generous guests.

“People would fight to take her packages upstairs,” said Neff.

“Fight, because you knew you were getting $100.”

Over time, Delvey got more and more comfortable in the hotel, swanning around in sheer Alexander Wang leggings or, occasionally, a hotel robe.

“She ran that place,” said Neff. “You know how Rihanna walks out with wineglasses? That was Anna. And they let her. Bye, Ms. Delvey …”

Anna was preparing to launch a business, a Soho House–ish type club, she told Neff, focused on art, with locations in L.A., London, Hong Kong, and Dubai, and Neff became her de facto secretary, organizing business lunches and dinners at restaurants like Seamore’s and the hotel’s own Le Coucou.

(“That’s what they do in the rich culture, is meals,” said Neff.)

On occasion, when Delvey showed up while the concierge desk was busy, she would stand at the counter, coolly counting out bills until she got Neff’s attention.

“I’d be like, ‘Anna, there’s a line of eight people.’ But she’d keep putting money down.”

And even though Neff had begun to think of Anna as not just a hotel guest but a friend, a real friend, she didn’t hesitate to take it.

“A little selfish of me,” she admitted later. “But … yeah.”

Who can blame her?

This was Manhattan in the 21st century, and money is more powerful than ever.

Rare is the city dweller who, when presented with an opportunity for a sudden and unexpected influx of cash, doesn’t grasp for it.

Of course, this money almost always comes with strings attached.

Sometimes you can barely see them, like that vaudeville bit in which the pawn dives for a loose bill only to find it pulled just ahead.

Still, everyone makes the reach.

Because here, money is the one thing that no one can ever have enough of.

For a stretch of time in New York, no small amount of the cash in circulation was coming from Anna Delvey.

“She gave to everyone,” said Neff.

“Uber drivers, $100 cash. Meals — listen. You know how you reach for your credit card? She wouldn’t let me.”

The way Anna spent money, it was like she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.

Her room was overflowing with shopping bags from Acne and Supreme, and in between meetings, she’d invite Neff to foot massages, cryotherapy, manicures

(Anna favored “a light Wes Anderson pink,” according to Neff).

One day, she brought Neff to a session with a personal trainer–slash–life coach she’d found online, a svelte, ageless Oprah-esque figure who works with celebrities like Dakota Johnson.

“Stop sinking into your body,” the trainer commanded Anna.

“Shoulders back, navel to spine. You are a bright woman; you want to be a businesswoman. You gotta be staying strong on your own power.”

Afterward, as Neff panted on the sidelines, Anna bought a package of sessions.

“It was, I’m not lying, $4,500,” said Neff.

Anna paid cash.

Neff’s boyfriend didn’t understand why she was spending so much time with this weird girl from work.

Anna didn’t understand why Neff had a boyfriend.

But he was rich, Neff protested.

He’d promised to finance her first movie.

“Dump him,” Anna advised. “I have more money.”

She would finance the movie.

Neff did dump the guy.

Not because of what Anna had said, although she had no reason to doubt it.

Her new friend, she discovered, belonged to a vast and glittering social circle.

“Anna knew everyone,” said Neff.

At night, she’d taken to hosting large dinners at Le Coucou, attended by CEOs, artists, athletes, even celebrities.

One night, Neff found herself seated next to her childhood idol, Macaulay Culkin.

“Which was awkward,” she said.

“Because I had so many questions. And he was right there. But they were talking about, like, friend stuff. So I never got the chance to be like, ‘So, you the godfather to Michael Jackson’s kids?’ ”

Despite her seemingly nomadic living situation, Anna had long been a figure on the New York social scene.

“She was at all the best parties,” said marketing director Tommy Saleh, who met her in 2013 at Le Baron in Paris during Fashion Week.

Delvey had been an intern at European scenester magazine Purple and appeared to be tight with the magazine’s editor-in-chief, Olivier Zahm, and its man-about-town, André Saraiva, an owner of Le Baron — two of “the 200 or so people you see everywhere,” as Saleh put it: Chilterns and Loulou’s in London; the Crow’s Nest in Montauk; Paul’s Baby Grand and the Bowery Hotel; Frieze, Coachella, Art Basel.

“She introduced herself, and she was a sweet girl, very polite,” said Saleh. “Then we’re just hanging with my friends all of a sudden.”

Soon, Anna was everywhere too.

“She managed to be in all the sort of right places,” recalled one acquaintance who met Anna in 2015 at a party thrown by a start-up mogul in Berlin.

“She was wearing really fancy clothing” — Balenciaga, or maybe Alaïa — “and someone mentioned that she flew in on a private jet.”

It was unclear where exactly Anna came from — she told people she was from Cologne, but her German wasn’t very good — or what the source of her wealth was.

But that wasn’t unusual.

“There are so many trust-fund kids running around,” said Saleh.

“Everyone is your best friend, and you don’t know a thing about anyone.”

After a gallerist at Pace introduced her to Michael Xufu Huang, the extremely young, extremely dapper collector and founder of Beijing’s M Woods museum, Anna proposed they go together to the Venice Biennale.

Huang thought it was “a little weird” when Anna asked him to book the plane tickets and hotel on his credit card.

“But I was like, Okay, whatever,” he said.

It was also strange, he noticed during their time there, that Anna only ever paid with cash, and after they got back, she seemed to forget she’d said she’d pay him back.

“It was not a lot of money,” he said.

“Like two or three thousand dollars.”

After a while, Huang kind of forgot about it too.

When you’re superrich, you can be forgetful in this way.

Which is maybe why no one thought much of the instances in which Anna did things that seemed odd for a wealthy person: calling a friend to have her put a taxi from the airport on her credit card, or asking to sleep on someone’s couch, or moving into someone’s apartment with the tacit agreement to pay rent, and then … not doing it.

Maybe she had so much money she just lost track of it.

The following January, Anna hired a PR firm to put together a birthday party at one of her favorite restaurants, Sadelle’s in Soho.

“It was a lot of very cool, very successful people,” said Huang, who, while aware Anna owed him money for their Venice trip, remained mostly unconcerned about it, at least until the restaurant, having seen Polaroids of Huang and Anna at the party on Instagram, messaged him a few days later.

“They were like, ‘Do you have her contact info?’ ” he says now. “ ‘Because she didn’t pay her bill.’ Then I realized, Oh my God, she is not legit.”

As Anna bounced around the globe, there was some speculation as to where her means to do this came from, though no one seemed to care that much so long as the bills got paid.

“I thought she had family money,” said Jayma Cardoso, one of the owners of the Surf Lodge in Montauk.

Delvey’s father was a diplomat to Russia, one friend was sure.

No, another insisted, he was an oil-industry titan.

“As far as I knew, her family was the Delvey family that is big in antiques in Germany,” said another acquaintance, a millionaire tech CEO.

(It is unclear what family he was referring to.)

The CEO met Anna through the boyfriend she was running around with for a while, a futurist on the TED-Talks circuit who’d been profiled in The New Yorker.

For about two years, they’d been kind of like a team, showing up in places frequented by the itinerant wealthy, living out of fancy hotels and hosting sceney dinners where the Futurist talked up his app and Delvey spoke of the private club she wanted to open once she turned 25 and came into her trust fund.

Then it was 2016.

The Futurist, whose app never materialized, moved to the Emirates, and Anna came to New York on her own, determined to make her arts club a reality, although she worried to Marc Kremers, the London creative director helping her with branding, that the name she’d come up with — the Anna Delvey Foundation, or ADF — was “too narcissistic.”

Early on, Anna and architect Ron Castellano, a friend of her Purple cohort, had scouted a building on the Lower East Side, but it turned out to be too close to a school to get a liquor license, and soon Anna had shifted her aspirations uptown.

Through her connections, she’d befriended Gabriel Calatrava, one of the sons of famed architect Santiago.

His family’s real-estate advisory company, Calatrava Grace, had helped her “secure the lease,” she informed people, on the perfect space: 45,000 square feet occupying six floors of the historic Church Missions House, a landmarked building on the corner of Park Avenue and 22nd.

The heart of the club would be, she said, a “dynamic visual-arts center,” with a rotating array of pop-up shops curated by artist Daniel Arsham, whom she knew from her Purple days, and exhibitions and installations from blue-chip artists like Urs Fischer, Damien Hirst, Jeff Koons, and Tracey Emin.

For the inaugural event, Anna told people, the artist Christo had agreed to wrap the building.

Some people raised their eyebrows at the grandiosity of this plan, but to others it made sense, in a New York kind of way.

The building’s owner, developer Aby Rosen, was no stranger to the private-club genre;

a few years earlier, he’d bought a midtown building and opened the Core Club, which housed an art collection. He also happened to own 11 Howard.

With the help of Calatrava executive Michael Jaffe, a former employee of Rosen’s RFR realty firm, Anna soon began meeting with big names in the food-and-beverage world to discuss possibilities in the space.

One was André Balazs, who, according to Anna, suggested they add two floors of hotel rooms.

Another was Richie Notar, one of the founders of Nobu, who did a walk-through of the building with Anna as she described her vision, which included three restaurants, a juice bar, and a German bakery.

“Apparently her family was prominent in Germany,” Notar said, “and funding this big project for her.”

But a project of this size required more capital than even someone of Anna’s apparently considerable resources could manage: approximately $25 million, “in addition to $25m existing,” Anna wrote in an email to a prominent Silicon Valley publicist in 2016.

“If you think this is something you could help us with and have anyone in mind who would be a good cultural fit for this project.”

But by fall, Anna had turned on the idea of private investors, in part because she didn’t want anyone telling her what to do.

“If we were to bring in investors, they would say, ‘Oh, she’s 25; she doesn’t know what she’s doing,’ ” Anna explained later. “I wanted to build the first one myself.”

To help secure a loan, one of Anna’s “finance friends” had told her to get in touch with Joel Cohen, best known as the prosecutor of Jordan Belfort, a.k.a. the Wolf of Wall Street.

Cohen now worked at Gibson Dunn, a large firm known for its real-estate practice.

He put her in touch with Andy Lance, a partner who happened to have the exact kind of expertise that Anna was looking for.

In the past, she’d complained to friends about feeling condescended to by older male lawyers because of her age and gender.

But Lance was different.

“He knows how to talk to women,” she said.

“And he would explain to me the right amount, without being patronizing.”

According to Anna, she and Lance spoke every day.

“He was there all the time. He would answer in the middle of the night, or when he was in Turks and Caicos for Christmas.”

After filling out Gibson Dunn’s new-client-intake form, which included checking boxes that confirmed the client had the resources to pay and would not embarrass the firm, Lance put Anna in touch with several large financial institutions, including Los Angeles–based City National Bank and Fortress Investment Group.

“Our client Anna Delvey is undertaking a very exciting redevelopment of 281 Park Avenue South, backed by a marquee team for this type of venue and space,” Lance wrote in one email, in which he explained that Anna needed the loan because “her personal assets, which are quite substantial, are located outside the US, some of them in trust with UBS outside the US.”

The monies she received, he added, would be “fully secured” by a letter of credit from the Swiss bank.

(Lance did not respond to requests for comment.)

When the banker at City National asked to see the UBS statements, he received a list of figures from a man named Peter W. Hennecke.

“Please use these for your projections for now,” Hennecke wrote in an email.

“I’ll send the physical statements on Monday.”

“Question: Are you from UBS?” the banker replied, puzzled by Hennecke’s AOL address.

No, Anna explained. “Peter is head of my family office.”

With Anna in fund-raising mode, the artists and celebrity friends at her dinners were gradually supplanted by men with “Goyard briefcases and Rolexes, and Hublot, like that Jay-Z lyric,” according to Neff, who at one point looked across the table at Le Coucou and recognized the face of infamous “pharma bro” Martin Shkreli, who would later be convicted of securities fraud.

Anna introduced Shkreli as a “dear friend,” although it was really the only time they’d met, Shkreli told New York in a letter from the penitentiary;

Anna was close with one of his executives.

“Anna did seem to be a popular ‘woman about town’ who knew everyone,” he wrote.

“Even though I was nationally known, I felt like a computer geek next to her.”

As for Neff, she was not as discreet as she had been with Macaulay Culkin, tweeting after the fact that Shkreli had played her and Anna the leaked tracks from Tha Carter V, the delayed Lil Wayne album he’d acquired.

Anna was furious, but Neff refused to delete the tweet.

“I wanted everybody to know that I heard this album that the world is waiting on! But Anna was pretty mad. She didn’t come down to my desk for maybe three days.”

In the meantime, though, Neff said she had another visitor: Charlie Rosen.

Aby Rosen’s sons were generally regarded as pretty-boy trust-fund kids — a few years back, they made headlines for reportedly racing ATVs over piping-plover nests in the Hamptons — but Neff liked them, and when Charlie stopped by one evening, she dropped that she’d recently been to visit the Park Avenue building that one of the guests, a young woman, was leasing from their father for an arts club.

Rosen looked confused.

He didn’t appear to have ever heard of Anna or her project. “What room is she staying in?” he asked.

When Neff told him, he looked skeptical.

“If my dad has someone buying property from him staying here,” he said, “would she be in a Deluxe or would she be in a suite?”

He had a point.

A few days later, Neff broached the subject. “Why did you tell me you’re buying property from Aby but you’re not staying in a suite?” she asked.

Anna looked surprised but answered immediately.

“She said, ‘You ever have someone do so many favors for you, you kind of just want to pay them back in silence?’ ”

“Genius,” Neff said.

Soon it was April.

Spring was poking its head through the gray New York City sidewalks, and the weather was getting warm enough to sip rosé on rooftops, one of Anna’s favorite activities, although the circle she was doing this with, Neff noticed, was smaller than it had been in the past and mainly consisted of herself; Rachel Williams, a photo editor at Vanity Fair; and the trainer, who, although she was notably older, had taken a motherly interest in her client.

“I know a lot of trust-fund babies, and I was impressed that Anna had something that she wanted to do, instead of, you know, living like a Kardashian,” said the trainer.

Plus, she said, Anna seemed lonely.

Neff noticed the same thing.

“What happened to your friends?” she asked Anna after one night out.

“Oh,” Anna said vaguely.

“They’re all mad I left Purple.”

She was too busy for parties, anyway, she said, what with building her business.

It was true that Anna was spending a lot of time working, frowning at her in-box and huffing into the phone.

“She was always on the phone with lawyers,” said Neff, who would sort of listen in from the concierge desk.

“They were always toning her down. Like, ‘Anna, you’re trying to make something that’s worth this much be worth that much, and that’s just not how it works.’ ”

Back in December, City National had turned down her loan request — a management decision is how Anna framed it — and while the ever-loyal Andy Lance was reaching out to hedge funds and banks for alternate financing, executives at RFR were pressuring her to come up with the money fast, Anna said.

If she didn’t, they were going to give it to another party, rumored to be the Swedish museum Fotografiska.

“How do they even pay for that?” Anna fumed. “It’s like two old guys.”

In the meantime, Anna was having cash-flow issues of her own.

One night, Anna asked Neff to dinner at Sant Ambroeus in Soho.

They were by themselves, which was unusual.

Even more unusually, at the end of the meal, Anna’s card was declined.

“Here,” she told the waiter, handing him a list of credit-card numbers.

In Neff’s admittedly foggy memory, they were in a small book, though it may have been the Notes app on her phone.

But she’s clear on what happened next.

“The waiter went back to his station and began entering the numbers. There were like 12, and I know the guy tried them all,” she said. “He was trying it and then shaking his head. And then I started to sweat, because I knew the bill was mine.”

While the amount — $286 — was a fraction of what Anna usually spent, it was a lot for Neff, who quietly transferred money from her savings to cover the bill.

Doing so made her feel sick, but after all the money Anna had spent on her, she understood it was her turn.

Not long after, Neff’s manager called and asked her to address a delicate issue: It seemed 11 Howard didn’t have a credit card on file for Anna Delvey.

Because the hotel had been so new when she arrived, and because she was staying for such an unusually long time, and because she was a client of Aby Rosen’s and a very valued guest, it had agreed to accept a wire transfer.

But a month and a half later, no such transfer had arrived, and now Delvey owed the hotel some $30,000, including charges from Le Coucou that she’d been billing to her room.

Neff wasn’t sure what to think.

She was sure Anna was good for the money.

The day after the Sant Ambroeus debacle, she’d paid her back triple.

In cash.

When Anna came by her desk the next day, Neff took her aside and told her that management had said Anna needed to pay her bill.

Anna nodded, her eyes inscrutable behind her sunglasses.

There was a wire transfer on the way, she said.

It should arrive soon.

Then, about midway into her shift, Anna came by the desk again and, with a mischievous smile on her face, told Neff to expect a package.

When it arrived, Neff opened it to find a case of 1975 Dom Pérignon, with Anna’s instructions to distribute it among the staff.

Neff hesitated.

Gifts, especially of the liquid variety, needed to be approved by management.

“They were like, ‘How do we look approving this if she hasn’t paid us?’ So they went after her. ‘We need the money or we’re locking you out.’ ”

One morning, Anna showed up to her morning session with the trainer looking visibly upset.

“Can we do a life-coaching session?” she pleaded.

She was trying to build something, to do something, she went on, and no one was taking her seriously.

“They think because I am young, they think I have all this money,” she sobbed.

“I told them the money would be there soon. I’m having it transferred.”

The trainer told her to breathe.

“I feel like you are in a little over your head,” she offered. “Maybe you just need a break.”

Then something miraculous happened. Citibank sent 11 Howard a wire transfer on behalf of Ms. Anna Delvey for $30,000.

Neff called Anna on her cell phone.

“Where you at?” she asked.

Across the street at Rick Owens, Anna replied.

Neff checked the clock: It was her lunch break.

When she came through the door of the store, Anna was holding up a T-shirt.

“Look what I found,” she said, beaming. “It’s perfect for you.”

She was right:

The shirt was the exact orangey red of the creepy bathroom scene in The Shining, one of Neff’s favorite movies, and the signature color of the brand Neff was trying to launch, FilmColours.

It was also $400.

“I’d love to buy it for you,” Anna said.

A few weeks later, Anna told Neff she was going to Omaha.

“I’m going to see Warren Buffett,” she announced, grandly.

One of her bankers had gotten her on the list to Berkshire Hathaway’s annual investment conference, and she’d decided to bring the executive from Martin Shkreli’s hedge fund, who was fun and a friend of his, on the private jet she’d rented to take them there.

“I’ll be back,” she promised Neff.

But there was still a problem with her account at 11 Howard.

Despite being repeatedly asked by hotel management, she still hadn’t given the hotel a working credit card, and her charges continued to mount.

Following through on their warning, hotel employees changed the code on the lock of Anna’s room and put her things in storage.

Neff texted Anna in Omaha to deliver the bad news.

“How can they do that?” Anna asked indignantly, although if she was truly shocked, it didn’t last long.

The conference had been great, she said.

The best part had happened the very last day, when, having exhausted all the opportunities for luxury Omaha had to offer, Anna and her party had taken a cab driver’s suggestion to check out the zoo.

They hadn’t expected much, but then, while they were riding around on their golf carts, they’d stumbled on a private dinner hosted by Buffett for a slew of VIPs.

“Everyone was there,” she said. “Like, Bill Gates was there.”

For a little while, they’d watched through the glass, then they’d slipped in and mingled among them.

When Anna got back to 11 Howard, she made her fury known.

She was going to purchase web domains in all of the managers’ names, she told Neff, a trick she’d learned from Shkreli: “They’re going to pay me one day.”

Also, she was moving out — as soon as she got back from Morocco.

Inspired by Khloé Kardashian, she’d reserved a $7,000-a-night riad with a private butler at La Mamounia, an opulent resort in Marrakech, and asked Neff if she wanted to join herself, the trainer, Rachel Williams, and a videographer, who she was hoping would make “a behind-the-scenes documentary” about the process of creating her arts foundation on a vacation.

They’d wake up to massages, she said, and spend their days exploring the souk, lounging by the pool.

Neff wanted to go, badly.

But there was no way the hotel would let her take off eight days.

“Just quit,” Anna said airily.

For a day or two, Neff considered it.

But her mom told her she had a bad feeling about it.

“Nothing in life is free,” she said.

So Neff stayed behind, morosely following her friend’s journey on Instagram.

“I was pretty jealous,” she said.

As she would find out, the pictures didn’t exactly tell the whole story.

Two days in, after coming down with a nasty case of food poisoning, the trainer had gone back to New York early.

About a week later, the trainer got a call from Anna, who was alone at the Four Seasons in Casablanca and hysterical.

There was, she sobbed, a problem with her bank.

Her credit cards weren’t going through, and the hotel was threatening to call the police.

After calming Anna down, the trainer asked to speak to management.

“They were like, ‘She is going to be arrested,’ ” she said.

The trainer was torn: On the one hand, this was not her problem.

On the other, Anna was her client, her friend, and someone’s daughter.

Offering a prayer to the universe, the trainer gave the hotel her credit-card number and, when it failed to go through, made the requisite calls to her bank.

When it still failed to go through, she went the extra mile: She called a friend and had her give her credit-card information.

When that failed to work, the hotel conceded the problem might be on their end.

Later, the trainer would recognize this as a substantial gift from the Universe.

At the time, she promised the hotel in Casablanca that Anna would make them whole.

“Trust me,” she told them.

“I know she’s good for it. I just spent two days with her in Marrakech.”

When Anna came back on the phone, the trainer told her she was booking her a ticket back to New York.

Anna snuffled her thanks.

Then she asked for one last favor: “Can you get me first class?” she asked.

A few days later, a silvery Tesla pulled up in front of 11 Howard.

Neff, at the concierge desk, felt her cell phone buzz.

“Look out the window,” said a familiar German accent.

The car’s futuristic doors slowly raised up to reveal Anna.

“I’m here to get my stuff,” she said.

Anna was making good on her promise to leave 11 Howard.

She was moving downtown to the Beekman Hotel, she told Neff, who watched her drive away in a car that she only later realized someone must have rented to her.

Moving didn’t stem Anna’s mounting troubles.

Not only did she owe the hotel, but, over in London, Marc Kremers, the designer she’d hired to do her branding work, was getting antsy:

The £16,800 fee Anna had promised would arrive by wire almost a year before had yet to materialize, and now emails to Anna’s financial adviser, Peter W. Hennecke, were bouncing back.

“Peter passed away last month,” Anna replied.

“Please refrain from contacting or mentioning any communication with him going forward.”

In retrospect, her terseness was understandable.

Things were rapidly deteriorating for Anna Delvey in New York.

Twenty days into her stay, the Beekman Hotel, having realized it did not have a working credit card on file and having not received the promised wire transfer for her balance of $11,518.59, locked Anna out of her room and confiscated her belongings.

A subsequent two-day stay at the W Hotel downtown ended in a similar fashion, and by July 5, Anna was effectively homeless, wandering the streets in threadbare Alexander Wang sportswear.

Late one night, she made her way to the trainer’s apartment and dialed her from outside.

“I’m right near your building,” she said. “Do you think we could talk?”

The trainer hesitated:

She was in the middle of a date.

But there was a desperate note in Anna’s voice.

She made her way to her lobby, where she found Anna with tears streaming down her face.

“I’m trying to do this thing,” she sobbed. “And it’s so hard.”

Maybe she should call her family, the trainer suggested.

She would, Anna replied, but her parents were in Africa.

“Do you mind if I crash at your place tonight?”

No, the trainer said, she had a date.

“I really just don’t want be alone,” Anna sniffled.

“I might do something.”

The date hid in the bedroom while the trainer made a bed for her unexpected houseguest and offered her a glass of water.

“Do you have any Pellegrino?” Anna asked.

There was one large bottle left. Anna ignored the two glasses placed on the counter and began swilling from the bottle.

“I’m so tired,” she yawned.

As Anna slept, the trainer’s spidey sense began to tingle. “

I mean, I’m born and raised in New York,” she told me later. “I’m not stupid.”

She texted Rachel Williams, who told her about what had happened at La Mamounia:

Apparently, after the trainer returned to New York, the credit card Anna had used to book the hotel was found to be nonfunctional, and when Anna was unable to produce a new form of payment and a pair of threatening goons appeared in the doorway, the photo editor was forced to put the balance — $62,000, more than she was paid in a year — on the Amex she sometimes used for work expenses.

Anna had promised her a wire transfer, but a month later, all Rachel received was $5,000, and her excuses had turned “Kafkaesque.”

The following morning, the trainer resolved to draw a clear boundary.

After lending Anna a clean (and flattering) dress, she sent her on her way with a gratis motivational speech.

But when Anna walked out the door, she left her laptop behind.

The trainer was having none of it.

She deposited the computer at the front desk and texted Anna that she could pick it up there.

That evening, the trainer got a call from her doorman.

Anna was in the lobby.

He’d told her that the trainer was out, at which point she’d asked for access to her suite.

When he refused, Anna had resolved to wait for the trainer to return home.

“Let me know when she goes,” the trainer told the doorman.

But hours passed and Anna didn’t budge.

“They were like, She’s still here. She’s texting,” the trainer recalls.

“I was like, Oh my God, I’m a prisoner of my own house.”

It wasn’t until after midnight that Anna finally left the building.

The relief the trainer felt soon turned into worry.

“I started calling the hotels to see where she was staying, and each hotel was like, ‘This girl,’ she said.

She found out why later that month, when both the Beekman and the W Hotel filed charges against Anna for theft of services.

WANNABE SOCIALITE BUSTED FOR SKIPPING OUT ON PRICEY HOTEL BILLS, blared the headline in the Post, which referenced an incident in which Anna attempted to leave the restaurant at Le Parker without paying.

“Why are you making a big deal about this?” she’d protested to police.

“Give me five minutes and I can get a friend to pay.”

But no friends arrived.

Maybe it was all a misunderstanding, as Anna told Todd Spodek, the criminal attorney she hired to fight the misdemeanor charges.

Maybe the poised young woman in the Audrey Hepburn dress who’d cold-called him on his cell phone repeatedly, insisting it was an emergency until he’d agreed to come into his office on a Saturday, really was a wealthy German heiress, he thought, as his 4-year-old pasted Paw Patrol stickers up one of Anna’s bare arms, and her credit cards had gotten jammed up, or someone had taken away her trust fund.

Just in case, Spodek, whose everyday clientele includes grifters, dog-murderers, femme fatales, rapists, and cybercriminals, among other miscreants, had her sign a lien on all of her assets, one that would ensure he got paid.

On her way out, Anna asked a favor. “I kind of need a place to stay,” she said.

Spodek demurred.

The last thing his wife wanted was for him to bring his work home with him.

Anna again got in touch with the trainer, who did not invite her to stay but instead organized an intervention at a nearby restaurant, during which she and Rachel Williams attempted to get answers: about why Anna had done what she’d done, who she really was, if she’d ever planned on paying anyone back.

Anna hemmed and hawed and dissembled and prevaricated and, as the women got increasingly angry, allowed two fat tears to roll down her cheeks.

“I’ll have enough to pay everyone,” she sniffled. “Once I get the lease signed …”

“Anna,” the trainer said, summoning her last shred of patience.

“The building has been rented.”

She held up her iPhone and showed her the headline: FOTOGRAFISKA SIGNS A LEASE FOR ENTIRE 45K SF AT ABY ROSEN’S BUILDING.

“That’s fake news,” Anna said.

Fotografiska really get the building?” sighed the tiny, accented voice after the recording identifying the call as coming from Rikers Island, where Anna Delvey, a.k.a. Anna Sorokin, has been remanded without bail since October 2017.

As it turned out, Anna’s hotel bills were merely the first loose threads in a web of fraudulent activity, one that began to unravel in November 2016, after she submitted documents claiming a net worth of €60 million in Swiss accounts to City National Bank in pursuit of a $22 million dollar loan.

The following month, she submitted the same documents to Fortress in an attempt to secure a $25 million to $35 million loan.

After that bank asked her for $100,000 to perform due diligence, she convinced a representative at City National to extend her a $100,000 line of credit, which she then wired to Fortress.

Then, apparently spooked by Fortress’s decision to send representatives to Switzerland to personally check her assets, she withdrew herself from the process halfway through, wiring the remaining $55,000 to a Citibank account that she used for “personal expenses … shopping at Forward by Elyse Walker, Apple, and Net-a-Porter,” according to the New York District Attorney’s office.

Then, in April, she deposited $160,000 worth of bad checks into the same account, managing to withdraw $70,000 before they were returned, which is how she managed to pay off 11 Howard and, ostensibly, buy Neff’s T-shirt and the domain names of the managers of the hotel.

(“They called me down to the office. They said, ‘Neff, did you know about this?’ And I started dying laughing. I thought it was a boss move.”)

In May, Anna convinced the company Blade to charter her a $35,000 jet to Omaha by sending them a forged confirmation for a wire transfer from Deutsche Bank.

It might have helped that she had the business card of the CEO, whom she’d met in passing at Soho House but who says he didn’t actually know her at all.

Not wanting to leave Anna homeless after their intervention last summer, the trainer and a friend agreed to put Anna up at a hotel for one night, after having the hotel remove the mini-bar and giving strict instructions not to allow her any room service.

She subsequently checked in to the Bowery Hotel for two nights, sending the hotel a receipt for a wire transfer from Deutsche Bank that never came.

Rachel Williams, City National, and others also received phony wire-transfer receipts, which a representative of the bank identified as forged.

Anna’s “family adviser,” the late Peter W. Hennecke, seems to have been a fictional character; his cell-phone number belonged to a now-defunct burner phone from a supermarket, New York found.

(A living Peter Hennecke did not return calls for comment.)

Later in the summer, with her misdemeanor charges pending, Anna deposited two bad checks into an account at Signature Bank, netting her $8,200, which is how she managed to take what she said was a “planned trip” to California, where she was arrested outside of Passages in Malibu and brought back to New York to face six counts of grand larceny and attempted grand larceny, in addition to theft of services, according to the indictment.

“I like L.A.,” she giggled when I visited her at Rikers this past March.

“L.A. in the winter, New York in spring and autumn, and Europe in summer.”

People looked over curiously.

“She’s like a unicorn in there,” Todd Spodek, Anna’s lawyer, had told me.

“Everyone else is in there for like, stabbing their baby daddy.”

He had mentioned that his client was taking incarceration unusually in stride, and indeed, this appeared to be the case.

“This place is not that bad at all actually,” Anna told me, eyes sparkling behind her Céline glasses.

“People seem to think it’s horrible, but I see it as like, this sociological experiment.”

She’d made friends, of course.

The murderers were the most interesting to her.

“There are couple of girls who are here for financial crimes as well,” she told me.

“This one girl, she’s been stealing other people’s identities. I didn’t realize it was so easy.”

Over the course of three months, I spoke to Anna over the phone and visited her several times, occasionally bringing her copies of Forbes, Fast Company, and The Wall Street Journal at her request.

Clad in a beige jumpsuit, her $800 highlights faded and her $400 eyelash extensions long fallen away, she looked like a normal 27-year-old girl, which is what she is.

Anna Sorokin was born in Russia in 1991, and moved to Germany in 2007, when she was 16, with her younger brother and her parents, who, after being independently tracked down by and speaking with New York, asked to remain anonymous, as news of their daughters arrest has not yet reached the small rural community where they live.

Anna attended high school in Eschweiler, a small working-class town 60 kilometers outside Cologne, near the Belgian and Dutch border.

Her classmates remember her as quiet, with an unwieldy command of German.

Her father had worked as a truck driver and later as an executive at a transport company until it became insolvent in 2013, whereupon he opened a heating-and-cooling business specializing in energy-efficient devices.

Anna’s father was circumspect about the family’s finances, possibly out of a not-unreasonable fear of being held responsible for his daughter’s debts, which it was suggested to New York multiple times are larger and more wide-ranging than officially documented.

“She screwed basically everyone,” said the acquaintance in Berlin, who passed on the names of several individuals who were said to have had amounts large and small borrowed or stolen but were too embarrassed to come forward.

(Also paranoid: “I heard she commissions these stories,” I was told more than once, after I reached out to alleged victims. “They’re strategic leaks.”)

In any case, according to Anna’s father: “Until now, we have never heard of any trust fund.”

That said, he went on, the family did support her to an extent after Anna graduated from high school in 2011. She moved first to London, where she attended Central Saint Martins College, then she dropped out and returned to Berlin, where she interned in the fashion department of a public-relations firm before relocating to Paris, where she landed a coveted internship at Purple magazine and became Anna Delvey.

Her parents, who say they do not recognize the surname, told New York: “We always paid for her accommodations, her rent, and other matters. She assured us these costs were the best investment. If ever she needed something more at one point or another, it didn’t matter. The future was always bright.”

Anna, in jail, told me: “My parents had high expectations. They always trusted me with my decision-making. I guess they regret it now.”

Over the course of our conversations, Anna never admitted any guilt, although she did say she felt bad about what happened with Rachel Williams.

“I am very upset that things went that way and I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said.

“But I really can’t do anything about it, being in here.”

She expressed frustration about not being able to bail herself out.

“If they were doubting — ‘Oh, she can’t pay for anything’— why not give me bail and see?” she challenged.

“If I was such a fraud, it would be such an easy resolution. Will she bail herself out?”

She was frustrated with the New York Post’s characterization of her as a “wannabe socialite” — “I was never trying to be a socialite,” she pointed out.

“I had dinners, but they were work dinners.

I wanted to be taken seriously” — and the District Attorney’s portrayal of her as, as Anna put it, “a greedy idiot” who had committed a kind of harebrained Ponzi scheme in order to go shopping.

“If I really wanted the money, I would have better and faster ways to get some,” she groused.

“Resilience is hard to come by, but not capital.”

She seemed most interested in expressing that her plans to create the Anna Delvey Foundation were real.

She’d had all of those conversations and meetings and sent all of those emails and commissioned those materials because she thought it was actually going to happen.

“I had what I thought was a great team around me, and I was having fun,” she said.

Sure, she said, she might have done a few things wrong. “But that doesn’t diminish the hundred things I did right.”

Maybe it could have happened.

In this city, where enormous amounts of invisible money trade hands every day, where glass towers are built on paperwork promises, why not?

If Aby Rosen, the son of Holocaust survivors, could come to New York and fill skyscrapers full of art, if the Kardashians could build a billion-dollar empire out of literally nothing, if a movie star like Dakota Johnson could sculpt her ass so that it becomes the anchor of a major franchise, why couldn’t Anna Delvey?

During the course of my reporting, people kept asking:

Why this girl?

She wasn’t superhot, they pointed out, or super-charming; she wasn’t even very nice.

How did she manage to convince an enormous amount of cool, successful people that she was something she clearly was not?

Watching the Rikers guard shove Fast Company into a manila envelope, I realized what Anna had in common with the people she’d been studying in the pages of that magazine:

She saw something others didn’t.

Anna looked at the soul of New York and recognized that if you distract people with shiny objects, with large wads of cash, with the indicia of wealth, if you show them the money, they will be virtually unable to see anything else.

And the thing was: It was so easy.

“Money, like, there’s an unlimited amount of capital in the world, you know?” Anna said to me at one point.

“But there’s limited amounts of people who are talented.”

[centralparkcollection]

Surprise the Kids with Trip to Madame Tussauds London

Madame Tussauds London is one of the best attractions for families. Tiny tots and teenagers can find common ground roaming the famous waxwork museum dedicated to the biggest names in showbiz. Here’s all you need to know including how to book tickets and which hotels in Central London are closest.

What to expect from Madame Tussauds London

The three-story Madame Tussauds is divided into themed zones. It contains over 150 wax statues of celebrities and fictional characters. The categories include:

Awards Party – strike a pose on the red carpet and snap away for star-studded selfies. 

Impossible Festival – there’s no other place in London where you’ll encounter Beyonce, Dua Lipa, Ed Sheeran, and Bob Marley in the same room!

Royal Palace – a rare opportunity to rub shoulders with the British monarchy and their well-to-do subjects.

Chamber of Horrors – this adults-only gallery recreates the chilling histories of serial killers and gangsters.

Spirit of London – the gallery is explored from the back of a classic London cab. It journeys through historical events including Tudor England, the plague, and the Swinging Sixties in Soho.

Star Wars – this collaboration with Disney and Lucasfilm brings a galaxy far far away much closer to hotels in Central London.

Marvel Hall of Heroes – see how you measure up next to Iron Man, Black Panther, and more. Fans may also experience Marvel Universe 4D.

Photography at Madame Tussauds 

Photography is actively encouraged at Madame Tussauds London.  How else will you trick your friends into thinking you shook hands with the king?

Standard cameras and smartphones are permitted although tripods and professional gear are not allowed in the wax museum. Select zones prohibit photography. 

There are several roving photographers available to take professional photos. 

Best time to visit Madame Tussauds London

Madame Tussauds is open 7 days a week, 364 days a year (closed on Christmas Day).

Opening hours vary and it’s important to check the current schedule. All the top hotels in Central London can look the opening hours up for you, or you can check the official Madame Tussauds London website. 

The museum is busiest on weekends, during British school holidays, and in summer. It’s always wise to arrive early and beat the crowds

Where to stay in London near Madame Tussauds 

The best hotels in Central London near Madame Tussauds are in Paddington. This is a family-friendly neighbourhood with peaceful nightlife, excellent restaurants, lots of green space, and excellent transit links.

The Bakerloo, Circle, or Hammersmith & City lines from Paddington Station to Baker Street takes 10 minutes. 

Booking tickets for Madame Tussauds London

While it is possible to buy tickets on the door at off-peak and low season times, it’s best to book tickets online to avoid disappointment or queuing with small children. 

Tickets may be transferred to an alternative day if required.

Fast track tickets are available and it’s possible to buy a combined ticket to visit the London Eye and Sea Life. 

How long to spend at Madame Tussauds? 

Madame Tussauds London is a self-guided attraction. It takes around 90 minutes to see everything although some guests spend a few hours there.

[havenhomes1]

Soho Square Apartments

Soho Square Apartments is a multi-use project on Saadiyat Island, featuring a total of 304 residential units. It offers a myriad of housing options, from studios to three-bedroom apartments, as well as independent houses and penthouses. The development is complemented by a luxurious swimming pool and a state-of-the-art fitness center. Located near New York University Abu Dhabi and key attractions on Saadiyat Island, such as the Louvre Abu Dhabi museum, hotels, golf courses, and beaches, Soho Square Apartments aims to redefine residential living on Saadiyat by creating vibrant communal areas filled with cafes and public art spaces, fostering a highly interactive social living experience. Soho Square Apartments will also feature a variety of diverse restaurants and retail outlets. Location of Soho Square Apartments Strategically situated on Saadiyat Island in Abu Dhabi, Soho Square Apartments is expected to become a global landmark with prestigious museums, five-star hotels, stunning golf courses, marinas, and picture-perfect beaches. Adjacent to New York University Abu Dhabi, the project offers convenient access to major cultural attractions, including the famous Louvre Abu Dhabi Museum and the upcoming Zayed National Museum and Guggenheim Abu Dhabi.

Soho_Square #UAERealEstate #Abu_Dhabi