#john richard cocktail table

[teamodiyemeyenkiz]

Formal in New Orleans Idea for a large, traditional, formal living room with a medium-tone wood floor and brown walls that is devoid of a television. It also has a stone fireplace and green accent walls.

[forever-lunasea]

Traditional Living Room - Formal Idea for a large, traditional, formal living room with a medium-tone wood floor and brown walls that is devoid of a television. It also has a stone fireplace and green accent walls.

[furniturebyabd-blog]

Pulling from the Art Deco movement that began in Paris in the 1920’s and grew throughout the 1930’s, the Paragon Collection by Century embodies the aesthetics of this era with glamour, function and modernity. Symmetrical and linear forms are carved from mahogany and feature Mozambique veneers as well as metal accents.

https://furniturebyabd.com/moes

[kammartinez]

By Alex Vadukul

As the tang of Canadian wildfire smoke wafted through Midtown Manhattan on Wednesday evening, hundreds of writers, editors and book industry veterans crowded into Cipriani’s cavernous ballroom on East 42nd Street to attend the centenary celebration of W.W. Norton & Company, the oldest and largest independently owned publishing house in the country.

Authors hung out by the bar sipping the evening’s signature cocktail, the Norton Cranthology, a mojito named after “The Norton Anthology of English Literature,” the doorstop compendium that has been a part of college curriculums since the 1960s.

The company’s sea gull colophon was projected onto walls. Tables were decorated with piles of classic Norton titles like “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan and “The Perfect Storm” by Sebastian Junger. Tote bags handed out to attendees came with a plushie of a baby gull named Norty.

To those in attendance, 100 years of Norton meant something, because there’s no other publishing house quite like it.

The memoirist Saïd Sayrafiezadeh with a copy of “The Measure of Manhattan,” a biography of the surveyor John Randel Jr. published by Norton. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Norton’s sea gull logo. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Co-founded in 1923 by William Warder Norton, the company began as a press for science and philosophy books. As it grew, it established itself with its canon-making anthologies, the novel “A Clockwork Orange” by Anthony Burgess and “Thirteen Days: A Memoir of the Cuban Missile Crisis” by Robert F. Kennedy.

Shortly after Mr. Norton’s death in 1945, his wife, Mary Dows Herter Norton, who was known as Polly and ran the company with him, entrusted it to its employees, creating the ethos of independence that defines Norton to this day.

While other legacy American houses have been swallowed up by European companies and corporate consolidation, Norton has occupied an increasingly defiant space in the industry as the only major publisher owned by its employees. The centenary bash at Cipriani was a celebration of the company’s refusal to capitulate.

To drive the message home, Norton asked five of its star authors to give speeches, and each was introduced onto the stage by the firm’s president, Julia Reidhead. First up was Michael Lewis, who has been a Norton author since the publication of his first book, “Liar’s Poker,” in 1989.

“Thirty-five years ago, I had the preposterous idea to write a book,” Mr. Lewis told the crowd. “I’d never set foot in a publishing house. I visited seven, eight, nine of these places. One of them was very much not like the others.”

The Norton offices, he added, resembled “your grandmother’s attic — after she died.”

The poet, essayist and fiction writer Rita Dove. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

He ended by praising the company for deciding not to go along with industry trends, saying: “I’m grateful for your ability to resist temptation. Everybody else has been led down various paths and you have not.”

In her speech, Joy Harjo, the United States poet laureate from 2019 to 2022, recalled receiving a rejection letter from Norton in the 1980s, before eventually forming a partnership with the company that has lasted 30 years.

Neil Gaiman commended Norton as a stable haven for its authors, before describing the overall publishing industry as a once “healthy ecosystem” that had been consumed by “vast crepuscular creatures, somewhere between jellyfish and giant squid.” Rita Dove read a poem from her 1999 collection, “On the Bus With Rosa Parks.” And Richard Powers described his arrival to Norton as a third marriage that finally worked out.

Mr. Powers, who lives in the Great Smoky Mountains region of Tennessee, had flown to New York for the party. “They’re able to engage with books without looking over their shoulder and thinking, What’s corporate going to think?” he said in an offstage interview as guests nearby feasted on lobster salad and fusilli served with eggplant and mozzarella. “As a self-owned entity, Norton is essentially good old-fashioned 19th-century socialism.”

“When I told my editor I had a 560-page novel about trees, he didn’t bat an eye,” he added, referring to his Pulitzer Prize-winning work, “The Overstory.”

Norton’s offerings include books by Richard Powers, Neil Gaiman, Joy Harjo and Michael Lewis. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Richard Powers said that Norton is different from other publishers. “They’re able to engage with books without looking over their shoulder and thinking, What’s corporate going to think?” he said. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Tote bags handed out to attendees came with a plush baby sea gull named Norty. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Amid the swinging jazz sounds of Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks, Lake Micah, an editor who works for Harper’s Magazine and The Drift, nursed a whiskey sour.

“Now everyone’s about the bottom line, but Norton has persisted in spite of that,” he said. “And that’s because of the great faculty of worker-owned labor power, which is something that emanates from the left.”

He expressed some skepticism about the big bash.

“I mean, we’re here at Cipriani, so you can only imagine how much this all cost,” Mr. Micah said. “They’re still a business. They’re arguably doing the bare minimum in terms of what’s right, because all workers should deserve what’s fair.”

As the night drew to a close and publishing people mobbed the open bar for one last round, Alexia Norton Jones sat on a couch taking in the scene. Her presence represented a living link to the company’s heritage: She is a granddaughter of its founders.

Alexia Norton Jones is a granddaughter of the company’s founders. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

“Some people here don’t even know who I am, but I don’t mind,” she said. “When Grandma Polly died, she didn’t want a dynasty. She didn’t want the company to have a nepotistic aspect. I’m a granddaughter of Norton, but they’re also all Norton.”

Ms. Norton Jones took a pen and drew a sea gull on a cocktail napkin, explaining that the logo was based on the pair of W’s in her grandfather’s signature. She also recalled visiting her grandmother at the Gramercy Park Hotel, where she’d watch her write in her diaries with green ink.

An early Norton president, George P. Brockway, once said that the house“has never been for sale and is not likely to be.” When asked whether that was still the case decades later, Ms. Norton Jones didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“I don’t believe it will ever be for sale,” she said. “That would be the antithesis of everything Norton stands for.”

[kamreadsandrecs]

By Alex Vadukul

As the tang of Canadian wildfire smoke wafted through Midtown Manhattan on Wednesday evening, hundreds of writers, editors and book industry veterans crowded into Cipriani’s cavernous ballroom on East 42nd Street to attend the centenary celebration of W.W. Norton & Company, the oldest and largest independently owned publishing house in the country.

Authors hung out by the bar sipping the evening’s signature cocktail, the Norton Cranthology, a mojito named after “The Norton Anthology of English Literature,” the doorstop compendium that has been a part of college curriculums since the 1960s.

The company’s sea gull colophon was projected onto walls. Tables were decorated with piles of classic Norton titles like “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan and “The Perfect Storm” by Sebastian Junger. Tote bags handed out to attendees came with a plushie of a baby gull named Norty.

To those in attendance, 100 years of Norton meant something, because there’s no other publishing house quite like it.

The memoirist Saïd Sayrafiezadeh with a copy of “The Measure of Manhattan,” a biography of the surveyor John Randel Jr. published by Norton. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Norton’s sea gull logo. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Co-founded in 1923 by William Warder Norton, the company began as a press for science and philosophy books. As it grew, it established itself with its canon-making anthologies, the novel “A Clockwork Orange” by Anthony Burgess and “Thirteen Days: A Memoir of the Cuban Missile Crisis” by Robert F. Kennedy.

Shortly after Mr. Norton’s death in 1945, his wife, Mary Dows Herter Norton, who was known as Polly and ran the company with him, entrusted it to its employees, creating the ethos of independence that defines Norton to this day.

While other legacy American houses have been swallowed up by European companies and corporate consolidation, Norton has occupied an increasingly defiant space in the industry as the only major publisher owned by its employees. The centenary bash at Cipriani was a celebration of the company’s refusal to capitulate.

To drive the message home, Norton asked five of its star authors to give speeches, and each was introduced onto the stage by the firm’s president, Julia Reidhead. First up was Michael Lewis, who has been a Norton author since the publication of his first book, “Liar’s Poker,” in 1989.

“Thirty-five years ago, I had the preposterous idea to write a book,” Mr. Lewis told the crowd. “I’d never set foot in a publishing house. I visited seven, eight, nine of these places. One of them was very much not like the others.”

The Norton offices, he added, resembled “your grandmother’s attic — after she died.”

The poet, essayist and fiction writer Rita Dove. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

He ended by praising the company for deciding not to go along with industry trends, saying: “I’m grateful for your ability to resist temptation. Everybody else has been led down various paths and you have not.”

In her speech, Joy Harjo, the United States poet laureate from 2019 to 2022, recalled receiving a rejection letter from Norton in the 1980s, before eventually forming a partnership with the company that has lasted 30 years.

Neil Gaiman commended Norton as a stable haven for its authors, before describing the overall publishing industry as a once “healthy ecosystem” that had been consumed by “vast crepuscular creatures, somewhere between jellyfish and giant squid.” Rita Dove read a poem from her 1999 collection, “On the Bus With Rosa Parks.” And Richard Powers described his arrival to Norton as a third marriage that finally worked out.

Mr. Powers, who lives in the Great Smoky Mountains region of Tennessee, had flown to New York for the party. “They’re able to engage with books without looking over their shoulder and thinking, What’s corporate going to think?” he said in an offstage interview as guests nearby feasted on lobster salad and fusilli served with eggplant and mozzarella. “As a self-owned entity, Norton is essentially good old-fashioned 19th-century socialism.”

“When I told my editor I had a 560-page novel about trees, he didn’t bat an eye,” he added, referring to his Pulitzer Prize-winning work, “The Overstory.”

Norton’s offerings include books by Richard Powers, Neil Gaiman, Joy Harjo and Michael Lewis. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Richard Powers said that Norton is different from other publishers. “They’re able to engage with books without looking over their shoulder and thinking, What’s corporate going to think?” he said. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Tote bags handed out to attendees came with a plush baby sea gull named Norty. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

Amid the swinging jazz sounds of Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks, Lake Micah, an editor who works for Harper’s Magazine and The Drift, nursed a whiskey sour.

“Now everyone’s about the bottom line, but Norton has persisted in spite of that,” he said. “And that’s because of the great faculty of worker-owned labor power, which is something that emanates from the left.”

He expressed some skepticism about the big bash.

“I mean, we’re here at Cipriani, so you can only imagine how much this all cost,” Mr. Micah said. “They’re still a business. They’re arguably doing the bare minimum in terms of what’s right, because all workers should deserve what’s fair.”

As the night drew to a close and publishing people mobbed the open bar for one last round, Alexia Norton Jones sat on a couch taking in the scene. Her presence represented a living link to the company’s heritage: She is a granddaughter of its founders.

Alexia Norton Jones is a granddaughter of the company’s founders. Credit...Jutharat Pinyodoonyachet for The New York Times

“Some people here don’t even know who I am, but I don’t mind,” she said. “When Grandma Polly died, she didn’t want a dynasty. She didn’t want the company to have a nepotistic aspect. I’m a granddaughter of Norton, but they’re also all Norton.”

Ms. Norton Jones took a pen and drew a sea gull on a cocktail napkin, explaining that the logo was based on the pair of W’s in her grandfather’s signature. She also recalled visiting her grandmother at the Gramercy Park Hotel, where she’d watch her write in her diaries with green ink.

An early Norton president, George P. Brockway, once said that the house“has never been for sale and is not likely to be.” When asked whether that was still the case decades later, Ms. Norton Jones didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“I don’t believe it will ever be for sale,” she said. “That would be the antithesis of everything Norton stands for.”

[thescullyphile]

Hi, I have a prompt for you: M&S at a party organized by the gunmen with 80s music and a lot of alcohol. Just two 'drunk in love' fools, enjoying themselves for once (and making out a lot). Have a good day ;)

A/N: This is my first ever prompt, so this made my day! I tried to be faithful to the prompt, but there are a fewww discrepancies, mostly because I know nothing about alcohol OR kissing. Nevertheless, I tried my best to deliver and I hope you enjoy. :D

Invitation

“Miss Dana Katherine Scully,

It would be our great honor to invite you to ‘A Night After His Own Heart’ to celebrate the publication of the 100th issue of The Lone Gunman and to memorialize our late President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Dinner and drinks will be provided, please dress according to semi formal guidelines.

Sincerely,

Messrs. John Fitzgerald Byers, Melvin Frohike, and Richard ‘Ringo’ Langly”

Assuming that Mulder was also attending, Scully put her RSVP in the mail without a second thought.

—

Two weeks later, Mulder knocked on Scully’s door in a suit and it felt so much like a date that she blushed. Thankfully, he shattered the illusion by holding up his tie and asking if she knew how to make a Trinity knot (she did).

They went from being perfectly on time to being fashionably late after the ‘Trinity knot trial,’ as Mulder wanted to call it, as if having Scully so close he could smell her perfume wasn’t an event he wanted to replicate. Frohike whistled when he opened the door (password: Lee Harvey Oswald). “Ms. Scully, looking especially divine tonight,” he grumbled, welcoming her with a sweep of his hand. “Oh, hey Mulder.”

The Lone Gunmen’s den was miraculously clean, computer screens flickering with projected candles, a detail Langly was proud of. A cluster of desks had been cleared out in favor of a large wooden table, and Frohike pulled out Scully’s chair with a flourish. A heavenly scent emanated from the back, where she assumed Byers and Langly were, and where Frohike blustered to after she was seated. She was left alone with Mulder, and he looked at her in the faux-candlelight and seemed almost shy. “I don’t know if...” he trailed off and gathered his courage. “I like your dress, Scully, you look beautiful.”

Scully couldn’t quite bite back a smile as she looked down like she was seeing herself for the first time. Her dress was pretty, elegant and off the shoulder in a deep maroon she knew was flattering. “Well, I had to get Frohike a gift, didn’t I?”

Mulder traced her throat with his eyes, and she wondered if he could see the wavering of her pulse point against her skin. “Do I get a gift too?” He asked softly.

Scully looked him in the eyes and opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by Langly entering with the singular largest chocolate cake she had ever seen. “My God.”

“Dinner is served.” Mulder said with entirely too much glee. Scully looked aghast, and he cracked a grin. “Don’t worry, you eat it, not the other way around.”

Scully was torn between a laugh and a grimace, and only settled on a laugh when Byers and Frohike approached with actual food. Mulder’s foot hooked under her chair, distracting her long enough that she didn’t notice three shot glasses being placed in front of her until it was too late. The table was set and alcohol served in what felt like microseconds, and upon seeing her quizzical look, Mulder leaned in to explain. He really didn’t need to be that close. Scully liked it. “In honor of JFK,” he whispered like it was a secret. “Sixty three shots proved a little ambitious, so we just settled on three.” He sounded amused, and with his breath brushing her ear, Scully already felt a little drunk.

Ever prudent, Byers served up lamb chops and mashed potatoes (a favorite of the late President) and they all ate before downing the shots. Mulder’s face wrinkled predictably, not one for hard liquor, and all the Lone Gunman covered up coughs as the alcohol burned through their chests. Then, suitably inebriated, Langly did the honors of carving up the cake. A piece the size of Mulder’s palm (when did that become her unit of measurement?) found its way to Scully’s plate, and she nibbled at it dutifully as Mulder inhaled cake like his life depended on it. She pushed her plate over to him when he finished his slice and he set at it with equal vigor. “I’m impressed, Mulder, you’d make a feral cat proud.” He almost choked on his cake from the unexpected onset of his laugh.

—

The better half of a bottle of vodka later, the giggling of the Gunmen over an apparently funny issue of their self-titled publication, and an odd 80s song playing in the background that Scully couldn’t tell was offensive or not proved the perfect cocktail for Mulder to work up his nerve. He cast a conspiratorial look at Scully, microexpressions turning macro as he leaned in close. “Do you want to dance?”

Both of them were pretending to be more drunk than they were, any excuse to bump into each other was suitable. Mulder pulled her close, fingers interlacing on the small of her back, his spot, while his chin rested on her hair. “Is it just me, or are you shorter than usual?”

Scully huffed and leaned her head against his chest. “My shoes are under the table.”

He hummed thoughtfully and kept them swaying, her stockinged feet slid on the tiled floor as Mulder led them in circles.

Emboldened, Scully looked at Mulder and  leaned up so she could whisper in his ear. “I know this is the boy’s party, but I do have a gift for you.”

Mulder’s heart rate rose. “Oh? And what would that be, Dana Katherine?” he murmured. She shivered at his use of her name and pressed a kiss to his lips. He tasted like chocolate cake and he smiled against her mouth, which would have been endearing if she hadn’t wanted to eat him alive. They broke apart minutes later, breathless and flushed, and Mulder held her close to his body. “I’m never going to let you go.”

[truecrimesstuff]

The Columbine High School Massacre:

Columbine High School is a public school situated in Columbine, Colorado, United States. It was the place where one of the deadliest mass shootings of 20th century United States history occurred.

Columbine High School in Littleton, Columbine.

The day was April 20, 1999, and was a normal Tuesday for the students and faculty of Columbine High, who had absolutely no idea the nightmarish things that the day had in store. Referred to mostly as the Columbine High School Massacre, it unfolded as two 17 year olds namely Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris attempted to detonate a bomb and went on a shooting spree that resulted in 13 deaths and 20 others severely injured.

Eric Harris, one of the perpetrators.

According to reports, Harris and Klebold became friends during seventh grade and were considered inseparable as seniors. Though there were speculations that they conducted this massacre as they were subjected to bullying and remained isolated most of the time, these claims were later said to be untrue by many of their classmates and Dylan's mother herself who claimed that Dylan had a small circle of friends of which Eric was only one. Klebold and Harris had started planning for the massacre from a year prior and had acquired two 9mm firearms and a further two 12 gauge shotguns. In addition to the firearms, the two teens had also constructed improvised explosives with the help of the internet and an infamous book named "The Anarchist Cookbook." Together they constructed a total of 99 bombs including Pipe bombs, Molotov Cocktails, Crickets, Propane tanks converted into bombs, and many others. Harris and Klebold's actual motive isn't properly known but they planned and hoped the massacre would cause the most number of deaths in U.S. history, which then meant exceeding the death toll of the Oklahoma City bombing.

Dylan Klebold, another perpetrator.

On that infamous day, Eric and Dylan arrived at school in different cars at a little past 11:00 A.M. They then parked their respective cars in separate locations. They had already planted bombs at a distance from school which they thought would act as distractions, they had further improvised their cars into explosives and had also planted bombs in the cafeteria. These homemade bombs had the potential to kill and injure everyone who was near. But except for one bomb which was planted as a distraction at a distance from the school, all the other bombs failed to detonate. When the bombs failed, Harris and Klebold who had armed themselves with firearms hiding under the black trench coats that they had worn to school that day, prepared themselves for their ultimate act.

The ones first to be tragically targeted by the perpetrators were two 17-year-old students named Rachel Scott and Richard Castaldo, sitting at the west entrance to the school and eating lunch. Dylan Klebold who was approaching them threw a pipe bomb at the parking lot which only partially detonated giving out smoke making onlookers believe it was just a stupid prank. Without wasting much time, Harris shot Scott four times killing her instantly, while Castaldo was shot eight times in the chest, hand, and abdomen leaving him paralyzed from the chest down.

Eric then pointed his gun at three students who were standing at the stairs down West Entrance. Those three were: Daniel Rohrbough, Sean Graves, and Lance Kirklin. Harris fired at them, instantly killing Rohrbough and severely injuring Graves and Kirklin.

They then targetted five students sitting on the hillside grass at a distance from the West entrance. Of the five three escaped without any injury, while one named Mark Taylor was shot in the chest, arms, and legs and feigned death to escape while one other student named Michael Johnson was shot at his face, leg, and arm but was able to run and escape the shooters.

The two boys then walked inside the West entrance. Klebold went inside the Cafeteria but didn't shoot at any of the students who were already inside. Meantime, Harris started shooting at Anne Marie Hochhalter who was trying to flee, which severely wounded and paralyzed her. Klebold came out of the cafeteria and accompanied Harris up the stairs all the way shooting at students and throwing pipe bombs which didn't detonate properly. Several witnesses heard them say "This is what we always wanted to do. This is awesome."

At 11:22 A.M a custodian called the assigned resources officer to Colombine, Neil Gardner to assist an injury in the senior parking lot. At 11:24 as he was exiting his car, he heard another call on the school radio informing him about the shooters. At the same time, Harris who was at the West entrance turned and fired shots at Gardner who fired back. No one was injured in this firing and Neil immediately reported on his police radio regarding the ongoing shooting. The shooters then started walking through the North hallway shooting anyone and everyone they encounter. Klebold shot Stephanie Munson at the ankle but she escaped the school without any further injury.

By this time six deputies had also arrived and were trying to assist the wounded at the entrances when Harris again came back and tried firing at them. The authorities fired back at him and he retreated inside the building. No one was injured in this gun battle.

Dave Sanders, a teacher, and coach at the school along with two custodians named Joe Curtis and Jay Gallatine initially told students in the cafeteria to remain under the tables, thereby saving many lives. After some time they tried to evacuate students up the staircase into the second floor. The stairs were located in the Main South hallway where unfortunately Harris and Klebold were heading from the North Hallway. Sanders and the students encountered them face to face. They fired shots that hit Sanders twice in the neck and back but missed the students. The students ran into a science classroom while Sanders remained unconscious at that very place and later when gained some consciousness crawled into the science area where a teacher brought him into a class with 30 students. The teacher also brought in Aaron Hancey, a student with some knowledge of first aid from another classroom even when the commotion was ongoing behind them. With the help of a teacher named Teresa Miller and another fellow student Kevin Starkey, Aaron Hancey administered first aid to Sanders and was able to keep him alive for three hours.

Harris and Klebold now entered the library where 52 students along with two teachers and two librarians were hiding. Harris fired his shotgun at a desk and a student Evan Todd was hit in the eye and back by wood splinters but wasn't severely injured. They then walked towards the two rows of computers where Kyle Velasquez, a disabled student was sitting. Velasquez was shot in the head and back and died at spot. While shooting at the roof and glass panes they were saying how long they had been waiting for this and it seemed as if they were enjoying themselves and even were heard shouting things like, "Yahoo!". They were also asking the students to stand up by themselves as the library was about to explode anyway but no one did.

Klebold removed his trench coat and fired at a table nearby which injured three students named Daniel Steepelton, Patrick Ireland, and Makai Hall who were hiding under it. As Harris moved away, Ireland who was himself injured tried to assist Hall whose neck was severely wounded. While doing so, Ireland's head slightly raised above his table and Klebold shot him twice in the head but he ended up surviving. Harris instead walked down the computer rows and shot under a table, which hit a 14-year-old Steven Curnow on the neck and he later succumbed to his injury. He then fired at the adjacent table under which 17-year-old Kacey Ruegsegger was hiding. The bullet that hit her severed a major artery and went completely past her shoulder.

Harris then moved to another computer table with two students named Casey Barnall and Emily Wyant who were hiding under it. He taunted them initially and later on shot Barnall on her head, thereby killing her on the spot. At this time, Harris's gun had recoiled and hit him on his face and the students recall seeing him with blood around his nose and mouth.

Dylan Klebold too set into momentum and started going around the tables. Under one table he found 18-year-old Isaiah Shoels, 16-year-old Matthew Kechter, and 16-year-old Craig Scott who was also the brother of Rachel Scott, the first victim of the massacre. Klebold taunted Isaiah Shoels with derogatory racial remarks and was later on joined by Harris. Both the shooters fired under the table. Harris shot Isaiah Shoels in the chest and killed him while Klebold shot Matthew Kechter who was also later found dead. Scott was left uninjured in the blood of his friends and he tried to feign death.

The shooters then moved towards the east side of the library and Klebold shot at a nearby table injuring an a 17-year-old Mark Kintgen in the head and shoulder. He then turned to another table and fired shots injuring 17-year-old Lauren Townsend, Valeen Schnurr, and Lisa Kreutz. Townsend died on the spot.

The shooters moved from table to table searching for people to kill. Harris moved to a table that hid 16-year-old Nicole Nowlen and John Tomlin, he shot at them twice. It was reported that Tomlin who moved out of the table after his injury was shot repeatedly by Klebold which ultimately killed him. A 16-year-old Kelly Flaming was huddled next to a table and not directly under it due to lack of space. Harris fired from behind her and hit her on the back, killing her. He kept shooting in her direction which later injured 18-year-old Jeanna Park.

The perpetrators then moved to the central part of the library where they spread their weapons on a table. Harris didn't stop even now and fired at a table, which injured 15-year old Daniel Mauser in his ear and hand. Mauser tried to defend himself by shoving a chair at Harris who in turn fired another shot point-blank at Mauser's face killing him. They again shot some students under a table at the south side of the library severely injuring three 17 year-old students Austin Eubanks, Jennifer Doyle, and Corey DePooter. DePooter succumbed to his injuries and was declared dead. Many heard Klebold tell Harris about knifing some students but they didn't implement it.

The victims of the massacre.

Both the shooters walked out of the library at 11:36 A.M. After they had left, the injured along with the uninjured students and faculty started carefully evacuating the library through the North Entrance. Craig Scott helped Casey Ruegsegger leave the library which ultimately saved her life. Patrick Ireland who was unconscious and Lisa Kreutz who was unable to move had to be left behind.

Klebold and Harris aimlessly walked around the school firing shots in the air moving from the cafeteria to the hallways. At 12:00 P.M they re-entered the library which was now empty except for those injured. At about 12:02 P.M, they engaged in another gun battle with the police through the library windows. At 12:08 P.M both the shooters pointed the guns to their heads and took their own lives

The infamous photo of Harris and Klebold in the cafeteria 8-10 minutes before their suicide.

SWAT teams were stationed outside the school at about 12:00 P.M. At 1:00 P.M two squads moved inside the school looking from classroom to classroom for survivors and dead bodies. At 2:38 P.M a partially paralyzed Patrick Ireland crawled from under the table where he had laid unconscious and dangled out of the window with a hope to fall on the arms of the SWAT team members but instead landed painfully on the roof of a vehicle. The authorities were severely criticized for this incident. At 2:40 P.M the authorities found the room full of students in the science area along with the severely wounded Dave Sanders. By 3:00 P.M Sanders was moved to a more accessible room by the SWAT team and a paramedic was rushed in who later declared that Sanders had no pulse. Patti Nielson, an art teacher hiding in the adjacent room to the library, and Lisa Kreutz who was left bleeding in the library was later evacuated at 3:22 P.M with four others. The authorities discovered the bodies of the perpetrators in the library at 3:30 P.M. The total death count was 15 along with the perpetrators and another 24 were critically injured.

At 5:30 P.M bomb squads were called in due to the numerous explosives found around the school and they were successful in disposing of the bombs along with those the shooters had attached to their cars. On 21 April 1999 at about 10:00 A.M the bomb squad declared the school to be safe for officials to enter. On April 22, the officials discovered the bombs in the cafeteria. USA Today referred to the Columbine massacre as "planned as a grand, if badly implemented, terrorist bombing."

In the aftermath, classes at Columbine were held at the nearby Chatfield Senior High for the last three weeks of the school year. In August 1999 students returned to the school which had undergone some renovations. Many faculty and students developed PTSD and a 17-year-old student named Greg Barnes who witnessed Sanders death committed suicide in May 2000.

Later on it was found that both Harris and Klebold had kept regular journals where they had written about their plans of the massacre. Moreover, they kept tapes detailing their plans and reasons for the massacre. Since most of them were shot in the Harris's house basement, the tapes were called Basement Tapes. Examining these tapes and journal entries, many experienced personnels as well as the FBI concluded that the killers were victims of some mental illnesses. Harris was claimed to be a clinical psychopath with a messianic level superiority complex and Klebold was depressive and was also claimed to be schizotypal according to some other professionals. Harris was later given the title of the mastermind behind the attack and Klebold was seen as someone who used the massacre to end his life. Most people have varying views on this.

After the Columbine High School Massacre, many US schools enacted zero-tolerance rules regarding provoking or threatening behavior of any type. Mark Manes, the person who was later found to have sold a gun to Eric Harris along with ammunition was sentenced to 6 years in prison, along with another man named Philip Duran, who introduced him to Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. In subsequent times, the Columbine shooting influenced many other school shootings across the USA. Fear of similar events arising led to sometimes closing down of entire districts. Ralph Lurkin who examined twelve major school shootings said that in eight of those the perpetrators made direct reference to Columbine shooting along with Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.

After the attacks, the police authorities was severely criticised over the slow response and progress of the SWAT teams during the shooting and police departments reassessed their tactics and now train for Columbine-like situations after criticism.

Picture Courtesy: Pinterest.

[wild-child-charters]

OUR TOP 5 HOTELS ON THE FRENCH RIVIERA

1.    Le Negresco Nice.

The story started in 1912 when Henri Negresco the son of a Romanian innkeeper, after living in Paris and Monaco, decided to settle in Nice. He then decided to build a prestigious hotel to cater for wealthy clients. The architect he chose was none other than Edouard Niermans, one of the most celebrated architects of his time. The pink dome was also reportedly designed by Gustave Eiffel. In 1957 when Jeanne Augier took over the hotel, guests such as Dali, Princess Grace of Monaco, the Beatles, Louis Armstrong and Elton John enjoyed staying. Boasting an impressive collection of artwork and furniture spanning over 5 centuries, this iconic hotel continues to draw tourists and celebrities from all over the world. With 100 Guest rooms and 25 suites, each individually styled room offers a feast for your eyes! Talking of feasts, be sure to drop in to the hotel’s 1 Michelin starred restaurant the “Le Chantecler” to try their fabulous menu offering a tribute to regional produce. Unfortunately, when this was written, the Negresco is currently closed due to Covid 19. We look forward to them reopening soon. 

2.    Hotel du Cap Eden Roc

This grandiose hotel started out as a private mansion built in 1869 by the founder of France’s “Le Figaro” newspaper, Jean Hippolyte Auguste Delaunay de Villemessant. Originally called Villa Soleil, Jean built the mansion for writers seeking inspiration. In 1887 Antoine Sella, an Italian hotelier bought the property and in 1889 it opened its doors as the Grande Hôtel Du Cap.Some notable guests over the years include, a junior John F Kennedy, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Winston Churchill, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. 

Situated on the southern tip of Cap d’Antibes, the hotel boasts 118 guest rooms and 2 villas set amongst a wonderful tranquil setting and a perfect place to unwind with a cocktail after a long day shopping or sight-seeing! We love the Eden Roc restaurant for lunch, with its stunning views towards Cannes and the Iles de Lérins.

3.    Intercontinental Carlton Cannes

This iconic hotel in in the centre of “Boulevard Le Croisette” in Cannes, is known throughout the world for its lavish parties and super high-profile guests. Built between 1909 and 1913 for Henry Rhul, a Swiss hotelier, its reputation has grown throughout the years for being the place to be, and be seen during the Cannes film festival. The hotels rich history doesn’t just evolve around glitzy parties and A – list celebs, it was also the location for the first ever league of nations conference in 1921. At the time of writing, the hotel is going through an extensive refurbishment, and we look forward to seeing the completed work in 2023. We are certain it will be above and beyond our expectations!

4.    Hôtel Cap-Estel Ezé

The best way to catch a glimpse of this amazing hotel is from a boat! Situated on a 2-hectare peninsular between Nice and Monaco, if you love looking out to sea, then this is the place for you! Surrounded on 3 sides by water, and set-in lush greenery, this boutique hotel is the perfect place to get away from the crowds and relax in private. The main building was built in 1899 and extensively renovated in 2003 and contains 2 presidential suites, the largest with over 445 m2 of floor space not including the ample terrace! Hungry? These guys have it covered, either a light and tasty poolside lunch at the super classy “fiscus” restaurant, or something at bit more gourmet at the 1 Michelin star “La table de Patrick Raingeard” where you will experience Patrick’s homage to produce gathered from the sea and the shore (and the hotel’s own garden)

 5.    Hôtel de Paris Montecarlo 

Originally just olive and lemon trees, this space was magnificently developed by François Blanc into one of the world most luxurious hotels. Opening its doors in 1864, this hotel catered exclusively to the international elite, as it still does today. Rockefeller, Rothschild and Vanderbilt are just a few of the high-profile guest that have stayed here over the years. As well as welcoming kings, Queens and dignitaries from all over the world, the hotel has also feature in many movies including Iron Man 2, Madagascar 3 and as you would expect, 2 James bond films, Goldeneye and never say never again. Spread over 4 floors with 99 rooms and 83 suites (including a presidential suite) this hotel has options for all tastes but unfortunately not all budgets! With 3 restaurants to choose from, including Alain Ducasse’s Louis XV restaurant boasting 3 Michelin stars as well 600,000 bottle wine cellar, you certainly won’t go away hungry or thirsty! If you prefer something a bit more relaxed you can dine in the “Le Grill” on the top floor with its sliding roof or grab a drink in the American bar whilst listening to some live jazz. 

Contact us at www.wild-child-charters.com for more information on any of these hotels

[freddiesaysalright]

The Most Dramatic Season Ever - Week 1

Summary: It’s your time now! You are ABC’s new Bachelorette and this is your journey! All these men (including our fav BoRhap boys and then some) are competing for your heart! Will you find love? Will you get engaged at the end? Or will you end up heartbroken? Find out, on the most dramatic season ever!

Word Count: 6k

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @anincurablefangirl​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @moon-stars-soul​, @danadeacon​, @deacyblues​, @thesundrop​, @cupidben​, @lostlittlenerd​, @delilahmay39​, @mazzellodeaky​, @queenmylovely​, @loveandbeloved29​, @free-pool-trash​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: It’s the first week of dates! This chapter, I’ve inserted pictures and captions for the “talking head” portions of the show.

Warning(s): Mentions of drug use. Mentions of cheating.

Night 1

Week 1 here we go!!!

The guys were all settled around the living room, sipping coffee and chatting casually. There was a bit of an anxious murmur about them as a date card was coming, they just weren’t sure when. A date card meant more time with you, especially if they got a one on one date. Group dates were fun, but they meant competing for your attention. They already had to do that at cocktail parties before rose ceremonies. It wasn’t ideal for quality time with you.

Taron: I really want to see Y/N, but if it’s a group date, I’m hoping my name’s not on the card. I’m holding out that I’ll be the one on one this week. It’s just - I’ve already got a massive crush on this girl. I want to know her more and show her my heart as well. We just won’t have the time on a group date.

Finally, that knock on the door came. Wells jumped up and got the card. He returned to the living room and eagerly opened the envelope. He smiled and a nervous twinge stirred in the men. Which was it?

“Rami,” he began.

Rami held his breath. He didn’t want to celebrate too soon in case it was a group date.

Wells continued. “Joe, Ben, Gwilym, Allen, Richard, Eric, Luke, Kenny, Mike, Wells, and Jordan. Don’t be shy, spill your secrets. Love, Y/N.”

That left Jared, John, John Paul Jones, Taron, and a few other men (Colton, Lincoln, Chad, and Chris) for the potential one on one. Taron crossed his fingers and hoped that this meant it was him. 

“Well, we can’t be too disappointed, guys,” said Joe. “I know it’s a group date but that just means you have to make the time you have with her count.”

They all got up to start getting ready for the date. Joe looked over at Ben, who was combing his hair carefully into place. Joe clapped him on the back.

“You don’t even have to do much, dude, you’re ridiculous,” Joe said.

Ben chuckled. “I need to stand out to her.”

“Yeah, but you’re making the rest of us look like jackasses,” Joe replied.

The group all laughed and then headed out to the limo that would take them to meet you wherever you were waiting for them. As they all clamored in, they began speculating what the date card could mean.

“Maybe she wants us to share something we haven’t shared before,” Richard suggested.

“Yeah, but that could be anything,” Gwilym pointed out. “We’re all still getting to know her.”

“It’s honestly so vague,” Rami said. “How can we even hope to guess?”

They pulled up to a small theater in downtown Los Angeles. You stood outside the door, and the men all cheered once they saw you. Joe rolled down the window and you waved to them as they stopped, laughter on your lips and in your eyes. You were really excited for this date, and for the opportunity for these guys to show more of themselves to you.

“Hey, guys!” you greeted as they exited the car. 

Allen was the first one out and he rushed over to pull you into a hug. He spun you around in his arms and you laughed with joy. The others trailed behind and greeted you more subtly with gentle embraces and cheek kisses.

“I’m so glad you guys made it,” you said. “So, something that’s important to me in finding a partner is laughing together.”

They murmured their agreement back to you.

“Sharing laughter is a really underappreciated form of intimacy,” you said. “As well as - y’know - actual intimacy. They go hand in hand. So what I want you guys to do for me today is think of the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you during sex, write it down in an amusing little anecdote, and then, we’re all going to share them on stage when we’re done.”

“Wait, is there gonna be an audience?” Ben asked.

You nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Ben: This date makes me extremely nervous. I’m quite a private person when it comes to my sex life, and sharing stuff like that - especially with a girl I want to potentially marry - it’s a bit odd.

Joe: Honestly, most of my sexual experiences are funny, so I think I’ve got this one in the bag.

“Are y’all ready to get started?” you asked them.

They all cheered their affirmation and then followed you inside. Once in the theater, they were all given a legal pad and a pen. They scattered throughout the space to begin writing, and you made the rounds, stopping to chat a little with everyone and see how they were doing.

You took a seat beside Gwilym.

“Hey,” you chirped. “How’s it going over here?”

“Hello, beautiful,” he replied. “It’s going alright. I’m quite a romantic so it’s difficult to come up with an example of something funny.”

You smiled at him. “I like that you’re a romantic. But the story doesn’t have to be something super raunchy or anything. Just, anytime you laughed with your partner.”

“Are you sure you want to hear stories of us with other women?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said. “Your past makes you who you are. And that’s just the information I want to know about you.”

“Well, for future reference, you may ask me anything you like,” he said. 

“I think I can drum up a question or two,” you returned. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You continued on to the next man, just checking in. They only had about ten minutes to write their story before the audience would be allowed in. You were really looking forward to this to see what their sense of humor was like, and how well they dealt with discussing things that were awkward. When the time finally came, you sat between Allen and Richard while the audience filled in around you and the men. The first person up was Eric.

Eric told a story about his first time, which was a disaster. It was really good and made you laugh. You snorted when Kenny got up and admitted that his daughter had walked in on him and her mother once. Allen said he once slept with a girl who admitted afterward that she only went home with him because she had a thing for Irish guys after seeing Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You. Everyone had great stories, and your cheeks were already hurting from smiling. Then, Joe got up there.

“I once hooked up with a girl I picked up at a bar,” he began. “Sounds pretty typical. Anyway, we go back to her place, things are getting hot and heavy, and I realize I don’t have a condom. So, she tells me she has some in her bathroom. I find them, rip one open and realize - this girl has glow in the dark condoms.”

You chuckled and waited for him to continue.

“I put one on, and honest to God said to myself ‘It’s like a lightsaber,’” he said. “But the story doesn’t end there. I walked back into her bedroom, swinging my dick back and forth and making the sound effects while I walked toward her.”

You howled at this point, tossing your head back as you laughed.

“The worst part was that she didn’t understand the reference,” he finished. “Needless to say, we only spent the one night together.”

He came off the stage and you dabbed at your eyes. You were grateful for your waterproof mascara.

The rest of the men went, one by one. Gwilym seemed to hesitate in his story and you made a mental note to ask him about it later. All of them had you in stitches by the end. Then came a guy named Luke’s turn. Luke really intrigued you, so you watched him curiously as he stood behind the microphone.

“Hi, everyone,” he began. “I don’t have a story like this, I’m afraid. Because I’m actually a born-again virgin.”

The theater was suddenly thick with discomfort.

“I’ve been saved by my relationship with Jesus, and therefore abstain from sex before marriage.”

Rami: Yeah… Luke made things really weird.

“I am saving my body for one woman,” Luke went on. “That woman who is meant to be my wife. I hope that woman is Y/N.”

You shifted awkwardly in your seat. This was not the direction you were expecting this date to go. No one was laughing anymore and the mood had switched entirely.

“All of you - if you open your hearts to Christ - you can be saved as well,” he continued. “With that grace, you can be truly fulfilled, instead of losing yourselves to temptations. Thank you.”

A painfully unpleasant silence followed. The only sounds were his footsteps as he returned to his seat.

Richard: I sort of wanted to laugh at first. I thought, he’s got to be f***ing joking. But, no, he was serious. Which almost makes it funnier, in a way.

You sprang up from your seat and rushed to the stage, trying to recover the situation. You thanked the audience for listening and the men for sharing. Then you left the theater to prepare for the evening portion of the date.

Back at the house, the remaining men were waiting for the date card. Everyone wanted it to be their own name, but Taron wanted it the most. When Chris Harrison showed up, everyone was on edge as he placed the date card on the coffee table.

“To whoever gets the date,” he said. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”

Jared jumped up and snatched the envelope as Chris left. All eyes were on the former as he broke the seal and removed the card. He looked disappointed, and Taron’s heart leapt. So Jared’s name wasn’t on the card.

“Taron,” Jared read. “Do you believe in magic? Love, Y/N.”

Taron pumped his fist in the air while the other guys congratulated him. He took the card and read over the words, heart racing as he tried to decipher the meaning. What kind of date involved magic? He didn’t think it was a magic show or anything like that. No matter what it was, he was excited.

Back on the date, the sun had gone down and you were joining the men on a rooftop bar that was reserved for all of you. There was a large, wrap around couch where you could all sit. In the center of it was a fire pit, with a warm fire already crackling. You all got your drinks and you took a seat between Luke and Ben.

“Thanks for a very entertaining day, you guys,” you said. “I feel like I already know each of you a little better, and I just want to learn more. Here’s to a great day, and even greater night.”

“Cheers!” they echoed.

You all clinked glasses and you right away felt Luke’s hand on your arm.

“Can I steal you first?” he asked.

“Sure,” you agreed. 

He took your hand and you followed him to a more secluded part of the rooftop. There was a loveseat set up. You took the blanket off the back of it and draped it over your legs.

“So, you said some interesting stuff today,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were so religious.”

“Yeah, it’s the most important thing in my life,” he answered.

“Can you tell me a bit more about that?” you pressed. “Like, how did you become that way or is that just how you were raised?”

“I was raised in the faith,” he told you. “But honestly, I strayed. For a period of about six years, I was completely lost. And those were dark times for me. I was depressed and lonely. I just wanted validation from anywhere I could get it. I became wrapped up in alcohol and sex and anything that made me forget that darkness inside me.”

You were a bit moved by this story. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Because it was the journey I needed to go on to return to my faith. I came back to church and decided to start over. I was truly saved, in more ways than one.”

“I admire the strength of your conviction,” you said. “I think that’s a really unique story, and I feel like I understand you a little better.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

“But I also want you to understand that I’m not in that place,” you continued. “I’m not very religious, and I don’t believe you have to save yourself for marriage.”

His mouth turned down and he looked away from you for a moment. When he met your gaze again, you saw something like determination in them.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I think we can work through this together.”

“Well, yeah, ultimately, any couple overcomes differences together,” you replied. “I’m glad you’re open minded.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m not here to pass judgement on anyone or anything like that.”

“That’s good to hear,” you said. “Thank you for sharing.”

“Of course.”

He leaned in, opening his arms, and he embraced you. Just as you parted from the hug, Kenny approached and asked for time with you. You left with him, and Luke returned to the rest of the men.

“Well, if it isn’t Pastor Luke,” Joe joked as Luke resumed his seat on the couch. “Coming to grace us heathens with his holy body.”

A snicker went through the group but Luke just rolled his eyes.

“Make fun of it all you want, dude,” he said. “But I know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Don’t start preaching to us again,” Richard said.

“Look, this might be hard for you guys to understand, but I’m on a rescue mission for Y/N,” Luke said. “I’m supposed to save her.”

“From what, exactly?” Gwilym wondered.

“From herself,” Luke answered. “From things that might lead her astray.”

“You mean like us?” Ben pressed.

“It could be,” Luke said. “I just know that I’m right for her.”

“Look, we all think we’re right for her,” Joe chimed in. “It’s only the first week of dates, dude.”

“Don’t be so confident just because you got the First Impression Rose,” Luke argued. 

“I’m not!” Joe insisted. “That’s why I’m saying this. I’m not sure. Nobody’s sure until you get your next rose.”

“Yeah, just cool it, there,” Allen added. “Keep up that talk and you won’t have many friends.”

“Well, I didn’t come here to make friends,” Luke stated. “I came here for my wife.”

“Alright, then,” Ben concluded shortly.

The group returned to uncomfortable silence. Then Gwilym got to his feet and went to find you. He had had quite enough of that conversation and of Luke in general.

You were sitting with Kenny still, and he was showing you pictures of his daughter. She was a precious little girl, with big brown eyes and the most gorgeous natural hair. She resembled Kenny, but had softer, feminine charms. 

“She’s just adorable, Kenny,” you said. 

“If this goes right, I’d love for you to meet her,” he returned.

Your heart melted. “That would mean the world to me.”

He held your gaze a moment before leaning over and kissing you softly. It was tentative and playful, but with a real genuine affection behind it. You liked Kenny very much. You parted, beaming at each other.

At that moment, Gwilym cleared his throat behind you. You turned and beamed at him.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“May I take some of your time, Y/N?” he asked politely.

“Absolutely,” you said. 

You gave Kenny a quick hug before leading Gwilym over to a private table. You sat on a little booth on one side, and you instinctively snuggled up to him. He draped his arm over your shoulders as you rested your head on his chest.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good,” you said. “I had so much fun today.”

“I’m happy for you,” he returned.

“I have a question for you,” you said, looking up to meet his gaze. “You sort of stopped yourself today during your story. What happened there?”

He cleared his throat and looked away from you, straight ahead. As if seeing something there that you couldn’t. You sat up and looked at his face. There was suddenly such a deep sorrow about him that you grew worried.

“Gwilym?” you asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “It’s just difficult to talk about.”

You took his hand and squeezed it. “Tell me.”

“Well, I was with one woman for about eight years,” he said. “We were actually engaged to be married.”

“You’ve been engaged before?” you asked. 

It seemed like such a stupid question, but you were just surprised.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Go on,” you urged.

“We were going to get married, but it turned out, she was keeping something from me,” he explained. “A heroin addiction. Apparently it had been going on for years without my knowledge.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth as you gasped.

“I’m so sorry, Gwilym…”

He grimaced. “It doesn’t end there.”

“It gets worse?!”

He nodded stiffly. You waited for him to speak, permitting him to take all the time he needed to say it, though your mind was spinning with questions.

“I didn’t know until…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I came home from work one day and found her on the kitchen floor, completely unresponsive. I tried to wake her and called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, it was too late...she was gone.”

Your eyes swam with tears as you gazed at him. You were truly in awe of his strength. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Gwilym,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s...that’s awful.”

“The hardest part is having no answers,” he told you. “I don’t know why or when she actually started using. I don’t know how she was getting it or how she managed to hide it for so long. I was angry at her, and yet, I missed her. But then I felt I didn’t know her at all. It was a lot to process.”

“I’m sure,” you said gently. “I really admire you for taking another chance on love after something so traumatic. I can’t thank you enough for being here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” he said. “I want to start fresh and find my true love. And I’d like to find out if that’s you.”

“I’d like to find that out too.”

He cupped your cheek in his warm hand and tenderly pressed his lips to yours. You kissed this way for several minutes, though years could have gone by and you would not have noticed. You felt so hopeful with Gwilym. Like he was your fresh start too. You couldn’t wait to see where this journey took you with him.

The remainder of the evening went well. The guys were all open and honest with you, and you felt yourself really beginning to build some serious connections. Also, you got at least a few minutes with each of them. There was a group date rose to hand out, and you were sure of who you were going to give it to. You took a seat among them and picked the rose up off the table.

“I had such a great time with all of you today, and this evening,” you said. “But I’m going to give this rose to someone who really showed me a piece of his heart.” You turned to Gwilym. “Gwilym, thank you for being so brave. Will you accept this rose?”

“With every piece of my heart,” he replied, with a dashingly handsome grin.

You both stood, you pinned the rose to his coat, and he kissed your cheek. You faced the group.

“Thank you again for a fabulous night,” you said. “Goodnight, guys.”

You waved as they all bid you goodnight in return. When you were gone, a few of the guys high-fived Gwilym and congratulated him. He looked over and saw Luke scowling into the fire pit. Gwilym walked over and gave Luke a sarcastic pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Gwilym smirked. “Say a few more prayers next time and maybe you’ll get the rose.”

A resounding “OOHHHH!” went through the group before they headed out to catch their cars back to the mansion.

The next day was your date with Taron. There was a lot that excited you about him. He was fun and bubbly and always managed to make you smile. There was a kindness about him - a gentleness of spirit that made you completely drawn to him. You were picking him up at the mansion, and you had a bit of drive to get to your destination. 

You rolled up in a deep red corvette and honked the horn. 

The men were mostly inside. A group was outside by the pool, catching the people who didn’t go on the date up on what happened and what Luke had said. It seemed to disturb most of the other men there as well. Then they heard the car in the driveway.

You beamed at the guys as they started slowly coming out the front door, looks of shock and a bit of jealousy coming over their faces. Then you opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. A few of them raced forward to say hello and hug you before you had to go. You shared some laughs and greetings with them.

“Where’s my date?” you wondered.

“TARON!” Joe shouted. “YOU BETTER GET OUT HERE, DUDE!”

You giggled as Taron came out of the house, hopping on one foot as he shoved the other into his shoe. His mouth dropped when he saw you and the car. He put both feet on the ground.

“Is this our date?!” he wondered.

“It gets even better,” you said. “But that’s still a surprise.”

You slid your sunglasses onto your face and strutted over to the passenger side door to open it for him. He chuckled and slid into the seat. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome!” you returned before walking back over to the driver’s side and sliding in next to him. You waved to the guys still standing outside watching you go. “Bye, boys!”

They all waved back as you pulled out of the driveway. You kept one hand on the wheel and the other, you offered to Taron. He took it and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of it.

“It’s lovely to see you,” he said.

“You too,” you replied with the widest smile you’d had all week. “I’m so excited for this date.”

“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?” he asked.

“There’s a hint in the glovebox,” you told him. “Something we’ll need while we’re there.”

He released your hand and opened the glovebox. He pulled out the hint.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped. “Mickey Mouse ears?! Are we going to DisneyLand?!”

You nodded. He let out a delighted shout and kissed you hard on the cheek. You giggled as he put his on before putting the Minnie Mouse pair on your head.

“This is the best date ever!” he cried.

“Right?!” you agreed. “Okay, what’s your favorite Disney song?”

“That’s a tough choice…” he said. “A Whole New World, maybe? Any of the love ballads. They’re just great.”

“Aw, you softie!” you teased. “Sing it for me.”

He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat.

“I can show you the world,” he sang.

Your mouth dropped as he continued.

“Shining, shimmering, splendid. Tell me, princess - now when did you last let your heart decide?”

“Oh my God, Taron, you can really sing!” you cried, impressed. “Your voice is amazing!”

“Thank you,” he returned bashfully. “I love to sing, actually.”

“You’re very good at it,” you said. “What’s the song you sing the best?”

“Another tough choice,” he said. “Probably… I’m Still Standing by Elton John.”

“I love that song!” you said excitedly. “Sing that one for me!”

He launched into it and you were absolutely delighted. His voice was so sweet, you could have listened to him sing all day.

“Seriously, how have you not auditioned for American Idol or something?” you wondered.

“If I’m being honest, it’s because that lifestyle isn’t really for me,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a simple life. A modest home, a wife I adore, and children, of course. I want to be around for that, and being a singer would mean I spent most of the time away from home.”

Your heart melted at the sentiment. That was exactly the life that you wanted as well. 

“I get that,” you said. “That’s always been what I want too. To have a partner for life and raise a family together.”

You glanced over and caught his eye. You smiled at each other.

It was about an hour and half drive from the mansion to the park, so you got to talk to Taron a lot. Getting to know him was actually pretty easy. He wasn’t shy about answering your questions, which made you feel more open as well. 

Exploring DisneyLand with Taron was like returning to your childhood. He was energetic and eager, practically running from ride to ride. You had to stop him a few times. You paused in front of the castle for a few minutes to catch your breath.

“I feel like I’m seven years old again!” you laughed. 

“Good!” he returned.

He picked you up by the waist and spun you around. You giggled, throwing your arms around his neck and holding him tight. When he slowed to a stop, you held each other’s gaze.

“Now I feel like a princess,” you said quietly.

“Good,” he repeated, lowering his face to yours.

He claimed your lips in a passionate kiss that was anything but child-like. It was deep and slow, but not demanding. You pulled him closer and kissed him harder. Though you had been still for several minutes, your heart raced as if you had run a marathon. He made you feel young and giddy, but also desired. It was exactly the balance you were looking for.

“I’m having so much fun here with you,” he said, breathless as you broke apart.

“Me too,” you told him. “I can’t imagine a more perfect date. Or a more perfect man to spend it with.”

He kissed the tip of your nose sweetly, making you wrinkle it as you laughed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” you breathed back.

He kissed you lightly.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got so much more to do.”

He took your head and led you on. You were beginning to feel the happiest place on Earth was anywhere you were with Taron.

The day at the park was amazing. You had so much fun with Taron. You laughed together, took a few pictures, and you ended up kissing him a lot more after that first one. But, you also wanted to get to know him on a deeper level. To get to the real stuff. The things that made him who he is.

For the evening portion of your date, you were at a little seaside restaurant on Newport Beach. You had the place entirely to yourselves. The dinner set-up was waiting for you as you walked in. Taron pulled your chair out for you and you sat down, thanking him. He took a seat beside you. You picked up your drink.

“To a wonderful day,” you said. “And hopefully many more wonderful days ahead.”

“Cheers, love,” he said.

You touched glasses with a soft clink and each took a sip.

“So,” you began. “I had so much fun with you today. But, I want to know more.”

“What d’you want to know?” he asked.

“Can I ask you why your last relationship ended?”

He paused. Then he swallowed. His mouth turned down at the corners and you wondered if you had crossed a line.

“Course you can,” he said stiffly. “But, it’s kind of a rough story.”

“I can handle it,” you assured him. 

“My last girlfriend and I were together for about three years,” he said. “We lived together and everything. Our relationship ended because she got pregnant.”

Your brow furrowed. “Wait, what?”

“She got pregnant by somebody else,” he explained, a hint of bitterness to his tone.

Your mouth fell open. “Wh - oh my God…”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. “It was a guy I knew, actually. A sort of friend of mine. And when she found out she was pregnant, she confessed everything. She left me because she wanted them to be a family. But, it blew up in her face because he didn’t want anything to do with it.”

You shook your head. “That’s horrible.”

“It is, but then she came back to me, wanting to get back together,” he said.

“Are you serious?!” you gasped.

“Quite,” he said. “And I took her back. I just...I still loved her, and she seemed so sorry. And she had nowhere else to go. We tried to work on the relationship, but things weren’t the same. Then, she miscarried.”

He took a deep breath before going on.

“After that, it quickly became clear that she was using me as a financial crutch because - surprise, surprise - she cheated again,” he said. “I ended it for good and called her parents to come and get her. That was that.”

All the twists and turns of his story had you reeling. You wondered how anyone could be so cruel to someone who was so genuine and kind.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “How long ago was that?”

“About two years ago,” he told you.

“And you haven’t dated anyone since?” you wondered.

“I’ve dated, but nothing serious ever formed,” he said. “I still want to find that right person for me, y’know?”

You smiled, taking his hand. “I do.”

“And I think I’m heading in the right direction,” he said, holding your gaze.

“I think you are too,” you said.

He leaned over and kissed you gently. When you parted, you reached across the table and picked up the rose that sat on a dish.

“You were so wonderful today,” you said. “We had so much fun at the park, and then tonight was...everything I wanted from you. Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing your story with me.”

“Thank you for listening,” he replied.

You beamed at him. “So, all that being said. Taron, will you accept this rose?”

“Gladly,” he assured you with a smile.

You grinned impossibly wider as you pinned it on. 

“Come on,” you said. “There’s a surprise for us outside.”

“Another surprise?!”

You giggled and led him to the balcony. He stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. You looked out over the water. Together, you watched as a firework rocketed into the air and exploded over the inky black sky.

“Woah!” Taron gasped.

The fireworks show began, lighting up the night with the blooms. Then, he turned you to face him and he kissed you again. The way he had in the park. The fireworks were a perfect reflection of your feelings. There was something beyond a spark between you and Taron. You could picture falling in love with him. Marrying him. Sharing a life with him.

When you went to bed that night, you dreamed of fireworks and the feeling of Taron’s arms around you.

You looked forward to the cocktail party the following night. There were so many guys you wanted more time with, though you went in with some idea of who would be getting a rose. There were some men you wanted a bit more from before you could make your decision. So, you were sure the evening would be great.

When you got to the mansion, you made a toast and then Ben pulled you aside. It wasn’t just his good looks that drew you to him. Ben had a whole vibe that pulled you in and made you want to know him better. Something in his eyes told you there was a depth to him to be found. And you were determined to explore every part of that.

Luke asked for you next. Luke was sort of an enigma to you. He was a person who - outside of this - you would have probably turned him down right away. The deeply religious side was a bit of a turn off for you. But he was really nice, and seemed so eager to get to know you, too. After your conversation, you felt more positively toward him. 

After Luke, was Richard. He had a quiet way about him, but every time you talked to him, you realized it was a quiet confidence. He was focused, but not harsh. Not to mention, he had a killer smile.

You tried to speak to everyone, but time was limited. Before you knew it, Chris Harrison called everyone in for the rose ceremony. You were a bit disappointed. There were a couple guys who didn’t have a date this week, and you had not gotten time with them at the cocktail party. But it was up to them to get that time with you, and if they couldn’t make the effort, then you assumed they didn’t want it that bad.

You stood before the men as they lined up. Gwilym and Taron stood to one side, since they already had roses and were safe. You still felt great about those decisions. Now, you had a few more to make. You took a deep breath and picked up the first rose. You found the first person you wanted to call.

“Joe,” you said, and saw his shoulders sag with relief when you did. He walked up to you with his usual grin. “Joe, will you accept this rose?”

“I will,” he said quietly.

He returned to the group.

“Rami,” you called, and he approached. “Rami, will you accept this rose?”

“Of course,” he answered.

You picked up the next rose.

“Richard,” you said. He walked coolly over to you. “Richard, will you accept this rose?”

“Always,” he replied.

Then, you called the following men: Allen, Eric, Luke, Kenny, Mike, Wells, Jordan, Jared, John, Chad, and John Paul Jones. Four men remained without a rose - Ben, Colton, Lincoln, and Chris R.

Chris Harrison walked out and stood beside you.

“Y/N, gentlemen,” he said. “This is the final rose tonight.”

You picked it up, hands shaking. You hated this part. Hurting people. But there was no doubt in your mind as to who this rose should go to.

“Ben,” you said.

He let out a deep sigh. “Thank God.”

You smiled as he walked over.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said. “Ben, will you accept this rose?”

“It was worth the wait,” he assured you. “O’course I will.”

You pinned it on him. He hugged you briefly and kissed your cheek before returning to the group.

Chris looked at the men.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry,” he said. “If you did not receive a rose, take a moment, say your goodbyes.”

Colton, Lincoln, and Chris R all said goodbye to the men around them before they approached you one by one to say it to you. All three of them wished you the best of luck. You hated to see them go, since they were very nice to you, but you knew your connections were stronger with the others.

You couldn’t wait to see what the next week would bring. 

[originalchicago]

Entrance to the Blackstone Hotel on Michigan Ave., Chicago, Borland-Electric Brougham is in the foreground.

The proverbial " smoke filled room" is in Chicago at the Blackstone Hotel on the southern edge of the Chicago Theatre District at Michigan Avenue and Hubbard Court (which was renamed Balbo Drive) in suite 915. The famed Blackstone Theatre was built right next door. The site was the old Blackstone family mansion which was torn down when Timothy Blackstone (founder of the Union Stockyards) died and his widow sold the property to the Drake brothers.

The hotel was built in 1910 and is known as the "Hotel of Presidents". At least 12 U.S. Presidents have stayed there, Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Woodrow Wilson, Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, Franklin Roosevelt, Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon, and Jimmy Carter. Most recently the President of Poland stayed there. Booker T. Washington also stayed there in 1911.

The hotel has a special room with hollowed out walls in which the Secret Service operate for presidental use, (If these walls could talk.)

In 1918, William Howard Taft and Theodore Roosevelt, who had been feuding for years, forgave each other in the hotel's dining room when Roosevelt who was eating dinner, saw the former president and gave him a mighty bear hug amid cheers from fellow diners.

In 1920 the Republican convention being held at the Chicago Coliseum was deadlocked between General Leonard Wood and Governor Frank O. Lowden of Illinois. A secret meeting in suite 915 of the hotel took place among Republican leaders and Harding/Coolidge became the ticket. Raymond Clapper, a reporter for United Press coined the term "smoked filled room" when the doors to the room opened and smoke was seen billowing out. It has stayed a part of our political jargon ever since. It has meant a place, behind the scenes, where cigar-smoking party bosses meet to choose candidates.

In 1923, Rudolph Valentino and his bride Winifred Hudnut stayed here.

Al Capone came here to get his shoes shined and his haircut often. He liked the fact that the barbershop had no windows. In 1931 Charles "Lucky" Luciano hosted a "Crime Convention" to split up power among mob bosses across the country at the hotel.

Harry Trumen sipped boubon and played the "Missouri Waltz" on the lobby piano while he contemplated running as Roosevelt's vice-president.

John Eisenhower who was on his way to serving in Korea recounted this meeting with his father as he was about to be nominated for president in 1952.

"As the time for my deployment approached, I discussed my intentions with my father. We met at the Blackstone Hotel in Chicago, just after the Republican convention, and I explained my position. My father, as a professional officer himself, understood and accepted it. However, he had a firm condition: under no circumstances must I ever be captured. He would accept the risk of my being killed or wounded, but if the Chinese Communists or North Koreans ever took me prisoner, and threatened blackmail, he could be forced to resign the presidency. I agreed to that condition wholeheartedly. I would take my life before being captured."

JFK had a cold and was having a bowl of clam chowder soup in room 1015 (The Presidential Suite) when he got a phone call from his brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy about the missiles in Cuba. The room had a secret door behind the fireplace for quick exits that the secret service secreted Marilyn Monroe in and out of.

The Beatles once played an impromptu set during a late-night event.

In 1985 Palmer Berry, a former cook at the Blackstone Hotel, confessed to a gruesome murder of a man he committed 17 years previously in Kenoshsa in 1968. The victim was a waiter in the Blackstone Hotel dining room who Berry said owed him $500 from an abortion racket they were involved in.

After a night of drinking, he remembered driving north on U.S. Hwy. 41 while the waiter slept in the back seat. He parked alongside a creek in a secluded area. Then, without awakening the man in the back seat, he drew his gun and ``emptied it into the guy`s face.``

He said he dragged the man out of the car, removed his outer garments, took his wallet containing $200 and dumped the underwear-clad body into the water. Seventeen years later his conscious was bothering him so he confessed.

The lobby has a gold couch, a fireplace and you can play pool on a table used in the film "The Color of Money" and was given to the hotel as a gift from Paul Newman. A scene from the 1987 film was shot in the famous Crystal Ballroom.

Another famous scene from the movie "The Untouchables" was shot in the ballroom. The scene where Robert Deniro as Al Capone beats two men with a baseball bat.

Then in 1999 inspectors warned Blackstone managers the structure had serious safety problems that needed to be remedied. The building's electrical system had issues and the elevators had recently broke down.

"There was no order to do so, but for the safety of our guests, we decided to close and vacate," said Daniel Wasielewski, a spokesman for the hotel's owner, a company founded by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, best known as a guru to the Beatles. An attempt was made to convert the building to condo's but failed.

The building remained shuttered until

Sage Hospitality Resources, the Denver, Co based hospitality company

purchased the property in 2005. It had a 118 million dollar renovation in 2008 and was reopened as Renaissance Blackstone Chicago operated by Marriott.

Only two guest rooms were preserved during the restoration, the famous ninth-floor "smoke-filled room" and the original tenth-floor presidential suite. However, the Presidential Suite's hidden passage behind the fireplace has been converted into closet space. History however is still steeped in the ornate terra cotta cladding that covers the exterior.

Joan Crawford, Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote and Carl Sandburg all stayed here. You can feel their presence when walking down the hallways along with many other forgotten stars and notables.

Stop in for a Catalan-inspired cocktail and a bite to eat at the Chicago local’s favorite restaurant Mercat a la Planxa on Michigan Avenue, on the street level of the hotel when this pandemic is over. Highly recommended for a visit and taste.

[hellandhighhorror]

Richard Cottingham: The Times Square Ripper

The following is the most complete account of Richard Cottingham’s life and crimes as of February, 2020. It was written and researched by Austyn Castelli for Hell and High Horror Podcast.

Richard Francis Cottingham was born on November 25th, 1946 in the Bronx. He was the eldest of three children. At age 12, the Cottingham family relocated to River Vale, New Jersey, and Cottingham started 7th grade at St. Andrews parochial school. Cottingham had trouble adjusting to the move and many who knew him report that he was a loner with very few social connections. In 1958 he developed an interest in homing pigeons and helping his mother with gardening and housework. During his adolescence, Cottingham spent most of his free time alone in his bedroom, though he was more accepted by his peers when he entered Pascack Valley High School in Hillside, NJ. During his high school years, Cottingham cultivated an obsession with pornography, specifically pornographic images of bondage. He joined the track team and competed as a long-distance runner until he graduated in 1964. Cottingham was very interested in emerging technologies of the time period and began working as a computer operator right out of high school. He got a job working for his father at Metropolitan Life Insurance Company and he took computer courses at night. 

    In 1966 he got a job at Blue Cross Blue Shield in New York also working as a computer operator. Four years later in 1970, he married his girlfriend, Janet, at Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Queens Village, NY. The couple settled in Little Ferry, New Jersey and went on to have three children. Coming from a Catholic family, it seemed that Cottingham had done everything right; he finished his education, got a respectable job, married well, and was a good provider for his wife and children. Cottingham was 5 foot, 10 inches tall with fair skin, sandy brown hair, and hazel eyes. He had distinctive bushy eyebrows and several colorless moles on his face. 

However, just two years before his marriage, 21-year-old Cottingham had secretly committed his first murder. In 1967, 29-year-old Nancy Schiava Vogel disappeared. Three days after she was last seen leaving a Bingo game at her church her nude body was discovered in her car in Ridgefield Park. The mother of two had been strangled and her body was still bound with rope when she was found. Investigators came to the conclusion that she had been murdered inside of the vehicle. Cottingham apparently knew Vogel, they both lived in Little Ferry, NJ, but it is unknown how well they knew each other. For decades, the murder of Nancy Vogel remained cold.

    On October 10th, 1969, Cottingham was arrested for drunk driving in New York and served 10 days in jail and paid a fine of $50. His petty criminal record also included a shoplifting incident in 1972. He was convicted of stealing from Stern’s department store in Paramus, NJ and paid a $50 fine. The next year, Cottingham was arrested and charged with robbery, sodomy, and sexual assault in New York City, but the case was dismissed. His first child, Blair, was born on October 15th, 1973 and just four months later Cottingham was charged with unlawful imprisonment and robbery in New York City, but again the case was dismissed. Between the years of 1970 and 1974, Cottingham and his family lived in the Ledgewood Terrace apartments in Little Ferry, NJ. They moved into a rented three-bedroom home at 29 Vreeland Street in Lodi, NJ in February of 1975. Janet and Cottingham’s second child, Scott, was born just one month later. Janet gave birth to their last child, Jenny, On October 13th, 1976. In the years the followed, Cottingham’s crimes escalated to drastic levels of sadism and violence. 

On December 16th, 1977 at 7:00 in the morning, the body of 26-year-old Maryann Carr was discovered in Little Ferry. Carr, an X-Ray technician, was still wearing her uniform and was wedged between a chain-link fence and a parked van. The pants of her uniform had been cut to expose her left leg and a clump of her own hair was placed on her right leg and she was missing her shoes. She had lacerations to her chest and feet and showed signs of having been bound at the wrists and ankles. Traces of adhesive tape were present around her mouth and there was an imprint of a ligature around her neck. An autopsy revealed that she had a hemorrhage on her left occipital bone, indicating that a blunt instrument was used. Carr was approximately 5 foot 5 inches tall, 115lbs, and had dyed blonde hair. 

    Carr, a nurse, had been seen last in the parking lot of her apartment building, the Ledgewood Terrance Apartment, which was visible from the crime scene. A neighbor had seen her talking to a white male, about 32 years old with brown hair. Investigators suspected that Carr had been taken shortly after she arrived home from work. Cottingham had abducted her and taken her to a nearby hotel. Inside, he had raped, cut, beaten, and bit her for hours. He tied her up and strangled her before dumping the body where it was later found. Just like Nancy Vogel, Maryann Carr’s case would grow cold for several years. Meanwhile, Cottingham began a three-year-long affair with a woman named Barbara Lucas. 

On March 22nd, 1978, Richard Cottingham was drinking at the Third Avenue Tavern in New York. He noticed a woman who was also drinking at the bar, 22-year-old Karen Schilt. Schilt, like Carr, was 5 foot 5 inches tall with artificially colored blonde hair. She weighed about 140lbs and had blue eyes. She had just finished a shift waiting tables at Tuesday’s restaurant on Third Avenue. She had gone home to have dinner with her boyfriend, and the father of her unborn child, at 6:00 pm. She had left work just after 8:00 pm and went straight to the tavern. Cottingham approached Schilt and introduced himself as John Schaefer. The two had a couple of drinks together and at one point in the conversation Cottingham asked Schilt if she was a “working girl”. She told him that she was not, but Cottingham kept hinting that he thought she was a sex worker. Cottingham told her that he lived in New Jersey, but liked to drink in the city.    

After about an hour at the bar, Schilt left and started walking back to her apartment at 94 Third Avenue, which was a little under one mile away (14 blocks, near big daddy’s). She began to feel dizzy and ill and suspected that someone had drugged her drink. Cottingham had followed her out of the bar and offered to drive her home. Because of her physical state, Schilt agreed. They started driving and Schilt soon realized that they were not heading toward her apartment, but were instead en route out of Manhattan toward New Jersey. 

Cottingham offered Schilt a pill to make her feel better. The drug was Tuinal, a barbiturate that depresses the nervous system. Schilt took the pill and fell asleep. Luckily, she would stay unconscious for the majority of her assault at the hands of Cottingham. He drove to a parking lot across from the Ledgewood Terrace Apartments. There, he sexually assaulted Schilt. At one point, she briefly woke up to a searing pain on her breast. She remembered hearing Cottingham say that he had once lived where they currently were. Schilt quickly slipped back into unconsciousness. 

She was found lying with her breasts and genitals exposed by Little Ferry patrolman Raymond Auger. Auger checked Schilt’s pulse and discovered that she was close to death. She was missing her coat, scarf, purse, and a silver ring. Her pulse was weak and her breathing was shallow. Auger called for an ambulance and Schilt was transported to Hackensack Hospital. Paramedics had to administer oxygen and cardiac massage to bring her heartbeat back before taking her to the hospital. Karen Schilt survived the horrific attack and blood testing confirmed that she had amobarbital and secobarbital in her system when she was attacked. Doctors noted extensive injuries on the young woman including bruises on her legs, cigarette burns on her left breast, trauma to her elbow, scratch marks on both breasts, and bite trauma to her chest. 

Seven months later on October 10th, 1978 Cottingham set out on 8th avenue looking for his next victim. He found Susan Geiger, a sex worker who, like Karen Schilt, was pregnant at the time. Cottingham approached the 5 foot tall, 96 pound Geiger and asked if she was available. She told him that she was committed for the evening and he offered $200 for an appointment with her that night. She declined but gave Cottingham her telephone number and told him to call for a date. He called her the next day and arranged an appointment for that night, October 11th. Geiger met Cottingham in front of the Alpine Hotel at around midnight. Cottingham took her to Flanagan’s Tavern between 65th and 66th streets. He told Geiger that his name was Jim and that he was married with young children and lived in New Jersey. He also told her that he worked with computers in Manhattan. During their conversation, he boasted that he had recently won a substantial amount of money from gambling and produced a wad of cash, likely containing a few thousand dollars, to back up this story. At one point Geiger got up and when she returned Cottingham gave her a screwdriver cocktail that he had ordered for her. He told her to keep stirring it with a straw. She did so and soon after she took a few sips of the drink she began feeling dizzy and detached. Like Schilt, her memory of what happened that night was incomplete. 

First, Cottingham put her in his car, which she remembered was a “light-colored, older thunderbird with a soiled interior”. She passed out in the vehicle and awoke only a few times before morning. She remembered snippets of Cottingham sexually assaulting her, but she was physically unable to fight back. She also remembered Cottingham using a length of green garden hose to whip her. She finally regained full consciousness in the early afternoon of October 12th. She awoke on the floor of a motel room. She later found out that she had spent the night in Room 28 of the Airport Motel in South Hackensack, NJ. She had been robbed by Cottingham, who had taken her handbag and everything in it as well as her gold earrings, which had been ripped downward from her ears, causing them to tear. She was severely injured and was bleeding from her vagina, rectum, face, mouth, and breasts. She had scratches on her swollen face and her lip was bleeding. Some of her fake nails were missing. Despite her horrific physical state, she got dressed in her torn blouse and left the motel room. She could barely walk and made it as far as the motel parking lot, where South Hackensack Police Captain John Agar noticed her. He pulled his patrol car into the parking lot of the motel and asked Geiger, who was wandering around frantically, to tell him her name. She was still impaired by the drugs she had been slipped and appeared confused. She told Captain Agar that her name was Susan Geiger and recounted as much of the last 24 hours as she could remember. 

Captain Agar went to examine the motel room and found several articles of Geiger’s clothing that she was unable to put on, some of her broken fake fingernails, an unmade bed, and two discarded motel towels. Agar made sure that these items were recovered for examination. Agar drove Geiger to the Hackensack Hospital, where Karen Schilt had also been treated. They tested Geiger’s blood and the same drugs that were in Schilt’s system were found in Geiger’s. Doctors took note of all of her injuries, which included lacerations over her right eye, on her lips, abdomen, thorax, and in her mouth. She had bruises on her left thigh and buttocks, as well as abrasions on her right thigh. Her breasts had been violently bitten and had contusions and abrasions. Geiger, like Schilt, was treated and her case was opened but remained inactive. The towels from the motel room were tested and forensic scientists found seminal fluid on the fabric. They tested the secretion and were able to determine that the offender had type O blood. 

On November 29tt, 1979, Richard Cottingham checked in to the Travel Inn Motor Lodge at 515 West 42nd Street in Manhattan. He booked room 417 under the name Carl Wilson. He said he lived on Anderson Place in Merlin, NJ (Merlin NJ doesn’t exist). After arriving at his room, Cottingham hung a “do not disturb” sign on his door. Staff reported that he rarely left his room after checking in. Then, on December 2nd, 1979, at 9:00 in the morning smoke and ash started drifting through the hallway on the fourth floor of the Travel Inn Motor Lodge. The fire department was called and the firefighters found that the smoke was coming from Room 417. Mere minutes before the emergency call was made, a man with bushy brown eyebrows, a clean-shaven face, and sandy hair parted to the right rushed out of the hotel lobby. He was carrying a large bag. 

After Cottingham left the hotel, he got in his car and began driving away. He was pulled over by police, who asked him what he was doing out at 3:30 in the morning. He told them that he was staying at a nearby hotel and was driving to get something to eat. The officers never asked to see inside of the bag and took Cottingham at his word. He then disposed of the contents of the bag. 

Meanwhile, the firefighters entered Room 417, they identified two figures through the thick smoke. One fireman, who had been with the New York Fire Department for 15 years, was able to drag one of the unconscious people out of the room and into the hallway. He got on his knees to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but when he lowered his face toward the person he discovered that there was no head. When he could finally make out the person’s body, he was horrified to see that the body was also missing its hands. That firefighter was so traumatized that he sought out trauma counseling after this incident. 

Another body was removed from the room, also missing its head and hands. Firefighters were able to put out the flames and the police were called to investigate the crime scene. The room had been cleaned of fingerprints and most evidence, although blood remained on the mattress. The victims’ clothing was found folded in the bathtub. Each woman’s outfit was folded with her shoes on top. The heads and hands of the victims were not recovered from the room, nor was the dismemberment tool, although Cottingham later revealed that he used a hacksaw to sever the six body parts before stashing them in his bag and leaving the building. It was later determined that the woman had been sexually assaulted and beaten while still alive. The bodies had cigarette burn marks, bruises, and bite marks around the breasts. Each woman had been placed on a twin bed and Cottingham had attempted to destroy the bodies by setting the bedsheets on fire. The bodies were charred where the flames had touched them, but the trauma inflicted by the killer was visually evident. The amount of blood left on the mattresses indicated that the decapitations occurred on the beds. Hotel staff told authorities that the man staying in that room was around 35 years old, with light hair and pale skin.

Autopsies determined that the women had been killed at different times, though the identities of the victims were unknown. One victim was thought to be in her late teens. The other was eventually identified as 23-year-old Deedeh Goodarzi. Goodarzi was an immigrant from Kuwait. She was a sex worker and had been living in Trenton, NJ and commuted to Manhattan by train. Goodarzi was known to be a “high-class” sex worker who did business in much fancier hotels than the one she was killed in. The other victim is still a Jane Doe. 

On May 5th, 1980 the body of 19-year-old Valerie Ann Street was found by Maryann Sancanelli, a housekeeper at the Hasbrouck Heights Quality Inn in NJ. Sancanelli was cleaning Room 132 and found it unusual that one bed had not been slept in by the previous night’s guest. The bedspread was slightly askew, though, and the other bed had been slept in. She began vacuuming the room and when she went to clean under the unmade bed, the vacuum hit something behind the hanging bedspread. She lifted the fabric and found Street’s corpse. Sancanelli called the police. Like the previous victims, Street had suffered a brutal death. She had been handcuffed behind her back and the handcuffs had cut into the flesh of her wrists. She had been gagged with adhesive tape, which left residue around her moth. Two deep ligature marks were found on her neck. She had bite marks, bruises, and scratches on her breasts and had been hit in the shins of both legs. No clothing or personal items were found in the room. Street was 5 foot 4 inches tall, weighed 135 pounds, had blue eyes, and had dyed strawberry blonde hair. 

Police were able to isolate a fingerprint from the ratchet side of the handcuffs. An autopsy was performed and the Bergen County Medical Examiner stated that Street’s injuries were “bizarre and startling”. She had been hit with a blunt instrument so hard that she had contusions to her brain. The murder weapon was likely a thin cord that had been tied around her neck and pulled upward from the right side. Street had checked into the hotel under the false name Shelly Dudley. She had listed Florida as her home state, which was partially true. Valerie Street had arrived in New York just 6 days earlier. On May 4th between 4 and 4:30 pm, Street had checked in to the hotel. She was heard from at 10:00 the next morning when she called the front desk to tell them she wanted to keep the room for one more day. She was likely murdered immediately after making that phone call.

Fingerprints finally revealed Street’s real identity. She had been convicted of prostitution in Florida and the fingerprints on the arrest record matched the body. Another sex worker told police that she had last seen Street on May 3rd at 1 am on the corner of 32nd Street and Madison Avenue. Although authorities now knew her identity, Valerie Street’s murder would go unsolved for over a month, but would eventually be linked to the murder of Maryann Carr, who had been found near the same hotel. 

On May 12th, Cottingham picked up sex worker Pamela Weisenfeld in New York City. Cottingham likely drugged Weisenfeld as he had Schilt and Geiger. He drove her to Teaneck, NJ where he beat, tortured, and raped her. She was left in a parking lot where police found her the next morning, covered in bruises and bite marks on her chest. Weisenfeld was treated at a local hospital and survived. 

On May 15th, 1980, just 10 days after Valerie Street’s body was found, the FDNY was called to the Hotel Seville located at 22 East 29th Street off of 5th avenue. A fire had been set in one of the hotel rooms. Firefighters were able to put out the flames and found the severely mutilated remains of 25-year-old Jean Reyner. Reyner, like Goodarzi, was a sex worker who catered to upper-class clients. It was unusual for her to be working in a hotel as seedy as the Seville. Unlike the other victims found at the Travel Lodge, Reyner still had her head and hands intact. However, Cottingham had dissected both of Reyner’s breasts and had placed them next to one another on the headboard for police to find. Signs of bondage and torture were found in the room and on the body. Police almost immediately linked this murder with the Midtown Torso Cases, as they had been dubbed. 

One week later on May 22nd, 1980 Cottingham solicited the services of 18-year-old Leslie Ann O’Dell. O’Dell stood at 5 feet 4 inches tall and had blonde hair. She had arrived in New York from Washington State just four days prior and had quickly been trafficked by bus station pimps. Cottingham told O’Dell that his name was Tommy and took her to a bar, where the two drank for a couple of hours. He told O’Dell that he was going to drive them to New Jersey where they could get a hotel room and have sex. On the way, they stopped to have dinner at the New Star Diner in South Hackensack, NJ. The diner is located half a mile from the Ledgewood Terrace Apartments. From there, Cottingham and O’Dell went to the Quality Inn where Valerie Street had been murdered 17 days earlier. 

Cottingham made O’Dell wait in the car while he checked in at the front entrance. He then came out to get her and their belongings from the trunk of his car. They entered Room 117 and Cottingham briefly left to move the car. O’Dell waited for him to return, completely unaware that she was about to be tortured in unimaginable ways. When Cottingham returned, he was brandishing a knife and told her to undress and lay face down on the bed. He got on top of her and used the knife to threaten her. He told her that he would slit her throat if she made any sound. He swiftly handcuffed her wrists behind her back, as he had done to Valerie Street. He told O’Dell that he was sexually aroused by torturing and beating women and that he had done this to other women before her. He ranted at her about how she was a “whore” and had to be punished. He reportedly scraped her Pre-sacral region with the knife (internal or external?) before raping her. He lacerated her sternum and scraped, bit, stabbed, and cut her breasts. He then forced her to perform oral sex on him. Throughout the entire ordeal, Cottingham verbally threatened and abused O’Dell. 

Cottingham later used another pair of handcuffs to shackle O’Dell’s ankles before removing the handcuffs around her wrists. He then ordered her to perform a variety of nauseating acts, including licking his entire body, kissing and licking his feet, and enduring sodomy. At one point, O’Dell instinctively screamed and Cottingham immediately threw her on the bed and started strangling her. O’Dell was convinced that she was about to die. Luckily, motel staff had heard her scream and called the police, not wanting to take any chances after Valerie Street’s murder. Before police arrived, staff members attempted to enter the room. Cottingham told O’Dell what to say to make them go away and held her at knifepoint while she spoke through the slightly open door. The hotel employee asked O’Dell if everything was alright and she responded “yes”, but moved her eyes side-to-side in an attempt to communicate that she was in danger. Cottingham fled, but police intercepted him and took him into custody. He had an opened roll of adhesive tape, two leather slave collars, a leather gag, a fake gun a knife, liquor, handcuffs, and Tunial capsules in his possession when he was arrested. According to the officers who interrogated Cottingham, he uttered only one sentence, “I have a problem with women”. He then asked for an attorney and the interview ended. 

Authorities searched his home and discovered a private room that he did not allow his wife or children to go into. In that basement room, investigators found various trophies from Cottingham’s murders. Deedeh Goodarzi’s earrings, Maryann Carr’s keys, and dozens of pieces of clothing jewelry from victims. News of Cottingham’s crimes and court proceedings were plastered across newspapers all over the tri-state area. The media dubbed him “The Torso Killer”, “The Times Square Ripper”, “The Butcher of Times Square”, “The New York Ripper”, and “The Times Square Torso Ripper”. In April of 1978, Janet Cottingham had filed for divorce from Cottingham, citing “extreme cruelty” and noting that Cottingham had refused to have sex with her since 1976. Throughout early 1980, Cottingham had another affair with Jean Connelly until his arrest. After Cottingham’s arrest in 1980, Janet withdrew her petition for divorce and moved to upstate New York with the couple’s three children. 

On August 15th, Cottingham was charged with triple homicide in New York City for the murders of Jean Reyner, Deedeh Goodarzi, and the Jane Doe. In September, Karen Schilt and Susan Geiger identified Cottingham in a police lineup. Two days later the Bergen County Prosecutor's office in NJ indicted Cottingham on 21 counts. Cottingham’s trial in New Jersey began in June of 1981. Throughout the trial, Cottingham took copious notes. The District Attorney, Dennis Calo, remembers him as a very intelligent man who was extremely involved in his own defense. He was often seen passing notes to his attorneys with suggestions for them. Cottingham never confessed to the murders, instead opting to drag jury members and the loved ones of his victims through a trial. Several family members of the victims were called to the stand to identify the victims from the crime scene photos. 

On June 6th Cottingham testified at his trial. He told the court that he had a predilection toward bondage pornography but that he did not enjoy hurting others. He denied knowing any of the living victims besides Leslie O’Dell since he was caught with her in the hotel. On June 11th he was convicted of 15 out of 20 counts. 3 days later Cottingham attempted suicide by drinking six ounces of liquid antidepressant medication in his Bergen County jail cell. The next month Cottingham was sentenced to 173-197 years in state prison for his crimes. He was also fined $2,350. 

On February 25th, 1982 Cottingham collapsed while being escorted back to his cell while waiting for the Maryann Carr trial to begin. He was taken to a hospital and was diagnosed with a duodenal ulcer. Because of Cottingham’s illness, a mistrial was declared. When the trial for the murder of Maryann Carr began again in the fall of 1982, Cottingham attempted to escape but was captured quickly. On October 10th, he was convicted of second-degree murder in a nonjury trial and was sentenced to 25 years to life with a minimum of 30 years to be served concurrently with his previous sentence. In March of 1983, Cottingham was transferred to a men’s detention center in Manhattan to await his trial for the murders of Deedeh Goodarzi, “Jane Doe”, and Jean Reyner. On July 5th, 1984, Cottingham smashed his eyeglasses and attempted to cut his wrists with the shards in front of the jury. 4 days later he was convicted for all three murders and was sentenced to 75 years to life. 

Cottingham was incarcerated in the New Jersey State Prison in Trenton. In 2010, Cottingham confessed to the 1967 murder of Nancy Shiava Vogel. Cottingham was tried for Vogel’s murder and received a new concurrent life sentence. 

In the first week of January 2020, Cottingham broke his decades-long silence and confessed to three murders committed in the 1960s. Cottingham claims that he murdered Jacalyn Harp on July 17th, 1968. 13-year-old Harp was walking home from band practice in Midland Park when Cottingham pulled his car up next to her. He asked her if she wanted a ride and she declined. She began walking forward, but Cottingham drove ahead of her and got out of the car. Harp began running and Cottingham caught up to her. He dragged her to an area of bushes and sexually assaulted her before strangling the young teen to death. Jacqueline Harp’s murder remained unsolved until Cottingham confessed in 2020.

On April 7th, 1969, Cottingham claims that he observed 18-year-old Irene Blase shopping in Hackensack, NJ. He approached her and asked her if she wanted to get a drink with him. Blase and Cottingham took a bus to a bar. After a couple of hours, Cottingham offered to drive Blase back to the bus station and she accepted. Blase was found the next day laying face down in four feet of water in Saddle River. She had been strangled with a thin cord, possibly a length of wire or the chain of her crucifix necklace. 

On July 14th, 1969, at around 9:00 pm 15-year-old Denise Falasca was walking on Old Hook Road in Emerson, NJ. She was on her way to meet friends in Westwood, NJ and was expected to be home at 11:00 pm. Cottingham pulled his car up beside her and offered to drive her to her destination. Falasca accepted the ride. The next day, Tuesday, July 15th, Denise Falasca’s body was found near a cemetery on Westminster Place in Saddle Brook, NJ. All three of his newly named victims were High School students in Bergen County, NJ. 

Cottingham has nine confirmed murders to his name as of February 2020. It is estimated that he could have many more. His early murders were all committed via strangulation of the victim, and all of his victims were white women between the ages of 13 and 29. His later victims were typically between 5 foot and 5’5” tall, weighed between 95 and 140lbs, and had dyed or naturally blonde hair. 

Richard Cottingham is classified as a power-assertive killer. His actions indicate a need to dominate and control his victims. Unlike the vast majority of serial killers, Cottingham experienced no abuse as a child. He had no history of head trauma or brain damage nor did he have physical of mental deficiencies. He had an average IQ, no history of mental health issues or drug abuse in his immediate family, and had no psychological issues surrounding his sexuality. In 2011, journalist Nadia Fezzani interviewed Cottingham for a French documentary. Cottingham had not agreed to an interview before accepting Fezzani’s request after two years of negotiation and correspondence. In his letters, Cottingham claimed to have begun killing 12 years before the murder of Maryann Carr, placing his first murder in 1965, before Nancy Vogel’s slaying. He claimed to have over 85, but under 100 victims, total. In the interview, Cottingham appears in his tan prison uniform with a full, white beard and mustache, his signature bushy eyebrows, and now lightened hair in the same style it had been upon his arrest. He walks with a cane on his right side and although he was always a stocky man, he appears to weight around 300 pounds. 

Cottingham told Fezzani “I wanted to be the best at whatever I did. And I wanted to be the best serial killer”. He chuckled and continued on “I’ve probably done anything a man would want to do with a woman. Obviously, I must be sick somehow, normal people don’t do what I did.” When asked why he had cut off Jean Reyner’s breasts, he responded: “to do something different...to create some sensationalism”. He told her that he had no feelings when he committed his crimes. He said that he could put himself into a mental state that was like “remote control”. Cottingham admitted that the “power of holding someone’s fate in your hands” sexually aroused him. He told Fezzani that he enjoyed torturing his victims and inciting fear in them and that he would go only one or two weeks in between murders over a span of 10-15 years. However, this figure would place his victim count at around 390 victims, which is far out of his estimation. (An average of one victim every 10 weeks would align more with Cottingham’s estimation.)

Richard Francis Cottingham is now 73 years old and is eligible for parole in August 2025, although it is unknown how his latest confessions will affect that date. Investigators are still trying to elicit additional confessions from Cottingham, as they have been since 2004.

Sources:

Serial Violence: Analysis of Modus Operandi and Signature Characteristics of Killers by Robert D. Keppel and William J. Birnes.

Serial Killers: The Method and Madness of Monsters by Peter Vronsky

Richard Francis Cottingham “The Torso Killer”: Information researched and summarized by Jacklyn Cowin, Jenna Leonette, and The Phan of Radford University

Serial Killers: Richard Cottingham by Patrick Spica Productions. 

Profile of Serial Killer Richard Cottingham by Charles Montaldo on ThoughtCo

N.J. serial killer now linked to 9 victims, but will his murder toll rise? The timeline of the ‘Torso Killer’ by Rodrigo Torrejon for NJ.com

Cold cases solved: Bergen serial killer confesses to three more deaths by Joshua Jongsma for NorthJersey.com

Infamous New Jersey ‘Torso Killer’ confesses to 3 cold case murders by Gabrielle Fonrouge and Natalie Musumeci for New York Post.

[furniturebyabd-blog]

A sable, silver painted and floral decorated King Bed frame, the leaf carved serpentine head and footboard, on carved cabriole legs. The original Louis XV.

https://furniturebyabd.com/theodore-alexander

[m0etenchandon]

Don´t you want me, baby? Reader x John Deacon smut

Pairing: Reader x John Deacon Requested: Yes, by a lovely anon Summary: Basically just angsty break-up sex with Mr John Deacon Warnings: angst, smut (18+), break-up, oral, unprotected sex (reader on birth control) A/N: Surprise upload I guess. Inspired by the song “Don´t you want me” by The Human League (loosly) – listen to it here. Also, this is my first attempt at a song-inspired fic so bear with me. Thanks for reading! Word count: 2.5 K

Gif by @mazzelloplots, thanks for letting me use it:)

Masterlist

5 years had passed since you first laid eyes on him. You weren´t supposed to work that night, having just picked up a shift from your friend, but at that very moment it felt like destiny. John Richard Deacon. He was there with the rest of his band, blissfully unaware that his life would change forever that night. As you approached the table he was sat at, that pretty little outfit hugging your body, he knew he had to have you. The way the short skirt showed off your thighs, your breasts almost falling out of the top, had his pants growing tighter by the minute. His bandmates had noticed the change in John´s demeanor, stepping up to help the sometimes shy and quiet bassist score the waitresses’ number.

You were internally squealing when he mustered up the courage to ask you. Your eyes were on him the entire night, determined to get his attention one way or another. That included bending over to expose your cleavage, as well as lingering your hand on his shoulder as you handed him his drink. You knew who they were, knew they could help you get your own career off the ground. The fact that John Deacon was an absolute babe, was an added bonus. You had never told him your initial plan, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

The years you had together since that first night, had been amazing. You had immediately clicked, igniting a fire within. After telling him about your dreams to become an artist, he had used his connections to get you a record deal as well. Your career sky-rocketed after he convinced the boys to let your warm up for them on tour. You had everything. An amazing career, wonderful fans and a loving boyfriend. Yet, you felt like something was missing. Not quite being able to put your finger on it. Which had led you to this situation you were in at this exact moment, sitting on the couch picking at your thumbs. Joe was due to come back from the studio every minute now, unaware of the conversation you were about to have. You were determined something needed to change, you needed to live a life on your own. Desperate to find yourself, knowing you had to leave him. Even if it would break your heart.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of keys rustling before hearing the front door slid open. A lump formed in your throat, heartbeat increasing. This was it.

John had a smile on his face as he entered the living room. He was not going to make this easy on you, already feeling your heart sink. Leaning down to give you a kiss, you turned your head the last second, making his lips hit your cheek instead. He pulled away, a deep frown on his face as his eyes met yours.

“What´s wrong, love?”

He was concerned, mind racing, thinking of what he could have possibly done wrong.

“We need to talk, John”

“Did I do something?”, he asked as he sat down next to you.

You closed your eyes, drawing in a breath before turning to face him. Grasping his hand in yours, you contemplated not going through with it all. His touch was so familiar, his skin so warm against yours. Never failing to make your heart flutter.

“I think we should break up”, you blurted out, not wanting to drag this out any longer.

The look on John´s face had your heart breaking into a million pieces. He was in shock, blinking several times to make sure he wasn´t dreaming, eyes welling with tears. You had caught him off guard, those words being the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you would be together forever, the ring tucked into the corner of his underwear drawer proof.

Pulling his hand away from yours and turning away, you started crying. Not even managing to control your emotions any longer. John was everything, he showed you what love was. He taught you how to love yourself, how to love him. You hated yourself for breaking his heart, but deep down you knew it was the right thing to do.

“John, please, look at me”, you begged. You reached out for his hand again, but he flinched at your touch. Eyes red as they met yours.

“Why?”, he choked out.

“I think it´s time I live my life on my own. I´ve had the best of times with you, I really have, it’s just what I have to do”

“Do you not love me anymore?”

John seemed angry, his voice breaking.

“No, please, John. I love you so much, these past 5 years have been amazing, you have done so much for me, for my career”

“So this was all about the fame then!?”, John yelled as he stood from the couch. Your eyes went wide at his words, your own being caught in your throat. “It fucking was, wasn´t it?”. Tears of anger left his eyes, hands thrown above his head. Realization hitting him like a brick wall.

“It was at first”, you started softly, trying to calm him down. John only scoffed, eyes rolling. “The moment I fell in love with you, it was more than that”

“I fucking turned you into the person you are, you would have been nothing without me. Success have been so easy for you, Y/N. You literally have the world at your feet now! You would have still been a fucking cocktail waitress if it weren´t for me”

“Are you fucking serious? I could be whatever I want, with or without!”

“Don´t forget, Y/N, it´s me who put you where you are now”, John growled as he started moving towards you. His eyes were dark, boring into yours. “And I can put you back down too”

You gulped, eyes fleeting down to his lips before meeting his stare. “What the fuck, John?”

“Don´t you want me, baby?”

“W-what”, you voice was barely a whisper at this point. John had closed the distance, standing just inches away from you. His breath was hot on your face, knees almost buckling underneath you. His entire demeanor had changed, tears having dried up. Your thighs involuntarily clenching together at the look he gave you.

“I don’t believe you when you say you don’t want to see me anymore, love”, he whispered as one of his hands shot up to caress your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Your head was screaming at you to step away, but your heart was aching for him. The warmth between your thighs needing his touch. “You need me, Y/N. You think you´ve changed your mind, baby. You´d better change it back or we will both be sorry”

“John, I-I, fuck”, you moaned out as his lips latched onto your neck. They were soft against your skin, tongue swiping over the freshly made love bite. “Shhh, Y/N. Please, I want you one last time”, he whispered against you neck. Shivers shooting down your spine. “We shouldn´t, John”. You knew it was a bad idea, knew it would make it that much harder to walk out the door.

“You´ll regret it if we don´t, I know you will, love. You´ll regret not feeling my tongue against your cunt one last time, my cock buried deep inside”

You let out an audible whimper at his words, arms clinging onto his neck as your knees went weak. This was bad. Really bad. He had you wrapped around his finger, and he knew it.

“Don´t you want me, baby?”, John repeated, pulling away to look into your eyes. They were still dark, but there was a hint of sadness laced in there. You didn’t have the heart to say no to him, you didn’t want to either. You wanted him one last time. Needed to feel him, his rough fingers against your clit. Screaming his name at the top of your lungs as you reached your high.

The second you nodded, John´s lips were against yours. His hands went up to cup your face, your tears running over his fingers. The kiss was slow at first, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You let him in, your own hands finding the back of his neck. You pulled him closer, desperate to feel him against your body.

He started walking you backwards, guiding you to the bedroom. His lips left yours, trailing along your jaw before finding that sweet-spot just below your ear. Your subconscious was screaming at you to walk out, but his touches were so familiar. Leaving tingles wherever they grazed.

You pulled at his shirt as he leant away for a second, letting you slide it off his body. More clothes were discarded on your way to the bed, leaving you both in just your underwear as you laid down. You pulled him with you, hand sliding down his body and landing on the bulge in his boxers. John let out a moan against your chest as you started rubbing him through the fabric, stroking him to full capacity.

He sneaked his hand around your back, unclasping your bra and sliding it off your torso. His lips met the soft skin of your breasts, making you arch your back into his touch. He kissed the soft curve, before slowly making his way to your hardened nipples. He kitten-licked one of the nubs before taking it into his mouth, sucking lightly. His skilled tongue making your clit twitch.

“P-please, John, I need you inside me right now”, you whined, pulling his head away from your breasts. He gave you a half-smile, nodding before pulling his boxers down his legs. His cock sprung up to graze against his stomach, a drop of pre-cum drooling from the tip. With shaky fingers, he pulled your panties to the side before lining himself up with your entrance. His eyes met yours seeking approval. Your hands caressed his arms which were perched on either side of you, giving him a nod.

Sliding inside, John let out a whimper and leant down to press his lips against yours. He went slow, cherishing every thrust as your lips danced together. Soft whimpers leaving both of your mouths as his cock dragged along your walls, filling you perfectly. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he grazed your g-spot, mouth opening against his. It was so intimate, breathing into each other’s mouths, as John picked up the pace slightly. The rough pads of his fingers lazily circling your clit.

“I need to taste you one last time, love”, John muttered as he pulled out. Situating himself between your legs, he pulled your soaked panties down your legs. He placed kisses on the apex of both your thighs, before moving to your folds. His lips grazed over them, spreading your wetness before licking a stripe from your entrance to your aching clit. A moan left your throat as you twitched under his touch. John lapped at your folds, collecting your excitement, before pressing his tongue against your entrance. He circled his tongue a few times, nose pressing against your clit. You felt yourself nearing the edge, the intimacy and the emotion he put into his movements brining you closer. As he wrapped his lips around your clit, you whined, hands balling into the sheets. His tongue circled your sensitive nub as his mouth created a vacuum, sending electric bolts up your body. As his eyes met yours, your heart fell in your chest. they were full of sadness, full of love. You reached a hand down to caress his head, twirling a curl around on of your fingers. A tear escaping your eye. You were so close, not wanting this moment to pass, but still wanting to cum. Needing it desperately.

John pulled away, blowing hot breaths on your clit before latching onto it again. This time harder, pushing you over the edge. Your fingers pulled at his hair as the first wave of white-hot ecstasy hit you. His name left your mouth along with a string of moans, only encouraging John to let you ride out your high. He hummed against your clit, adding to the pleasure of your already intense orgasm. You had never cum this hard before, eyes rolling back into your head. Legs shaking, your entire body on fire.

Kissing his way up your body, John connected your lips again. You could taste your sweet and salty excitement on his tongue, whimpering into the kiss. He grasped onto your waist, pulling you on top of him, straddling his hips. You could feel his cock against your still sensitive heat, hot and heavy underneath you. Reaching down, you lined him up against you entrance, sighing contently as you sunk down onto his shaft. John let out a whimper, hands coming to rest on your hips as you started moving.

His breath was heavy as you leant down to press kisses to his exposed chest, knowing he was close. The fingers on your hips digging into your skin, his whimpers more frequent. “Let go, baby”, you whispered, moving your lips up to his. You completely melted into the kiss, salty from both your tears mixing.

John slid his arms up your body, hugging you to him as he came. His hips thrusted up to meet yours, moans leaving his mouth. You stroked his hair, letting him ride out his high. His cum was warm against your walls. He held you close as he came down, his hands rubbing your back. You snuggled into his neck, taking in his scent one last time. You shouldn’t, really shouldn´t, but you couldn´t help yourself.

“I should go, John”, you said softly, letting him slide out of you. His hand caught yours as you stood from the bed, eyes filling with tears. “Please don’t leave me, Y/N. I love you so much”. His voice was barely a whisper, cracking as his thumb rubbed the back of your hand.

“I love you too, John. But this is for the best, for both of us. This relationship isn´t going anywhere, we both know it”

You collected your clothes off of the floor, hastily pulling them on. John was left speechless on the bed, tears flowing down his cheeks. He had the ring, he could prove to you right this second that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His heart was completely broken but he had to respect your wish. Had to let you go if that´s what you wanted. Deep down he wanted the best for you, even if that meant he wouldn’t be there anymore.

“Bye, John”, you said, taking one last look at him. You drew in a harsh breath, leaving your heart in a million pieces on the floor as you headed for the door. It hurt, but this was the right decision. There wasn’t room for John in your life. At least not at the moment.  

Masterlist

Permanent taglist (open): @tanya-is-dead @meghans-corner @killah-queenz @miss-tayylor @sunflower-borhap-boys @seasexnsun @valkyrie-and-lokis-daughter @joes-milk @pantamemes @unicornofdanger @gwilymplots

[gotboredwrote]

Rings // JRD

Pairing: John Richard Deacon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.9K Style: One-Shot (prompt: “you can keep it.”) Warnings: Fluff (ahhh so much of it toward the end), one sexual implication in joke form Summary: Y/N is the groundskeeper at Ridge Farm and mainly keeps to herself, despite the loud presence the Queen boys present themselves with. When her usual organized demeanor falters lightly, one of the boys is there to help her get back in check. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I finally had a day off from work, and I really wanted to write, but I had no inspiration whatsoever. So, thanks to the lovely @love-me-a-good-prompt (I don’t know your name otherwise I would give you that credit, too, hon!) and their amazing lists of writing prompts, I found the one I want to use for today! Not sure if you ever read the stories that are written inspired by your prompts, but if you do, I hope you enjoy! Didn’t carefully proofread.

Masterlist

~

Typically, you were never one to mind if someone needed to rent out your farm house for any reason. The extra money was always helpful, and you typically got to meet some interesting characters. You had gotten a call about a semi-small group needing to rent out the space for an entire month and you lightly buzzed with enthusiasm. The money would be fantastic this time around, and having more than one or two people use the lodge meant that you just might be able to get some help around your house and keeping up with the landscaping. The person who called you told you his name was James Beach, and that he was in the music industry. He would not be joining the people coming to stay with you, but he was able to give you all the information you needed regarding your new tenants. He started with their names, and then proceeded to summarize them with one jarring sentence.

“The four make up an up-and-coming band named Queen, and they want to record an album up there. Is that alright?”

~

A band, huh? That was a new one. You had gotten everything from vacationers not wanting to spend fortunes on a hotel to honeymooners, to even that one time you had someone hiding from the law. But you never really talked about that – it makes you a little scared for your own safety. But that is beside the point. A band had never stumbled their way to your little farm, and you accepted Mr. Beach’s offer without even thinking about asking him if they would be bringing everything they needed. Typically, you never really had to provide anything for your guests, except the actual house they stayed in. Naturally, all these thoughts cascading through your mind evoked some panic, so you decided to call Mr. Beach back to ask him a bunch of questions that you had not asked originally.

Ring… ring…

“James Beach, how can I help you?”

“Mr. Beach? Hi again, this is uh, Y/N Y/L/N from Ridge Farm.”

“Oh, Ms. Y/N! I didn’t expect to hear from you again. What do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, actually, I was doing some thinking about the group that will be coming to stay with me.”

“You’re not retracting the offer, are you?”

“Oh gosh, no, sir! I just normally only have to ask a few questions over the phone, but I’ve never actually had a band stay over before. I just had a couple other questions I wanted to run by you before their arrival to make sure I’m as prepared as possible. I know you must be a busy man, what working with rock stars and pop stars, and the like, but would you happen to have a few minutes now for me to ask a few things?”

“Ask away, my dear. My next client isn’t in for almost an hour.”

“Wonderful. Um, so I know the date the band is arriving, and I wrote down that there are four members. Is there anything specific I should know about any of them?”

“Well, Freddie is basically a drama queen that lives for the local gossip and a fancy cocktail. Mimosa in the morning kind of guy. John is shy and reserved, and if you give him cheese on toast and a pack of cigarettes, he should be content. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Brian is reserved and intellectual, but isn’t afraid to argue right back with someone if they need someone to defend them. Roger is a loud mouth, but harmless nonetheless. Might attempt to make you swoon for him, so just pay attention to him. He wouldn’t hurt you, just watch his antics. He’d also be happy with a carton of cigs. Is that okay for a basic introduction?”

“That’s perfect, Mr. Beach. Um, moving on. I have enough bedrooms and space for them, and I always keep food and drinks on hand, so I’ll make sure to buy John some cheese and bread. But one thing I don’t know is what they need for their music. I assume they’ll be bringing their own instruments and stuff, right?”

“Correct.”

“So, they are aware that this isn’t an actual studio, right? Like, I’m out in the middle of the countryside with minimal amenities. Just the necessities. I only have one space I can think of that they could use a recording studio.”

“Whatever it is you have will work for them, trust me. They’re an eclectic bunch. Be ready for some bickering, love.”

Jim was a very kind soul, and if the boys he managed were anything like him, you felt that you were going to have no trouble with them. You had a few other small things on your mind that you ran by him and got answers that suited your needs. After the phone call, you looked at the notes you had jotted down, ending on the date that the boys were scheduled to arrive. You only had two days to get what they needed, but that was plenty of time. You just had to remember a handful of things; clean up the basement and make up the boy’s rooms, buy some cigarettes for those that wanted them, and pick up some fresh cheese and bread from the market for John.

~

One thing you had forgotten to ask Jim was what time the boys were slated to arrive, so you made it a point to get up early with your chickens and hens like usual, and stay on the property all day. You had a peaceful breakfast on your porch, watching your chickens interact with one another, calmed by the quiet clucks they made. Most people found them annoying, and always made it a point to scream at you about it in some way despite the fact that you warn all potential guests about them. You, however, took comfort in having another living thing around. Your family all lived in town, and there was no significant other in your life. But you were always happy. None of it mattered. You always got to see your family when you travelled into town, but they respected your choice to remain on the property full-time. The rest of your morning and all of your afternoon was spent mindlessly cleaning or daydreaming at different spots on the farm, not really thinking about the possibility of chaos entering onto the property any minute. You walked inside, ready to prepare yourself a quiet dinner. As soon as you set your pan on your stove-top, the all-familiar sound of tires on dirt in the background over the quiet hum of your radio. Another thing to make you feel less alone when there were no other tenants on the property, a gift from your parents. Making your way through your porch door and down onto the grass, you saw the van parked in a spot it made for itself and you saw four men climb out of the back while the driver turned off the car. You walked half the distance between the houses and the car and paused until they were turned in your direction to greet them.

“Evening, gentlemen! You have impeccable timing – I was just about to cook dinner for myself, but now I’ll make six portions and you can all come join me! You can bring your belongings in my house for now, and after we eat, I will show you all to your respective rooms.”

With that, you walked the other half of the distance and approached them, all of them smiling fondly at you, except for one. He did not look happy at the arrival of your presence, but you attempted to not to pass any judgement until you got to know them. You went to pick up a piece of luggage in order to help them, when a younger looking, long-haired, skinny man approached you.

“I got it, you don’t have to help.”

His voice was a quiet, and slightly higher pitched than you imagined it would be for someone of his height. It was cute.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s hot out, and I don’t want you guys breaking out into sweats before you even start playing.” You smiled sweetly at him, not really sure which member you were talking to yet, but he did not fight back. Making you assume it was not Roger or Brian. Freddie or John, though, that was still a toss-up.

Once all five of the men who would be staying on the property were inside, you told them that they could sit and chatter in your living room watching television, come and sit in the kitchen while you cooked and talk, or wander around the farm seeing and feeling the calmness settle around them. All of them, to your surprise, elected to join you in the kitchen. Either these were the most polite and distinguished of rock stars in the world, or they felt awkward just walking around your property. Either way, you were thankful for the company. Your kitchen table had one chair on either of the shorter sides, and benches accompanying the longer sides. Three of the men sat on one of the benches, and the other two took the single chairs. You never felt anxious in front of new tenants, so you just started talking to them.

“If I may, I have a few things I would like to tell you guys before I leave you to make your music,” looking over your shoulder at them while getting dinner started. “Oh, I also hope you all are good with homemade spaghetti and salad for dinner, everything is from scratch, including the pasta.” The one who glared at you the minute he got out of the van continued to stare at you, seemingly disapprovingly, while the other four smiled at you, patiently waiting to hear what it was you had to say. While you waited for the water to start boiling, you turned around to face them, getting your first real look at the men.

“So, normally, one of the first things I like to do is introduce myself and give the story of the little old farm to my new tenants. And I like to go over the boring stuff like the few rules I have and traditions I keep. If you would all be so kind as to oblige me, I would like to begin with that, and then I can leave you all alone to eat your dinner.”

You waited for a response, an auditory one, mainly, but all you got in response was more soft and small smiles and daggers from the one man. You decided that that was your cue to continue.

“Well, you should know that my name is Y/N, and I have lived on this property my whole life. Ridge has been in my family for the past four generations, and it fell onto me to keep the place going. Our family didn’t intend for it to be rented out, but extra money is always useful, and plus, living by myself out here, it’s nice to have some interesting company every once in a while, even if I don’t interact directly with them all that much. Anyway, the other house on the property is where you all will stay. Six bedrooms, so you have choices, three bathrooms, a fully-stocked kitchen, some lounge rooms. Everything you could need. Plus, I made sure that the basement was ready to go, which is where I assume you will be spending most of your time. I won’t be bothering you too much, unless something important comes up and I need to inform you all of something. I typically don’t inform my guests when I’m running errands, because I have enough faith in the people that stay to not want to break into my home. Otherwise, there are separate phone numbers for each house, so feel free to phone me if you have anything you need to ask me. Otherwise, the only other rule I have is don’t trash the place.”

You could hear the stove behind you start to boil, so you turned back around to toss the pasta in, and you began to heat up the sauce, as well. Once you were situated with that, you continued to talk to them over your shoulder.

“Continuing on, a couple small things you should know. I never mind if you want to me come cook your breakfasts, lunches, dinners, or if there is something specific you want to make and you don’t have it, I can run errands for you. I will never impose myself on your meal time or work time, and I will not drop over uninvited unless you specifically give me permission to. For the month you are here, the house is yours, not mine. Um, what else… Oh! If I ever need help with something on the farm, whether it be yard work, something with the chickens, or maybe running a particularly large errand, if no one is busy, I wouldn’t mind some help. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to or can’t, though. I completely understand.”

You turned back around to check on the stove, and once everything was stirred, you turned to face the boys one last time.

“I think that’s everything! I didn’t mean to talk your ear off, I just like to get formalities out of the way so you can start on whatever it is you wanted to do while you were here. If there is anything –”

“God, could you just shut your mouth and continue cooking us dinner? I would like you to do the thing that you just told us you would do.”

You stood in a stunned silence. The man’s words searing right through your chest and penetrating your heart to the point where you physically felt pain from the harshness it beat at. And from the looks on all four of the other men’s faces, you could tell that this was something they had worried would happen.

“Jesus, Paul, you really don’t know when it’s your bloody turn to talk, do you?” The blonde, seated at one of the end chairs, sounded intense and exasperated already at the man.

“Paul, she only has about two rules, and one of them is mutual respect from the tenants. You already broke that, and now I feel as though I need to apologize on behalf of all of us.” The taller man with dark curls spoke sternly at the man who you now knew was named Paul, and then turned to address you much more quietly. “I’m sorry for him, love.”

“It’s… it’s okay, guys. I’ll just keep making… dinner. Then I’ll take mine to my room.”

“Please don’t.” The man from earlier with the long hair hurriedly spoke at you. Before his outburst, he had hung his head with a small grimace adorning his face. Hearing the defeat in your voice prompted a change that was clearly unusual for the man, considering his face went a little red at the recognition of his own outburst. “I’ve… liked hearing you talk, and would like to get to know you more.”

“I’ll second that,” spoke the curly haired man. “Plus, we haven’t properly introduced ourselves yet.”

“Allow me to help you with the rest of dinner, darling.” The last person who had not spoken finally spoke up, and it was the man with dark hair to match the curly man’s, but straighter.

The four seated at the table chatted amongst themselves, three of them clearly ignoring the one named Paul, while the fifth helped you with dinner. He appeared like he was holding back on saying something, and you had barely expelled any air when he cut you off.

“I’m so sorry about Paul. He… we’re trying to rid the group of him, but he just won’t leave. It’s almost like he’s a groupie, but worse. And I wish I could tell you what his problem with you is. He just automatically became villainous when we arranged to stay here.”

“It’s not a problem, really. I’ve had worse guests.” Your mind flashing back to that one criminal.

“I sincerely hope you don’t think we’re all like that, darling, because we are far from it. Also, my name is Freddie, by the way. The blondie is Roger, curls is Brian, and our shy friend is John. Maybe you could impress them at dinner by remembering their names.”

You turned your neck to look at Freddie, who was now beaming at you, and you smiled back with a small giggle. You both turned your attentions back to dinner, and finished cooking. You brought plates for everyone at the kitchen table, and proceeded to strike up some conversations between the boys while you ate. You mainly got to know each other, and you asked them a little bit about the album they were recording. They had remembered the part where you said you would not intrude without their specific permission, and without even acknowledging Paul, they told you that you could come to the studio at any point if you ever wanted to hear some live music. You were really thankful that these guys did not seem to be rambunctious, besides in the little brotherly way they seemed to have. You had also made it a point to recite their names when you first sat down, like Freddie told you, and you got them all right. Brian and Roger just looked smug when you got them right, while John tilted and turned his head slightly, trying to hide the flush that washed over his face. Not one of embarrassment, just one of pure shock that someone cared enough about him to remember his name. Once dinner was finished, you told the boys to just throw their dishes in the sink. Paul took it a little bit too literally and you were afraid that one of your plates had been shattered. All six of you then made your way to the guest house where the boys would choose their rooms. Once rooms were decided on, you helped each of them to their rooms, ending with John. He chose the smallest room, as if to make your job easier once he left. You told him he could have had whichever room he wanted, but he was content with the smaller one. You were not one to argue. You reminded him that if there was anything he needed at any time to just give you a call, and you were about to walk out when he stopped you.

“May I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I happened to notice you wear rings.”

“Oh yeah,” you fondly looked down at your hands. “Most of them were passed down from my parents, a couple have been gifted to me from tenants over the years.”

“They suit you. I wear a few myself. Just noticed that we have that in common, sorry if that came out as strange. I don’t want you to think I’m strange, because I promise I’m-”

“John, really, it’s okay. I like that pay attention to small details like that. It shows you aren’t superficial.” John just stared back at you, at a loss for words at how well-spoken and sweet you were. “I look forward to getting to know you this month. I hope you sleep well.”

“You too, Y/N.”

~

About a week had passed by, and many breakfasts and jam sessions later, you decided it was time for you to do the first official surface cleaning of each of the boy’s rooms. They had already been in the studio for over an hour when you made your way over around ten in the morning, and you stood quietly in the doorway listening to them work for a few moments. When they finally settled down, you took the initiative to wave at them, so as not to ruin a recording they were working on. When you were sure it was safe to talk, you spoke up.

“Hi, lads. Just wanted to let you know that I am going to be floating through the house today doing a surface cleaning. I won’t rummage through any of your belongings, but I’ll be dusting and scrubbing the surfaces of the rooms you are staying in. If I happen to be in your room and you need it, or the bathroom you’ve been using, just let me know and I can leave. I’ll see you for lunch in a little while. Remember, sandwich bar today!”

As you were leaving, you heard Paul shout back that he would never let you live to see the next day if you rummaged through his room, so you just shot an okay sign through the doorway on your way out to let him know that you heard him. And you started cleaning. Once you noticed it was time for lunch, you started to make your way back to your kitchen to start the prepping. The boys had made it a habit of eating in your house instead of their kitchen, and only opting to use their kitchen if they wanted snacks or got hungry working through the night. You had told the boys that they could make their way to your kitchen around 1:30pm each day if they wanted lunch. John usually left a little bit earlier than all the others so he could help you out with meal prepping. He felt that it was the least he could do to make up for inconveniencing you, which you tried explaining to him on multiple occasions that he was the farthest thing from an inconvenience. Before heading over to your kitchen, John stopped in his room to freshen up a little bit after a particularly energetic session, and he caught a glimpse of something shiny underneath his dresser. He knelt down to pick it up, and he immediately recognized it as one of the rings you always wore. If he remembered right, you wore it on your thumb. It was just big enough, he noticed, that it fit on his pinky, so he placed it on his hand as a reminder to give it back to you. He glanced at the ring one last time, the strange feeling he got from wearing it slowly subsiding, and finished refreshing himself before making his way over to the kitchen of your home. Normally, no matter the time of day, John and the boys could always expect soft music to be coming from the small radio you had in your kitchen. The only time you turned it off was when you went to sleep. Otherwise, it was on all the time. Having the background noise eased your nerves if they ever flared up for any reason, and it was always nice to have a relaxing atmosphere fill the air of your home. Except that this time, all he heard were small groans of frustration, not accompanied by any music. Clearly, that was not your attempt at singing. He walked into your house with a quiet knock on your door, one that you never heard. Then he made his way into your kitchen and knocked a little louder on the door frame, hoping he would not startle you. Thankfully he did not, and his heart started to beat a little bit quicker when he noticed the look of relief wash over your face when you realized it was him that walked through the door.

“John! You have impeccable timing. You told me you have a degree in electronics, right? Do you think you could help me figure out what is wrong with my radio?”

Oh. You only needed him for his help. What else would it have been? He scolded himself for thinking it could have been anything else. He sat down at the table right next to you on one of the benches, and peered into the inside of the radio.

“Hmm… this is pretty standard wiring, so my guess is something came loose, or one of the wires is fried. Let me take a look.”

You watched John tinker with the radio. You had not sat in on many of their rehearsals, not wanting to interfere or receive an unwarranted and snide comment from Paul. But one thing you immediately noticed was that the way he handled a piece of electronic equipment was completely different than his bass. He was slow and careful with the radio, but he was confident and more fluid with the strings of his bass. It was interesting – how one person could be so different regarding two things. Your mind wandered a little bit, thinking of all the possible scenarios his hands and fingers could work in. You felt your face heat up, so you turned your attention back to the radio, hoping John had not caught you lost in your thoughts. John had been examining the wiring for about three minutes when he finally had his ‘aha’ moment and told you what had happened. Or rather, the radio spoke for itself when it came back on.

“Think I fixed it.”

“Oh, thank you John! Thank you so much!”

You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, while simultaneously grabbing the sides of his face to pull him close. You felt him grab your wrists lightly in response, and you heard a small hum of satisfaction come from him. If any of the band was there, they would have pointed out how out of character that was for their friend. But you had only known them a week, so you had no real way of knowing that. When you pulled your face away from his, you noticed a new ring on his hand, one you had not noticed before. Yet you recognized it for some reason. Like you owned that ring.

“John, is that my ring?”

“Oh, y-yeah! I found it in my room just now before I came over here. I meant to hand it to you right when I walked in, but you caught me off guard with the radio. Here, let me take it off-”

“Don’t.” You stopped him by placing your hand over his. “You can keep it. It suits you, Deaky.”

You had continued to smile at him sweetly, and he just started to return it when you heard your porch door wing open and a ruckus of men swarmed into your kitchen. You and John turned to look at them, trying to hide the moment you just shared, to no avail.

“Well, what has our little Deaky gotten himself into now?” Freddie’s voice cut through the noise.

“I don’t know about now, but it looks like Y/N is the goal.”

“Roger! Don’t say that!” Brian had secondhand embarrassment for you, and the four men standing in your doorway could see the bright reds adorning your faces.

~

You would forever be grateful and owe a debt of gratitude to the man who called himself James Beach. By the end of Queen’s stay at your farm, you had earned a decent chunk of change, and a boyfriend to top it off. Ever since John had fixed your radio, you and him seemed to be attached at the hip. He wore the ring you gave him every single day, and eventually got the courage to ask you out on a date. You just had to get you guys there since he was not familiar with the area. You never minded driving him – he always looked so at peace watching the countryside scroll by. It pained you the day the boys left, but John made you a promise. Anytime he passed through the area, or needed a place to stay that was even remotely close to Ridge Farm, he would come see you. And he kept up on that promise. He came to visit more than once a month, and would sometimes stay for up to a week at a time. You had that fear in the back of your mind every time he would leave again that you imagined all people in relationships with people in the media had; was he cheating on me? But every single time he came back, he always brought you letters from the boys detailing their travels, and they all made it a point to write about how much John talked about you. There would be discussions of happy thoughts, whines of missing you, and the occasional under-the-breath mention of a special dream he had. It always reassured you in his faith. That, and how he would treat you and smile at you every time he came over to the farm. The other indicator is that he would always bring you a new ring. Everywhere he went for shows or recording sessions, he made sure to pop in a local shop and buy you new rings. They varied in design – some were simple bands, others elaborately engraved, others with stunning gems. It showed you that he never forgot where your relationship blossomed. That day on the farm when he found your ring. You were not a very material person, but you never turned down a ring from John. Especially not on the day he got down on one knee with a stunning, traditional diamond ring to give you.

End Note: I wanted to use a gif from Ridge Farm, but I couldn’t find one and I wanted one with John’s iconic™ rings in it.

Permanent Taglist: n/a

Specific Story/Character Taglist: @ziggymay

[runewooddk]

London the one and only.

The Whisky Show London turned into so much more!

In late September, we finally were on our way to the legendary city of London to attend the monumental World Whisky Show London put on by The Whisky Exchange. This is certainly the place to be if one fancies whisky more than occasionally. We were quite enthralled by the spectacle it was. The finest of the fine whiskies were abound, and the place was flush with pillars of the whisky industry for the last 50 years. Guys like Sukhinder Singh, Richard Paterson, and the one and only Ronnie Cox were at arms length. We even had the pleasure of getting to know Mr. Cox and the whiskies over at The Glenrothes quite a bit, and we were totally blown away. The only way to put it is: There is simply nothing like being there. These guys all have stories that would make a king a little jealous, and it’s just a complete thrill to savor a dram of 39 year old prized whisky and hear a few stories of the adventurous paths they’ve taken to reach the top of their game.

In fact, we were quite new to The Glenrothes and we had the great fortune of getting intimate with the whisky through our own little adventure. After working for years until we are short of breath day in and day out to build our cabinet business, we had the momentous honour of being followed on Instagram by The Glenrothes Distillery. The feeling of such a seemingly small, yet fulfilling validation is enough to energize us for another decade. The problem was, we had never really tried any of their whiskies. We had heard and seen great things about them, but simply hadn’t crossed paths directly with the liquid itself. We had to fix that without question.

Tristan Stephenson is a bit of a pillar himself in the bar and cocktail world for those who may not have heard. We were tipped off to his significance during a previous trip to London by Chris at a cool little Camden Lock distillery called Half Hitch Gin. After looking into this guy Stephenson a bit, we visited a nice subtle speak easy in the Marylebone neighborhood known as Purl London which he founded. The place is a monument to all things revered in such an establishment, the highest attainable quality combined with creativity and utmost class, but in the basement under the streets of Marylebone with jazz to whisk you back to another romantic era.

Shortly after visiting Purl, I noticed Tristan had started a quite talked about whisky establishment called Bar Black Rock. This such place became one of our top destination priorities on a future London round. One simply needs to experience the attention to detail of such a talented and respected man. Upon arrival at Black Rock, I stated to my comrade Nicholas that there’s only one way to go in terms of drink selection: The Glenrothes would have to be the dram of the evening. They happened to have a nice bottle called the Whisky Maker’s Cut, and we were off. I have nothing but great things to say about the bar, the staff, and especially The Glenrothes Whisky Maker’s Cut. This whisky is really our style – bringing lovely orange peel, vanilla, and nutmeg with a lightly toasted wood and slightly chocolate finish. The guys working the bar were completely knowledgeable without taking themselves too seriously at all, the giant tree table laying through the middle of the place with the brass spouts was beautiful to say the least. The whole experience was captivating, and completely hyggeligt. Sláinte to Stephenson and the whole Bar Black Rock with their unpretentious whisky vending machine, and their great humor about them in the finest of environments again – in the basement.

At this point we were fairly determined to make a solid impression on the guys at The Glenrothes Distillery. It seemed like the stars had maybe started to align. We entered The Whisky Show and took the rather long route to their stand to let the crowds die down a bit, to cut away some of the noise before we made ourselves obvious. This meant thankfully we had the pleasure to try a couple of quite nice rums and whiskies around the show on our march. We certainly were very glad to make use of the nerve calming effects. When we finally presented ourselves at The Glenrothes counter, we were anxious but we had a plan. We ended up in front of no other than Ronnie Cox. The guy is to the Scotch whisky industry something like what Christopher Columbus was for Spanish exploration, he has changed the world and made a well respected name for himself in the process. The amazing thing is that Mr. Cox was receptive to our pitch. He thought we had an interesting concept, an elegant design, and appreciated our ambition. He shared a couple stories from the ages, and sent us off with a taste of their iconic 1976 Single Cask UK Exclusive. The company of Ronnie and the rare whisky with it’s notes of fudge and coconut made the moment quite unforgettable and nearly indescribable. Our life will be complete if we can sit down with Ronnie someday in a proper setting for such a dram, with a whisky of similar caliber and truly enjoy such a moment, perhaps even at a Runewood cabinet.

The following day, we made plenty of time for our good friends at Stauning Whisky who have achieved the unimaginable and have themselves become the new generation of icons in the whisky circles. We finally got to sample some of their acclaimed Heather whisky, and we were really blown away. Thank the good whisky gods we managed to pick up a bottle when it first went on sale after hearing back on the first round of tastings. We are really glad to know these guys, and love where they are taking the whisky.

Well what does one do after spending the afternoon tasting whisky at Old Billings Gate of London? The best idea we could drum up was to head over to the Savoy and sip a few cocktails. These guys at the American Bar and at Thames Foyer show class beyond imagination. Cocktails and piano to perfection provide an experience of a lifetime. Just keep in mind, your wallet may leave in poor health.

The final stint the last day, after my parter Nicholas headed back to Denmark, should have been wandering around London with my freshly acquired bottle of SMWS “A Delectable Confection”, which I bought for my father - beings he managed to make 60 years, and taking photos while enjoying a beer or two before flying back to Denmark myself. However, fate would have it another way. The rain drops dotting the pavement in the picture below give a bit of foreshadowing to the final stretch.

British weather being lovely as it is, had completely jammed up Heathrow. Of course, I was put on standby getting home since I arrived at the airport a little tardy. So I sat and waited anxiously, and they finally sent me with fast track through security to get to the plane. The uncertainty in the outcome had made me completely forget I had a most precious bottle of liquid, which of course needed to be checked at the counter. So off I go to security and they try telling me I need to give them my whisky. Well I had no choice but to plead with them like a school kid who just got caught writing on the bathroom wall. I suppose I haven’t completely lost the charm since the fantastic Collin at Heathrow Terminal 5 had one question for me: What’s more important – your flight or your whisky? Everyone reading this knows the answer to that one. So I bailed on going home, called my wife and infuriated her like a sensible husband would, and went about “returning to British soil” to collect my whisky – receiving nothing short of a noble favor from Collin, and wait for the next day’s flight to Denmark (of which at the time there were exactly 1 British Air flight each day to Billund DK at 18:35).

The interesting part of the story is that, as a result I now had the opportunity to attend PAD Art London at Berkeley Square the following day Tuesday October 1st, 2019. I ventured over to say hello to our nice comrades at Egevaerk Denmark who make some breathtaking furnishings, but the gravity upon that day is that it would happen to be the day I shook hands unbeknownst with John Makepeace. I realized about 10 minutes into the conversation who exactly I was speaking with and basically went through the roof. What a down to Earth, likeable, and intelligent man Mr. Makepeace is, truly can’t be overstated. It seemed like we really connected, and the only reason I’m able to believe that is because of my ignorance of not knowing I was speaking to a legend in British furniture and architecture for the first part of the conversation. The guy is an inspiration for genuineness, and the act of moving forward with a well rooted respect and understanding of the past along with the foundations around oneself. These are the virtues to which we hope to adhere.

Needless to say, London didn’t disappoint as it never does.

[thebeethathums]

The Baker - 8

Moriarty x Reader

After apologizing to John profusely, you tugged a lock of Sherlock’s hair, “I may have kissed John but you injured that that sweet girl… I’ve told you time and time again that it’s sometimes best to let people discover things on their own.”

“I was only trying to help,” he said, batting your hand away without looking up, and you rolled your eyes, picking up one of the trainers to look it over while he went over what he’d gotten from them. He was reaching the end when you tilted your head, causing him to pause, “Tell me.”

“Something about this seems familiar but I’m having trouble placing it…. 20 years… I was barely ten and you only thirteen. Mycroft had just left for university,” you trailed off pressing a thumb to your lips in thought. Sherlock blinked a couple of times and then softly breathed, “Carl Powers.”

Your head snapped up, “What?”

“Don’t you remember? Carl Powers…. It’s where I began.”

“Oh…” you hummed, tilting your head at the shoes, “This just became a lot more interesting… and personal.”

It took only seconds for you to get lost in your mind and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at you, trying to figure out what was going on in your head. It was a futile attempt and he quickly abandoned it moment later in favor of sorting through his own thoughts.

You were quiet all the way back to the flat and long after that, throwing yourself onto the couch while your brother worked at the table. It wasn’t until Sherlock sent John to meet with Mycroft that you moved, languidly rolling off the couch and then getting up to follow him out. Sherlock didn’t look up but almost immediately demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To bake,” you offered simply and with that you slipped out of the flat, making your way back to the warm haven of ovens and flour you’d created for yourself.

You always thought best when kneading dough or mixing icing and before the bakery, you’d filled the flat with various baked goods when you had a case. Back then you’d pawn them off on friends, you were fairly social, and your brothers- much to Mycroft’s chagrin. During what you and Sherlock liked to call the Not So Big One- a particularly challenging case that had lasted for over a month, your eldest brother had ended up nearly ten pounds heavier after you’d gifted him four different cakes of fairly substantial size with extra frosting.

Now you had the bakery, which almost always needed you to bake more. It was late afternoon but luckily the bakery was always busy and the ovens ran most of the day to keep up with the demand for fresh goods. On top of that, it was Friday and people were out late with hankerings for a cookie or a cupcake so you could make a few batches without having to worry about them going to waste.

Three batches of cookies and two trays of cupcakes later, you stood back from the ovens and fingered the slip of paper in your pocket. Richard or Jim, as you had decided that name suited him better, was a very interesting mystery to you now. You didn’t even bother to hack through files or do your usual cyberstalking as you did with those you found interesting because you knew you wouldn’t find anything.

Over the past few hours, you’d been piecing things together- he hadn’t known you and Sherlock were related, so he’d not only been interested in you beforehand but had also not anticipated your presence in the lab. You were an unplanned surprise in what seemed to be an elaborate and carefully calculated scheme targeting your brother. He was powerful and dangerous- a criminal. You should have told your brother, even now you knew you should tell him, but when something was as interesting as this, you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin it with Sherlock’s odd sense of morality.

Instead, you’d picked your brother’s pocket to take the number that Jim had left, the same number that was in your own pocket now. You pulled it out, running your fingers over the writing- Should you contact him?

It could be dangerous…

You smirked to yourself, whipping out your phone- who were you kidding?

You loved danger.

When James Moriarty received a text on his phone from an unknown number he expected it to be a Holmes but was wrong as to which Holmes. It gave a time and a place and nothing more- simply signed KH. Intrigued, he finished up his job faster than he’d planned and went to clean up… it wouldn’t do to show up for this little meeting with blood on his shoes and shirt. He had not been happy that your connection to the Holmes boy had slipped through his network unnoticed and there were those that had to pay for that utter incompetence. And they paid dearly.

The place you had picked was a very upscale bar well away from where your brothers or John would stumble upon you and you already had a drink in hand when your companion arrived. You spotted him as soon as he walked in through the mirror behind the bar, giving a curious smile at the new style of clothing. He had on a black suit- an expensive-looking Westwood- with a red shirt under a dark grey tie with little black widows on it. His hair was neat for the first time in all the time you’d known him and he’d noticed you looking at him, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

You pointedly ignored his gaze, returning to your drink as he approached you, and in a matter of seconds his breath was on the shell of your ear as he purred, “Fancy seeing you here, Miss Holmes.”

You shot him a smirk, “I must say I like the new look. Suits you.”

“Back at you, darling,” he hummed and you picked up a light Irish accent as he took your hand and pulled you to stand so he could give you a slow twirl to look you over. You had picked out a shimmery golden cocktail dress for the occasion paired with matching shoes and the whole thing looked killer. You loved dressing up but rarely got the chance, which was one of the reasons you’d picked this particular bar. Not to mention you wanted to impress this man… this very interesting man.

You studied him closely once you were facing him again and then quirked an eyebrow, “You know my name now… do I get the pleasure of knowing yours?”

He tutted you, responding as he leaned to kiss your knuckles while retaining eye contact, “That would ruin the mystery and where’s the fun in that?”

You let out a lilting laugh, “Fair enough.”

The two of you looked each other over carefully as you claimed a booth in one of the darker corners and as soon as you were settled he pursed his lips, “You haven’t told your brother… nor do you intend to. Why is that?”

You knew he knew the answer but responded anyways in a smooth purr, “You intrigue me.”

He looked smug for a moment before you turned the question back on him, “I am a wrinkle in your master plan- it would be beneficial for you to remove me from the equation and yet I still breathe. Why?”

The devilish smirk that spread across his face made your heart flip flop in your chest as he rumbled lowly, “Because you intrigue me as well.”

A long moment of prolonged eye contact ensued as your heart raced and then he suddenly grinned in an almost goofy way, gleefully exclaiming, “And I’m overly fond of your cookies.”

You chuckled and for the first time in your life, you felt like maybe you’d found a man that wasn’t a total waste of your time. This could be the beginning of something new and very, very entertaining.