#the fashion was outrageous like his sense of style is impeccable

[suuho]

i deserve him back in my life

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 2 - Favors

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ; Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI

ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS;  Death, Suggestive MDNI, Cursing

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 4.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ;Surprise! Episode 2.. have you ruled some people out yet?

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me.

Master Post | Teaser |

The morning sun casts a warm glow over the bustling streets as you and Chan make your way through the vibrant shopping district. Surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, you feel a sense of excitement bubbling up within you.

As you stroll arm in arm with Chan, laughter spills from your lips, the carefree atmosphere infectious as you revel in each other's company. The windows of the shops lining the street display an array of enticing goods, each one tempting you with its allure.

Entering a boutique, you're greeted by a wave of delightful scents and the soft melody of music playing in the background. You browse through racks of clothing, giggling and flirting as you playfully model various outfits for each other.

"What about this?" he asks, trying to contain his smile. You can't help but burst into laughter at Chan's suggestion, his playful grin infectious as he holds up the most outrageous garment he could find.

"This could work perfectly for the family dinner."

"Oh, absolutely," you reply with a playful grin, "I'm sure my parents would love to see you show up in that."

"You know what? I think there's a matching one for you," he says with a sly grin, disappearing into the racks of clothing.

Moments later, Chan emerges from the racks of clothing with a triumphant grin, holding up what can only be described as a fashion disaster. The dress in question is a riot of colors, with clashing patterns and textures that seem to defy all sense of style. But what truly sets it apart are the dozens of teddy bears, each one seemingly hand-sewn onto the fabric with reckless abandon.

"Voila!" he exclaims, unable to contain his laughter at the sight of the garment.

"Chan, what on earth is that?" you manage to choke out between giggles.

Chan's eyes widen dramatically, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "What? You don't like it?" he exclaims, his voice filled with playful disbelief. "To think, I put so much effort into finding the perfect ensemble, only to have my impeccable taste called into question."

You play along with his theatrics, pretending to be remorseful. "Oh, forgive me, fashion guru," you say with a grin, reaching out to pat his arm consolingly. "But that thing looks like it was designed by a kindergartener on a sugar rush."

Chan chuckles, unable to contain his amusement any longer. "Okay, maybe not the best choice," he admits, his laughter blending with yours as you share a lighthearted moment amidst the racks of clothing.

"Ooh, what do you think of this one?" you ask, grabbing a dress that caught your eye. As you hold the dress in front of you, its allure is undeniable. The flowy skirt cascades from your hands, swaying gently with each movement, while the corset top adds a touch of allure and sophistication to the ensemble.

The corset is expertly tailored. Its intricate lace-up design adds a hint of drama and elegance, drawing the eye to the sculpted lines of the bodice.

Chan's eyes light up as he gazes at you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Absolutely stunning," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. 

"The dress or me?" you say.

Chan's grin widens as he steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with unabashed appreciation. "Well, the dress is lovely, But you? You're dangerous"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Dangerous, huh?" you echo, feigning innocence as you tilt your head, "And why's that?"

Chan's grin widens. "Well, it's simple," he says, his voice a smooth, seductive murmur, "because you make heads turn so hard they might break their necks." The words hang in the air, thick with implication, as he leans in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours.. "You make it impossible to look away, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, he closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a moment of sweet surrender, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine as you melt into the embrace.

When he finally pulls away, a knowing smile plays at the corners of his lips, his eyes alight with affection. "See what I mean?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Absolutely dangerous."

You can't help but laugh at his corny yet utterly charming response, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at his words. "Smooth talker," you tease, nudging him playfully

"Smooth talker? Nah, I prefer to think of myself as a master of compliments," he quips. "But hey, if the shoe fits..."

As you glance past Chan, your laughter fades as something catches your eye through the boutique window. Your gaze falls on a figure standing farther away, amidst the bustling crowd of people passing by. Despite the distance, their eyes seem to lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You freeze for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make out their features through the crowd. You realize that their features are obscured not just by the throng of people, but also by an oversized hood and mask that conceals most of their face, leaving only a vague silhouette in your line of sight.

With a surge of determination, you shove the dress into Chan's hands, your urgency evident in the abruptness of your movements. "Hold this," you instruct him quickly, your voice trembling.

Before Chan can react, you turn on your heel and bolt out of the boutique, your heart pounding in your chest. Pushing through the wave of shoppers, you make your way towards them, only to find that they have vanished into the crowd, leaving behind nothing but an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"Where are you going?" Chan's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with concern as he noticed your sudden change in direction. Frustration mounts as you search fruitlessly for any sign of the stranger, your senses on high alert. But no matter how hard you looked, they were gone.

"I saw... something," you reply cryptically, your focus solely on tracking down the shadowy figure that had captured your attention.

Chan's hand finds yours, his touch grounding you in the midst of your swirling thoughts. "Saw what?" he questions, his tone gentle yet insistent.

"I-....Nothing....Nevermind," you murmur, shaking your head slightly as you try to dismiss the unsettling encounter. Despite Chan's comforting presence, the memory of the mysterious figure lingers in the back of your mind

"Are you sure?" Chan asks, his concern evident in his voice. "We can stay if you want, but if you're feeling unwell, maybe we should head home."

You consider his suggestion, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of leaving the bustling street behind. "Yeah, let's go home," you agree, a small smile playing on your lips. "And hey, how about we cook lunch together? It could be fun."

Chan's eyes light up at the suggestion, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that," he says, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Let's get going then." With his hand in yours, you allow him to lead you away from the busy street.

Once home, you kick off your shoes and settle into the cozy ambiance of your shared space. Chan wastes no time in heading to the kitchen, his enthusiasm for cooking evident as he gathers ingredients and starts preparing lunch.

As you watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, you find your thoughts drifting, a slight fog settling over your mind. You know you should be helping him, but the weight of your thoughts is making it difficult to focus. Your mind is a mix of thoughts, uncertainties, and unresolved questions.

"Hey, could you help me out with this?" Chan's voice breaks through your reverie, snapping you back to the present.

You blink, realizing you've been lost in your own thoughts for a few minutes. "Sorry, what was that?" you ask, your voice slightly distant.

Chan gives you a concerned look. "I asked if you could cut this cucumber for me," he repeats, holding out the vegetable and a knife.

You take them from him, trying to shake off the fog that clouds your mind. "Right, sorry," you mumble, feeling guilty for not being more present.

As you slice through the cucumber, your mind still feels preoccupied. Chan's voice brings you back once again.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone gentle as he looks at you.

You meet his gaze, offering him a weak smile. "Yeah, just lost in thought," you reply, though you know it's more than that.

In response, Chan sets down the ingredients he's working with and moves closer to you. There's a determined yet gentle look in his eyes as he takes your hand, pulling you away from the cutting board and towards him.

Without a word, he guides you to sit on the edge of the countertop opposite him. His touch is comforting as he stands between your legs, his hands resting on your waist.

"You seem really on edge," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Is there something specific that's bothering you?"

You hesitate. "I don't know," you murmur, not really wanting to reveal much.

"You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?" Chan's voice is gentle but probing, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow.

"I don't know," you confess. "I'm just feeling.....weird."

Chan's lips brush against your neck in a tender gesture, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"Feeling weird huh....," he murmurs against your skin, his warm breath sending a wave of tingles through you. You find yourself nodding, unable to form coherent thoughts as his lips continue their mesmerizing dance along your skin. The tension that had gripped your shoulders begins to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of warmth and arousal.

"Does this help?" his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. His hands wander back down to your waist, tugging you closer. You feel the heat from his body even through the layers of clothing, his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach. You nod again, feeling your face grow hot as your body reacts to his touch. "You always help," you reply softly, melting into his comforting touch as his lips trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. 

He looks up, meeting your gaze with gratitude and affection. Leaning in, you close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. The soft, sweet press of his lips is everything you've dreamed of and more.

He moans softly as your tongue darts out to tease at the seam of his lips, eagerly granting you access. You can taste the faint traces of peppermint on his tongue as it slips into your mouth, tangling with yours in a heated dance.

You sigh happily, losing yourself in the kiss as the world seems to fall away around you.

He slides a hand up the back of your neck, gripping your hair and using it to pull you closer to him. His mouth moves over yours, hot and hungry.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he urges, his voice husky with desire.

"It's...it's nothing," you breathe, gasping slightly as his hand tightens in your hair. " I was just... just thinking.." you stutter as he trails a line of hot kisses along your jaw.

"Mmmhmm" he purrs, his breath warm against your skin.

His hands slide down back down your sides, caressing your hips and then moving further south to cup your ass. He squeezes firmly, making you gasp in surprise, and then grinds his hips against you, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through your body.

"Chan," you moan, arching your back and pressing closer to him. You want more. Need more.

"Hmmm?" he hums against your lips, kissing you again.

"You're distracting me."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Maybe that's the point," he murmurs, his hand moving to your front to palm your breast through your shirt. You whimper softly as he continues to explore your body with his mouth and hands, teasing you mercilessly until you can’t take it anymore.

A faint sound interrupts the peace of the moment. It's barely noticeable at first, like a distant melody weaving its way into the room.

Chan lifts his head slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you say something?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Chan, want you..” You beg.

He smirks against your lips and pulls away slightly, looking down at you with dark eyes. “What do you want?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“Tell me what you want, baby.... I need to know.” You swallow thickly, your face heating up at the way he stares at you with lust in his eyes.

He growls low in his throat and leans back down to kiss you again, more forcefully this time. His tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. The taste of him fills your senses and makes your head spin.

"You."

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, caressing your skin. You can't help but arch your back, pressing closer to him.

"Please..." you beg.

He trails kisses down the column of your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a path of fire in their wake. He bites down on the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and you gasp in pleasure.

His fingers deftly unbutton your shirt and push it aside, revealing the black lace bra underneath.

The faint sound interrupts the space once more, still barely noticeable.

Chan lifts his head again slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you hear that?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You shake your head, the sensation of his touch still lingering on your skin, your attention fully focused on him.

He frowns and turns his attention back to your exposed chest, placing kisses in the valley in your chest. He lets out a contented sigh and moves lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your stomach.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your skin. " but i know something that taste so much sweeter."

Your breath catches in your throat as his lips brush against your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there.

He pulls back and looks up at you, his dark eyes burning with desire.

"You want me, baby?"he asks, his voice rough with need. You nod wordlessly, unable to speak. He smirks and places another soft kiss against your skin, making your whole body shudder. "Say it."

"Y-yes."

"Say my name," he commands, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs.

"Chan."

"Again."

"Chan."

"Louder."

"Chan!"

"Mmmm."

His tongue darts out to lick a stripe along the seam of your panties, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You can feel his hot breath on your core, teasing you through the thin material. You moan, arching up against him, and his hands move lower, slipping into your panties. His fingers brush over your folds, and he lets out a low growl as he feels how wet you are.

"So wet for me already, babygirl?" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your ear.

"Yes," you breathe, squirming under his touch. "I need you, Channie."

The sound persists, growing slightly louder this time, and you both become aware of a subtle vibration beneath you. Gradually, realization dawns as you exchange a puzzled glance.

Chan runs his other hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Okay," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and determination. "I know I'm not going crazy."

With a sudden jolt of recognition, you shift and reach into your pocket and retrieve your phone.

You glance at the screen, irritation flaring up as the same unfamiliar number flashes over and over again. Chan shoots you a pointed look, his annoyance palpable.

"Who is it?" he mutters, his eyes narrowing.

"It's some number ," you reply, your frustration mirroring his. "They keep calling me, and I don't know who it is."

With a sigh, you decline the call and return the phone to your pocket.

"Well, whoever it is, they can wait," he growls, leaning in to continue his previous actions.

The phone vibrates once again, the display illuminating.

You both let out an exasperated groan as the ringing persists.

"This is ridiculous," he huffs, his lips curled into a frown. "Why won't they just leave a message or something?"

The phone continues to ring, its shrill sound cutting through the silence of the room. You sit up, reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace, and reach for your phone again. "Fine, I'll answer it," you grumble, pressing the answer button with more force than necessary.

"Must be important if they're calling this many times," he remarks under his breath. You offered a strained smile in response before finally speaking into the phone, trying to keep your frustration in check as you greeted the unknown caller.

"Hello?" you say, trying to ignore Chan's comment.

"Hello, Y/N."

"Yes? Who is this? How do you know my name?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, the unexpected familiarity sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but there's been a fire at Y/F/N's house," the voice continued, its words carrying a weight that seemed to crush the very air around you. "They... they didn't make it out in time. I'm so sorry."

The world seemed to come to a screeching halt as the full impact of those words registered in your mind. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, a heavy weight settling over you like a suffocating blanket.

Shock immobilizes you, rendering you momentarily speechless as your mind struggles to process the news. Disbelief clouds your thoughts, and for a fleeting moment, you entertain the hope that this must be some cruel prank or a terrible misunderstanding. But the solemnity in the caller's voice leaves no room for doubt, and the reality of the situation hits you with relentless force.

"What?" The word escapes your lips in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It feels as though the ground beneath you has shifted.

"Your friend has passed away," the voice repeats, its tone filled with sympathy.

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as you struggle to comprehend the news, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down upon your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, but you fight to hold them back, afraid of what might happen if you allow yourself to surrender to the overwhelming sense of grief. Your hands tremble as you clutch the phone tightly, the cold metal offering little solace in the face of such devastating news.

Chan's irritation dissipates instantly as he sees the color drain from your face. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

You struggle to find the words, your mind reeling from the devastating news. "It's... it's ," you manage to choke out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "She didn't make it... there was a fire..."

As you relay the news, Chan's expression shifts from concern to horror as your words sink in. His features contort with disbelief, mirroring the shock and anguish etched across your own face. For a moment, neither of you can find the words to articulate the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume you both.

All around you, the morning light seems to dim, casting a pall of darkness over the room as you come to terms with the harsh reality of mortality. The laughter and playful banter of moments ago fade into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of grief.

"I never got to say goodbye," you confess. Chan's arms wrap around you in a comforting embrace, holding you close, as if trying to shield you from the pain that threatens to overwhelm you. You bury your face in his chest, his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

The phone slips from your grasp, forgotten amidst the grief. Time loses all meaning as you surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotions, the world around you fading into insignificance as you grapple with the void left behind by your friend's passing.

In an attempt to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos, you seek refuge in the familiar routine of your self-care, the warm shower offering a brief respite from the relentless pain. But even as the water cascades over you, washing away the physical traces of sorrow, the weight of grief remains heavy upon your shoulders, a reminder of the gaping hole in your heart.

When you emerge, you are greeted by the sight of Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han, chatting quietly with Chan as they enjoy the lunch he had prepared.

Your heart sinks at the sight of them, a mix of surprise and apprehension washing over you. You had completely forgotten that they were supposed to come over today, and the thought of facing them in your current state fills you with dread.

Before you can retreat back into the safety of your room, Felix spots you, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of concern and understanding. There's no escaping now. You feel a lump form in your throat as you reluctantly step into the room, their eyes following your every move.

Chan's expression softens as he catches sight of you, concern etched into his features. "Hey, there you are," he says gently, his voice a welcome anchor in the storm of emotions raging within you.

You offer a weak smile in response, attempting to mask your emotions. The weight of their collective gaze feels suffocating, and you find it difficult to meet their eyes.

Minho offers a sympathetic smile as you approach, his eyes reflecting the shared sorrow. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine compassion.

Your throat tightens with emotion at his words, grateful for his heartfelt condolences. "Thank you," you manage to croak, each syllable heavy with the weight of your grief. You step closer to them, the fragrant scent of the flowers filling the air around you. "This means a lot."

Seungmin nods in agreement. "We're here for you," he assures you earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity and support.

You offer Seungmin a grateful nod, feeling a lump form in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion.

With a final round of supportive embraces and reassuring words, Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han bid their farewells, their departure leaving an emptiness in the room. As the door closes behind them, the silence settles in around you, heavy with the weight of your grief.

Your eyes catch sight of a single black rose with a white ribbon tied around it, placed delicately on the counter, near the gift basket. The ribbon, elegantly tied around the stem in a neat bow, adds an air of mourning to the scene, evoking memories of funeral bouquets and memorial services. It's presence feels out of place in the bright warmth of your home, casting a shadow of unease over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere.

Beside the rose, the torn page from a diary lies in disarray, its edges jagged and uneven, hinting at a hurried and frantic tearing. As you approach, the faint scent of ink lingers in the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of the rose.

"What... what is this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to examine the mysterious objects. Your fingers tremble slightly as you pick up the torn page, the words written upon it sending a chill down your spine.

 You quietly read the note out aloud, the words sinking in with a weight that threatens to crush your spirit.

It's the same signature as the letter you received the night before, the one that filled you with a sense of foreboding.

This wasn't just a casual letter. It was intentional. Someone out there is targeting you, and you can't help but feel a creeping sense of unease at the thought of what might happen next.

Your mind races with questions, each one more terrifying than the last. Was "Her" referring to your friend? Did someone harm her? The possibility sends a wave of panic coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to make sense of the cryptic message.

Then the realization sinks in:

How did it get in the house?

You frantically look around for Adam, your bodyguard, realizing he should have been by your side. Panic sets in as you rush to the door, throwing it open to find him outside. Confusion and fear intertwine as you demand an explanation.

"Adam, what are you doing out here?" you ask, your voice trembling with urgency. "You were supposed to be inside with me. Why are you here?"

Adam's expression is grave as he meets your gaze, a shadow of concern flickering across his features. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, his tone tinged with regret. "I sensed something off and decided to check the perimeter. Is everything okay?"

You furrow your brow, a mixture of frustration and concern evident in your voice as you question him. "How did this get inside?" you say waving the note and flower in your hand.

Adam's gaze follows the items, his expression darkening as he takes them from you, examining them closely. He hesitates for a moment, looking puzzled before responding, "I'm not sure," he admits, his voice tight with worry. "I didn't see anything, ma'am."

Your irritation grows. "Isn't it your job to do just that?" you say sharply, the edge in your voice reflecting your annoyance at the situation.

Adam, visibly flustered, stammers out . "I apologize, ma'am," He said bowing. "I'll check with the other guards on duty as well as Stacy, who was here this morning"

"Who's Stacy?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar name.

As if on cue, Aera enters through the front entrance, her presence graceful as she bows respectfully. "That would be me, ma'am," she says, introducing herself with a polite smile. "It's my English name. Most people call me Stacy. Though I must admit, I prefer Aera."

You nod in acknowledgment, still processing the unexpected revelation.

You address your bodyguard with a firm tone, your frustration evident. "Under no circumstances are you to allow anything or anyone into my home without my explicit permission. Is that clear?"

He nods in understanding, chastened by your stern reprimand. "Yes, ma'am," he responds.

You turn your gaze towards Aera, a firm expression etched upon your features. "And why, may I ask, are you here?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of sternness.

Aera's eyes widen slightly, and she bows apologetically. "I... I'm sorry for the intrusion," she stammers, her voice soft with regret. "I wanted to offer my condolences, but I realize now that I've interrupted."

Aera retrieves a bouquet of flowers from behind her back, her movements hesitant as she extends it towards you with a slight bow,her eyes downcast with humility.

You nod, acknowledging her apology, taking the bouquet, delicately tied together with a pristine white ribbon, from her hands. "Thank you, Aera," you say, your voice softening slightly. "But next time, please check with me before coming over."

Aera bows again, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Of course, I'm sorry," she says, her tone contrite. "I'll make sure to do that in the future."

As she turns to leave, Chan steps forward, concern etching his features as he approaches you, his touch gentle as he places a comforting hand on your back. Aera's gaze lingers on him for a moment, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes before she quickly averts her gaze and bows once more.

"Thank you. You may go home now," you say, dismissing her with a nod. Aera bows again, her expression a mix of regret and understanding, before quietly leaving.

Turning to Adam, you gesture for him to follow suit. "You too," you say, your voice firm but not unkind. Adam bows respectfully before leaving, leaving you alone with Chan and the weight of the day's events settling upon your shoulders.

Chan notices the tension in your posture, his concern evident as he approaches you with a gentle touch.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You offer him a reassuring smile, though it feels strained. "Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Chan's gaze softens as he takes in your troubled expression. "You don't have to pretend, you know," he says softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Chan notices your hesitation and gently prompts, "You've been on edge all day. Do you want to talk? I want to help."

As you lean into Chan's comforting embrace, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, but the sense of unease still lingers at the edge of your consciousness. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to voice your concerns.

"I... I feel like someone's watching me," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's brow furrows with concern. "Watching you? Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks gently, his concern evident in his tone.

You hesitate, searching for an explanation. "I'm not actually sure," you admit, feeling a pang of guilt for keeping it from him.

"Well, do you think it's your mind playing tricks on you?" Chan suggests, trying to offer a rational explanation. "Now that you've won Artist of the Year, you probably just feel like more attention is on you."

"Yeah, you're right," you concede, the weight of his words resonating with you. Perhaps it was just your imagination running wild in the aftermath of your recent success.

"Besides," he adds, "you have a bodyguard. He's good at his job. You're safe with him around."

You nod, appreciating his attempt to ease your worries. "Yeah, you're right," you agree, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his words. 

"And you also have me," he adds

Chan's concern is evident in the softness of his gaze as he gently suggests, "How about a massage?"

His caring tone and thoughtful suggestion warm your heart, and you can't help but smile at his consideration. "That sounds wonderful," you reply. "But I think I just want to rest," you admit, exhaustion tugging at your limbs as the events of the day catch up with you.

Chan's lips curve into a reassuring smile as he squeezes your hand gently. "Okay." He says.

With a heavy heart, you decide against sharing the note with Chan. You don't want to burden anyone of your fears, and the thought of putting him in harm's way fills you with dread.

What if whoever sent this comes after him next?

For now, you keep the note to yourself, tucked away where no one else can find it. It's a burden you'll bear alone, at least until you can figure out who's behind this and why they're doing it.

But no matter how hard you try, the sense of foreboding lingers, a constant reminder that danger may be closer than you think.

ઇଓ Ep.3 - Knock, Knock

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ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Make Believe

Masterlist here

This is for @peterman-spideyparker‘s writing challenge! My prompt was: “Who said we were pretending?” I’m still super rusty, but I’m decently happy with this. I hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: Kissing. A bit of purple prose.

“Friday, go ahead and send out for double everything of my last order. Chips, sugar, flour, all of it. I greatly underestimated the Asgardian appetite.”

“We are quite demanding and insatiable. Do you think yourself up to the task?”

Your head shot up and whipped around at the rich, silken voice directed from over your shoulder. Loki grinned down at you, entirely too close so that you could smell the cedar and cinnamon of his cologne, before stepping to your side to eye the tray of chocolate chip cookies you had just taken out of the oven.

His hand reached out to the nab a steaming cookie. With a forceful shake of your head, you reached out and smacked it lightly. “They aren’t ready yet.”

If you had thought that the menacing, intimidating, badass God of Mischief and Looking-Fierce-While-Throwing-Daggers couldn’t pout, well, he proved you wrong. The god had puppy dog eyes like you wouldn’t believe, and he directed them toward you with his lips curling in just the tiniest hint of wickedness.

Damn, he was dangerous.

“You did promise as many cookies as I could consume in the span of one month. It is still within that timeframe, and I require what was promised. Unless you would prefer to attend the wedding alone...”

You immediately stepped away from the tray, holding your hands up in surrender. “Fine. Take them, Mischief.”

The thought of attending your cousin’s wedding alone was threat enough. The constant hounding from your family about your perpetual bare finger was enough to make you turn to your Avenger coworkers begging for someone to get the heat off of your back. Everyone else was already taken or busy, which left the Prince currently eyeing your cookies like he had terrible things planned for them.

And you had to admit, he was the perfect choice to accompany you, mischief or not. From his smooth manners, to his delicious voice that secretly made you weak at the knees, to his impeccable fashion sense, he was going to make your family shut the hell up. At least for one day. And then when they were sufficiently charmed he was going to disappear from their lives and leave with you with more questions that you couldn’t answer. Only about him, this time, and not some random stranger who picked you up over thumping bass music or in the morning line for coffee.

“Tomorrow at two in the afternoon, correct?”

His question, asked just before he popped an entire cookie into his mouth, pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked and looked up at him, processing for a moment, before nodding. “Yup. Black tie.”

He pulled a plate out of thin air and dumped all the cookies onto it, nodding at you and walking away with a quick, “Until then.”

You groaned, scrubbing your hands over your face. “Friday, make that triple.”

~

“Bethany is going to be so pissed at me.”

“Whatever for?”

You propped your hands up on your hips, dragging your eyes over his lean form by way of explanation. Where the Asgardian Prince put all of those cookies you’d churned out for him, you hadn’t a clue, but it certainly wasn’t in the long legs artfully encased in perfectly fitted black trousers, or the hint of rigid muscles of his torso that teased you when he twisted to stand in front of you, stepping close so each breath brushed the soft fabric of your dress against his shirt. Your eyes landed on arms so strong they filled out the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket wonderfully, as if the jacket were made for him. Which, knowing how much Stark paid him for cleaning up the team’s messes, it probably was.

When he simply quirked an elegant brow down at you and slowly wrapped his arms around your back, as if not to startle you, you sighed and shook your head. Like he didn’t know that he was sex on two legs in that tuxedo. The man owned a mirror.

“Because you’re definitely going to upstage the groom in that suit.”

His quiet laughter was low and dark in your ear, just before he clutched you tightly and the telltale rush of frigid air over your bare arms told of his taking you to the venue.

You had been right, of course. Loki was earning jealous stares from both men and women, none moreso than the green-laced glare from the bride during the reception. It had you grinning at Loki a bit wider, holding onto his arm a little bit tighter, and your heart beating just a bit faster in your chest whenever he would direct his full, rapt attention to you for a side bit of conversation.

“I was promised cake, as well. When is that part of the festivities?”

You nudged his leg underneath the table, hidden by the white tablecloth, and rolled your eyes. “I swear you have a one-track mind.”

The look he directed into your eyes, flaring with heat behind a piercing emerald gaze, sucked all of the moisture from your throat. His smirk spoke of sins you’d willingly commit if it meant learning the reason for the sparkle in his stare. “Oh, darling, I assure you that there is much more sweetness to be had tonight besides the cake.”

Clearing your throat, you ran your hands overtop your hair, smoothing away imaginary flyaways, and pointed at the newlywed couple walking over the dessert table. “They’re cutting it now.”

After he was sated with sweets, shooting the occasional question about Midgardian wedding traditions your way - Why did they do something so humiliating as the garter toss - you watched the couples dancing to thumping house music on the dance floor. It wasn’t to your taste, especially not in the daylight where everyone could see you flailing wildly in an attempt at dancing.

But when a slower number came on, an old crooner that reached into your heart with his lyrics and plucked the strings there expertly, a long, large hand appeared in front of your face.

“I grow bored. Dance with me.”

It was a demand, not a question. But the tilt of his brow and the small smile on his lips quieted any outrage that was about to rise within you at being ordered around. Your hand fit into his well, large and calloused around small and soft, and you followed him into the center of the dance floor as gracefully as you could manage.

“I’m not the best dancer…”

His hand slipped underneath your arm to splay across your back just beneath your shoulder blade, and the other held yours delicately. Holding your gaze, he led you into a graceful dance that you wouldn’t even know the name of, spinning you both around the dance floor on a veritable cloud. You lost yourself in the moment, matching his pleased smile as you fell into the temporary fantasy of dancing with the handsome Prince, decked out to the nines, for a reason other than to assuage his boredom and sell a ruse that was hurting your heart more than helping.

It was the curse of attending a wedding without a romantic partner. The happiness that radiated from the couple turned sour as soon as it reached you, irritating and cold as it settled over your skin in a thin film you couldn’t shake. Envy pulsed through your veins like a poison, and the excellent acting skills of Loki didn’t help matters. The press of his lips to your forehead when you were talking with some friends, the touch of his hand over the small of your back, the warmth in his eyes and smile as he brushed a bit of hair behind your ear and allowed his hand to linger on the soft skin of your neck.

It was the taste of forbidden fruit that would linger on your tongue for far too long after the night was over.

Eventually, the song switched to a faster number, something definitely not his style, and you stilled on the edge of the writhing and jumping crowd. The tension between you was agony, the look in his eyes undecipherable, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“Thanks, for this. For pretending so I could have one night in peace.”

It wasn’t peace. It was hell masquerading as a good time with soft midnight hair and a knowing smile. But he didn’t need to know that.

His eyes searched yours for a moment that lasted an eternity. You couldn’t have moved from the spot if the world fell apart around you, for his arresting gaze. Slowly, Loki’s hands came up to cup the sides of your neck and his thumbs dragged along the edge of your jaw to tilt your chin up to him. Yours fell to your sides, digging into the dress around your thighs for any sense of reality you could grasp. Just the faintest hint of his racing pulse was visible over the collar of his crisp white shirt., matching yours as your breath panted out into the chilled air between you.

The champagne you had both sipped throughout the evening was sweet on his surprisingly soft mouth as it pressed into yours. Seeking, questioning, the kiss lingered as you learned the pliant give and take of his lips to the tune of your heart roaring in your ears. Every hope you had of maintaining a professional relationship with the god clattered to the ground and shattered at your feet with the tease of his tongue on your bottom lip before he pulled away, looking down at you with a touch of anxiety tightening the skin between his brows after your eyes had blinked open.

“Who said we were pretending?”

~~~

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme @hellethil @myraiswack @birdgirl90

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy​ @villainousshakespeare​ @kitkatd7​ @nonbinarylowkey​ @lots-of-loki​

[citrucentric]

Cranberry

The ideal Holmes is tall and dark with sharp edges and an intelligent look to him, but also posh and with a sense that you could fold him into origami if you really tried. Dresses well, but wouldn’t look out of place sprawled dramatically over a couch in a dressing gown with a pipe and surrounded by drug paraphernalia. Once made a pillow fort and sat in it to think. Caught somewhere between handsome, pretty, and weird looking. Emphasis can be on any of the three. CANNOT have facial hair.

Holmes Adaptations

S-Tier

Miss Sherlock (Yuko Takeuchi) - 95%

You’ll notice, of course, that nowhere in the earlier description did I say Holmes needed to be white, a man, or even human. None of those qualifiers or the lack-thereof prevent someone from looking the part -- it simply becomes necessary to compare them to the characters around them. And when I picture a female Sherlock Holmes, Yuko Takeuchi embodies the exact image in my mind. Her sharp edges, piercing eyes, and impeccable fashion, along with the powerful weird energy she brings to the role, fit Sherlock perfectly. She does look more than a bit like she could kick my ass, but more in the manner she dominates the room, which is perfect for the character.

Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett) - 85%

I haven’t watched this adaptation, though I’ve been meaning to get around to it. So this ranking is based solely on screenshots and promotional images. And honestly, as ugly as i find this guy, he totally nails it. He even kind of looks like the illustrations in the stories. I won’t give him a perfect score because his hair could be darker and his face is a little small, and there’s just barely something missing. But as far as “canon” Holmes adaptations go, he’s the cream of the crop.

A-Tier

Sherlock: The Abominable Bride (Benedict Cumberbatch) - 80%

Definitely the more accurate of the two Cumberbatch Holmes designs, the sleek fashion and slicked back hair complement Cumberbatch’s angular build and “somewhere between pretty and just weird” face. He’s tall, dark, and posh. If there’s anything holding him back it’s simply that even dressed up properly, there’s something still a bit modern looking about him.

Fate/Grand Order - 78%

Given that his design and presentation are a direct reference to both Brett and Cumberbatch’s portrayals, it’s a given he’d place so highly. It’s really hard to nail down a 2D Holmes, especially in the anime style this game employs, since it has a tendency to prettify characters by default. True to form, FGO Holmes is far neater and more precise than I’d like. But he’s by no means a bad design, and depending on the image he can really hit the spot for me; he’s definitely a chart topper in the realm of 2D Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes: The Furtive Festivity (Gregory Johnstone) - 75%

There aren’t many Holmes that we only get to see as an old man, in no small part due to the ACD estate’s notoriously malicious copyright practices. Johnstone ranks so highly not due necessarily to the details of his look, but the overall feel he embodies. This Holmes is soft, affectionate, more than a little floppy. His hair and costume portray a man well grown into his eccentric life, and his face is sharp and mature enough to suggest the brains underneath; even if that’s more wisdom than intelligence in this particular story. This is a Holmes designed by someone who really loves Sherlock Holmes, and it definitely shows.

BBC Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) - 75%

Cumberbatch’s features still naturally suit Holmes well, and he’s tall and striking enough to cover the rest. But this isn’t a rating of his acting performance aside from the visuals it supplies; it’s hard to modernize Holmes, especially since it makes perfect sense for Holmes to gel well with the changing times; he was always a man ahead of his era. BBC Holmes’s trademark trenchcoat and curly locks aren’t traditional Holmes, but they suit him well enough.

Yuukoku no Moriarty - 73%

The long hair is an unorthodox take, but I'm certainly not complaining. YnM's Holmes definitely nails the youthful scientific exuberance of an early Holmes. It's clear they were going for a sort of BBC/ACD mix, but with their own spin. Pretty -- he is an anime boy, after all -- but all sharp edges and full of energy. Decent, way better than most anime Holmes designs manage.

B-Tier

Basil of Baker Street [The Great Mouse Detective] - 70%

Comparing the character to those around them is especially important when it comes to non-human characters, who naturally don’t have the same features. Putting Basil next to Dawson makes this abundantly clear, as they make a perfect portrait of Holmes and Watson. For a mouse, he’s thin, angular, even a little ratlike; all decisions that suit Holmes well. I have some complaints about his ensemble, though; while the dressing gown suits him well, his normal brown coat and hat don’t work so well with his fur; the monochrome look makes him come off a bit scruffy and unrefined.

A Study in Black - 68%

Rules are made to be broken, they say; here’s a Holmes with well maintained facial hair and who’s shorter than Watson, and yet I can without question say they were the right decisions. This Holmes takes a very different design approach than any other on this list, even the other modern takes, but he embodies the spirit of Holmes much more than if he’d tried to match every detail. Holmes is still gaunt and striking, eccentric and fashionable. He looks absolutely great.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (Robert Stephens) - 62%

Stephens in this role is, I have to say, far too soft. But he’s playing a different sort of Holmes, and I can’t resist keeping him here. There are some parts of the look he has down; he certainly looks high class, and the softer elements of Holmes’ character look good on him. Holmes’ traditional costume, the hat and coat, look out of place on him. But that suits the message of the film, and may very well have been intentional.

C-Tier

Dai Gyakuten Saiban - 58%

Not the only blond Holmes on this list, but it doesn’t suit him as poorly. From a character design standpoint, it looks very good. As a Holmes, it’s unorthodox. He’s not gonna be a chart topper with it, but I wouldn’t rule it out. This Holmes’ real problem isn’t his coloration, merely that he’s much too conventionally attractive. His jaw is a bit too wide, curls a bit too lovely, the peek of lavender under his coat a bit too rich, and I can’t look at him for too long without blushing. Do some cocaine and get back to me.

Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone) - 55%

Now, this one might be controversial. I don’t think Rathbone Holmes looks very good. I can’t put my finger on why; his head is the right shape, his nose very sharp, though his face looks very smooth and he seems overall vaguely packed in. Like he was plucked out of the sky just before walking on set. The shapes are all right, it just seems off to me. I guess what I’m getting is that his look is too obviously produced. He looks too much like an actor portraying Holmes, rather than Holmes. But I know he’s gonna be the guy a lot of people swear by, so I won’t defend this placement too hard.

Sherlock Hound - 45%

Really, what is up with the monochrome design on some of these cartoons. Sherlock Hound has the darker hat to make up for it, though, so it’s a little better. Applying the same rubric as Basil to him... doesn’t get the same results. As far as I can tell, this just looks like a normal dog. And a scruffy light-furred one, at that. There’s a contrast between him and Watson, sure, but it could’ve been pushed further. At the end of the day this is an average guy dressed as Sherlock.

D-Tier

Herlock Sholmes [Code: Realize] - 40%

This is a very pretty anime boy. I’d pick him first in whatever dating sim this is. ...Wait, this is supposed to be Holmes? How can you tell? Look, I know it’s hard to make an anime boy Holmes. Holmes’ key design elements aren’t his costume or his hair, they’re the things that make him unpolished. And anime dating sim boys don’t like to be unpolished. But really, this is just a steampunk boy who likes tea. Nothing here reads as Holmes to me.

Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) - 35%

Now, I love this movie. RDJ got me back into Sherlock Holmes when I was younger. And as this character, he has a very specific and well designed look. ...Does that look gel with canon Holmes? I don’t think so. He’s rough, he’s scruffy, he’s short and wide and strong-jawed, and he refuses to go for a clean shave. I like him a lot, but he’s not very Holmesian. He does, however, nail the eccentricity and his costume design works for him well. I do like a messy Holmes. So I won’t go any lower than this.

F-Tier

Basil [Blush Blush] - 28%

So, he’s got the outfit. There’s that. But otherwise... This is just some soft ugly anime boy cosplaying Sherlock Holmes. He doesn’t have a single trait that works in his favor. On top of that, he’s got the same problem the other Basil on this list had -- the all monochrome light brown just looks weird, and not Holmesian at all. And this boy doesn’t have the excuse of literally being a mouse. This is just an ugly design.

Elementary (Jonny Lee Miller) - 25%

Now, I've only watched a few scattered episodes of Elementary. Partially because I'm morally opposed to shows that only gender-flip half of the duo, partially because I’m absolutely outraged by the travesty they made Moriarty. But this isn’t a bad character, per-se.

But, like, this is just some dude. This isn't Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes [Clue] - 23%

I love Clue so much. That probably doesn’t surprise anyone. I have the season pass in this game, which automatically gives me every DLC character they add for free. So I was super excited to hear there was gonna be a Sherlock crossover. ...But this is just ugly. Another light haired square-jawed monochrome asshole pretending to be my favorite character. There’s nothing Holmes about this. (The rest of the designs in the pack are no better, but this isn’t about them.)

Skylar Holmes [Blossom Detective Holmes] - 20%

Now, Blossom Detective is a show that I famously disliked so much I immediately sat down and screenwrote my own Holmes cartoon on the spot. And Skylar certainly feels like she should be in the “part 2″ of this list, but a Holmes she is.

She's cute and she accessorizes well, but she's just not Sherlock Holmes by any stretch.

Sherlock Shellingford [Milky Holmes] - 10%

Now, look how cute she is! Sherlock Shellingford, present and accounted for. She’s got TWO Sherlock names so you know she’s the real deal. Now, this is just an objectively good design. She's exactly what she needs to be to serve the role she plays!

And that isn't Sherlock Holmes. Sorry.

Holmes & Watson (Will Ferrell) - 0%

Get out of my house.

Holmes Archetypes

Not all Holmes’ are meant to be the Canonical Sherlock Holmes, of course; some are just neat references, or characters who naturally fit into his role whether the author intended it or not. Let’s address them here, and remember that not looking the part doesn’t really reflect negatively on these ones as they’re stand-alone.

S-Tier

Dylan Reinhart [Instinct] (Alan Cumming) - 90%

Dylan is so point for point Sherlock Holmes that it’s hard to call him an archetype and not a straight adaptation, or possibly a rip-off if I’m being harsh. But I’m not supposed to be rating him by portrayal, just looks - and he’s really good. He’s the exact right blend of weird looking, though not as angular as he should be. His sharp eyebrows and nose and high hairline work fantastic, and he wears a suit very well. He’s a perfect little bundle of posh and nerves, and though he’s not perfect the fact that this isn’t actually supposed to be canon Sherlock Holmes makes this placement very unsurprising. He wouldn’t look out of place on the other list.

Hubert von Vestra [Fire Emblem: Three Houses] - 85%

Oh? What’s that? You don’t think Hubert von Vestra is a Sherlock Holmes archetype? Okay, then explain to me why he uses the word “sentiment” exactly twice in his supports. Atheists 1, Church of Seiros 0. Anyway. Let’s start with the obvious. Hubert looks like Benedict Cumberbatch. But, he looks like a vampire Benedict Cumberbatch who did a lot more cocaine. And if you don’t think Sherlock Holmes should look like a vampire, youre lying.

A-Tier

None yet. Please submit your Holmes and I will add them.

B-Tier

Heinwald [Dragalia Lost] - 67%

I would never look at this design and think "well, that's Sherlock Holmes". Heinwald looks more like a zombie or the bride of Frankenstein, very Halloween. His look being so specific does come at the expense of his Holmesness, but he's still got more than a few traits down and he’s an absolute treat.

L Lawliet [Death Note] - 65%

This is a very, very weird looking man. Key points: dark hair and eyes. gaunt, sharp, and mostly angular (though with a softer face). Extremely foldable. This man could 100% pass for Holmes, if someone else was dressing him. Put him in a suit, comb his hair? Yeah. It’d really work. But until then, he’s just most of the way there.

Kyoko Kirigiri [Danganronpa] - 63%

Kirigiri really gets jilted here, because she could be much higher. Unfortunately, she has to be part of a series that with only a few exceptions just reuses the same face and body for most of its female characters. Kirigiri definitely has the sharp and focused feel she needs to pass for Holmes, and she dresses well. The white hair is the opposite of the dark he usually touts, but it’s striking. Unfortunately, put her next to any other character in her series, and she blends back in.

Miles Edgeworth [Ace Attorney] - 60%

Feels a little weird to put Edgeworth on here when the actual Sherlock Holmes is in his game, but he fits the character much better if not the narrative role. So let’s go over the looks. His jaw is a bit wide, but he’s very pointy, and I certainly have never gotten the impression he’s a physically strong man. He’s very fashionable, and with his big cravat and sharp hair he makes a cutting silhouette. I’d say he needs a bit more to really nail the look, though.

C-Tier

Will Graham [Hannibal] (Hugh Dancy) - 45%

Despite being a noted Hannibal Lecter fan and possible homosexual, I still haven’t watched Hannibal. I’m taking people at their word that Will is a Sherlock; I definitely would have assumed otherwise looking at him. He reminds me deeply of BBC’s John Watson, and it’s hard to see anything else. But I don’t hate his look; he reads as clever, he looks good in darks, and I wouldn’t complain to see him cast as Holmes. He’s better than some of the lower-tiered canon Holmes actors, anyway.

Ranpo Edogawa [Bungo Stray Dogs] - 40%

This is another submission, and I don’t know who this boy is. I really doubt he’s actually a Holmes, given that he’s named after a real non-Doyle writer, but I was begged to include him. Let’s go. I really like his outfit. He’s got an aesthetic I like. Is it Holmes’? No. This kid looks like he’d fit way better as a Baker Street Irregular; maybe he should audition.

D-Tier

Gregory House (Hugh Laurie) - 35%

Take everything I said for Robert Downey Jr, and just mess up his hair a bit more. House is scruffy, poorly put together, and not wearing anything that costs over $100. As a Holmes, he’d work as one of his disguises; I wouldn’t be super surprised if this guy suddenly cleaned up and looked the part -- but it would take a lot of cleaning. I love his look, though -- again, he isn’t trying to be canon. House is an explicit Holmes parallel, but he’s still his own character.

F-Tier

Walnut Cookie [Cookie Run] - 20%

Given how much “Holmes costume” and “Detective costume” are conflated, it’s possible this gingerbread baby isn’t even supposed to be a Holmes reference, but I’ll take her. She’s an excellent design - but a standalone one. Shes too soft, warm, and curly looking to pull off canon Holmes.

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (II)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Most chapter titles are indeed going to be the song titles from TBHC. Hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter II - She Looks Like Fun

She’d picked out a darker dress with a wavy skirt. Something comfortable, yet still classy. She could almost imagine her mother squealing with joy, because up until a few months ago she would’ve never worn anything like this.

Her mother used to reprimand her for it, because she’d always said that her legs were far too nice to be covered up by trousers or any of the sort. And if she was being honest, her legs did look rather nice. She’d actually shaved, while it was still the cold season. A season where shaving legs was not necessary. She felt a sense of pride. It quickly simmered down.

She hated the fact she couldn’t tell her mother these things anymore. She supposed that wearing skirts and dresses was her own way of dealing with things. Trying to rid of the guilt of having been gone for so long to find work in all sorts of places. Not calling enough. Skipping holidays and family meetings. She was grieving, and though there was probably some psychological explanation for everything she was doing, she really didn’t care enough to find out.

She was still adorned with her grandmother’s watch, possibly the most valuable family heirloom in her possession. Perhaps not so much in price, because the gold needed a good polish and there were enough scratches and dents to tell a tale of a lifetime or two, but it sure meant a lot to her emotionally. It was the only thing she had left of her mother. And any time she felt a wave of anxiety or couldn’t catch a night’s sleep, she listened to the soft ticking of the seconds hand. It reminded her of where she was, what she was doing, and that everything would be fine. As she now didn’t feel the anxiety anymore of dining all by herself. Because in a way, her mother was with her.

While exiting the room, she didn’t stop to think about the sinister half-opened door at the end of the hallway and quickly made her way downstairs. It was a bit before seven o’clock.

The dining room was really something else. It was a grand open space adorned with golden chandeliers and tables with pristine white napkins on shining plates. It was a symmetrically satisfying sight to behold, and she felt out of place to take a seat on any of the luxurious furniture. She wondered if they were actually expecting a grand feast soon or simply out of their minds. She presumed it was the latter.

When Nick thought enough time had passed for her to take in the spectacular view, he cleared his throat. It made her jump and though it amused him greatly, he quickly apologized. “I’m very sorry ma’am, but I’m afraid all the tables are reserved for our other guests.”

She grinned at him. “Ah, I see. That’s very unfortunate. I suppose I’ll just sit on the floor, then.” When she moved to swat some imaginary dirt away from the varnished wooden surface and was about to sink through her knees, Nick hurriedly stopped her. “Actually, I just got a message through that a reservation has been cancelled. No need to sit on the floor. Now, if you’ll follow me, miss,” he politely sputtered. She could see the relief washing over him when she stood again, and she only now figured it probably would have been a sight to see a guest sitting on the floor because a waiter had jokingly told them all the tables were reserved.

“What a shame they had to cancel their reservation, this table has such a good view,” she told Nick, as he held a chair out for her. He’d seated her beside the central window, overlooking the great view of the well-kept gardens. She spotted Matthew in front of a big fountain, who was struggling to control a rearing horse and she swore she heard Nick sigh and mutter “idiot” under his breath. She decided not to comment on it.

A figure appearing beside Nick made her turn back. “I think I’ll take it from here,” he said, offering a smile to Nick and then to her. Nick nodded, his eyes not leaving the unruly horse. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside,” he muttered, before taking off.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, miss. My name is Jamie, and I’ll be your chef for the time you’ll be staying with us,” he told her. He was adorned in a black kitchen uniform, not a crease or spot to be seen, with a leather apron tied around his waist. His hair was slicked back, in a similar fashion to Matt’s, styled to the sides and back from where his hair parted. He had a kind twinkle in his eyes yet seemed a bit on the awkward side judging from the way he fumbled his hands a bit much. “It’s nice to meet you too, Jamie,” she replied kindly, “I was wondering what the menu is like for today? I fully understand if it’s a limited one, seeing as I’m presumably the only one staying for dinner tonight.”

Jamie’s eyes widened, almost as if he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He quickly sprinted off and was back in almost the blink of an eye, in his hands a neat menu card. “My apologies. I’m not used to serving people,” he explained, “I used to only be at work in the kitchens and send my own servers out with plates, but since we had to make quite a few cuts…”

She had been intently and quietly listening as to not snap him out of his ramble out of her own pure curiosity to know more about the hotel, but unfortunately, he caught wind of what he was saying out loud and paused mid-sentence. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I can make you anything you’d like. Even if it’s not on the menu.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you with that,” she told him, “I’ll see what the menu has to offer.” “Miss, you could never be a bother,” he replied, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. Her lips quirked up.

“Alright, how outrageous would it be if I asked you to make me a cheeseburger?” He laughed, “That would probably be the least outrageous request I’ve ever gotten from a guest, miss. I’d be happy to.”

As he was about to turn, she continued, “Have you had dinner yet, Jamie?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “No, miss. I usually eat after all the guests are done along with the other staff.”

“Will you and the rest of the staff join me, then?” She wondered. “I don’t think that’d be very appropriate, miss,” he replied shyly. “I insist. I feel like an idiot eating dinner all by myself in this huge room. Please?” She added and tried her best to look as miserable as possible. Jamie looked inflicted, his eyes darting to the entrance of the dining room for a moment as if he was checking to see if no one had heard him when he agreed.

It didn’t take that long for Matt and Nick to show up and take a seat at the table, and though they looked as if the horse had given them more trouble, their frowns quickly turned upside down when they heard Jamie was making cheeseburgers. “I’m starting to like you more and more by the minute,” Matt told the smiling woman. “Thank god, I wouldn’t want you to spend dinner while thinking of me as bad company,” she replied. “Like I already told you, miss,” Jamie said as he set plates of cheeseburgers and chips on the table, “You could never be a bother.”

Conversation was made considerably easy given the fact that she was talking to staff she had only just met, but she was glad they felt comfortable enough to let their guard down around her. “So, what do you do, if I may ask, miss?” Jamie asked. “Enough with the ‘miss’, Jamie. You can call me by my name,” she answered, “and I’m a writer. At least, I try to be.” Nick, who was chowing down a burger, looked up in interest. “Really? Written anything I know?” Matt smacked him across the head. “Speak with your mouth empty, you’re talking to a lady here.”

She laughed, “That’s quite alright. I really haven’t published anything yet except for the article here and there, but I think I’ve recently stumbled across an idea for a book.” “That’s great!” Matt commented, “What’s it gunna be about?”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “I was hoping to write about the hotel, actually.”

They all froze in the spot. She’d expected this response when she’d formed the plan to invite them to dinner and was about to elaborate when she realized it wasn’t just what she’d said that was the cause for their sudden discomfort.

“What’s going on in here? Having a tea party, I see?” A deep voice grumbled from behind her.

Turning around, she was faced with the sharp features of none other than Alexander Turner.

When she had read about him in the papers, she’d always imagined a much older man who was going to retire soon now that his hotel was bankrupt, trying to save his last bit of pocket money. The person in front of her, was the complete opposite of what she’d expected. A young, lean man dressed in an expensive-looking blue three-piece suit was staring at her with striking chocolate brown eyes. His hair was slicked back and his face clean shaven, defining his jawline and cheekbones in an impeccable way. He was an intimidating figure to say the least, and it seemed as though everyone at the table, save for Matt, had shrunken into themselves a bit.

“Miss asked us to join her for dinner,” Matt responded coldly, his hard gaze unwavering. She had to admit that she admired his boldness in this moment. This was not the same Matt who had given her a ride and had been dining with her just now.

“Ah, of course,” mister Turner replied smoothly, “allow me to introduce myself, my name is Alex Turner. I’m the owner of this establishment.” His hand took hers. “It’s nice to finally meet you, miss.” And he kissed it courteously, making her skin tingle. “And you can call me Alexander.” His eyes shot up to lock with hers and she was completely entranced.

“Nice to meet you as well, Alexander,” she managed to reply, as he slowly dropped her hand. “I was just asking your staff more about the hotel. I’m rather interested in writing a piece about it.”

“Ah, a writer then,” he said as his sharp gaze flickered over said staff. “I hope they haven’t told you too much about the hotel. Wouldn’t want to share our best kept secrets, now would we?” The underline of his tone was threatening, and she was almost worried she’d gotten the guys into trouble, when Matt spoke up, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, mister Turner. I’m sure those secrets will unravel themselves when the time comes.”

The silence that followed could’ve been cut with a knife as Alex’ eyes turned cold. “I’d like to have a word with you when you’re done, Matthew.” It was all he said before storming out.

Matt sighed. “I’ll best be going, then.” And quickly followed after him.

“What was that about?” she questioned. Nick shook his head, “They’re always this dramatic.”

In the small office behind the entrance desk, Matt leaned against the doorpost as Alex filed through some paperwork. “I don’t tolerate backtalk in front of our guests, Matthew. You know this,” he said, not bothering to look up from the unorganized mess of files.

“She’s our only guest, Alex. You should take it easy for a little while. You know, come and stay with us.”

Alex rolled his eyes at the remark.

“But really though, what did you think of her?” Matt continued.

Alex looked at him and Matt saw a familiar twinkle in his eyes, one he hadn’t seen for a long time. “She looks like fun,” he simply responded.

[thechicchicsagency]

Can Anna Wintour Survive the Social Justice Movement? A reckoning has come to Bon Appétit and the other magazines of Condé Nast. Can a culture built on elitism and exclusion possibly change?On Monday, as swiftly as a 9-iron taken to a tee at Augusta, Adam Rapoport resigned as the editor in chief of Bon Appétit magazine after a damning Halloween photo circulated on social media that morning. Drawn from the vast insensitivity archives to which so many influential people have made inadvertent submissions, the picture, from 2004, shows him costumed in a tank top and thick chain necklace as his wife’s “papi,’’ the term she attached to it in an Instagram post several years later.As it happened, Mr. Rapoport had been facing mounting grievance from his staff about the magazine’s demeaning treatment of employees and freelancers of color and the dubious ways in which its popular video division presented culturally appropriated cooking. But these apparently were insufficient grounds for forcing him out.Over and over, power structures seem to require that accusations of racial bias are documented by photographic evidence — proof to override a reflexive or simply inconvenient skepticism. Police officers abused their authority for decades without consequence. It was not until a growing body of video footage revealed all the brutality, and the systemic prejudice at the heart of it, that the world began to express the outrage there to be mined all along — justice by iPhone.In that sense, Mr. Rapoport’s ouster at the hands of a camera was entirely fitting. Bon Appétit belongs to Condé Nast, a media empire perhaps unrivaled by any institution on earth in its supplication to image. For decades, both at the level of corporate culture and branded worldview, the company’s lifestyle magazines have held to the notion that there are “right’’ people and wrong people, a determination made by birthright. 

There are the rich, and there are the dismissible; the great looking, and the condemned — a paradigm that has now become dangerously untenable, and one the company has been striving to change.Within the Condé Nast framework, autocratic bosses were left to do whatever they pleased — subjugating underlings to hazing rituals with no seeming end point. So much was excusable in the name of beauty and profit. “Difficulty,” Kim France, a former editor in chief of Lucky magazine, told me, “was regarded as brilliance.

”No one at Condé Nast has had more of an outsize reputation for imperiousness wed to native talent than Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue, the artistic director of the company and more recently its “global content adviser’’ as well. Mr. Rapoport, who spent 20 years at the company and turned around an ailing product in Bon Appétit, reported to her.What sort of management cues were to be taken? Famous for a self-regarding style — she might demand that subordinates arrive 30 minutes early for certain meetings she attended — Ms. Wintour was obviously not in the best position to try to convince him, for instance, that he should not ask his assistant (black and Stanford-educated) to clean his golf clubs. (That was one of the many revealing details in a Business Insider exposé of the food magazine that arrived this week.)Race is a fraught subject at Condé Nast. Several employees of color I spoke with, all of them laid off over the past few years, talked about the challenges they faced. They struggled to be heard or get the resources they needed to do their jobs at the highest levels; they faced ignorance and lazy stereotyping from white bosses when the subject of covering black culture came up; they all said they were exhausted by always having to explain it all.

Even though they were no longer at Condé Nast, not one of them felt free to speak on the record out of fear of retaliation from the company or the concern that they would be looked at as complainers, making it much harder to find work.Editors’ PicksHotels Transformed New York’s Social Life. Now What?Solving the Mystery of What Became of J.F.K.’s Other Patrol BoatOne former staff member who is black could not fail to see the irony in being made to go to unconscious bias training — which became mandatory at the company early last year — only then to lose a big chunk of his portfolio shortly thereafter. “I felt so devalued,’’ he said, “after working so hard.’’Unconscious bias training is supposed to alert you to your blind spots in your perception of people and ideas. But at the level of corporate and creative governance, the programming at Condé Nast has not been seamlessly woven into the company’s broader philosophy. Last month, during a round of layoffs, in which 100 people were let go amid the economic calamities of Covid-19, the company dismissed three Asian-American editors, all of whom covered culture at different publications.Among the top 10 editorial leaders listed on Vogue’s masthead, all are white. According to a spokesman for Condé Nast, across divisions on Vogue’s editorial side, people of color make up 14 percent of senior managers. On June 5, amid global protests spurred by the death of George Floyd, Ms. Wintour sent a note to her staff, acknowledging that “it can’t be easy to be a Black employee at Vogue,’’ and that the magazine had “not found enough ways to elevate and give space to Black editors, writers, photographers, designers and other creators.”Although Vogue has made a greater effort to feature black women on its covers in recent years — Rihanna, Serena Williams, Lupita Nyong’o — the gate swings open far more easily for those who are not. And in this particular area, too, legacy weighs heavily. When LeBron James made history as the first black man to grace the cover in 2008, he shared the space with a white supermodel, Gisele Bündchen, who appeared as a damsel in his clutches, an unmistakable reference to King Kong.

A spokesman at Condé Nast admitted that much progress needs to be made in regard to diversity at the company, but he defended Ms. Wintour’s record, pointing out that she has passionately supported various designers of color throughout her career, helping to raise money for them through her work with the Council of Fashion Designers of America. She also installed two black editors to lead Teen Vogue, genuinely radical in its content, one following the other (Elaine Welteroth and then Lindsay Peoples Wagner).At the same time, Ms. Wintour has presided over Vogue for 32 years, and during that period she has done more to enshrine the values of bloodline, pedigree and privilege than anyone in American media. A brief and very inconclusive list of Ms. Wintour’s assistants in the 21st century includes the Yale-educated daughter of a prominent Miami dance director, the Dartmouth-educated descendant of a major bank president, the Princeton-educated daughter of an Oscar-winning screenwriter and so on. For so long it was central to the Condé Nast ethos that you had to be thin, gorgeous and impeccably credentialed to retrieve someone else’s espresso macchiato.

Even now, as the publishing industry continues to implode and wonderful writers who could really use the work (or at least the prestigious affiliation) abound, Vogue continues to list among its contributing editors people like the German heiress Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis and many others among the well born. Five years ago, Ms. Thurn und Taxis posted a picture on Instagram of a homeless woman reading Vogue, seated on the sidewalk, with the words, “Paris is full of surprises.” Vogue quickly issued a statement, calling the gesture distasteful, and then proceeded to run her byline on its website at least 10 more timesLast year, Grace Coddington, another contributor, who had held enormous influence over what was shot for Vogue and how, in her many years as the magazine’s creative director, was photographed with her collection of “mammy’’ jars, racist ceramics depicting African-American women as servile maids.

Ms. Wintour clearly believes that she can break from the past and kill off any vestiges of a system steeped in the benighted values for which she has become the corporate avatar. The public apology from Bon Appétit was quite startling in its admission of failure, particularly its concession that the magazine “continued to tokenize” the people of color that it did hire.As part of her contribution to this new wave of progressivism, Ms. Wintour wrote a piece for Vogue.com a week after the death of George Floyd, aligning herself with Black Lives Matter and calling on Joe Biden to select a woman of color as his running mate.For someone who had seemed so averse to activism as the world has roiled from inequality for years, it felt like a desperate grasp for relevance. A spokesman for the company bristled at the suggestion, arguing that it is Condé Nast’s job “to cover what’s going on in the culture in the moment.”As it happens, André Leon Talley, who recently wrote a memoir about his complicated relationship with Ms. Wintour, as a black man and longtime former editor at Vogue, also has a lot to say about the current moment. This week in a radio interview with Sandra Bernhard, he offered his opinion about his ex-boss’s professed transformation.“I wanna say one thing, Dame Anna Wintour is a colonial broad; she’s a colonial dame,” he told Ms. Bernhard. “I do not think she will ever let anything get in the way of her white privilege.”

[truemedian]

Can Anna Wintour Survive the Social Justice Movement?

big city A reckoning has come to Bon Appétit and the other magazines of Condé Nast. Can a culture built on elitism and exclusion possibly change?

Anna Wintour at the Coach show last spring.Credit...Vincent Tullo for The New York Times

June 11, 2020 On Monday, as swiftly as a 9-iron taken to a tee at Augusta, Adam Rapoport resigned as the editor in chief of Bon Appétit magazine after a damning Halloween photo circulated on social media that morning. Drawn from the vast insensitivity archives to which so many influential people have made inadvertent submissions, the picture, from 2004, shows him costumed in a tank top and thick chain necklace as his wife’s “papi,’’ the term she attached to it in an Instagram post several years later. As it happened, Mr. Rapoport had been facing mounting grievance from his staff about the magazine’s demeaning treatment of employees and freelancers of color and the dubious ways in which its popular video division presented culturally appropriated cooking. But these apparently were insufficient grounds for forcing him out. Over and over, power structures seem to require that accusations of racial bias are documented by photographic evidence — proof to override a reflexive or simply inconvenient skepticism. Police officers abused their authority for decades without consequence. It was not until a growing body of video footage revealed all the brutality, and the systemic prejudice at the heart of it, that the world began to express the outrage there to be mined all along — justice by iPhone. In that sense, Mr. Rapoport’s ouster at the hands of a camera was entirely fitting. Bon Appétit belongs to Condé Nast, a media empire perhaps unrivaled by any institution on earth in its supplication to image. For decades, both at the level of corporate culture and branded worldview, the company’s lifestyle magazines have held to the notion that there are “right’’ people and wrong people, a determination made by birthright. There are the rich, and there are the dismissible; the great looking, and the condemned — a paradigm that has now become dangerously untenable, and one the company has been striving to change. Within the Condé Nast framework, autocratic bosses were left to do whatever they pleased — subjugating underlings to hazing rituals with no seeming end point. So much was excusable in the name of beauty and profit. “Difficulty,” Kim France, a former editor in chief of Lucky magazine, told me, “was regarded as brilliance.” No one at Condé Nast has had more of an outsize reputation for imperiousness wed to native talent than Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue, the artistic director of the company and more recently its “global content adviser’’ as well. Mr. Rapoport, who spent 20 years at the company and turned around an ailing product in Bon Appétit, reported to her. What sort of management cues were to be taken? Famous for a self-regarding style — she might demand that subordinates arrive 30 minutes early for certain meetings she attended — Ms. Wintour was obviously not in the best position to try to convince him, for instance, that he should not ask his assistant (black and Stanford-educated) to clean his golf clubs. (That was one of the many revealing details in a Business Insider exposé of the food magazine that arrived this week.) Race is a fraught subject at Condé Nast. Several employees of color I spoke with, all of them laid off over the past few years, talked about the challenges they faced. They struggled to be heard or get the resources they needed to do their jobs at the highest levels; they faced ignorance and lazy stereotyping from white bosses when the subject of covering black culture came up; they all said they were exhausted by always having to explain it all. Even though they were no longer at Condé Nast, not one of them felt free to speak on the record out of fear of retaliation from the company or the concern that they would be looked at as complainers, making it much harder to find work. One former staff member who is black could not fail to see the irony in being made to go to unconscious bias training — which became mandatory at the company early last year — only then to lose a big chunk of his portfolio shortly thereafter. “I felt so devalued,’’ he said, “after working so hard.’’ Unconscious bias training is supposed to alert you to your blind spots in your perception of people and ideas. But at the level of corporate and creative governance, the programming at Condé Nast has not been seamlessly woven into the company’s broader philosophy. Last month, during a round of layoffs, in which 100 people were let go amid the economic calamities of Covid-19, the company dismissed three Asian-American editors, all of whom covered culture at different publications. Among the top 10 editorial leaders listed on Vogue’s masthead, all are white. According to a spokesman for Condé Nast, across divisions on Vogue’s editorial side, people of color make up 14 percent of senior managers. On June 5, amid global protests spurred by the death of George Floyd, Ms. Wintour sent a note to her staff, acknowledging that “it can’t be easy to be a Black employee at Vogue,’’ and that the magazine had “not found enough ways to elevate and give space to Black editors, writers, photographers, designers and other creators.” Although Vogue has made a greater effort to feature black women on its covers in recent years — Rihanna, Serena Williams, Lupita Nyong’o — the gate swings open far more easily for those who are not. And in this particular area, too, legacy weighs heavily. When LeBron James made history as the first black man to grace the cover in 2008, he shared the space with a white supermodel, Gisele Bündchen, who appeared as a damsel in his clutches, an unmistakable reference to King Kong. A spokesman at Condé Nast admitted that much progress needs to be made in regard to diversity at the company, but he defended Ms. Wintour’s record, pointing out that she has passionately supported various designers of color throughout her career, helping to raise money for them through her work with the Council of Fashion Designers of America. She also installed two black editors to lead Teen Vogue, genuinely radical in its content, one following the other (Elaine Welteroth and then Lindsay Peoples Wagner). At the same time, Ms. Wintour has presided over Vogue for 32 years, and during that period she has done more to enshrine the values of bloodline, pedigree and privilege than anyone in American media. A brief and very inconclusive list of Ms. Wintour’s assistants in the 21st century includes the Yale-educated daughter of a prominent Miami dance director, the Dartmouth-educated descendant of a major bank president, the Princeton-educated daughter of an Oscar-winning screenwriter and so on. For so long it was central to the Condé Nast ethos that you had to be thin, gorgeous and impeccably credentialed to retrieve someone else’s espresso macchiato. Even now, as the publishing industry continues to implode and wonderful writers who could really use the work (or at least the prestigious affiliation) abound, Vogue continues to list among its contributing editors people like the German heiress Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis and many others among the well born. Five years ago, Ms. Thurn und Taxis posted a picture on Instagram of a homeless woman reading Vogue, seated on the sidewalk, with the words, “Paris is full of surprises.” Vogue quickly issued a statement, calling the gesture distasteful, and then proceeded to run her byline on its website at least 10 more times Last year, Grace Coddington, another contributor, who had held enormous influence over what was shot for Vogue and how, in her many years as the magazine’s creative director, was photographed with her collection of “mammy’’ jars, racist ceramics depicting African-American women as servile maids. Ms. Wintour clearly believes that she can break from the past and kill off any vestiges of a system steeped in the benighted values for which she has become the corporate avatar. The public apology from Bon Appétit was quite startling in its admission of failure, particularly its concession that the magazine “continued to tokenize” the people of color that it did hire. As part of her contribution to this new wave of progressivism, Ms. Wintour wrote a piece for Vogue.com a week after the death of George Floyd, aligning herself with Black Lives Matter and calling on Joe Biden to select an African-American woman as his running mate. For someone who had seemed so averse to activism as the world has roiled from inequality for years, it felt like a desperate grasp for relevance. A spokesman for the company bristled at the suggestion, arguing that it is Condé Nast’s job “to cover what’s going on in the culture in the moment.” As it happens, André Leon Talley, who recently wrote a memoir about his complicated relationship with Ms. Wintour, as a black man and longtime former editor at Vogue, also has a lot to say about the current moment. This week in a radio interview with Sandra Bernhard, he offered his opinion about his ex-boss’s professed transformation. “I wanna say one thing, Dame Anna Wintour is a colonial broad; she’s a colonial dame,” he told Ms. Bernhard. “I do not think she will ever let anything get in the way of her white privilege.” Read More Read the full article