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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

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Save Me

Written for the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

1976 Elvis in a leather coat for my beloved @vintageshanny This one got away from me, there's so much more to come!

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, you are the best, funniest, kindest and most awesome people.

The air shimmered and glittered across the tarmac of the highway, promising oases, lights and civilisation, all of which would turn out to be mirages, as Cindy had discovered after walking five miles in the unrelenting searing wind wearing cowboy boots. The lukewarm can of coke she had been nursing the entire way was bone dry now and she had to admit that she was beginning to panic.

It made no sense, this highway was usually jam packed with people heading to and from LA for the weekend, but there had only been a smattering of traffic heading in either direction, and none of the hoity toity rich folks had apparently felt inclined to stop for a dusty, sweaty woman standing by the side of the road.

No one at home would even realise anything was amiss before Monday when she was supposed to be at work. They’d probably call home to find out why she was missing her shift, and her dad would think she was pulling a sick day and cover for her, not knowing… God, she was going to end up being eaten alive by buzzards. She squinted up at the sky, paranoid that she could see shadows circling overhead.

The cream car slid through the glimmering haze like it was heaven sent, its gold-plated grille and finishes adding to the surreal quality as it sped on, looking like it was going to rush past her in a fog of sand and exhaust fumes like all the others. It was heading in the wrong direction anyway, she told herself. Though there was no wrong direction away from death by overheating and scavengers.

The sound of tyres skidding in grit behind her made her turn and she saw the car had stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road. She paused, surprised, then broke into an anxious jog, almost sliding over in the roadside dust, her boot soles worn to slipperiness.

Coming to the driver’s window, she hesitated as, instead of the usual well to do middle aged couple or family, she came face to face with a car full of men. They were all wearing sunglasses and, frankly, unwelcoming expressions.

“Uh, thank you for stopping,” she mumbled, her tongue dry and oversized in her mouth. “I was starting to get worried.” The moustachioed man at the wheel just stared at her from behind dark brown lenses.

“Where you headed, honey?” asked a soft voice in the backseat. She frowned, shooting a last look at the blank faced driver before side-stepping to the window behind. She blinked rapidly, sure that what she saw was the result of dehydration, heatstroke and probably the remnants of the acid she had ingested at the beginning of road trip yesterday.

“Uh, well, I was heading back to LA,” she managed, nodding her head in the opposite direction, “but right now I’d settle for a ride to the nearest town with a phone.”

“You got car trouble?”

“In a way,” she shrugged, not wanting to go into her pathetic predicament with him, of all people. She didn’t miss the way that the other men in the car were looking at each other, sharing some sort of communication, and it made her question how desperate her situation really was. Maybe she could wait for the next car…

“You know, my guys here think that we should’ve driven right on by you. They said you could be dangerous like one of those Manson chicks. You know what a honeypot is, darlin’?” She could hear someone sniggering inside the car.

“I’m not anyone’s chick,” she retorted, rubbing sand out of her eye. “And definitely not that psycho’s. Look, thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.” She stomped off, heading back to where she had been standing.

Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to force her heart to stop pounding. She would be fine, someone would come along, a nice family with a dog she could pet. It would all be fine.

She clenched her jaw as she heard a car door click shut and then heavy footsteps crunch towards her.

“Goddamn, it’s hot,” said Elvis Presley as he stopped at her side wearing a knee length leather coat fastened and belted in the California desert. He must’ve caught her look because he hiccupped a laugh and glanced down at himself. “Well, the car has air conditioning… A-a-and not all of us can look as good as you do in little shorts, honey.” She snorted in spite of herself, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

“Look, I was only teasin’ before,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses and jutting his jaw pensively. “You’re a good girl, I know. I can tell that about you. I have a sense for these things.” She glanced over at the car and the two big, older guys who were leaning against it, arms crossed to show off their shoulder holsters. “And them- Well, they all do and think what I tell ‘em to, so…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I’m probably better off waiting for a car going the other way anyway.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, sweetheart, Highway Patrol closed the road about twenty miles that way.”

Well, that explained that.

“Oh God,” she groaned, bending forward at the waist and just dropping like a rag doll until her hair poked into the top of her boots. “Why is this happening?! Wait, if the road’s closed, how come you’re here?”

Well, it’s closed for the public,” he answered, like this explained everything. At her questioning look, he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat and flashed her a shiny silver badge. “I ain’t the public.” Her eyebrows knitted tighter together and, after a moment, she reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I had to check.” He smiled, but it took him a minute and he was still rubbing his arm like she had stabbed him rather than given him a little pinch. “You are Elvis, right?”

“Last time I checked, but keep your voice down, honey, I’m travelling incognito.” He gave her a wink and she found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. “Now, look, let’s get in the car before I melt like a goddamn snowman and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“My house in Palm Springs.”

As she was deliberating, another fancy car pulled up alongside the cream Cadillac station wagon and a smaller, lean man with a moustache hurried out of the driver’s seat to them.

“Hey, what’s going on, why are y’all by the side of the road?”

“Just rescuing, er- What’s your name, honey?”

“Cindy.”

“We were just rescuing Cindy here. This here’s my cousin, Billy. He might look like a marble-eyed sonovabitch, but-” The other man, Billy, gave Elvis’ arm a punch, but even Cindy could see that there was barely any force behind it, and certainly nowhere near what Elvis retaliated with. Both men burst into laughter, though Billy’s seemed pained.

“I can’t ride with you,” she tried one last time. “There isn’t any space for me, your car is full.”

“Huh, you’re right. How are we going to solve this problem? Hey, Sonny, Red!” The two big men looked over, straightening. “You guys ride in the Stutz with Ricky and David. Billy and Jo are coming with us.”

“Hey, E,” the dark haired one started in a disgruntled voice. Cindy didn’t miss the way that Elvis’s face snapped towards him and whatever expression he had put an end to the complaint.

“I’ve been defending myself from little girls for over twenty years, man, I’m sure I won’t have any problems here.” Lowering his voice, he finished so that only Cindy and probably Billy could hear, “Don’t exactly think I wanna defend myself anyhow.”

Travel arrangements made, Cindy followed Elvis’s broad back on her way back to the Cadillac. She questioned what she was doing, wondering what he was expecting from her in terms of gratitude. Then she shook her head. This was Elvis Presley, after all, he was probably dripping in beautiful models, he didn’t need to pick up damsels in distress by the side of the road to get lucky. He looked different to how she thought though, heavier for sure, that leather coat seemed uncomfortably tight, pale too, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed. Of course, she was in no position to judge since her skin had acquired a new layer of dirt and dust and her hair was ratty from sleeping in the van the night before.

The car was deliciously cool as promised, and she sighed as she climbed into the soft leather back seat. Elvis managed to summon up a cold bottle of Mountain Valley spring water and his mouth quirked at the corner as she moaned a little gulping it down.

Billy and a dark-haired woman, who was apparently his wife Jo, sat in the front seat, leaving them alone in the back. It was quiet at first. Cindy gripped the glass bottle in her hands, savouring the cool surface against her hot, sweaty skin. She shifted slightly on the seat, hoping that she wasn’t marking it with her grime. It figured that she would finally meet her first famous person looking her absolute worst.

“So, uh, what happened to your car?” Elvis asked, turning a little so that he was inclined towards her. Her eyes fell on the three- three- thick gold chains around his neck that rested in the dark hair on his chest, disappearing beneath the lapels of his leather coat and the light blue tracksuit jacket was wearing underneath. She blinked and looked back up at his face.

“Well, nothing. It’s still at home back in the city,” she replied. “I- uh. See, I was out in the desert with some friends… camping.” She nodded, yes, ‘camping’. “And there was a misunderstanding between me and one of my friends. She thought I was into her boyfriend and she got mad and- They left me behind.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She was looking into his eyes, partially hidden by the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and asking herself why the hell she was laying out the events of her pathetic life to Elvis fucking Presley. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “You weren’t fooling around with your friend’s boyfriend?”

“No,” she demurred. “No, he’s an idiot.” Elvis grinned and nodded, which somehow made her smile right back without thinking about it.

“You’ve had yourself an awfully bad day, haven’t you, Cindy honey. I, myself, have not been having a great day either. Kinda lucky of us to cross paths out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

“Why are you having a bad day?” she asked.

“Don’t matter now,” he replied, giving her hand a quick pat. “So, where d’you live in Los Angeles?”

It went on like that, him questioning her and Cindy answering before returning the question back to him. Sometimes he’d answer, but most of the time he would just ask another question. She felt like she was being interviewed for a job she hadn’t applied for.

As the car drew up to a low, white Spanish style house, she was beginning to wonder if she might want the job after all, whatever it was.

Billy opened the car door and Elvis climbed out with a grunt, reaching out a hand to her. It felt like climbing out of a carriage, only she was the regular Cinderella before the fairy godmother had shown up, all covered in dirt and ashes. His fingers curled around hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, and he didn’t release it once she was by his side.

“So, here we are, little honeypot,” he said with an endearing smirk, “come on in.”

Stepping into the house was like walking into a meat locker after the heavy, dry heat of the afternoon. She wanted to pause and bask in it, but Elvis still had hold of her hand and he was not stopping. He gave her the tour, introducing her to the cook, while the other men arrived in the black car and there was a flurry of activity, cases and bags being deposited in the foyer and quickly whisked away.

The whole time, Elvis was walking around, talking about views and telling her a funny story about the time a photographer tried to climb the canyon to get pictures of him in the backyard and he and the guys scared the man so bad that he dropped his camera down a steep incline.

“Bought him another one, of course,” he shrugged with a small smile. “Still, taught him a lesson about being sneaky. Can’t stand sneaky sons of bitches, just come and ask me if you want a picture, don’t- don’t be all underhanded about it.” He stared off out the window at the rocky canyon beyond and she watched and waited, wondering if she was supposed to respond. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and flashed a grin at her, looking at her sideways. And that moment was over.

“So, I’ve been thinking, Cindy honey,” he began, leading her to an upright chair by the window and gesturing for her to sit down. “About you having a bad day and me… And it seems like there’s more to this than meets the eye, I think what we have here is a touch of divine intervention.”

Mouth open, she parsed his words, trying to understand what she was being told. She didn’t.

“Ain’t no way we should have met, you being a little girl pretty much as far from Beverly Hills as you can get and me not going nowhere else, but somehow we did meet. I saved you, and maybe… maybe you can s- you can help me… too.”

“Well, what do you need help with?” she asked. He grinned his famous lopsided smile, reminding her that she was sitting in front of a musical legend, one of the most famous men on the planet, just like he was a regular person.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t like being on my own much and- and my date for the weekend kinda flaked out.” He huffed an awkward, endearing laugh. “You think you might wanna hang around, honey?”

“Well, I have to be at work on Monday,” she said dubiously, feeling a pang at the way he was looking down at her, like she had power.

“I’ll get you to work on Monday,” he replied emphatically. “I can promise you that.”

“But I don’t even have any of my things,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “I left them all in the van and-”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anything else? C’mon, while we’re on a roll, throw something else at me, honey.” She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze that he returned.

“Can I use your phone?”

“You got a guy you need to call?” he asked flatly.

“Sorta,” she shrugged. “My father- he’s sick and I don’t like to make him worry about where I am.”

“My daddy’s been sick too,” he murmured, “but he’s getting better.”

There was such determination in his voice that she felt like she had to nod back like she was convinced.

He took her into his bedroom, which she knew must look out over the pool from the layout of the rest of the house, but the curtains were already pulled tightly closed and it felt, if possible, even colder in this room.

“You can make your call in here,” he said, squeezing her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed next to the phone. “No one’ll bother you. I’m just gonna make some arrangements, deal with some things. I’ll be back.”

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, and reflected on the weirdness of everything that had happened in the past few hours. She reached for the phone, but stopped.

As far as her dad knew, she was camping with some girls from work. It had been hard enough to reassure him that she would be okay doing this. If she called him now and said that not only had those girls ditched her in the middle of nowhere, but that she had been picked up by Elvis and whisked away to this house in Palms Springs… Well, he might have the stroke that was going to finish him off, the one they had been warding against for five years.

There was a tap at the door and it opened before she could respond, but it was not Elvis. Jo, the woman married to his cousin, was standing there looking at her like she was a naughty child who had refused to tidy her room.

“What size are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Size. I’m guessing a…” Her eyes flicked up and down with disinterest. “A six?”

“Four on the bottom half,” Cindy returned. “Why-“

“Shoes? What shoe size are you?”

Baffled and feeling a little bit harried, Cindy gave her the information she asked for, wondering if the woman was lending her some clean clothes or if maybe Elvis Presley of the famed pelvis, who reduced women to screaming, creaming morons with just a jiggle of his leg, had a special wardrobe for all his conquests.

“Okay, so you need to shower,” the older woman continued, directing her to a bathroom away from the bedroom. “Everything you need is just in here. Make sure you wash your hair, clean your nails, brush your teeth. Everything. He likes girls to be clean.”

What do you say to that? Cindy wondered, staring blankly as Jo repeated the instructions like it was normal, like this was an every day occurrence. To be fair, it probably was.

“Today is so weird,” Cindy murmured to herself as she stepped into the bathroom, holding the large, white terrycloth robe Jo had shoved at her. There were toiletries in a big basket, all brand new and unopened. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotions. A toothbrush still in its packaging, razor, and hairbrush and combs. It was like visiting a hotel, an expensive one too, not just a roadside motel.

Turning on the shower, she spotted a little pink transistor radio on the vanity and she switched it on. She couldn’t shower in silence, she needed something to drown out her singing other than the noisy spray. Warbling along to whatever the DJ played, she did everything she had been told, scrubbing and rubbing and rinsing over and over until she finally felt like she had exfoliated the desert from her skin and her mind.

Wrapping the oversized robe around herself, she sashayed like it was a fur coat and she was walking past the velvet ropes at Studio 54, hoping to catch Jagger’s eye. She opened the bathroom door and stumbled back with a muffled shriek when she found a man about her age standing outside. He had shaggy dark hair and was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she appreciated.

“You done?” he asked, eyes sliding up her bare legs like a snail leaving a trail across a rock. “You brush your teeth? Clean your nails?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she returned. “Yes, I brushed, I cleaned, I buffed myself to within an inch of my life! God!”

“All right,” he shot back. “I was just checking, because the Boss likes girls to be-”

“Clean, yes, I’ve got it.” She was starting to wonder whether it was Elvis or Howard Hughes who had picked her up.

The man directed her back to the living room, which was dim and shaded now with the curtains pulled across most of the windows against the late afternoon sun.

“Just wait here for a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Cindy shifted from bare foot to bare foot, looking up at the low, sloping ceiling and the immaculately clean fireplace. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and the thick stack of bills placed neatly there.

She wandered over as if called, eyes bugging when she saw that the pile was topped with a hundred. If they were all hundreds, there had to be five thousand dollars there, easy. She thought about all the hospital bills that kept coming to the house, red overdue stamp looking like blood. Then she thought about her dad finding out that she had stolen money to pay them.

Sighing, she forced her feet away from the coffee table and stalked over to the couch, throwing herself down. Having a conscience could be a curse sometimes.

A little while later, the door opened and the man himself finally appeared. He was wearing a short sleeve light blue leisure suit and his hair looked washed and blow-dried. He didn’t look well, she decided, but she couldn’t decide why that thought had popped into her head.

“You look like you’re being eaten by a cloud,” he observed with a little smile, exhaling sharply as he dropped onto the couch beside her. He nudged his leg against her, but didn’t seem to notice, almost like he couldn’t keep still. “You get everything you need, honey? You speak to your father?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied.

It was probably a good idea to make him think that people knew where she was, she decided. He leant back, stretching his arm like he had a twinge in his shoulder and then resting it along the back of the couch behind her. She had to work hard not to giggle. It was like being back in middle school.

“Why d’you wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, wincing at her words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry, that was rude-" He laughed softly and shook his head; his arm slid forward slightly against her shoulders.

“No, no, it’s fine, honey. I, er, have to wear ‘em because I got sensitive eyes. The light messes with ‘em sometimes, that’s all.”

“It’s not very bright in here,” she observed, glancing around at the lengthening shadows around the room.

“Yeah, well, I- I kinda need ‘em to see as well,” he admitted, ducking his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” His smile widened and she felt his fingers wrap around the top of her arm.

Sitting so close to him felt like sitting with her side to the Sun, he gave off so much warmth and also a sense of power, like he was the centre of the whole galaxy. He was stroking her arm with his fingers, and she could feel the rough end of his rings scraping the folds in her sleeve and she shivered.

He smirked and, despite the fuller face and the beginnings of a double chin, she could see the man who had made her feel tickly in her tummy during the Saturday matinees her dad had taken her to. She was looking into his eyes through the pinkish tinted lenses of his glasses, their faces drawing closer, when there was a tap on the door.

“Goddamn it,” Elvis muttered under his breath, probably louder than he thought he was. “Come in!”

Billy appeared with several bags, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Elvis’ obvious annoyance.

“Here ya are, got what you asked for,” he said, lifting the bags.

“Well, just leave it by the door,” Elvis snapped back. “And why the hell d’you leave this cash here? You just throwing my money away now, man?”

There was a weird note in the exchange that Cindy couldn’t quite figure out, but Billy gathered up the money without argument and left, dropping the bags by the door.

“Families, huh,” she observed as he huffed an exasperated sigh, his round stomach rapidly expanding and deflating. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Yeah, so they tell me,” he returned, shooting the door one last look of annoyance, before turning back to her. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you, Cindy honey.”

“For what?” Grabbing a ride? Taking a shower?

“For staying. It’s real nice of you."

Her mouth twisted into a baffled smile as her brain puzzled over whether she had heard him right. He did know who he was, right? He rubbed her arm over the terrycloth sleeve and twisted towards her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and, though they looked a little dry, they were plump and inviting. Soft too as he pressed them against hers.

It was a chaste, sweet kiss, he didn’t even try slip her any tongue. Cindy never made it to a dance in her sophomore year, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like. She reached up to hang her fingers from his neck, surprised again by how warm his skin was. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and his breath wavered as she ran her thumbs curiously through his long sideburns. They felt soft and coarse at the same time and she couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, I think someone or something has put you in my way for a reason,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her lips as he pulled back. She could feel herself begin to broil under his gaze. He pecked her lips again, pressing his weight against her. “Let’s get you ready, honey.”

Elvis led her around by the hand like she was a cross between a little child and a delicate princess. They went back into the kitchen where he told the cook that he wanted fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, reminding her that the gravy wasn’t thick enough last time. He turned to Cindy, asking what she would like to eat.

“Aren't I having the same as you?” she asked. Asking for two different meals seemed… rude, somehow.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have-” He ducked his head and smiled. “She’ll have the same, just a regular size, okay?”

The woman smiled at Elvis the way that most women smiled at him, indulgently and kind of wistful. It was a strange thing to experience and then to see.

“Okay, lil honeypot, let’s get you dressed and ready for dinner,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her back to the bedroom.

The bags that Billy had left in the living room had been transported here and Elvis gestured to them. She peered inside, finding a white dress, underwear, and even shoes. She hadn’t worn so much white since her mom passed and her dad had turned everything grey with a misplaced sock when she was ten. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted her to put on a show, to earn them, but after she had waited for several minutes, he lifted a hand to the adjoining bathroom and motioned for her to go.

Wavering on the white, naturally, platformed heels, she tottered back into the bedroom where Elvis was reclined against the pillows reading a book. He glanced up over the top and gave an exaggerated double take.

“Who’s this sweet lil angel who’s showed up in my bedroom?” he asked, dropping the book on the bed and clambering up.

He crossed the room to her a little unsteadily and suddenly threw his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could barely breathe with how close he was holding her, his arms pinning hers to her sides, his stomach tight against hers, constricting her air. Even his thighs were hard against hers. She didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her arm as much as she was able to stroke the small of his back.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, when he finally drew back, running his thumb over her lips in concentration. “We’ll get Jo in here to do your make up and you’ll be perfect.”

“I can do my own make-up,” she insisted, not wanting to be a source of irritation for the other woman yet again.

“No, honey, Jo knows how to do it the way I like it,” he replied, biting on his lip before leaning forward and kissing her, lingering on her lips this time, almost as if he wanted to deepen the kiss but lost his nerve. “I want you to look like you’re all mine.”

He ducked his head down bashfully in the way that she was already getting accustomed to, but this time there seemed to be more of a purpose to it. She glanced down too when she felt him fumbling with her wrist and she watched as he fastened a thick, heavy gold ID bracelet around it. On the front, Elvis was spelled out in large diamonds.

“There,” he mumbled, sounding self-satisfied. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this, not in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she was already feeling an overwhelming need to protect him, this much older, richer, more powerful man.

Jo didn’t really speak to her as she did her make up. Cindy could barely open her eyes with the weight of the eyeliner and mascara they had been coated in. She barely recognised the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, especially not when she lifted her arm to peer at the bracelet. Such a weird day.

The table was full of men at dinner, with only Jo and Cindy adding some much-needed female companionship. Elvis and the other men laughed and chatted through the meal, arguing and guffawing over old stories; stories that always seemed to feature Elvis doing something insane, dangerous and/or reckless and somehow getting away with it. He grinned at her at every conclusion, looking pleased with himself and she tried her best to look impressed and amused.

Cindy understood what Elvis had meant when he instructed the cook to make her meal regular-sized. He and the rest of the men devoured prodigious amounts of food and it felt like dinner went on for hours waiting for them to finish.

As soon as she put down her knife and fork, Elvis reached over and clasped her hand with his, maintaining that hold even as he was eating and talking to everyone around her. It was like sitting with a spotlight on you, seen but unseen, valued but ignored.

After dinner, Elvis led her over to the piano. A couple of the guys, one of the large ones with all the guns, and a small one, picked up guitars and perched on a footstool and the sofa around him. He insisted, though there was barely enough room, that she sat next to him on the piano stool. She leant into his side, trying to maintain her balance.

“What d’you wanna hear us sing, Cindy honey?” he asked, like she would be fine with that, like she would casually accept Elvis Presley asking for requests.

“Lawdy Miss Clawdy?” she asked. It was one of two Elvis songs her father had played her religiously on a Saturday afternoon when they needed to jump around and use up some energy.

“Aw, that’s so damn old,” he remarked. “Can’t you think of nothing from this century?” He hiccupped a small laugh, which his guys echoed far louder, but she could sense that she had upset or offended him somehow. Probably by making him feel that only his old songs were the best, she guessed. She had hurt his feelings.

“You should sing what you want to sing,” she said quickly, rubbing his jiggling knee. “Anything you sing will blow me away.”

The smaller guy with the guitar suggested ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing’, but before he had even finished his sentence, Elvis was pounding the keys of the piano in the very familiar introduction to ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’.

Everyone who had ever listened to an Elvis record always felt like he was singing directly to them. That was part of his magic and charm, but Cindy now knew that that feeling was nothing compared to knowing that he was singing directly to you. Her face was throbbing with heat as the blood rushed there. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, clasping them in her lap like she had to hold in her vital organs or she would die. He frowned over the piano as he sang, but every now and again, shot her a look from the side of his eye, his cheekbones round and prominent as he held back a smile.

As the last chords of the piano faded out, he cleared his throat, making fun of how much higher his voice used to be. Cindy clapped, ignoring the eyerolls and looks of derision that some of the men were throwing her. She had never been able to get to a concert. They usually sold out in hours and there was no way she could skip work to queue overnight and all day. So this was probably the closest she was ever going to get to seeing Elvis live, and she was making the most of it.

“Thank you, honey,” he mumbled, angling his face so that he could kiss her cheek. He grabbed her hand that was still clapping and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a soft peck also.

Forgetting all the eyes, the uncomfortable shoes, the skimpy dress that made her shiver in the air conditioning, and the mask of make-up she was wearing, Cindy ducked forward and kissed him. She almost missed completely, catching only the corner of his mouth, but he rescued her for the second time that day, wrapping his arms around her, hot palms against her back and turning his head, sliding his tongue in to brush against hers. Maybe he was right, they could both save each other.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #1970s elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

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scotianostra · 7 months

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On March 4th 1936 Jim Clark, Formula I World motor racing champion was born in Fife.

Clark was raised on a farm near Duns, close to the border with England along with 4 sisters. After a few years, he was sent to the Loretto School in Musselburgh to finish his education, his main sporting interests being cricket and hockey.

When he was 16, however, his uncle and grandfather both passed away and he was forced to return home. Now, Clark had no dreams of being a racing driver at this point. He knew that it was expected of him, having only sisters, to take over the family business and raise sheep.

One day, in 1956, going to a Young Farmers meeting, Clark overtook another car on his way there. The driver of the overtaken car, Ian Scott-Watson, thought Clark was an idiot for driving as if he was a racing driver and, upon arriving at the Young Farmers meeting, sought out the driver to tell him off. They became best friends in little time and Scott-Watson would be the man responsible for changing Clark’s life completely...

Scott-Watson was doing local racing events in a Sunbeam-Talbot and invited his new best friend to join him. Clark accepted and started tagging along as a mechanic. One time, after Scott-Watson finished his practice for the race the next day, Clark went out to see what driving on a track felt like. And in 5 laps, he was 3 seconds faster than Scott-Watson, who couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. When he got out of the car, Clark asked his friend why everyone was going so slowly. His friend, who still could not believe what he had just seen, explained to Clark that the others were not going slow, he was just going so bloody fast... It really did seem that Clark’s ability to drive was simply something he was born with, a natural talent.

Clark went on to drive through the ranks and by 1959 was driving for the Lotus formula Junior team, about the same time his father talked to him and told him that either his racing hobby would pay for itself or he would have to give it up. Little did he know what was in store for his only son.

In 72 starts Clark was victorious 25 times during his short career, he also won numerous other races, including the prestigious Indianapolis 500. Jim competed and excelled in most forms of driving; in 1964 he was British and French Formula 2 champion and British Saloon Car champion too.

Although more recent drivers have won more races at Formula 1 level Jim was competing in an era where there were only 8-10 Championship races a season. In addition between 1960 and his death he won another 24 non-championship Grand Prix. Another feature of Jim’s ability was that when he did not win he had often not finished the race. In his Grand Prix career he only had one second place. Some of Jim’s wins and minor places were occurred when he was nursing an ailing car and only his ability got it to the finish line.

As I said earlier there were only 8-10 races in Formula One in those days, in 1968 Clark won the first grand prix in South Africa, there was however more than four months until the next big race in Spain, drivers filled the time driving in lesser races, and so it was that he ended up driving in a Formula Two race at a wet Hockenheim on 7 April 1968.

The Lotus, he was driving, on Firestone tyres was poor in the rain, and uncompetitive, unusually for him Clark was neither a front-runner nor making ground on those who were.

Then something went wrong at the fast Ostkurve. There were no barriers and Clark's car plunged at full speed into the trees, where he was killed instantly.

Fellow Scot Jackie Stewart is still angered by the crash ad the memories it brings saying, "Jim Clark died almost certainly because of a vehicle failure of some kind,There was no barrier, no fencing in front of a forest. And Jim Clark died violently in a forest, being hit by young trees and big trees alike, and his car was almost totally destroyed. And Jimmy died. It just was inconceivable."

In the most tragic of circumstances, then, Clark helped define the future of the sport, as well as bestriding like a colossus part of its past.

Clark was trying to win his third title and retire. He talked to the other drivers that he was starting to worry about what he would do once he stopped racing, since he knew he could not do it forever, even if he really did enjoy racing, and he would have to stop at some point, go back to Scotland and raise a family.

He also confided in Stewart, who by then was a very known advocate for safety in racing, that he did think of the dangers sometimes, especially if there were trees around a track.

#scotland #scottish #history #farmer #racing driver #champion #formula 1

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hekate1308 · 11 months

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I May Not Get Another Chance To Say This

Prompt: I may not get another chance to say this

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Pairing: Camille x Richard

This was never supposed to happen. Camille was admittedly very curious about Richard’s university reunion, enough so that she wanted to sneak in, but she very much did not think that she would arrive just in time to see a woman plunge an icepick into Richard’s chest.

She knows she managed to subdue her, and that’s now holding Richard, who is gasping for air, she just doesn’t remember moving. Not that it matters. She called an ambulance and she has no idea whether they will arrive on time –

And then, Richard begins to speak. She didn’t think he’d be capable of it.

“I may not get another chance to say this.”

Only that Camille doesn’t need him to say it, because she knows, she has known for a while, and she foolishly believed that they had time.

“Richard, I –“

“No, please, I –“ To her horror, he coughs up some more blood. “Camille Bordey, I… love you. I was going to stay on Saint Marie and see if… perhaps… we could be more…” more coughing. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t you dare apologize. And don’t act like you’re going to die. It’s not that bad” she lies even though he must be aware what she is doing.

He actually smiles at her – one of those shy smiles she adores so much – and the thought that it’s the last time she will ever see it rips her heart apart. “I – trying. Failing, I’m afraid. Camille –“

And his eyes close.

“Richard!”

But he won’t wake up, and his breathing is growing more laboured by the second.

Oh God, no, please, someone –

And then she is gently shoved aside because the paramedics are here.

After that, she is vaguely aware that Fidel is tyring to comfort her, telling her they have Richard’s attempted murderer (yet, she thinks, yet) and her husband, and that they are going to follow Richard to the hospital.

She wonders if he will still be alive by the time they get there. She’s seen injuries like this before, and they almost never end well.

But she doesn’t allow herself to think about it since she would start screaming if she did, and so she does as Fidel tells her and gets in the car, being somewhat aware that she should not be driving even though she would get them there faster.

When they arrive, she gets out before the car has even stopped and races into the hospital. The receptionist knows her, of course, and says “No news yet”.

No news is good news. She repeats that old saying to her as if it means anything, as if it will guarantee that Richard will make it out alive.

Sometime later, Maman arrives and takes her into her arms.

They settle down to wait.

It turns out be a very long wait. Hours pass, visitors come and go, the boys and the Commissioner among them, and still there is no news.

Camille is determined not to leave until she knows. One way or another.

They call it a miracle.

It’s the second day after the attack. Maman eventually all but dragged her home, but she only slept, or tried to sleep for three or four hours, she isn’t sure, before she made her way back.

At first, when Doctor Duval approaches her looking more tired than even she feels, Camille believes that Richard is dead. But instead he says, “Sergeant Bordey, Inspector Poole is stable for now and we are cautiously optimistic. We can only be sure once he wakes up, of course, but…”

She all but jumps off the chair. “Can I see him?”

Yes, she can, and so, she and the other spend the next week taking shifts at Richard’s beside because they don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up.

By sheer chance, Camille has just replaced Maman when his eyes finally flutter up and he tries to focus on the ceiling, undoubtedly wondering where he is and what happened.

“Richard” she grabs his hand, quietly explaining what exactly took place, “But you’ll be fine, they all say you’ll be fine now.”

He manages to look at her and tries to nod.

“Just lie still”. She presses the button for the nurse, then takes a deep breath. “Richard, I know you can’t talk right now, and I have no idea if you remember, but… right before you… lost consciousness, there was something you wanted to tell me. I was wondering… once the tube is out and we can talk, could you… tell me then?”

For a moment or two, she thinks that he is either utterly confused by what she’s asking, or that he’s still overwhelmed, or that he’s trying to ignore what she is saying, but then he squeezes her hand very deliberately, and she knows the future will be very different.

#fictober23 #my writings #death in paradise #camille x richard #camille bordey #richard poole

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f1-birb · 10 months

Note

Also practically every driver, even those normally good at managing tyres, we're mentioning tyre graining being absolutely horrid in their interviews after FP2. I have a strong feeling this will be one of those races where qualifying will be important and the rest will just be a game of follow the leader about 2 sec behind to avoid killing their tyres or overheating their engines.

I was also expecting tyre wear to be an issue, especially graining, based on the few runs I saw it just did not look fun to be driving and obviously it's confirmed by the drivers

It's definitely feeling like a race of multiple stops and begging you don't lose too much from it or just nursing your tyres as best you can and avoiding more than one stop

#vegas gp 2023 #FP2 #thank you very much anon!#i said it before #i was expecting this to be a shit show but not this early on #birb speaks

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tozettastone · 2 years

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Thinking about populations in Thedas and specifically in Ferelden for a little story I'm thinking about. Long self indulgent thoughts extrapolating from what we know about thedosian cities, real life medieval castles, current small towns, etc. beneath the cut.

Denerim having around 70,000 people in 9:30 (presumably before the archdemon, which is I think either 9:30 or 9:31?) is a statistc people cite coming from Searle, Mike. "Traveler's Guide: Ferelden Details", Dragon Age: Origins Collector's Edition: Prima Official Game Guide. I don't have that but I also don't have any reason to think that those people are making this citation up. It's the biggest city in Ferelden.

The same Prima Official Game Guide is the citation used for Redcliffe village having 200-odd people in it. I think that number has to be separate and distinct from the castle, and that together the village and the castle should be at least (at least) 300 people, but probably more.

Even the amount of castle you see in inquisition and origins could support a staff so large that there'd be nobody to actually run or support the other stuff.

In the village, they've got the pub (Village Tavern, in origins, which is I assume the Gull and Lantern in Inquisition—unless they're separate, because I guess the map expands in Inquisition..? Let's assume they're the same for now), the chantry, the big mill, a general goods store, a blacksmith and a bunch of salespeople like that dwarven bookseller in the village.

By comparison, there's a 150 person modern town in Australia in my mind right now. It had one cop, one nurse and two teachers for a primary school that served about ten kids. You got all your goods at the same place, from tyres to fuel to fresh produce to frozen meats shipped from another state. It had a hotel, but pretty much only because it's often the last tourist stop before people hit their "outback adventure". And that's with the tourism floating it, and all sorts of modern engineering. (Wikipedia says it has an 80 kW geothermal power station as of 2012, the only one of its type in Australia. Who knew.)

Castles are designed to be able to garrison men at arms, and Redcliffe Castle has been a key part of Ferelden's defences for a long time, as well as being considered pretty formidable, which is something you talk about in both DAI and DAO. It's on the route through the frostback mountains and down past Lake Calenhad to the rest of the country: an Orlesian army comes down out of the mountains, hit the plains, and now has to either deal with Redcliffe or leave a live, fortified and angry enemy behind them, right?

A skeleton staff in a large fortified castle might be enough men at arms and whoever their military leader in residence is to just operate the place: raise and lower the bridges, open the gates, defend the place from looters. This did happen in medieval castles when nobody important was in residence and when no violence was expected, is my understanding. The opposite is when the family was at home, and violence was expected, which meant they'd cram hundreds and hundreds of combatants into a castle. Even in peace time, a family in residence also needed servants because every task was done laboriously and by hand.

Numbers for this kind of thing given by English Heritage (a conservation non-profit which looks after many historical castles and buildings in the UK) range from "140 knights and perhaps a thousand fully equipped soldiers" at Dover Castle in 1216, to "in peacetime, a small castle might have a garrison of only a dozen soldiers." One of the owners of Goodrich Castle is said to have "nearly 100 servants" when they were in residence.

I don't think there are in excess of 1200 people at Redcliffe Castle, either, to be honest. But they did have Dennet working there with "his herd" the whole of his life, so I think we can assume that there were enough men and horses there to require dedicated servants and facilities at all times.

It sounds like the Arl is kind of a homebody from the games, though—he's usually found there, except when Alexius (and Fiona I guess) kick him out of the place, or some massive drama is going on and he has to go to his Denerim estate. As far as I can tell, Redcliffe is a prosperous but pretty small area to govern, and there are definitely forts and manors but nothing to rival Redcliffe Castle.

(Aside: I think Redcliffe Castle, being the home of relatively wealthy nobility, might have *some* advantages over regular medieval castles in terms of work, because they're also between Orzammar and Denerim and on that trade route, and near the Circle at Kinloch: they'd have access to whatever enchantments could make their lives easier, which could definitely help with the labour of servants if they took advantage of it—frost runes, for example, could take a lot of the worry out of preserving the harvest for those late winter and early spring months.)

So on this basis, I think there's probably at *least* a hundred or so extra people living in Redcliffe Castle itself, and probably more depending on how that generation feels about Orlais. (The Ferelden rebellion was only like a generation ago though, like, Loghain is still alive and in active service, so... yeah. Probably more.)

So, options:

Redcliffe village itself has less than a hundred people and the population is counted with the castle's, but there's a lot of labour happening in its very immediate surrounds that is technically not defined as "the village"

Redcliffe village itself has 200 people and the castle's population is counted separately

I think option 2 is more likely, so now that I've worked that out for myself, I have a better basis to think about what kind of population the greater Redcliffe area, and the Hinterlands agricultural regions, are supporting—and how much grain, meat, wool, skin and other produce it takes to do that, and how much havoc the Blight wreaked upon their manpower, and if famine immediately followed, or if the population was depleted enough for that to be less of a problem...

Having done all that work thinking about Redcliffe, I'm just slapping an arbitrary 40,000 people in Amaranthine. It's smaller than Denerim, it's larger than Highever. But it's where the Chant was revealed and it's a large port city in Ferelden, and frequently a last stop before goods (or refugees lbr) sail to the Free Marches. 40k in 9:31 Dragon, done, and whether or not it's still that big by 9:41 Dragon depends entirely on if I decide to let the Warden Commander leave it for the darkspawn during their civil war. Bangs gavel.

(You may be able to tell, but the thing I was working on is set in and around Redcliffe, and only briefly touches on Amaranthine and Denerim.)

#dragon age #redcliffe #ferelden #dragon age headcanon #I kind of wish this was better written but pls accept it as a sharing of guesses and estimations and where thoughts come from #rather than some kind of serious essay

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mcgnussen · 2 years

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Ig Mick fans are kinda angry cause it does seem like almost every race, haas strategy causes mick to end up outside the points despite him seemingly having the pace most of the times (and they are fucking over kevin often enough as well I'd argue) do you think it's mostly bad luck with these strategy calls(for mick and kevin) or just straight up bad strategy 80% of the times (that and Kevin's sadly growing collection of balck and orange flags)?

there is no doubt that haas make poor strategy calls sometimes, but it affects both drivers. in a long interview with kevin, he admitted that earlier this season they put hards on his car, but it was supposed to be mediums. like it was not even a call haas made, they just put the wrong tyres on. kevin has also suffered with being called in early to try and undercut others, but then a safety car has come out at the worst time for haas. so yes, it is sometimes fair to criticise their strategy, i have done so myself. but haas has also suffered from a lot of really bad luck. the situation with a safety car coming out just after kevin and mick have pitted has happened five or six times this season, it's been really crazy. and of course, you cannot plan for safety cars.

haas does gamble sometimes, but that is how haas has always done things. they did this long before mick joined. if haas is not in a great position at the start, they will often go with a high-risk, high-reward strategy for either one of their drivers or both of them. and often it doesn't work out because that's just how statistics work - and then we absolutely tear into them. and then sometimes, something like what happened with kevin yesterday happens. it was truly a high-risk, high-reward moment. which is why it doesn't make any logical sense that haas would keep both kevin and mick out. and like i said, kevin nursed those tyres from the very beginning, which was part of the reason why he was much slower than mick. but it also meant he was able to keep the tyres alive longer than mick could - and even longer than what should even have been possible.

moving on from that, there were not a lot of strategy calls haas could make for mick. he did not have any new mediums at his disposal, so he had to pit for hards. and he had to pit because his tyres looked bad. also by not pitting, the alpha tauris and ocon would have jumped him. there was literally no other option. either hards or do a three-stop for softs, but that was have been extremely dumb.

i empathise with mick fans, i really do, but they have created this conspiracy that doesn't exist. they blame everything on strategy and have created a narrative that only mick is the victim, this is just not true. kevin has also been a victim of failed strategies, botched pit stops and reliability issues.

why does this happen more at haas than at other teams? because haas is the smallest team on the grid. kevin has said that money matters much more than people believe. they don't have the best equipment, they don't have the best mechanics and they don't have star engineers. well, you could argue kevin's new engineer is close to one. for example, a mechanic at haas has 50 jobs whereas a mechanic at mercedes has 10 jobs. there is a much higher chance of error at haas. with more funding next year, we will hopefully see this improve a lot.

#answer.#kevin magnussen #mick schumacher

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f1 · 2 years

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This is just the beginning Alonso warns there is more to come from himself and Aston Martin after Bahrain podium

Fernando Alonso has made clear that he and Aston Martin are already looking to the future after kicking off their partnership with a sensational podium finish in Bahrain – the two-time world champion expressing “full faith” in his new team’s development plan. Alonso finished third to the Red Bull drivers in Sunday’s season opener by completing bold overtakes on Mercedes rival Lewis Hamilton and the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz, and capitalising on Charles Leclerc’s late retirement. READ MORE: Alonso says Bahrain podium ‘a perfect start’ to Aston Martin project as he recounts breathtaking moves on Hamilton and Sainz Despite most of Aston Martin’s car being redesigned over the winter, Alonso is pushing for continuous improvements as the campaign develops – with driver and team aiming to become a title-contending force as soon as possible. “There are a couple of areas that we have to improve, that I will not share, but I think the most important point is that the new Aston Martin is a new car, a new project – this is just the beginning,” he said after race one. This feature is currently not available because you need to provide consent to functional cookies. Please update your cookie preferences 2023 Bahrain Grand Prix: The key moves that saw Alonso race to a podium finish on Aston Martin debut “This is not the final car; this is just the starting car of this concept that we changed over the winter. I think some of the top teams just kept the philosophy that they had last year; Red Bull or Ferrari, they kept more or less the same shape, just fine tuned a few things and [perfected] that good baseline that they had. “For us, it was much more difficult, we had to change 95% of the car, so I guess there is more to learn from the car and there is more to come on our side. [I have] full trust in our team, obviously – they know what they do, so let’s hopefully improve soon.” STRATEGY UNPACKED: How Alonso and Aston Martin charged their way to the podium in Bahrain Admitting that the AMR23 appears to be more potent in race-trim as things stand, Alonso pondered how much he could have reduced the almost 40-second gap to race winner Max Verstappen had it not been for a first-lap clash with team mate Lance Stroll and his various battles. “I think on the tyres, it seems it is one strength of our car, some legacy from last year, because Aston Martin was very strong on Sundays last year as well,” the Spaniard commented. Alonso followed Red Bull drivers Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez home in Bahrain “Let’s try to keep that on the car and just improve the Saturdays, which was maybe the weak point of last year for the team and [in qualifying here] we were not mega competitive, so let’s work on that. “On the race pace, obviously we lost time in the first stint, I just sat behind the Mercedes. In the middle stint I had to pass George [Russell] and Valtteri [Bottas], and then in final stint I had to pass Lewis and Carlos. READ MORE: Stroll updates fans on extent of injuries in lengthy Instagram post “All in all, I’m sure that you lose 10 or 15 seconds on all those battles, so if we are 40 seconds behind the leader, we could have been maybe 20 seconds or 30 seconds [behind], so not a real fight yet to Red Bull…” Aston Martin sit second to Red Bull in the constructors’ standings after the opening round, with Alonso’s podium result backed up by Stroll’s determined drive to P6 while nursing wrist and foot injuries sustained in a recent training crash. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

#F1 #‘This is just the beginning’ – Alonso warns there is ‘more to come’ from himself and Aston Martin after Bahrain podium #Formula 1

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mandssisters · 2 years

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#marcusmumford

30.11.22

Vinilo deux Southampton

As I sit here tucked up safely in my own house nursing a red bush tea. Possibly a bit tired. What a fun day that was.

The closest Mumford (no Sons) gig ever to my hometown. What joy.

The Brook. Very much the student area of Southampton city, Portswood. Not much to entertain, just the McDonalds a plant burger and worst hot chocolate in years. Unless you are a fan of Machine Mart then this is the place for you. Car parked FOC in the roadside. Winner. And yes I had two wing mirrors and all 4 wheels post show.

The Brook was special as a student of Southampton and as a fan of the band #delays #ripgreggilbert I had high hopes and they certainly didn’t disappoint.

Inside two floors, one stage and a really great venue. Well done Vinilo for hosting. Great car park announcements. “I wonder if the owner of the white Toyota could move allowing the Tyre fitters next door to lock their gates?” If it was YOU…..

Round 1

All acoustic. Possible set list?!? Got a bit lost not necessarily in this order?!

Only Child

Dangerous game

Better off high

The Cave

Dinks song

Go in light

Cowboy

How

I will wait

So much banter I can’t remember from which set…

Set times today had be been tailored around the footy start and 1/2 times

Marcus Stopped during Better off high as he saw someone on the balcony mimicking his head “tick” and pulled them up said he can’t help it! Blew a kiss to them later! 😂

Forgetting the words in the cave, Only child was a long song, and after each verse, there’s another one. Why did he write it so long?

Loves doing this tour being back in the room with everyone. 20 gigs in 16 days. Last night was Nottingham, and he got away singing a Disney song “not in Nottingham”. Which basically is a song which isn’t a fan of Nottingham, but they seem to love it, not that bright there!! Lols. With a cheeky wink.

Really good form and lovely set.

Round two. Out the venue and in again.

Very similar set list but with added Grace and Reincarnation. Which was super cute. No dinks.

*A* star rating banter.

Ryan had won a game of fifa in the break.

Loving this tour, been feeling like he has been on his holi bobs, fucking around. His hate of silence between songs. The thoughts that run through the head whilst singing. PLAY THE LOUDEST YOU CAN ON THE ACOUSTIC GUITAR….. play the quietest. Those sort of thoughts!!

It was Ryan’s birthday in the week, (and Chris Polllards) so we sang an impromptu Happy Birthday. Then explained that Alex was previously the guitar tech and was touring with (said in a sarcastic voice) Harry Styles, but now he’s dead to us. “best birthday ever” looks at Ryan. They sent a video previously from Glasgow to Alex slating him!! Gives him the v’s!! Funny

Top right of stage, a glass window viewing pane! “Is that glass”. “You got Covid” waves!! Excited crowd all wave to the seated ladies! They look like pets in a shop window, they’ve got happy lives haven’t they…. Haven’t they?

Liking Southampton, got his haircut, they also wanted to manscape the face, but that was perfect! Had a nice snack in the Woodmill cafe. No one seemed to know this cafe.

Enjoyed the two gigs today, three tomorrow, someone shouts “ka-ching” nah mate!

I found tonight’s “How” especially moving. Too short an evening but a really special evening. Same time tomorrow?

More bands need to play The Brooks it’s ace! Go if you can.

Zzzzz’ds

#mumford and sons #marcus mumford #Southampton the brook

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crowdvscritic · 9 months

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behind the scenes // ST. LOUIS FILM CRITICS ASSOCIATION AWARDS (2022)

Have you ever wondered how Best of the Year lists are chosen? Each year publications like Entertainment Weekly and The Hollywood Reporter conduct anonymous interviews with Academy members to reveal their Oscar votes, often with article titles like “brutally honest” and “juicy.” I understand not wanting to burn any bridges with friends or colleagues, but I usually finish those pieces annoyed. If you’ve got an opinion, own it! How do know if I can trust your judgment or taste?

In the spirit of transparency, I’m doing my small part to be the change I wish to see in the world. (Exactly the scenario someone had in mind when altering Gandhi’s words to fit on a bumper sticker.) Last year I voted in the St. Louis Film Critics Association Best of the Year for the first time, and I’m sharing my behind-the-scenes look at how we narrowed down the 800+ eligible films of the year to our 23 winners and how I chose my votes. Apologies in advance it's not a "juicy" take—there's not a lot of drama in our group!

These were the key 2022 dates for our decisions:

Saturday, December 10th: Individual nominations due to SLFCA leadership

Sunday, December 11th: Tie-Breaker Meeting to determine final nominees

Saturday, December 17th: Final ballots due

As a reminder, I can’t speak for how every critic in the group prioritizes viewing or votes. Another critic in the group may have completely different strategy even if we end up voting for the same nominee!

How the Ballots Work

Like many awards shows, I’m kicking this explainer off with Best Supporting Actor and Actress. I didn’t have any cuts when I submitted my ballot—I was looking for people to fill my five slots. The real decision-making was about their order.

In the first round of voting, our ballots are ranked, with our first choice earning five points toward the performer’s total and fifth place earning one point. For example, I contributed five points each to Andre Braugher and Carey Mulligan’s totals for their performances in She Said as well as two points to Angela Basset’s total for her Black Panther role. While those three made the cut for SLFCA’s nominations, not enough of the other critics ranked Adrien Brody, Jamie Lee Curtis, Dolly De Leon, Kate Hudson, Rami Malek, Pedro Pascal, or John David Washington highly enough for them to make the final nominations. Curtis and De Leon were just a few points away from making the cut.

More performers our critics loved: Jessie Buckley, Women Talking; Hong Chau, The Whale; Tom Hanks, Elvis; Brian Tyree Henry, Causeway; Anthony Hopkins, Armageddon Time; Nina Hoss, Tár; Stephanie Hsu, Everything Everywhere All at Once; Barry Keoghan, The Banshees of Inisherin; Keke Palmer, Nope; Eddie Redmayne, The Good Nurse; Mark Rylance, Bones and All; Jeremy Strong, Armageddon Time

Watching as Many Movies as Possible

More than 800 eligible films were released in 2022 . (One of our members compiled them all into a Letterboxd list.) In the 10 days before my nominations were due, I watched She Said, Triangle of Sadness, Vengeance, and White Noise, all of which made my picks for Best Screenplay. I also watched titles I nominated in other categories (Babylon, Emily the Criminal, The Fabelmans, RRR, “Sr.”), plus a few that didn’t make the cut (Armageddon Time, Devotion, The Menu, Something From Tiffany’s, The Wonder).

But what about the films I hadn't seen that SLFCA nominated? That’s what the week between the Tie-Breaker Meeting and the final ballot due date is for. In those seven days, I checked out The Banshees of Inisherin, Tár, and Women Talking, which were movies I had expected to be nominated regardless of my support.

More screenplays on my long list: Amsterdam, The Menu, See How They Run

More screenplays our critics loved: After Yang, Aftersun, All Quiet on the Western Front, Bodies Bodies Bodies, Elvis, Empire of Light, Happening, Nope, Three Thousand Years of Longing, Till, The Whale

Choosing Nominees

In the Cinematography, Editing, and Visual Effects categories, I focused on an advocacy strategy. Before I met most of my fellow St. Louis Film Critics Association members, I was regularly updated with their film recommendations in a private Facebook group. As early as September, members shared headlines about the Awards Season, and based on chatter I’d seen in the group and in the film world at large, I figured support would be strong for films like Elvis, Everything Everywhere All at Once, She Said, and Top Gun: Maverick. I was less sure about sentiment for Amsterdam, Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery, See How They Run, Triangle of Sadness, and The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, so I prioritized them on my ballot.

More films on my long list: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (VFX), RRR (Editing), She Said (Editing), The Woman King (VFX)

A few more films our critics loved: All Quiet on the Western Front (Cinematography), Avatar: The Way of Water (Cinematography, Editing), The Batman (VFX), Decision to Leave (Editing), Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness (VFX), Empire of Light (Cinematography), Three Thousand Years of Longing (VFX), Women Talking (Editing)

Breaking Ties

After we submitted our ballots, we met as a group at a restaurant to hash out ties. The longest and most passionate debate broke out over the Best Scene category because there was a six-way (!) tie for third place. We ultimately decided to keep four of those six scenes and nominate six films total. We typically only include five nominees, but exceptions can be made in the case of a tie.

A few more scenes our critics loved: Scarlet Witch vs. the Illuminati in Dr. Strange and the Multiverse of Madness, the Home Alone-inspired sequence in Violent Night

Prioritizing Nominees

After nominations were finalized at our our Tie-Breaker Meeting, I counted 20 nominated films I had not seen, 14 of which were only nominated in 1 category each. (I did not join the group till the summer, so I was not watching for most of the year knowing about this deadline!) I knew I would not have the time to watch them all, so I prioritized by asking these questions:

How many nominations did each film have? The Banshees of Inisherin, Women Talking, and Tár each earned between 4 and 11 noms, so they were highest priority

Could I watch every nominee in a category? All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, Apollo 10½, Jackass Forever, and Wendell & Wild each only earned one nom, but I prioritized them so I could complete the Animated, Comedy, and Documentary categories

Had I watched enough noms to vote in a category? To vote in a category, I had to watch at least three nominees. I prioritized the twice-nominated in Decision to Leave so I could vote in Best International Feature, but I decided to skip voting in the Horror category because I would’ve needed to watch four films to vote (and because this horror-averse viewer probably would have found all four of them quite upsetting!)

More films on my long list: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (Action), The Lost City (Comedy), Marry Me (Comedy), Minions: The Rise of Gru (Comedy), See How They Run (Comedy), The Woman King (Action)

A few more films our critics loved: Bad Axe (Documentary), The Bad Guys (Animated), The Banshees of Inisherin (Comedy), Barbarian (Horror), The Batman (Action), Broker (International), Bros (Comedy), Clerks III (Comedy), Corsage (International), EO (International), Lightyear (Animated), Navalny (Documentary), The Sea Beast (Animated), Smile (Horror)

Announcing the Winners

For me, the final round of voting is a combination of picking clear favorites in a category and trying to get your favorite films represented somewhere on the ballot. Winners are announced in a press release and shared on the SLFCA website. And in just a few weeks the process starts all over again with the new year!

You can see the full list of winners and nominees for 2022 at STLFilmCritics.org, and here are how my nominations shook out in the categories not featured above:

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hayingsang · 2 years

Text

Read in 2023

Patricia Lockwood, no one is talking about this

I’m thinking ugh at the end of the first page, what awful prose:

She felt along the solid green marble of the day for the hairline crack that might let her out. This could not be forced. Outside, the air hung swagged and the clouds sat in piles of couch stuffing, and the south of the sky there was a tender spot where a rainbow wanted to happen.

Several pages later, I’m still thinking the same. Tens of pages after that, I’m still not revising my opinion.

At some point I sneak a read of the acknowledgements at the end of the book and there’s some thanks to some doctors, nurses and people who bought boxes of toys, and a reference to Proteus Syndrome, which I Google.

When the protagonist’s sister becomes pregnant, I know what’s going to happen. And sure enough it does.

With a screeching of tyres, the first half – an unoblique criticism of the crass parts of our online world – gives way to a tale of her sister’s child and its brief life due to having a serious genetic disorder.

So is this fiction or what? Of course I should be sympathetic to the story of the second half, but then what was the point of the first half?

She puts words into people's mouths, and because this is fiction she can put whatever words she wants into whoever’s mouth she feels like, but you have to believe she's doing so in good faith – that her characters deserve those words – and often I didn't.

Unfortunately for Lockwood, I end up not trusting her as a writer or a commentator. Worse still, why should I care that it takes a tragic unfortunate event to make her rethink things.

Her protagonist asks herself at one point:

If all she was was funny, and none of this was funny, where did that leave her?

Well, that’s the author’s job to answer. And I don’t think she comes close.

(Why did I bother reading this book to the end? Sometimes you have to find out that you’re not misjudging someone. I’ve had enough instances where this has been the case to justify carrying on just to make sure. It also helps when the book, as this is one is, is only around 200 pages or less long. And actually I do decide to stop reading plenty of books, but for novelists it’s usually the second or third one. I’m planning to read another of Lockwood’s books, so I haven’t written her off. I just didn’t like this one at all.)

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christinesficrecs · 2 years

Note

Hi!!

Thanks for all the work you do

Any fic recs where Derek loves stiles but has to work to get Stiles to like him back?

Anything with Lots of pining,angst, miscommunication,arranged marriage,that kind of thing, long fics preffered

I have a short attention span when it comes to angsty fics. You can find more here and here.

Derek's Epic Love Story by arrowofcarnations | 11.5K | Explicit

Derek Hale is good at getting what he wants. Unfortunately, what he wants now is Stiles Stilinski, who doesn't exactly seem to be in the mood for his shit.

Bonds of Blood, Bonds of Family, Bonds of Love by TyReed | 44K | Mature

After being beaten up by a door, werewolf Stiles Stilinksi finds himself bonded to Derek Hale, of the Hale Noble Bloodline. For a scrawny, wimpy, Tainted Bloodline werewolf, Stiles runs away, embarrassed and humiliated as he worries about bringing shame to the Hale Family, and even more shame to himself. Because the Nobles and Tainted just don't mix, never have, never will.

Except, things aren't exactly what they seem.

With the help of the (meddling) Hale family, his adoptive (meddling) human parents John and Claudia Stilinksi, and one very persistent Alpha Derek Hale, Stiles might come to see himself as more than just the blood that runs through his veins, and open his heart to find the happiness, friends, pack, and the family that he'd always wanted.

A Broken Heart Is Blind | 5.3K | Mature

When Lydia dumps Stiles to get back with Jackson, Stiles rebounds with Derek, his former TA. It was just supposed to be a one night stand, but they're both a little confused about what the rules for those are.

Written in the Stars by Quixoticity | 26.5K | Mature

Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He's got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.

He's also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.

He likes his life, but he's waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren't great but hey, Derek's a lucky guy. He has faith.

He can't believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There's just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.

The Not So Beauty to Your Not So Beast by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 64.4K | Mature

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski?”

All eyes instantly turned to Stiles and he felt his stomach drop. They’d taken his dad. They’d actually taken his dad and were here to tell him so.

“Yeah?” he asked in a small voice, feeling ready to be sick.

The second he spoke, two of the four regular guards moved through the rows, the lead guard speaking.

“By order of his Grace Peter Hale, you have been selected to begin your employ under the royal house of Hale.”

Wait.

What?

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell | 35.4K | Mature

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Weave Soft Spells Over My Sight by AgnesBlue | 51.4K | Mature

Derek had blossomed steadily over the past year, growing into his ears and turning even more handsome, if that were possible. But instead of going out and melting the panties off the girls, suddenly he was coming to Stiles all bashed in, demanding that he patch him up like Stiles was some freelance nurse. It was a familiar pattern by now.

Thaw by TroubleIWant | 9.9K | Mature

In which Stiles is an Emissary, Derek is in love with him, and nothing comes as easy as it should.

I Intend to be Independently Blue by Loz | 21.7K | Mature

Stiles is the worst thing that could have happened to Derek. He hasn't been wolfing out at inopportune moments since his teens, but only because he has a system in place. And this is where Stiles comes into play. Because he's been messing with this system, and doesn't even know. Also, there's a wendigo.

Living a Teenage Dream by Lissadiane | 19.8K

Rumor has it that Sheriff Stilinkski won't let his stepson Scott date until his other son Stiles does, so when Allison makes the mistake of falling for Scott, her well-meaning (and dickish) friends hatch a scheme to hire someone to take Stiles to homecoming.

You Remember It All; When I Loved You So by crossroadswrite | 21.4K

Derek takes a step forward and then stops. Stiles can see the way his muscles tense and tremble like he’s holding himself back by a hair.

“What-“ his voice breaks, he gets a little choked off and has to drop his eyes.

It’s been one year. He doesn’t think he can look at him after one year.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbles into the floor, knows that Derek will hear him.

“I-“

erroneous manoeuvres by slippingfromreality | 5.3K

“Hey, Stilinski!”

Stiles clenches his teeth. “What do you want, Hale?” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. The smug smirk that’s most likely waiting for him is already seared into his mind from overexposure.

“A date!” the answer comes, still as loud, and most of the bystanders giggle or snort in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles rolls his eyes. This is the third time this week. He’d complain that Hale’s jokes are getting pretty stale, but he’d probably be milking this situation for all that it’s worth, too, if their roles were reversed. “Wrong aisle,” he grouses back, “try the bakery section. I hear they have fresh tarts.”

Semblance of Hope by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 14.8K | Explicit

“Have a drink,” John offered, looking over Derek’s shoulder at the bar. “I know that a certain someone would be happy to see you again.”

Derek turned to look over his shoulder, catching sight of a familiar head of messy hair, pale skin, and moles. The exact person he wanted to see behind the bar.

Stiles.

It had been almost five years since Derek saw Stiles, remembering the last night he saw him. How much of a coward he had been, sneaking out of the room before Stiles could wake. He wasn’t any good—for anyone.

And he knew, more than anything, he didn't deserve Stiles.

Badly Timed Boners and A Failure To Communicate by eeyore9990 | 22.8K | Explicit

Suddenly, Derek is everywhere, and not just in that creepy, Edward Cullen, I'm-gonna-stalk-around-and-lurk-broodingly way. Stiles doesn't know what's up with that, but he's pretty sure there's only one conclusion to be reached.

We're all going to fucking die.

Scrubbing Bubbles by MargaretKire | 46K | Explicit

Stiles thought it would be easy doing janitorial work for an office. At first, it really was. The job only took a few hours in the evenings and it helped pay for rent and college. Sure, Hale Industries took up an entire floor in one of the downtown financial buildings, but the place was new and easy to care for. He didn’t even have to spend much time cleaning the huge corner office, because the trash was nearly always empty and the office itself was spotless, like no one used it.

It was basically the perfect college job. At least, until the boss started staying late.

Jinx Removing by DevilDoll | 6.2K | Explicit

"Derek wished he would sit down or take his jacket off or something; anything that would indicate he was going to stay for more than a few minutes."

Alpha Nose Best by CharWright5 | 23.1K | Explicit

Alpha Derek Hale is noseblind. He can smell every day things, like coffee brewing or recently mowed grass or people's perfume, but when it comes to personal scents and telling an Alpha from a Beta from an Omega? Not so much. As annoying as it may be, he's grown to accept it and moves on with his life. Besides, he has more important things to worry about.

Until he stumbles upon the most delicious scent he's ever had the pleasure of sniffing in his life, leading to an unfortunate misunderstanding in a public bathroom. And to make matters worse, this Alpha-hating Omega he accidentally accosted just happens to be the best friend of his own best friend Erica and the two of them have been recruited to help her plan part of her elopement. It's not how Derek wanted to spend his week...until it totally is.

it's obvious, you're oblivious by EvanesDust | 14.8K | Explicit

Derek’s new roommate is alpha bait but seems disinterested in everyone—especially Derek.

Stiles is suddenly popular, but can't seem to catch the interest of the only alpha he actually likes.

...or the one where Stiles and Derek get paired together in room assignments and are secretly in love with the other.

Turn a Little Faster by skoosiepants | 3.2K

He shifts back and forth on his feet and tries to psych himself up. He can do this. He’s a badass werewolf, he can totally tell Stiles that they accidentally got werewolf married because—because Stiles was thinking about him, and happened to give him a token of his, uh, affection under the silvery light of the last full moon. Platonic affection, Derek thinks sourly, so he doesn’t get why his wolf feels all warm and fuzzy and bonded all of a sudden.

Honestly, it’s like—why aren’t people accidentally getting werewolf married all the time, if it happens this easily?

Teenage Dream by matildajones | 58.5K | Mature

After an accident, Stiles wakes up to what can only be a dream. He has money, he has fame, he has award winning actor Derek Hale as his husband. It quickly seems more and more like a nightmare because Stiles doesn't remember getting any of it - and it's hard to accept the reality that Derek can still love him.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #pining!derek #oblivious!stiles #bluepatrolkidscissors

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sukunasun · 2 years

Note

ive only been on your page for five minutes and im already in LOVE! your f1 au is so smart and so chefs kiss literally so good. love it when two of my hyperfixations meet each other. gojo in a merceydess racing suit? yes slay. geto as his only rival? even slayer. nanami as a toto wolff kind of team principal? slayyyyyy. genuinely so good. also what team do you think geto would be in? feyrari??? anyway love your work and all that mwah kiss kiss

im so glad you like it because its rly just a bunch of overpaid men going vroom vroom in their ugly cars and in an act of giving into indulgence and bein a glutton, i placed the 2d men into it, creating this universe is not only specifically for me (and like 3 anons) but im forcing everyone to look at it too.

bask in a gojo that's ten times more of a nuisance, a competitive menace with no filter and absolutely no fear. who would not bow to stress or loss, well, because he never loses. and even when the pressure and temperatures rises, that racing suit would not be able to shield him from the heat of bahrain, or the hot tar of a race track below his feet, steaming, smoking with dark, inky lines the tyres leave behind, and especially not in your gaze staring at his form, tall and proud and that of a god, so inhuman, he floats above the rest, he who doesn't need history books because he's writes a new one all on his own.

from the moment his balaclava is pulled over his head to when he pulls it off, he thinks of everything but his own life. its why you worry when your cold hands aren't enough to snap him out of it, theres always the next race, the next win, the next time his car crashes into a barricade and you spend those few weeks nursing his injuries, a broken finger, stitches over his ribs, the soul crushing realization that he wouldn't see your face again. and you don't think about a vivid image like that, a past gojo who promised you that he'd be more careful, "i'll always come back to you," strong forearms wrapped tight around, so suffocating is his love, he lets you in slowly, warily, it's a lot to ask for, to see him as a person, so much so that he drives himself to the brink of death in lieu of it, bringing you along for the ride.

this gojo is more important, the gojo in front of you now, white strands of hair clumping together, he pushes them back, a beautiful face greeting you, one that turns red from the exertion, the warmth, the adrenaline. but you don't mind it, not when you kiss him just to be sure he's still here, that it's his heart pumping as fast as the rest of the drivers who zoom past, they have to keep up knowing they could never, but they try. it doesn't matter, gojo's thirsty, for more than just sponsored energy drinks and evian water. on your tip toes, you lean in, chasing after the fastest man alive.

and i can't begin to dissect geto suguru. how do you define driver like him? by skill? by wins? or is it just that he embodies all the best parts of what it means to drive; hunger, desire, chasing after something he can’t put a name to but he hopes to find it beyond the chequered flag, to rise above everyone, unlike gojo, geto drives for himself first. in scuderia red, one that’s burned into the minds of people. a red that calls for attention, that angers a raging bull. the colour of champions. a little darker when he bleeds from his nose, seeping into the grooves of your fingerprints when you press a towel to it, he looks up at you in contempt, who are you to touch him. and a little more vibrant when he strips off, bare and naked, he leaves it puddled on the floor and forgotten, would rather wear the marks you scratch into his back, down his chest, feel it sting, feel it hurt so good.

and it fits doesn’t it? that gojo breaks rules and drives for a team that moves forward, and that geto keeps to tradition, to its roots, what is racing without ferrari, all that prestige, the legacy he makes for himself when he comes into this sport with nothing, having to prove himself over and over again, breaking a sweat, and leaving his best friend behind for the songs they sing in the stands, for the taste of champagne. he steps onto the podium in monaco, in monza, in mexico, and a bright smile breaks over his face. completely different to the one he gives to you in the secluded corner of a pit garage. your chin in his grip, he tilts your head up, "you’re going to have to do better than that," he whispers, when has he ever needed a good luck charm, but he thinks otherwise now when it looks as good as you, when the taste of you alone sends sparks up his spine, setting his heart afire.

#not all the cars are ugly...the ferrari this szn fucks #and im biased but i wanna take a bite outta that papaya orange car #someone said 'what if geto was a r*dbool driver' okay do you hate me?#'even slayer' made me laugh hehe #formula one au #ask #anon #f1 au #pls im thinking abt team principal nanami having to deal with gojo and coming home to release all that anger and frustration on you

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angryschnauzer · 4 years

Text

Just What I Need

Summary; Working in a coffee shop you meet all sorts of people, but one customer in particular is always friendly, a local Detective from the nearby precinct. When one night he orders through a delivery service rather than in store, you get more than a tip when you make the delivery.

Fandom; Nomis (Night Hunter) Movie, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x Female Reader (no race or size specified)

Trope: Coffee Shop Meet Cute

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Flirting, Masturbation (male), Oral Sex (female recieving), unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Snowstorms.

I do not operate a tag list but instead please pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, then you’ll get an alert every time i post a new story. My Masterlist got too long and tumblr ate it, so all my past stories can also be found on my AO3, link HERE

A/N: I am considering expanding this story, depending if people like it and want me to? Let me know! <3

Just What I Need

Running the steam through the coffee machine you wiped the nozzle and smiled, there were just fifteen minutes until closing and the coffee shop you worked at was all but abandoned. Just your manager in the back counting the cash takings, and you were getting ready to box up the remaining muffins and cookies for the homeless shelter volunteer to collect dead on closing time.

You didn’t mind working the late shift, in fact you preferred it over the early shift opening up at 7am. The 7am crowd were grumpy, rude and always in a rush. The 7pm customers were tired, quiet, and always thankful for whatever caffeinated delights you provided them with.

The bell over the door rang as it opened and you looked up over the cups that were stacked on top of the machine, smiling at you saw the weary familiar face coming towards you;

“Good Evening Detective” you smiled as the beast of a man stood at the counter. His face softened as he saw you, his shoulders dropping a little as he relaxed.

“Hey… Sorry I’m in so late… you’re still open, right?”

You glanced at the clock;

“Another ten minutes. What can i get you?”

You watched as he cast his gaze up to the handwritten chalkboard menu’s above the counter;

“You got any Chilli left?”

“Sure, a couple of pots in the fridge. Want me to warm it up?”

He paused for a moment, as if trying to process the most technical question through his tired mind;

“No… yes… urghhh…” he took a deep breath; “Yeah… if you wouldn’t mind. I’m so fuckin’ tired i think I’d burn my apartment down if i tried to use the stove”

“Sure thing” you said with a smile as you got to work.

You made small talk as you prepared his order, pulling out the sides and condiments that came with the Chilli meal;

“Hey, you want a free muffin?”

“I’m not really into sweet things this late at night… what flavours you got?”

“How about an Apple Cinnamon? It’ll last overnight and still be fresh enough for breakfast”

The Detective smiled and nodded, pulling his wallet out as you finished bagging his order and rang it through for him, paying before you handed the bag to him;

“Have a good evening Detective”

As he turned he smiled at you;

“Call me Walter”

Three days later and you were on the late shift again. Again it was quiet, just the soft sound of tyres driving through slushy snow outside the only noise since around 6pm as just a couple of customers nursed steaming mugs of coffee from their window seats. You saw the big silver truck pull up in the space outside the coffeeshop and smiled, there was only one customer that drove a truck that huge and if you were being honest with yourself you were developing quite a crush on the curly haired Detective.

The moment he walked through the door you were smiling at him;

“Detective” you greeted him happily

“Didn’t i say to call me Walter last time i was here?”

“I like Detective, has a nice authority ring to it” you said with a wink; “What can i get you tonight?”

He paused for a moment, and as you reached for a notepad to jot down his order you missed the slight eyebrow raise and smirk at what you’d said before he cleared his throat;

“What have you got that i can eat in my office without facing the wrath of my Lieutenant for making the department stink?” he said with a grin as he leaned on the counter.

“I got Mozzarella and Pesto Subs? Tuna Melt?”

“Tuna is a no. The case isn’t going well, no fish. Gimme two Mozzarella Subs, and the largest black coffee you do”

“Sure thing. I’ll put a fresh pot on and get those sub’s on the press”

As you started to prepare his order his phone rang, and you couldn’t help but to listen in;

“... i’ll be like five minutes, i ain’t eaten all day… yeah ok… i’ll grab a box…”

He hung up and nodded to the cakes;

“Can i get a dozen muffins to go too? Got some grunts that are jealous that i got to escape the paperwork…”

“Sure thing”

Loading a box you picked what you knew were the best flavours and the freshest bakes;

“You know, we’re on Uber Eats. As much as its nice to see a friendly face, we can deliver to the Precinct”

“I… I have no idea what that is…”

“Its a food delivery app. Here, give me your phone…”

He unlocked it and set it down and rested his elbows on the counter as he watched;

“You go to the app store and just download it. Put in your location and it’ll bring up nearby eateries and you can search for us. It has all the standard menu on. Save your card details or link it to paypal, and its super easy, it even keeps you updated when the order is being prepared or its out for delivery”

He smiled as you pushed the phone back to him, locking the screen and pushing it back into his tight jeans;

“That’s all well and good, but then i wouldn’t get a chance to see my favourite coffee shop girl now, would i?”

You leaned forward and grinned, keeping your voice low;

“Order between 6.45 and 7pm and i snag the deliveries and do them on my way home”

Walter pushed the key into the lock, opening the door to his apartment and groaning as his body ached from tiredness. He should be elated, they caught the killer, the evidence was logged and couldn’t be disputed… and yet he was tired to his core. He’d been at his desk for longer than he’d been home, and when the Lieutenant had finally ordered him to go him a little after 5pm, it had still taken him the better part of an hour to finish up and leave the building.

Shutting the door behind him he felt his stomach rumble. He didn’t even need to look in the fridge to know it was completely empty, devoid of anything even vaguely edible. Checking his phone he saw that it was a little after 6.30pm and a thought fired across his mind, a smile forming. Fifteen minutes later he’d added far more to his online basket than he ever would have done in store, but for the first time he was able to see exactly what the creations were whereas in the store it was just a big pile of weird looking cakes and bakes. By 6.50pm he’d entered his card details and completed the order, the little update screen stating delivery would be by 7.30pm, just enough time to grab a shower, after all if it was you that would deliver, he should probably shower for the first time in 72 hours having rushed out of the apartment three mornings in a row due to new leads in the case.

The shower was far too enjoyable to rush, and after he’d washed his hair he started on his body, soaping over his chest and stomach before he paid extra attention to his dick. The anticipation of just the possibility of seeing you had him hard in seconds, and resting his head back against the tiled wall he quickly worked his hand over himself. He got lost in the moment, his mind taking him to places it shouldn’t, imagining his hand was yours, thinking about that time he saw you wearing over the over the knee knit socks and a skirt, how your ass was the perfect roundness, how your lips would look stretched around his dick… he came with a groan, thick white ropes falling to the shower floor as every ounce of stress left his body, his body shuddering when he was finally spent.

He was halfway through drying himself when he heard a knock at the door to his apartment, he eyes going wide when he saw it was 7.20pm;

“Fuck!”

He’d gotten carried away in the shower, and now he had to quickly rush to wrap a towel around his waist as a second knock came just as he reached the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and seeing you standing on the doorstep shivering in your padded coat, holding two takeout bags;

“Hey! Come in, come in, Jeez its freezing out there…”

Stepping into the apartment you couldn’t help but to look him up and down, attempting to hide your reaction as you could clearly see the distinct outline of something rather large bulging against the fabric of the fluffy white towel;

“Hey D-d-detective… Y-y-yeah it’s d-d-dropping fast out t-t-there… radio s-s-said it was g-g-gonna be a wind chill of minus t-t-twenty nine by eight o’clock… what a n-n-night to have my b-b-bike, huh?” You carefully dropped the two bags onto his coffee table as you spoke.

“You cycled here? On that pedal bike that is always chained up outside the coffee shop?” he asked incredulously, immediately forgetting his current state of undress. Shutting the door he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest; “You’re gonna stay here until you’re warmed up, i’m gonna make you a hot coffee and to warm you up from the inside too...”

“I ain’t gonna complain to that” you mumbled, your face pressed to his chest as you suddenly melted against him, warming your cheek against his firm muscles before turning your head to warm the other one and he let out a little gasp as your cold hands pressed against his sides.

“I also said for you to call me Walter…” he said quietly.

Pulling your head back you smiled at him;

“Thank you, Walter. You’re the best… though you’re the first delivery i’ve made where i’ve been greeted by someone in just a towel”

“Sorry, let me go put some clothes on…”

You tighten your grip around his waist;

“I wasn’t complaining…”

There was no poignant pause, no longing gazes, his lips met with yours and the kiss was fierce and hungry. He was pushing your coat down your arms and you reluctantly released your hold from his waist to let it drop to the floor, your sweater following soon after. Your lips met again and he was lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hand rested on your ass beneath your skirt as he walked you through the apartment before dropping you on his bed.

He was pulling your boots off your feet as you scrambled up the bed, your hands reaching for your thigh high socks when he suddenly caught your hands in his;

“Leave those on…”

You paused and grinned, before his lips met yours again and he was on top of you, his hands sliding up your skirt and bunching it around your waist as he pressed a trail of open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, before briefly lifting his head enough to pull your panties down your legs and toss them aside.

As he lowered his mouth to your core his gaze was intense, vivid blue shining through the dim light of his bedroom, his tongue pushing through your soaked petals and parting them as his beard brushed against your skin, heightening all of the sensations. Wrapping his arms around your thighs he pulled you closer to his mouth, his tongue pushing into you and he started to fuck you with it whilst his bearded face tickled your clit. You were squealing and struggling to stay still, needing to anchor yourself on something as your hips bucked and your orgasm started to rapidly approach, your hands finding their way to his still wet hair and your fingers wrapping around the dark curls as he pressed a hand to your stomach to keep you still, growling at your taste on his tongue as he felt you shake as your orgasm took over.

When your body had finally stopped shaking Walter pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he sat back on his haunches, licking his lips where he could still taste you on them. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows you grinned at him, your gaze travelling down his thick chest to his stomach, and the trail of hair that led beneath the towel;

“You gonna show me what you’ve got under that towel, Detective?”

“You ready for what i’ve got under this towel darlin’?”

Pushing yourself up to sitting, your legs spread and bent either side of him, you hooked a finger into the towel and tugged, your eyes going wide when you saw his thick meaty cock standing hard and proud between his muscled thighs. Wrapping your hands around it you relished the feel of his silky skin as it moved over the hardness beneath, your mouth against his;

“I need you inside me”

“I… Fuck… this wasn’t planned… i haven’t got any protection…”

“I’m on birth control, I want to feel you bare…”

With a growl he surged forwards, capturing your lips with his own before he pushed you down onto the bed. Holding himself up on one hand he hooked your leg up over his hip, opening you like a winter blossom as he rubbed his dick through your soaked folds, dousing himself with your slick wetness. You whined at the teasing, the way his tip would brush against your hole only to move up to your clit;

“Walter, please… you promised to warm me up from the inside…”

He paused, a smirk on his face;

“You want me to get you a coffee? ‘Cos i can stop…”

“NO, i need your diiiiiiiiii….FUCK!” He’d pushed into you as you were mid sentence, the feeling of his meaty girth splitting your walls wide open overwhelming you and your eyes rolled back in their sockets; “OH MY GOD!”

“You like that Darlin? You feeling warmer now?”

“Please… please fuck me…”

He grinned and shifted his hips, grinding into you;

“Well, as you said please…”

You had been expecting him to pound you into the mattress, you had not been expecting for his technique to start off with sensual rolls of his hips, filling you tenderly and carefully whilst you got used to his size. It was almost overwhelming, completely surrounded as he caged you in with his massive arms, his chest pressed against your own as his hips worked utter magic. He pulled his legs wide apart, shifting to rest on your open hips and he got even deeper. Pressing kisses to your lips and neck he soon had you moaning and begging for release, every push and pull hitting just the right spots and you were almost embarrassingly wet from the arousal but it only added to the sensations.

You could feel yourself coming, the pleasure too much to hold back, and with a long low moan your body betrayed you and succumbed to the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your belly. Walter kept up the same speed of his thrusts but pushed a little harder, a little deeper with each one;

“Can feel you fluttering around me, you gonna cum for me? You look so fucking beautiful all fucked out and wanting, feel so fucking amazing…”

Just as your orgasm was at its peak he tensed and you could feel his cum flooding into you, the twitching of his dick as he filled you with his seed prolonging your high. When you had both finally finished you could feel his weight start to get heavier on top of you, before with a sudden and surprising act of nimble dexterity he rolled the pair of you over so you were laying atop of him, his softening dick slipping out and you felt the trickle of his seed flow out of you. With one massive hand he pulled the duvet across your bodies, and you snuggled up to his chest;

“That was the best tip ever” you giggled; “In fact definitely more than the tip”

At that moment you not only heard but felt his stomach growl, looking up and seeing him grin sheepishly as he spoke;

“I just want you to know this is not how i usually treat food deliveries… do you want something to eat? Or drink?”

Nodding you smiled;

“That'd be nice”

A while later you were cleaned up, Walter having given you one of his massive t-shirts to wear which came to the tops of your thighs. He’d grazed through half the contents of his order as you nibbled on a muffin, having eaten at the coffee shop during a very quiet last hour of your shift. You’d laughed and chatted as the pair of you had eaten on the comfort of Walters couch, before you’d suddenly stopped mid sentence;

“Shit, i left my bike in the lobby… will it be safe there until i go home?”

Walter smiled at you, his hand curling around your thigh;

“Have you heard that weather out there? I’d be surprised if you could even ride it home through three foot of snow…” he paused for a moment; “Stay the night…”

You went to object, decline politely but you caught yourself, why? Why shouldn’t you spend the night? Taking a deep breath you smiled;

“I’d love to”

_____________________________________________

Part 2 >>>

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