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pursuitseternal · 6 months

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“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

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elliespeach · 10 months

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tear you apart | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"if your friends won't watch over you, i will." ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. heavily heavily based on the book/tv show "you" on netflix wordcount 4k warnings gosh where do i start, stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, she breaks into readers apartment and goes thru your stuff, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! authors note hi hello hi, i have been so excited to post this!! just wanted to clarify this rn, i am bringing in a LOT of elements from the book and show, especially in this part, if it seems very similar thats why. i don't plan on following the plot line for season one, but i needed a good base to jump off of, dont hate me. n yes, readers best friend is shauna from yellowjackets i couldn't help myself. i needed a girl group, sue me. cat is apart of this girl group, not ellie's ex along w dina, also not ellie's ex in this au lol

fuckin’ trash, ellie thought to herself, looking over the torn up vinyl in her hands. the guy who returned it obviously had no fucking clue how to take care of something. especially something so needing of love. she placed the vinyl down on the counter beside the register before stepping into the back of the store, grabbing her tools of restoration. as she rummaged through a drawer, the familiar bell rang from the front door indicating a new customer, but she ignored it and continued searching for the sandpaper she always left laying around somewhere. the last drawer she opened was the winner, taking her supplies, she emerged from the small room into the front of the store, the beads in the doorway swaying as she walked through them.

thats when her eyes found you, examining the vinyl left on the counter. you hadn’t noticed her yet, too engrossed in the mishandled vinyl. she watched you for a moment as you looked it over, tracing the scratches that lined it. to ellie, you looked to be the definition of a nice girl. sporting a flowy sundress that laid just below your ass. nice girl who likes attention, she thought to herself, looking you up and down from afar.

she played it cool, keeping her eyes on the sandpaper and cloth in her hands as she made her way back to the counter. you finally took notice of her when she stood in front of you. “oh, hi,” you smiled brightly, to which ellie looked up. “whoever handled this vinyl should be in jail.” a sense of humor, ellie smiled at you, letting a breathy laugh fall from her lips. and an appreciation for vinyls, rare.

“a life sentence, for sure.” she spoke, and you laughed. a laugh that was genuine, not forced by politeness.

“can you point me to where i could find a david bowie album, ellie?” you asked sweetly, and she had to remember she wore a name tag. flirting with me and you like david bowie? ellie’s grateful its a tuesday afternoon, the store is dead. giving her more time to talk with you. you, who seemed to never stop smiling at her.

“against the wall,” she pointed. “third box from the left.” she lets you wander over yourself, taking the time to admire the way you carry yourself. you had a pair of red, heart shaped sunglasses resting on your head. ellie could tell you liked to pay attention to details, it was evident in the way you matched your sunglasses to your dress, and she wondered just how many pairs you owned. both short dresses and uniquely designed sunglasses together. her head tilted at the thought, switching her over chewed gum to the other side of her mouth.

you rifled through the box as ellie’s gaze pierced your back, although you were seemingly unaware. david bowie, she thought again. not another stuck up gen z who only listens to who is in the top one hundred, no. no, you were special. ellie put her focus onto the vinyl in front of her, slowly dampening it with the cloth before grinding the sandpaper over the scratches. but she kept you in her peripheral vision and she couldn’t help but notice you were struggling to find a specific one, or at least it looked like it.

“need help?” she asked you, keeping her voice neutral.

your body turned to face her, meeting her eyes and a faux pout on your lips.“i think the only one i want isn’t here, or i’m seriously blind.”

ellie chuckled, coming out from behind the counter, “my money’s on blind, just organized this box a few days ago.”

you huffed lightly, standing to the side while she approached you and the box. “i can’t find the rise and fall of ziggy stardust, it’s one of my favorites.”

of course it is. ellie barely looked in the box before she saw the album, pulling it out and holding it out for you. “i’ll book your eye appointment,” she said with a light grin.

“ugh, my hero,” you gushed, taking the album from her hands gently. i’ll always be your hero, but something tells ellie that you didn’t really need her help to begin with.

“c’mon, i’ll ring you up,” ellie led you back to the register and you placed the vinyl down on the counter lightly.

“promise i won’t do what that guy did,” you joked, reaching into your bag for your wallet.

ellie almost wishes you would. you’d come in a few days later, apologizing for being so clumsy but asking if she could fix it for you. of course, she would say yes. how could she say no to someone like you? “you couldn’t if you tried, pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

“what makes you say that?”

“just a hunch,” ellie shrugs, scanning the barcode on the vinyl.

“maybe his dogs got it, or worse, his kids.” you kept eye contact as you spoke, which shocked ellie. a lot of people would break away, divert conversation, maybe even stay silent all together. but not you.

“if that guy had kids, i’d feel bad for them,” to a lot of people, this comment would rub them the wrong way, and ellie internally cursed herself for saying it. you’re a sweetheart in her eyes, someone who wouldn’t think things like that, but again, you laughed. the transaction was almost over and she was grasping at straws, so she kept going. “guys like him blame everything on everyone else, i wouldn’t be surprised if his kids actually hated him but,”

your head tilted, waiting for more. to ellie, it looked like you were hanging onto every word she said. and she relished in it. “–thats only if someone wanted to have kids with him, which i highly doubt.”

“from what i’m hearing it doesn’t sound like anyone would want to,” you’re trusting my judgment. ellie’s lips curled up with your words, and she bagged the vinyl in a plastic bag. you handed her a credit card, which was decorated with flowers along with your name. and you want me to know your name. you could’ve used cash, the vinyl was less than twenty dollars. but no, ellie knew better and she knew you better. your eyes found the scratched up vinyl yet again, “but you can fix it?”

ellie swiped the card against her own wishes. she’d give you the whole store if you asked with that pretty smile. “it’ll be back in the box within the hour, why? you like pink floyd?”

“yeah, for the most part. i haven’t listened to that album yet,”

“i can put it on hold for you.” ellie rushes out, and she feels like she came on too strong. you could easily listen to it on spotify but she reminds herself that you’re in her store for a reason. you probably own a vinyl player, an older model you got off of facebook marketplace because the newer ones don’t match your personality. maybe a pioneer or a yamaha, and now shes thinking about how you probably dance around your room listening to music. your response breaks her from her imagination.

“that’d be great, thanks ellie,” but she can see it so perfectly in her mind, you’d wear a big t-shirt and a dainty pair of underwear. twirling and spinning about, the t-shirt riding up as you did and as you stood in front of her in that short dress her mind seemed to unravel and she had to clear her throat.

“anytime–” she tacked your name at the end of her words with a smile, handing back your card which you very quickly put in your wallet. her eyes glanced down for a split second, admiring how the dress pushed your tits together before bringing them back up to your face.

“aren’t you going to tell me to have a good day?” you teased much to ellie’s enjoyment, reaching out for the bag she was holding for you.

“have a good day,” your fingers grazed hers, and ellie knew it had to be on purpose. a flirt, and a good one at that.

“you too, ellie. i’ll be back for that album.”

you left the store as quickly as you came, taking your sweet vanilla scent with you. ellie thought about your interaction all day, it consumed her walk home and when she entered her small apartment she fell to her couch and opened her laptop.

plugging your name into any and all social medias was easy, who could forget a name like yours? all your accounts were public, and very quickly ellie could tell just what kind of person you were. the sweet girl who loved vinyls who had an addiction to posting online. your twitter was filled with random, obscure thoughts and always with a hashtag at the end of them. from time to time you’d tweet about where you were, and ellie tsk’d out loud to herself. anyone could find you within seconds, you need to be more careful. you seemed to tweet about everything in your life and ellie refreshed the page, wishing to see a post about the cute girl in the vinyl shop who helped you find your favorite album.

yet, there was nothing. and for a moment it hurt her, but the more she thought about it, it was better you didn’t post about her. that means it was real for you, hope remains.

facebook provided the basics of your family, although the account was inactive. but your parents who divorced a few years back seemed to only post about your younger siblings, leaving her to wonder if they didn’t approve of your lifestyle in the city. she stalked their pages like it was her job and at this point it felt like it was. she discovered that your two younger siblings went off to college out west and your parents even sold their home to be closer to them while still living separate lives. ellie felt pity for you, how could they just leave you behind?

your instagram feed was an aesthetic one, pictures posted solely to appease your followers. a pretty sunset here, a mirror selfie there, a quick post about the food from the restaurant just down the road from ellie’s shop. there were also posts about your own art, colorful and detailed, just like yourself. a painting you did was the last thing you posted, but this one wasn’t like your other ones, it was black and white and had a lonely floating balloon in the center and the borders were lined with overlapping words. ellie could make out only a few of them, ‘melancholy’, ‘nobody’, and ‘distress’.

there were lots of group pictures of you with friends. ellie could see you looked more authentic than them, who all seemed to resemble something out of a factory for young adults. you were a pearl in a sea of clams.

out of curiosity, ellie brought herself to your friend’s pages as well. she needed to see the types of people you spent time with, seeing if they were someone she would approve of for you. one friend made an appearance more than others and she assumed that was your so-called best friend, a spunky city girl named shauna. her own instagram was like an influencer’s guide to posting online, and she seemed like someone ellie would avoid at all costs. shauna’s posts of you always had you in the background, or if you were directly in the frame it was a candid where shauna looked better. she's making herself look better at your own expense, can't you see that?

your other friend’s social media were bland and unhelpful. ellie brought herself back to the task at hand. she typed your name into google and watched the loading screen. your name brought up a string of links all connecting back to your art pieces you’ve submitted to local papers and art galleries. an artist in new york city, aren’t you ambitious. maybe your parents didn’t like the instability of being an artist. but yet, you still pursue your passion. its admirable.

what also popped up was a white pages link, with a few clicks, and a small charge to her credit card she found exactly what she was looking for. there wasn’t much she could do with your phone number, texting you would be creepy. there was no way for her to explain how she got it, so the next best thing was your address. which, lucky for ellie, was only six blocks from her own.

if she could find it this easily, she needed to make sure that no one else did. which is how she found herself standing across the street from your apartment, peering into the windows that had no blinds, no curtains, no protection from the outside world. you were on full display for all of new york. first thing were doing together is buying you blinds. you were lounging around on your coach, scrolling through your phone and periodically shifting in your spot to get more comfortable.

it was dark now, and again, luckily for ellie, someone standing on the sidewalk of new york wasn’t a weird thing to do and no one paid her any mind. for days she would stand in the same spot, studying your movements throughout your apartment. sometimes you would go to bed on the early side, but most nights you were fully awake, sipping something out of a purple mug which she could only assume was coffee, and drawing lines on a canvas.

everytime you would take a break and scroll through your phone, ellie would refresh every social media, waiting for a post. your fingers danced on the keyboard and after a few refreshes on ellie’s end, your twitter had a new post.

@yndoesartstuff: if anyone has tips on how not to procrastinate finishing a wip, please enlighten me

if you just put down your phone, i’m sure you could get it done.

one night she watched as you dipped your wet brush into the purple mug instead of the designated paint water cup. they didn’t even look similar, but ellie laughed to herself while you groaned, tossing your head back before getting up to dump the liquid out of the mug. this would also be the first night ellie gawked at you while your hands dipped below your shorts, she quickly looked around. no one else seemed to notice that you were pleasing yourself with your own gentle hands and her eyes found you again, sprawled out on your couch.

your back arched, obviously hitting your sweet spot and ellie swallowed hard. blinds. were getting you blinds.

some days, ellie was too busy with the store to watch over you and she hated herself for it. too tired to walk the six blocks and instead just looking over your social media again, looking through your friends posts to see if you’ve been up to anything. you had never come back for the album, which ellie had finished nearly two weeks ago now. but tonight, as she locked up the store she knew she was going straight to the sidewalk adjacent from your apartment.

when she arrived at her usual spot she saw you through the windows and you looked too well put together for a night to yourself. you were dolled up and ellie liked to imagine it was for her, you’d leave your apartment and head to the store for the album you said you’d come back for weeks ago. but her hope was squashed when a cab pulled up outside your apartment and a woman who looked way too old started to walk up the steps to the building and entered the main door. ellie had been here enough to know the general look of your building's inhabitants, and this woman wasn’t one of them. maybe someone's mom, maybe she's visiting a friend. she can’t be here for you. no way.

but through the windows, with no blinds, she saw you open your door for this woman and welcome her into your home. your mom. it has to be. ellie’s eyebrows narrowed when you pulled this woman into a hug, then pulled back and let your lips kiss hers. okay, so not your mom. who the fuck is this?

ellie, whose eyes were going from her phone to the big windows of your apartment, began to search through your online presence and found no traces of her. this mysterious woman who, now, you seemed to be having a highschool make out session with on your couch, was all over you, touching you, kissing you, and worst of all, pleasing you. that sweet smile that had previously been for ellie, was now for this woman and it made ellie’s stomach turn. but she didn’t leave, instead watched while the two of you began to peel each other's clothes off.

were getting you blinds and were getting rid of this woman.

the next day while she opened up her store, she couldn’t help but think about you and this woman. she was frustrated, of course. but she couldn’t blame you, obviously this woman was prying on your weaknesses for her own pleasure. taking advantage of you. it sickened her, and she had to know more. she had been through every following list she could think of and still, this woman was a mystery. and as she refreshed your twitter (a new hobby of hers), a new post popped up.

@yndoesartstuff: lunch date with @shaunamavisxx never felt so right – at hoppers tavern

seeing that, ellie locked up shop way too early. it was fairly easy to make her way into your apartment, all she had to do was play the part. “sorry, my girlfriend hasn’t given me a key to this door yet,” she said with a friendly smile to your neighbor, who out of the kindness of his heart let her into the building. she waited until he was in his own apartment before picking your lock.

it smelled like you once she stepped inside, and she let the aroma fill her nose as she walked around. it was messy, canvases piled up everywhere along with dirty paint brushes. clothes lined your floor from the bedroom all the way to the kitchen and she had to force herself not to clean it up for you. she examined your paintings up close, admiring how the strokes on the canvas looked. she noticed you draw a small bird in every corner, the bird is plump, uncolored and holding a small twig. it was your signature, and it matched you so well. but, what she really was after was your laptop, she found it sitting on your unmade bed.

no password? she was shocked, and made a mental note to tell you that you needed to secure your devices. it’s almost as if you wanted her to search through it to get to know you better, and ellie did just that. it was linked to your phone and as she went through your messages they all seemed to be relatively normal. for someone like you, at least.

loads of messages from a group chat labeled city gals, and she knew it wasn’t you who had named it being as you were funnier than that, and less basic. scrolling up, all the conversation in the chat was merely nothing of note, no mention of this woman to your friends which ellie found odd. maybe just a hookup? but even then, wouldn’t you tell your friends?

ellie could gauge your friends' personalities through the texts they would send, shauna was most definitely the unnamed leader of this group, probably also the one who named the chat. her texts were mostly about planning activities, meanwhile the others just tacked on with fake enthusiastic responses. even yourself.

leaving the group chat, she continued to scroll down your messages and found an unsaved phone number which seemed to be the winner. you don’t have her number saved, this is good. a lot of your texts to her went unanswered, left on seen and only responded once you’d ask for her to come over. that usually generated a reply within minutes from this woman, who ellie still didn’t know the name of. it angered her even further, realizing she was just toying you along. only using you for your body when you were so much more than that.

ellie jotted down the unsaved number into her notes app, saving it for later when she could find out just exactly who this woman was. it was clear from the texts that she wanted nothing to do with you, and you still kept texting her like a sad puppy. it was pathetic, really, but ellie didn’t judge. she knew that your attention seeking habits were brought on by your dysfunctional family, she just wished it was her on the receiving end.

she found herself in your emails and saw you had an abundant amount of unread ones. it was a lot of spam and a waste of time, so she moved on. she decided it was best to go into your search history, restaurants, art galleries that allowed online submissions, sometimes even silly questions that ellie would most definitely answer for you if you asked.

“how do magicians do their cutting in half tricks?” you would ask her from the couch while ellie made you both dinner.

she’d call out from the stove, “there’s a fake table, the girl puts her legs through that. the legs you see on the other end are fake, baby.” and you would giggle sweetly as you always did, thanking her for being a know-it-all.

but as she continued to scroll further and further down your search history, she saw that the day you two had met, you googled “vinyl stores near me” and ellie’s was the first to pop up. she thanked every star in the universe for such a coincidence, but the more she thought about it, it couldn’t have been a coincidence because to her, it was always meant to be.

suddenly your laptop dinged and a new message appeared at the top from city gals. it was shauna and she was proposing a night out and it didn’t take long at all for the rest of the chat to respond.

shauna: drinks at our favorite spot tonight?

dina: totally what time

shauna: like 8 ish?

cat: sounds good to me

shauna: im with our heavy drinker, she says yes too!! see u guys then

dina: hangin w out us :( rude

cat: yeah wtf

shauna: oh hush its no biggie, we’ll see you guys tonight

ellie sat back as the texts rolled in, heavy drinker? ellie didn’t like the sound of it, and your friends seemed to think it was funny. bet they don’t even watch over you when you’re plastered, leaving you alone where anyone could hurt you. a few clicks on your instagram and she found a group mirror picture in a dirty bar bathroom, and the location clear as day at the top of the post. she confirmed it with a few other pictures and a deep dive of your twitter. gotta stop putting your location everywhere.

ellie knew your lunch date with shauna would be ending soon and you’d return home to start getting ready for the evening. she shut your laptop down, placing it exactly where it was on the bed before and started towards the door to leave. as she was on her way out, a bright red thong caught her eye. it was so carelessly thrown between the couch and the table next to it and she stuffed them into her pocket before locking the door behind her on the way out. she knew you’d never notice, your apartment already looked like a tornado had been through it seven times over.

she played with the string of fabric in her pocket as she walked down the sidewalk back to her place, contemplating the night to come. if your friends won't watch over you, i will.

read part two here :)

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams au #modern!ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader

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be-my-ally · 4 months

Text

Snowballs and Kisses

Hello darlings!! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone celebrating has a wonderful day, and everyone for whom it is a usual monday has a better than usual start to the week!!

I have been MIA the last few weeks on here, but never fear I have been busy behind the scenes and hopefully more things and fics will be finished very soon!! I cannot wait for my little new year break, and *finally* catching up on all the stuff I've missed!! In the meantime as a ittle teeny tiny Christmas gift please enjoy this timeskip for my Splashing Around ‘verse to Christmas Eve 1960 and my shameless OC self insert of what I’d like to gift Elvis.

a/n not totally accurate weather references: it didn’t actually snow in memphis in the latter half of 1959 but, this is fanfiction after all and it *was* very cold november 18th 1959. (I also cut a whole 4k of angst that will come out at some point as a separate chapter, Anita getting a poodle, and the colonel dressed as santa because honestly i just wanted to write and read fluff, but here's a warning that there may end up being more festive fics posted…a little late).

warnings: 18+, smut lite; gentle fingering and references to cumming in pants. UNEDITED

Graceland - December 1960

The excitement of having Elvis back at home for the festive season was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that it was his first Christmas at home without his mother. He’d not really tried to celebrate properly in Germany; sure they’d done the best they could, and he raved about the gift of a fully dressed tree for weeks, but it hadn’t been the same as it would have been at home.

This year though, Elvis seemed determined to restore the festive spirit. Perhaps even further than just restoration - an attempt to make it as bright and jolly as possible in response to both his mother’s passing, and missing the last two. He’d bragged to anyone who would listen about how excited he was to give out presents, his plans for even more lights than ever before; signs and lawn decorations.

While Louise was excited, it had left her in an almost constant state of anxiety, Christmas wasn’t just about the gift-giving… but it was a large enough part of it that it’s where her mind immediately went. From the moment he suggested they hang at Graceland that first year, from the first time they’d all pored over the letter to Frances, and his promises to “have a ball next Christmas”, giggling and whispering about what fun they were going to have the following year. From all of those times Louise had been preoccupied with what to get him and whether her secret plan was good enough for Elvis of all people.

That first year he had reiterated to them all and was absolutely adamant no-one needed to gift him anything and wouldn’t hear of anything being sent over to him. But his frequent calls and mentions of the upcoming holiday belied his actual feelings and besides, Louise wanted him to feel special. Wanted him to know they’d been thinking of him as much as he must have missed being home. It wasn’t until the 27th of November and the slightest of snowfalls had occurred, tiny little snowflakes, delicately falling down when the temperature had dropped just enough for the rain to crystallise when a flash of inspiration hit her. She couldn’t send it, so instead she’d waited patiently, adding to her bundle throughout the months. Now that it was almost time to give it though she was second-guessing that two year decision. Was it too juvenile? It’s just so tricky to buy for the man who literally has anything he could ever wish for. As the festive period hurtles on she resigns herself to having to hunt for a back-up gift…maybe a nice sweater. Maybe that will do. Or maybe it’s best to have options.

Elvis’ melancholia about the holiday doesn’t seem to stretch into Christmas Eve, and he encourages them with all the enthusiasm he’s ever had. The party starts from mid-afternoon and stretches long into the evening and night with all the makings of an excellent time from the music to the food until eventually they all find themselves around the extravagant tree to exchange presents. It’s a little chaotic, so many people about and frequently someone’s having to dive from room to room to fetch people or hidden gifts. Louise finds it almost dizzying when she finally manages to take a seat on the long sofa, catching her breath from being sent to find someone. She was already finding herself struggling to think whenever she glanced over at Elvis - he looked outrageously good in a white shirt, black trousers - well, he looked outrageously good all the time at the moment - but there was something about the feeling in the air of the day that made it all the harder to act natural around him. Elvis had been quiet for a moment, but now he was sat on his armchair across the room, looking for all the world like a king on a throne ready to bestow his generosity on the peasants. Except, that’s not the feeling in the room at all; it’s jolly and wonderful, picture perfect - all of them slightly tipsy on champagne and vodka cocktails and finding the evening all the more entertaining for it. He announces he wants to give the presents that he’s bought everyone before he opens his own, and Louise dips her eyes when he hands her a little bow-tied box. No-one else’s comes with a ribbon and she strokes it, feeling a glow emanating from her stomach and chest as she imagines his nimble fingers tying it on, totally ignoring the fact that she knows someone else probably wrapped it for him. Still, she tugs it off to hide from the others - not wanting to be teased about how such a little gesture has made her blush so strongly - and tucks it into her palm, fully intending on slipping it into her shoe or around her wrist in a moment, knowing she’ll keep it forever - wear it in her hair like a declaration.

When she looks back up everyone has a similar box and she opens it quickly in case they’re all the same - she doesn’t want to ruin her surprise. There, nestled in a little velvet box is a ring, a huge, gaudy red stone in the centre, almost too big for her finger. Louise is transfixed, staring at it, barely a thought in her head as she tries to wrap her head around the way it sparkles in the light. Despite the size of the gem, the band was more than a little small when she tries to slip it on, and she quietly puts it back into the box, not wanting to draw attention to her apparently larger than expected fingers. She glances around, suddenly coming out of her shocked obliviousness. Her face falling when she realises that everyone around her is unboxing similarly precious jewellery. She’s resigning herself to having to sneak it off to get it resized and hating herself a little for it, wondering if there are exercises she could do or maybe a special diet to shrink her fingers to size, when she suddenly realises all the other girls are turning each-other around, kissing Elvis on the cheek in thanks, or asking him to clasp their new necklaces. Louise looks back down at her box and the others. What does a ring mean? It’s been gifted with such casualness that it can’t possibly mean anything can it? When she looks back up Elvis is staring right at her, and she makes eye contact with him - her wide eyes meeting his laughing ones. He winks, and turns back to Red. She tries her best to distract herself from it, ooh and aahing over everyone else’s and keeping quiet about the little box clutched tight in her hand.

Half hour later Elvis is admiring his own little haul, when he catches her eye again,

“You forget about me Lou?” Louise cringes at being called out so publicly,

“Of course not!” She looks around the room, at the large group gathered there, “No, uh, why don’t you, well I’ve gotten you something else….It’s a sweater. It’s not great really, but I… your real gift I’ve made you, but,” She swallows building her courage, unsure why she’s so nervous suddenly when she’d been so excited for so long; the whole idea just seemed juvenile and silly now. “… you’ve gotta follow me for it.” He stares into her eyes for a second, before nodding and standing up, gesturing at her as if to say ‘lead the way’.

He grins at the boys when they walk out, making a salacious movement as if to suggest her gift may not be all too family-friendly to accompanying guffaws of laughter. She ignores it, even as her tummy churns; should she be offering that? Is that what he wants these days?

“Don’t laugh.” She asks nervously as they walk into the little pantry. Elvis looks bemused to find himself there, leaning against the wall of the tiny space

“I won’t” Louise nods, shutting the door, only to hear Elvis giggle, “You tryin’ to get me alone, doll?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“One hell of a christmas present! to be locked in a cupboard with a pretty little gal.”

She rolls her eyes, wiggling past him to get to the freezer,

“Close your eyes.” He obediently does so, and she reaches into an old box of ice-cream to pull out a Tupperware, “Hold your hands out.” And she puts it in his cupped fingers, “Ok…open.” He blinks down at the Tupperware.

“Um. Well, thanks, I’m uh, sure this will be useful.” Louise rolls her eyes, impatiently tugging off the lid herself, “Oh.” Elvis goes silent, staring at the three perfect, teeny snowballs balanced in the tub. Each resting upon a little piece of paper with Louise’s very best cursive handwriting spelling out the date; December 12th 1958, 18th November 1959, and 20th December 1960.

The silence stretches as Elvis stares at the box, and Louise starts to ramble nervously, “I was starting to panic this year, but at least I’d thought to pick some up back in January — it snowed so heavy on the 5th. I think it was, or maybe the 15th? I’ll have to check my diary… so I mean it isn’t entirely accurate that it’s all from the 20th - but I mean, I had to have something and well I know how much you loved it when, when your mother… and I wanted you to know I’ve been thinkin’ of you non-stop while you were away. So, here, the first snow from the garden from every year you missed.” Elvis is still staring at the box, one finger poking each little round ball.

“This really snow from two years ago?”

“Uh-huh… I mean I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it now, but it really is… been in that box in the freezer this whole time…I hid it from everyone. Every time someone said they wanted some ice cream I panicked.”

“Lou.”

“‘M sorry this is really stupid, god - what are you gonna do with some snowballs, I should’ve gone in with the other girls, got you something really good… I just - well, I thought you’d like it and I know you misse-”

“Baby, I don’t, I don’t know what to say. I… I didn’t think anyone would think of me like this, like mama did, ever again. I - well, thank you, Lou darling, this is, well, its the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.” He grabs her arm, tugging her to him - pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, the force of it surprising her. “I’m gonna show everyone - c’mon - quick before they melt.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving Louise to follow meekly behind.

He shows them off like he’s a new father, proudly holding them up in the box, delicately picking one of them up and sighing at it, holding it up at the light for everyone to marvel at. It’s a little ridiculous in some ways - everyone in the room had been gifted something hugely lavish, and yet the thing everyone was talking and gossiping at was a snowball.

Hours later the party finally winds down enough that Louise realises she’s one of the last few stragglers of a night so late it’s turned into Christmas morning. How she’d ended up in this position she’ll never know, and she questions it herself as she stands quietly in the doorway, watching Elvis fumble on the piano. Just his fiddling is beautiful, little snippets of remembered carols, before he hammers onto the keys, singing along to Santa Claus is Back in Town. Louise can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes her and he looks up at her, smiling almost teasingly, perfect glint in his eye as he pauses for a second to run a hand through his hair before he continues for another verse and a half. He stops almost abruptly, standing up to stretch before turning to her. She’s trying to find the words to explain how beautiful it was, how perfect he sounds - how she can feel it throughout her whole being, but before she can express those sentiments he’s in front of her and grasping her hand.

“C’mon,” He tugs her over to the armchair he’d been sat in earlier in the evening, “Over here hon, that’s it - you’re the last.” Elvis throws himself onto the chair, holding onto her, pulling her stumbling body against his. “You’re the last of my girls left…” He sighs melodramatically and Louise giggles uncontrollably back at him. She’d had an illicit two glasses and a half of champagne earlier in the evening; Elvis had playfully wagged his finger at her as she’d accepted it from Red although she’d seen him have more than a few drinks himself. She can feel the bubbles still settling into her tummy and head, fuzzing her thoughts a little and making her giggly and affectionate. Still, she wasn’t so tipsy she couldn’t call out his overdramatic behaviour.

“They’ve just gone home for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure.” She shakes her head. He ignores her, crying out,

“I’m all alone!” He tugs her by her elbow, catching her as she stumbles into his lap, pulling her onto him, flattening her wide skirt. It wasn’t really the fashion anymore but while she’d been momentarily hesitant about her holiday dress she wasn’t self-conscious, and she liked how it made her shape look. Some might suggest the bow and petticoats were juvenile, but it made her feel more adult than the tighter styles that were starting to become popular with her peers, more herself than playing dress-up.

She snuggles under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, cheeks pressed against the little buttons of his shirt. He pretends to choke at her hair brushing his nose, using his free hand to flatten it under his chin and she grins, shivering against him as his breath tickles her skin. They stay cuddled for a few moments, sinking into the kind of happy exhaustion that seems to only occur on holidays. It feels different than before, although Elvis is more similarly carefree than she’d seen him in a long time. He’d grown up a lot over the years she hadn’t seen him, or so it felt, and his adultness didn’t match the image of him playing and fooling around that she had in her head. It’s an awful feeling, she thinks, that even with him right there, surrounding her, she still longs for a little more of the playfulness of the past.

Suddenly though Elvis shifts, interrupting her thoughts and murmuring against the top of her head,

“Y’hear that?” Louise stops breathing, and all she can hear is the solid thump-thump of his heart against her ear, he waits a second but she can’t work out what he’s referring to and doesn’t respond, he gasps “There it is again! Do you hear it?”

Louise shakes her head against him, frowning a little, “No?” She tries really hard to listen out, but other than the faintest hint of the music from the boys in the other room she can’t hear a thing. “The music?”

“No! No, listen.” He puts his finger to his lips, shushing her,

“I really don’t hear anything Elvis.” He wraps his arm around her waist a little tighter, tugging her up so she was sat more upright on his knee, her face close to his. He whispers into her ear,

“I think I hear hooves…” Louise frowns,

“Hooves!?” God, it would be just her luck that he’d gone and bought her a horse or something, and she’d have to act grateful even though she was terrified of them.

“Mmhmm, that’s right.” His hand rises up to brush across her back gently, fingertips dancing around her side, “Hooves. Hooves and bells.” He pauses for dramatic effect, jabbing his finger into her side in a tickling poke. His voice dips lower, as his arm squeezes around her, “Someone must have been a good girl this year.”

Louise grins when she realises what he’s implying and couldn’t bring herself not to play along.

“…You think it’s Santa Claus?!”

“Hmm, definitely…who else would it be, on the roof with hooves and bells on Christmas eve?” She giggles, both in response to his kind-natured teasing and his fingers poking her side with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I wonder what he’ll leave in my stocking…” Elvis hums against her hair,

“Mmm. Coal.”

“Nooo!” She giggles back to him, “You just said I’ve been a good girl!”

“You’ve been a very good little girl.” His voice has hit that low pitch that immediately sends a jolt down her spine, right into the pit of her stomach and she swallows, trying to keep up with the joke.

“Well, I’m, uh, I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.”

“Mmhmm….” His hand brushes up her leg, “Bet ya I’ll like what’s in your stockings more…”

“Elvis!” She shrieks, playfully batting his hand away, he pulls it off of her, smoothing down her skirt, and resting it onto her lap for a moment. Louise feels her breath catching as he presses a kiss to the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way and shifting her on his thigh so that she’s facing him. It’s almost a struggle for her to meet his eyes, she felt so desperate for his attention - but there was nowhere else to look that made her feel any less heated. His hair, god even his eyebrows were Elvis-enough to make her squirm. It’s only a second of him kissing her jaw, before she’s gasping for him, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s grabbing his hand and shoving it back on her thigh.

She’d kept herself for him, even as it felt that she’d been playing before, doing it for someone who would never notice or care - ostensibly in general, but really if she was truthful - for him. She’d touched herself, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation, especially after his deep voice came through the phone - but the other boys, the boys in school, the ones with blue collar jobs and careers, had all lost their appeal whenever she imagined kissing them, and her imagination interposed the image and feeling of him, his slippery body in the pool, the feel of him in front of her on the bike. He was thinner now, even still, than he was before, puppy fat replaced with lean muscles. His face shape changed just the tiniest bit, perhaps unnoticeable to some, but so very obvious to her, cheekbones and chin more angular than before. But his lips feel the same as they did before he left, and since his return home - she’d expected they’d have lost their eager nature, but still she can feel the hint of desperation as he presses them against her jaw.

She gasps, rocking against him as he roves down her neck - a place no one else has ever touched, tiny points of pressure feeling like a heat was expanding across her neck and chest, matching the clench of her thighs. His hand gently strokes up her stockings before he hitches her up, capturing his mouth with hers and shoving her underlayers up to her waist in the abrupt movement. Louise moves with him, desperate to stay in contact with his lips and she moans in upset when he starts to pull away.

“C’mon baby,” He whispers, “C’mon, Lou-Lou let me - let me say thank you,” He’s barely audible as he speaks against her lips between pressing bruising kisses onto them, “I just - wanna, wanna make you feel good, Lou doll.” She gasps out her agreement, eyes falling closed and her head falling into his shoulder as his fingers find their way to rub against the silk of her underwear. He shifts her again, balancing her so she can rock against his thigh and his hand, whilst also rubbing her leg against his covered crotch. Louise is almost surprised at the heat of him against her thigh, but her curiosity has no chance to be satisfied when he hooks a finger under the leg band of her panties, totally distracting her from anything but the feel of him under her and attempting to stay somewhat upright. His finger feels softer than she’d imagined, and yet, in comparison to her own the pads feel foreign, rougher and surer than hers ever were sliding into the wetness they find there.

“God, you’re so soft baby, so fucking soft in here, perfect for me, you been waiting on me, honey?”

“Uh-huh, waited, waited so long for you Elvis - didn’t, I didn’t want anyone but you.” He groans in response, his fingers moving faster. Until he’s forced to stop, tangled in the fabric and he growls in frustration. Louise feels it go straight down her body, and her thighs clench, trapping his hand even more. He pauses for barely a second to manhandle her up, just enough to roughly tug her panties down enough that it’s now entirely her bare skin rubbing against his hand and clothed thigh, the fibres of his trousers almost giving her a friction burn with her rapid movements. He continues as he was a second earlier, but now with far easier access he’s able to swipe his fingers across her clit, taking her to the edge almost immediately. She has no idea if this was something he’s always done well, or if this is a trick he’d picked up while he was away, but whatever the reason she was grateful. She doesn’t even consider how they were still, essentially, in public, too distracted by his slender fingers to be concerned about her now partial nudity. The only noise to break up their combined breathy moans is the layers of of taffeta rustling between them, as she continues to rock against his thigh, but this all changes when he delves his thumb into her wetness, bringing it back up to stroke circles on her clit, gently but repeatedly running it over her.

“Oh, Elvis?” She cries out,

“What baby? You’re so - I can feel you’re close,” His own breathing is getting heavier, and he holds her steady with his other hand grasping her thigh while his thumb continues to stroke her,

“I don’t - I don’t…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, and before she manages to turn it into a complete sentence she’s shaking on him as she rides out her orgasm. He sees her through it, continuing to stroke her with the same pressure before rapidly shoving his hand down his own pants, roughly rubbing himself off to quick completion. She watches him closely, unable to do anything but stare as his own eyes slide closed, head falling back against the couch and mouth opening as he gasps out a high-pitched moan. It was about enough to make her shudder again against his thigh, the look on his face, his mussed hair, open collar and the noises of sheer pleasure. Louise finds herself bouncing on his chest as he breathes rapidly from the effort, and he holds her tight for a few moments while they both regain use of their limbs. Louise feels almost a little shell-shocked and she only really comes to her senses when Elvis shifts, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace and patting her thigh,

“Gosh that was, I, um, thank you El,” He grins at her, clearly pleased with his success, and he pats her leg again,

“Thank you, honey, for just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me earlier baby, it was just - I’m gonna treasure them snowballs forever, you’ll see.” She grins back at him before an unstoppable yawn takes over her face, “C’mon lil girl, time for bed.” She gulps, thinking about all the people on the house - worrying what will happen next,

“D’you…where am I gonna sleep?” Elvis frowns, little furrowed line marring his previously relaxed face,

“With me?”

“Oh,” Louise swallows, “Um, I think my parents will be expecting me - you know, Christmas morning’s all about -“

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll drop you home at the crack of dawn,” He winks, “-gotta make sure the house is all in order in any case anyway.” Elvis pauses, “Or, or you could invite your mama and pops over. They’d be more than welcome…nothing my mama liked more than a full house - especially at Christmas.” He’s looking at her with that earnest little boy expression again and it takes everything in her not to just suggest she should stay forever, it was so absurd that he’d want her to stay, instead of the other way around.

“Well…maybe I could stay. And, well, I mean, I could come over in the evening? If you swear you’ll make sure I get home in time -“ He’s quick to interject,

“Cross my heart darling,” She hums at him, and he motions the crossing of his heart across his chest, solemnly holding eye contact, “I swear.”

“Ok then, I’d love to stay.”

Somehow, and (despite his promises) to Louise’s surprise, she’s dutifully shaken awake and dropped off home, albeit not by Elvis himself, only a few very short hours later. Coming up the driveway of her childhood home it feels almost inconceivable that she should have spent the day and night how she has, and she wonders for a brief moment if she hadn’t knocked her head or something and just hallucinated the whole affair. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t yet notice, as she traipses past the lounge and kitchen where she can hear her mother singing to quickly change, a new set of boxes under the Christmas tree. Elvis’ script on the gift tags declaring “To Louise, a very good girl, from Santa.”

taglist: (it's been so long that I've lost the list for this verse - lmk if you want to be added, or taken off!)

@lialocklear @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @shakerattlescroll

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #be-my-ally #splashing around #elvis x louise

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vintage1981 · 8 months

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Kino Lorber Launching ‘Kino Cult’ as Packaged-Media Label

Home entertainment distributor Kino Lorber is launching its Kino Cult genre brand as a packaged-media imprint focusing on collector-oriented Blu-ray and 4K Ultra HD releases.

The Kino Cult imprint will debut as its own label in October 2023 with special Blu-ray editions of Jess Franco’s erotic horror masterpiece Lorna … the Exorcist (1974, featuring Lina Romay), as well as 4K restorations of Alien Outlaw (1985) and The Dark Power (1985), two video rental favorites from North Carolina indie Phil Smoot.

Kino Cult’s premiere 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray release will be a deluxe edition of Clive Barker’s Underworld (1985), directed by George Pavlou, and featuring Denholm Elliott and Ingrid Pitt. Upcoming 4K releases for 2024 include the exploitation classic Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS (1975) and its sequels, Ilsa: Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks (1976), Ilsa the Tigress of Siberia (1977), and Ilsa, the Wicked Woman (1977).

While focusing mainly on horror and science fiction, Kino Cult will continue to embrace its trademark brand of “unapologetically weird” with such diverse genres as European erotica, grindhouse classics, and cinematic rediscoveries that defy categorization.

“Some of the most exciting rediscoveries are happening in the realm of cult cinema,” said Kino Cult curators Frank Tarzi and Bret Wood. “These strange and twisted movies are so unique that we feel they deserve their own imprint within the Kino Lorber family of labels.”

Kino Cult will expand its partnership with legendary cult label Something Weird, with collector’s edition releases to be announced soon.

Additional Kino Cult releases will be announced monthly.

#Kino Lorber #Kino Lorber Studio Classics #Kino Cult #Clive Barker #Denholm Elliott #Ingrid Pitt #Dyanne Thorne #Ilsa #Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS #Greta The Mad Butcher #Jess Franco #Lina Romay #physical media #4K Restoration #4k UHD

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brokehorrorfan · 10 months

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My Bloody Valentine will be released on 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray on September 12 via Scream Factory. The three-disc set includes the theatrical and unrated cuts of the 1981 Canadian slasher.

Shout Factory is offering an exclusive set with an 18x24 poster, five enamel pins by Matthew Skiff (limited to 1,000), five lobby cards by Beyond Horror Design (limited to 500), and a prism sticker by Skiff. Pictured below, it costs $139.99.

George Mihalka directs from a script by John Beaird. Paul Kelman, Lori Hallier, Neil Affleck, Don Francks, Cynthia Dale, Alf Humphreys, Keith Knight, and Patricia Hamilton star.

The uncut version has been newly restored in 4K with Dolby Vision (HDR 10 compatible). Special features are detailed below.

Disc 1 - 4K UHD:

Audio commentary by director George Mihalka

Disc 2 - Blu-ray:

Audio commentary by director George Mihalka

35th Anniversary Panel with director George Mihalka and actors Lori Hallier, Helene Udy, Rob Stein, Peter Cowper, Thomas Kovacs, Jim Murchison, and Alf Humphreys

Thomas Kovacs performs “The Ballad of Harry Warden” live with Peter Cowper and Jim Murchison

Disc 3 - Blu-ray:

Interview with director George Mihalka

Interview with actor Paul Kelman

Interview with actress Lori Hallier

Interview with actor Neil Affleck

Interview with actress Helene Udy

Interview with actor Rob Stein

Interview with special makeup effects designer Tom Burman

Holes in the Heart – Theatrical vs uncut compassion

Theatrical trailer

TV spots

Radio spots

Still gallery

On Valentine's Day, someone always loses their heart. 20 years ago, this small town lost more than that. When supervisors abandoned their posts to attend the town's annual holiday dance, a tragedy claimed the lives of five miners. The sole survivor, Harry Warden, was institutionalized, but returned for a vengeful massacre on the disaster's first anniversary. 19 years later, the town is gearing up for another Valentine's Day party. Teen sweethearts T.J. and Sarah, along with their friend Axel, are among the excited partygoers. But when a box of candy containing an eerie warning and blood-soaked heart arrive, the townsfolk realize that romance is as good as dead. And so are they…

Pre-order My Bloody Valentine.

#my bloody valentine #horror #80s horror #1980s horror #my bloody valentine 3d #scream factory #dvd #gift #lori hallier #80s movies #1980s movies #slasher #80s slashers #george mihalka #matthew skiff

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spellboundspectre · 2 years

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under his skin––chapter one

suguru getou x female!reader; 18+ only, minors do not interact

content: arranged marriage, lots of set-up and plot, dialogue heavy, trauma-bonding, strangers to lovers, found family, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy.

synopsis: all your life, you’ve put others before yourself and where has it gotten you? the zen’in clan breathing down your neck, and your mother pushing you to throw what’s left of your life away to protect your family. you’re not sure if he’s the devil or an angel; but suguru is offering you an escape route. and you’ll be damned if you’re not taking it.

word count: just over 4k

a/n: i’ve been working on this fic for so long and i’m so excited to share this with y’all!! yes it is very self indulgent but let’s keep that between us.

glossary:

Uchikake - wedding kimono Tsunokakushi - wedding headdress, equivalent to a veil Nakodo - “go-between” matchmaker Omiai - “look meet”; initial meeting between two prospective marriage partners.

Suguru realized he had bitten off more than he could chew from the moment he laid eyes on you.

Just a week ago he was flipping through the dossier given to him by the private investigator he hired to look into you and your family line. There was nothing that stood out a signifying of cursed potential, most people would completely overlook you.

But Suguru was smarter than most people, and of all the skills he’d mastered in his time in Jujutsu tech, the best of them all was his skill as a hunter. Technically, he learned to hurt curses, but hunting humans was far easier.

And far more fun.

Figuring out exactly what type of prey was the hard part. Suguru had a long list of attributes for his ideal target. Someone pliable, fertile, untouched by the filth of Jujutsu society and with enough raw potential to be shaped into a killing blade.

As much as you tried, as elusive prey as you attempted to be; there was no escaping him. Not for your lack of trying, of course, you even went so far as to hide your cursed energy with a genuine stolen Zen’in artifact in the form of a thin gold ring on your right pinky finger.

Perhaps in his misguided youth, he may have understood your reasoning. But now as a hardened adult burned by , he was puzzled by you. Lower yourself to the same level as human filth just to escape Jujutsu society.

But given the legacy of your family, Suguru supposed it made sense.

It has been nearly a millennium since the Ryūjin family was considered a favored clan. Lead by powerful sorcerers, whose power was matched only by their cruelty for weakness. While the current head clans all hail from legendary sorcerers–all now sealed as curses–the Ryūjin claimed to be the descendants of the dragon-god Ryūjin, from whom they took their name.

But like paper left out in the sun, the power of the Ryūjin clan faded to almost nothing. Several generations of non-sorcerers were born, and unlike the rejects of the Zen’in clan, they were not blessed with heavenly restrictions–and completely worthless in the eyes of Jujutsu society.

With time, they were forgotten, only referred to as a warning tale of hubris and fate. Or more interestingly, in rumors. And rumors were always more interesting than truth. Suguru had heard a few over the years, most he disregarded as gossip, but there was one rumor in particular that had always piqued his interest.

In a desperate attempt to restore her clan’s power, one of the mothers of the Ryūjin clan slit her throat shortly after giving birth, and cursed her own family line with her dying breath. The only skill non-sorcerers had were bringing curses into this world, after all. There had been telling signs of power returning to the clan, the odd sorcerer born every so often–your father for example–and Suguru had every intention of finding out if her efforts were in vain.

And so, he finds himself sitting in a tea room, dressed in a fine suit instead of his usual monk’s robes. Today was the omiai, and through the art of bribery, he was promised that he would be the first suitor you met. He takes small sips of the tea provided, passively nibbling at the edges of a cookie to pass the time. Despite his calm exterior, excitement is thrumming through his veins when he hears a soft knock at the door.

The nakōdo introduces you with a bow and quickly exits the room. Even from where he's sitting, Suguru can see the distrustful, almost fearful, way she regards him from the corner of her eye. The sorcerer suppresses a chuckle, even scum who can’t see curses still have animal instincts that alert it to danger.

Your eyes flit to the corner of the room, and with a wave of your hand–a gesture easily hidden by the sleeves of your kimono–the curse is exorcised and only dust remains. And all of this is accomplished before the nakodo could finish introducing you.

How interesting, he thinks. For only a fraction of a second, he can feel the shift in the room, the sudden spike in your cursed energy has the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. It disappears just as quickly. None of this shows on your face, your features remain stoic until your eyes meet his and you give him a small smile.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say warmly.

“Oh no, truly the pleasure is all mine,” Suguru assures you.

The two of you make polite conversation for a few minutes before Suguru’s eagerness gets the best of him.

“Why would a woman like you want to get married?”

“A woman like me?” You ask hesitantly.

“You don’t seem too excited by this,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, “Whole thing.”

The smile you give him this time is a lot more genuine.

“No, not exactly,” you sigh, your shoulders relaxing as you do, “But family duties are far more important than what I want.”

“What do you want?”

You seem taken aback by the question, and laugh to hide your discomfort.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“It’s not a loaded question,” Suguru assures you, “I’m just curious about you.”

You look at him skeptically, pulling your lips into a tight line. He’s stepped too far, crossed the line and made you uncomfortable. Suguru gives you time to answer the question, but when you stay silent he sighs in dramatic fashion.

“Can I confess something to you?” He waits for a nod of approval from you before continuing, “I was so excited to meet you, I did a little bit of research before our date today.”

Your cheeks warm and you avert your gaze politely.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” even a fool could tell you’re lying.

“Oh? You think so?” Suguru hums, “I researched your family registry pretty far back, you don’t share their name but you’re a part of the Ryūjin clan, aren’t you?”

The color from your face immediately drains at the mention of your clan. You almost look like you want to leave, but Suguru presses on, hoping to convince you to hear him out.

“You must be brave, to defy the wishes of your family like that,” the tone of his words is playful, teasing even.

Suguru tilts his head as he continues to speak.

“How cruel,” he muses, “No wonder your father tried so hard to keep you hidden from your clan. He gave you that ring, didn’t he?”

He gestures to the thin band of gold on your pinky finger and you flinch instinctively. As you curl your fingers into a first, light reflects off the carved vines that wrap around the golden trinket.

“The Zen’in clan is so fond of collecting cursed objects. So many toys, they probably didn’t know one was missing.”

As he continues talking, you tuck your hands under the table.

“Odd though,” he continues, “Most of their cursed objects amplify cursed energy, but that ring? It eats it all up. That’s how you went unnoticed for so long, isn’t it?”

Suguru pauses to survey your reaction–or lack thereof.

“Then you can assume what kind of a predicament I’m in with them,” Your tone is precise, “And if you’re trying to butter me up, you want something.”

A sly smile spreads on his lips. How I love a direct woman.

“Beautiful and perceptive,” purrs Suguru.

You tap your fingers on your arm, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Cut to the chase.”

Your eyes narrow and you lean back from the table. Again, the silence takes over. You cross your arms and stare at him, and Suguru can tell by your eyes that you’re giving equal consideration to listening to his offer and making a run for the door.

“Jin Ryūjin, Genki Ryūjin, and Satoshi Ryūjin. Those were the three of the five clan elders that voted to execute your father.”

“They’re also the one’s trying to sell you to the Zen’in clan via marriage, your father stole from them and now they’re paying back that theft and then some so they can better the Ryūjin clan reputation.”

“So you hire a nakado, they can’t force you to get married if you’re already wed.”

“Get to the point, goddamnit,” you sneer as you pound your first on the table.

Suguru chuckles before pushing out his lower lip in a playful pout. All traces of forced politeness have left your voice, Suguru knows he’s pushed you as far as he can without you storming out of the room. He needs to win you over, and soon.

“I want you,” he states.

You scoff, “For what?”

“I need you, I need your anger.”

Once more your roll your eyes, “And what’s so special about *my* anger? Who wouldn’t be pissed off if a total stranger just recanted all of their family drama to them?”

Suguru tuts and shakes his head.

“No, that’s shallow rage. Barely even skin deep,” he says, dropping his voice an octave, “You and I share a much deeper anger than that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s disgust,” Suguru breathes. “It’s shock, and terror and pure acrimony. I noticed that about you right away. You’re angry because of all the shit you’ve had to swallow over the years to save face.”

You refuse to meet his gaze, but you don’t leave.

“You dropped out of school,” he presses further, “You’ve worked three and four jobs at a time to keep a roof over your family’s head. And how have they thanked you?”

Faintly, you whine your denial.

“They rack up debt, your mother spends more time at a bar than she does her own home. And they have the audacity to push you into marriage to save their own skins.”

“I did—” you huff, “I’ve done what I had to so I could take care of my family, it was my choice,” your voice cracks as you insist.

In a flash, he leaps far enough across the table to grab you by the forearms and force you to look him in the eye.

“You’re used to telling yourself that lie, aren’t you?” He says in mock concern, “But we both know the choice was made for you. If you didn’t do it, if you didn’t step up, who would?”

Tears well in your eyes.

“But you’re right to be angry, you had to protect others who couldn’t protect themselves. And it took its toll on you whether you want to admit it or not. It makes you feel hollow, doesn’t it?”

You nod and let out a small sob. Suguru rubs his thumbs against your arms and shushes you softly.

“There’s nothing wrong with being angry, it’s a good tool if you know how to use it. How much has your clan meddled in your life? How much have they derailed all the plans you made for yourself?”

You don’t answer him.

“There have been so few sorcerers born in your family for so long, do you know what they do when one is finally born? They sell them to the Zen’in clan to hunt curses and make money. Most of them die at the hands of a curse, drop dead from exhaustion, or get executed because of some made-up charges.”

“So I’m curious, what did they do to your father?” Your upper lip twitches in anger, “What did they threaten to do to you?”

Suguru can feel your pulse quickening under your skin.

“Who are you?” You hiss, “Why do you know all this?”

“I’m a friend,” he says, “I want to help you.”

“You’re lying,” you spit.

Pouting at the accusation, Suguru tilts his head. He relaxes his grip on you a little.

“Why do you think that?”

“A complete stranger,” you swat at his chest, “tells me all this super-secret information about my family and I’m supposed to believe they have my best interests at heart? No one’s that’s stupid.”

Suguru laughs, you raise a good point.

“I’m offering you revenge.”

“Revenge?” you repeat the word, blinking rapidly at his boldness, “Some perfect stranger is just going to solve all of my problems for me? Not without a price.”

Suguru shakes his head.

“I want to destroy this broken society of sorcerers. You’re fortunate to have not grown up within it, but I assure you, your father’s death is tame in comparison to the deaths I’ve seen–almost preferred.”

“They executed him like a rabid dog, after,” you cry, “How could that be preferred?”

Suguru sighs, stroking his thumb along your forearm. He goes on to detail the various horrors he’s seen curses inflict upon people throughout his years as a sorcerer. All the various friends and colleagues he watched suffer and be slaughtered in the line of duty. He can feel your pulse quickening as he continues to talk, but he doesn’t let up.

“I get it, please stop. I’ve heard enough,” you try to cover your face, but Suguru holds you still.

“No,” he says, his tone grim, “You don’t. But that’s ok, because I want to make a world where none of this happens.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“By creating a world where the strong aren’t forced to risk their lives to protect the weak,” states Suguru.

“Okay,” you draw out the last syllable, “And how do I come into play? What role do I play in this master plan of yours?”

Suguru’s hands slide up your arms and above your shoulders, releasing you from his hold.

“I have two daughters in need of a mother, and I need a wife for appearances’ sake, among other things,” he replies.

“That’s…. A little vague,” you say carefully. “Bold considering how obvious it is I don’t trust you.”

The sorcerer chuckles, “That’s more than fair.”

“What are you really asking me?” Your eyes are pleading with him. “If you need me so bad, you’re going to have to be honest with me or I will hand myself over to the Zen’in clan today and personally make sure I ruin all the little plans you’ve made.”

How easily you back him into a corner.

He doesn’t have to be truthful. Just easily, Suguru could make this happen against your will. May it’s because you has been so much fun that he finds himself in a giving mood. Maybe it’s the way you fight back even when he could so easily kill you.

Whatever the reason, the truth spills forth like bile.

“I need a child to further my legacy and I want you to be their mother,” Suguru says.

“Me?” You scoff, “What’s so special about me?”

“Because you have just as many reasons as I do to want to tear this world down and turn into something better.”

Your eyes soften at his words, and Suguru knows he has struck something within you.

“If you help me, I will free you from your family’s problems and avenge your father.”

“And what guarantee do I have that I won’t be discarded as soon as I serve my purpose?”

*Because you’re too thrilling to let go.*

“Because you’ll be mine, and I always protect what’s mine,” Suguru retorts.

Chewing the inside of your lip, you weigh your options. Every moment you don’t answer him feels like an eternity.

“What kind of revenge?”

Both of you have managed to turn the tables on one another. At this point, Suguru isn’t sure if he’s the predator or the prey. Whether he should be offering more or less.

He’s too giddy to care.

“What kind do you want?”

“I want them to suffer,” you say, determination burning in your eyes, “I want them to regret what they’ve done and die anyways.”

Your shoulders slump as you continue to consider him.

“When will you kill them?” You ask.

Gleefully, he hums.

“After–” you wave your hand in the air to cut him off.

“After the wedding,” you assert, “Then I will give you a child.”

Suguru hums, straightening his spine at how you take control of the conversation.

“I’ll consider it,” he lies, having already decided to do so.

“I want all the elders to attend our wedding and look me in the eye. I want them to know they failed before they die.”

Your boiling rage was delicious to Suguru.

He used to think it was so fun to play with his prey before killing it. Whatever you were was infinitely better than that. Your anger was palatable, it made all the air in the room feel heavy with tension.

“I’ll take it into consideration,” is his reply.

The rap at the door signals the end of your time together, and only a few moments until the nakado re-enters the room. Soon, her head peaks through the door sheepishly, before her body follows suit. Before she can get within range, Suguru grabs your hands again and pulls your torso over the table and close enough to him that his face is mere centimeters from yours.

“I paid her extra to remove your name from the registry,” he whispers, lowering his lashes as he gazes down at you.

Your arch your brow, “That’s a little presumption of you.”

“Like I said,” his tone is cocky, “I take care of what’s mine. I’d hate for the Ryūjins or Zen’ins clan to spoil our fun.”

Suguru gives you a week to consider his offer. You respond to him after only three days. The two of you are wed before the month is out.

The wedding ceremony was a fairly simple affair. As Suguru expected, you had more guests than him–mostly your family and a few close friends. He smiled in all the photos, shook hands with everyone who approached him. The elders of your clan stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Suguru every time they caught his eye.

He gives them a wide sneer.

Nanako and Mimiko stood close by the entire evening. From time to time, he felt the pull of their hands on his hakama. They weren’t terribly excited about being surrounded by so many strangers.

“Why her, Getō-sama?” Nanako asks in a hushed voice as she watches you chat with one of your siblings.

Suguru can’t help but admire you as he watches, the way the corner of your eyes crinkle as you laugh at whatever your sister is saying. The uchikake you’ve worn today accents your features perfectly, cranes and chrysanthemums on bright red silk.

“You’ll see, my love, you’ll see.”

His smile is genuine in all the photos your mother insists on taking, even long after you’re begging her to stop.

“Mama, please,” you beg, “200 photos is more than enough and I think I’m blinking in most of them.”

She sighs dramatically and begins sorting through the images on her phone. After all the wine she’s been drinking, she’s wobbling to stand still.

“Well, forgive me for being excited,” she slurs, “I’m just happy knowing you’ll be taken care of.”

Judging by the way you roll your eyes, Suguru assumes being visibly drunk isn’t unusual behavior for your mother. Agitation knits your brow as she coos over the photos she’s taken that evening.

“Don’t worry ma’am,” Suguru smiles, wrapping his arm around your waist, “I plan to take good care of her.”

His fingers spread out along your stomach, stretching so wide his hand almost covers your waist completely. He feels a shiver run down your spine and Suguru fights the urge to laugh.

*Are you already so afraid of me, darling?*

Odd, considering he hasn’t given you any reason to fear him, not yet at least.

His daughters are absolutely restless by the time the reception has ended, he kisses them both on the forehead before sending them away with Manami. You watch him from the corner of your eye, visibly confused as you assumed you’d all go home together.

It’s another hour before he ushers you into the car, and you’ve been drinking champagne too long on an empty stomach to argue. How long you were driving for you couldn’t say, having been in and out of sleep for a majority of it. You only realized you were driving in the first place when you awoke to the harsh glare of a street lamp.

You meant to ask where you were going, but forgot by the time you awoke next. You finally sobered up by the time you woke up to Suguru carrying you through a hallway. One arm was hooked under your knees, the other supported your back. No signs of tiredness wore on his face, the man carried you like you weighed nothing.

“Getō-”

“We’re married now,” he interjects, “You should call me by first name, or a pet name, even.”

“Where are we?” you ask dreamily.

He hums.

“Where are we, Suguru?”

He makes a delighted sound, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

“Our honeymoon, of course,” he answers.

“I’m not-” you groan as he passes an especially bright light, “I can walk.”

Suguru pouts, “But I *want* to carry you.”

He grins when he feels you relax in his arms.

“Besides,” he says in a reassuring voice, “I have your present waiting in the room.”

It takes the rest of the walk to your room for you to completely wake up. Suguru manages to slide open the door to your room without setting you down, he simply adjusts the way he’s holding you to better slide the door open. Once stepping through the barrier with you in tow, Suguru slides the shoji door shut with the top of his foot.

Lit by the dim light of candles, it’s hard to make out the interior of the room until your eyes adjust. The room is simple, yet luxurious; gold inlay meticulously painted in the art hanging from the walls, clean tatami mat floors and two futons laid side by side. The shoji doors opposite you were cracked, and beyond them was a private outdoor bath.

In the corner of the room sits a large trunk, its leather is aged and worn. It stands out against the other furnishing of the room. You don’t know why, but just the sight of it makes your skin crawl. Suguru chuckles as you squirm unconsciously in his hold before he places you down right in front of it. Without thinking, you take a step back, only to collide against the firm chest of your husband.

“Aren’t you going to open your present?” he asks in a whisper.

His hands grip your shoulders, forcing you to your knees. Your hands are guided by his to open the various buckles and clasps that seal the trunk shut. For a brief time, the only sound is the clattering of brass and your own heavy breathing. When everything is undone, he interlocks his fingers around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

He hums, and the vibrato of it thrums through his body and creeps into yours.

“Open it, darling,” Suguru purrs, “I know you’ll like it.”

You don’t need to open it, though, you already know what’s inside. But like the good wife you are–the good wife you became only hours ago–you listen to your husband.

Your fingers tremble as they run along the surface of the trunk until your palms catch the edge of it and you push it up and over. The harsh clattering of the lid against the body of the trunk makes you jump, but Suguru gives you an encouraging squeeze.

Wrapped in blood-stained rags are exactly what Suguru promised: the heads of the three Ryūjin clan elders, their faces forever frozen in abject horror.

“Aren’t you delighted,” he says before pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, “I know, technically I killed them before the wedding. But I thought it would make for the perfect present.”

Even staring into their lifeless faces, not an ounce of fear radiates from you. Suguru watches gleefully as you stare into each other elder’s faces one by one, and leans even closer until his lips brush against the shell of your ear. His cock twitches when you tremble against him.

“Now, I believe it’s time you lived up to your end of our promise.”

#🧄.musings #getou suguru x reader #reader x suguru getou #geto x reader #suguru getou smut #jjk smut #reader insert

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invidiosa · 1 month

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The untold story of Last Night, Don McKellar’s Canadian classic, 25 years later

from a Globe & Mail Article for TIFF 2023 first published Sept 3, 2023

If it were your last night on earth, what would you do and who would you do it with?

Twenty-five years ago, Don McKellar’s debut film Last Night screened at the Toronto International Film Festival, where it was awarded Best Canadian First Feature. The poignant, perceptive drama about an unspecified imminent apocalypse, which also won McKellar a prize at Cannes, was acclaimed internationally as inspired counterprogramming to the loud American sci-fi disaster films of the same year, Deep Impact and Armageddon.

At the beginning of Last Night, the character played by Sandra Oh enters a deserted store looking for some wine for her final dinner. Among the looted shelves, two bottles remain. After deliberating between them, she picks one, while politely placing the other vintage back where she found it.

“That’s how you know it’s a Canadian film,” former TIFF executive director Wayne Clarkson said later.

That representation of Canadians – decorum in the face of doom – is key to Last Night’s considerable charm. “I wanted to tease the Canadian perspective but also validate it,” says McKellar, who also wrote and acted in the film. “Instead of Americans writing off Canadian cinema as passive, I wanted to say that there is value in reflection and moderation and community and tolerance.”

The film was recently digitally restored and will soon be released in its new 4K form. To celebrate its 25th anniversary, The Globe and Mail spoke with McKellar and others involved with the production of a Canadian classic which just might be the most civilized movie to watch on the last night of the civilized world.Open this photo in gallery:

The representation of Canadians – decorum in the face of doom – is key to Last Night’s considerable charm.Cylla von Tiedemann/Handout

Last Night was commissioned in 1997 by Paris-based production company Hout et Court for an international anthology series marking the turn of the millennium. Though it was supposed to be a one-hour television show, McKellar and Canadian co-producers Rhombus Media decided to make a feature film instead.

McKellar: I did make an hour version which had to be broadcast first on television in some territories. But, then, when the full feature film went to Cannes, it caused some friction. I thought Hout et Court would be excited, but it was very bureaucratic in France, and the government money was coming from the television side, not the film side. There was a bit of a conflict.

The French anthology project (2000, Seen By...) was intended to spotlight young directors – the new wave for the new millennium. Representing Canada was McKellar, a well-known actor and writer who previously directed the 1992 short Blue.

Canadian co-producer Niv Fichman: I wasn’t fazed by Don’s lack of experience at all. We were all boldly entering a new era. Originally, Don wasn’t sure he would be the lead character, but I really encouraged him to do it.

Although the film’s casting went smoothly, one famous Canadian actor was briefly in the running for the role of Craig Zwiller, who spends his final hours fulfilling a sexual bucket list.Open this photo in gallery:

The film is about an unspecified imminent apocalypse.Handout

McKellar: Everyone in the film was my first choice. But I had a bit of pressure on me to consider Keanu Reeves for the role I wanted for Callum Keith Rennie. I knew Callum – he was exciting. But out of obligation I approached Keanu. He said no, but that maybe he’d be interested in my part.

Rennie was well known for his punk-rocker role in Bruce McDonald’s Hard Core Logo and as a cast member on the CTV series Due South. He had not been in many sex scenes.

Rennie: It’s a bit intimidating. These scenes are delicate and fun and sensitive and weird. My brother told me I should have given him a bare-behind warning before he saw the film. I’ve done a lot more killing than kissing on screen in my career. It’s either the nature of the business or it’s the nature of my face, I can’t tell.

The character played by Sandra Oh is told that she “looks like a movie star.”Open this photo in gallery:

The film was screened at the Toronto International Film Festival 25 years ago, where it was awarded Best Canadian First Feature.Handout

McKellar: I’d met Sandra at a film festival in Taiwan, and I knew I wanted to work with her. She was on the HBO comedy series Arliss, but I thought she had romantic-lead potential.

Cinematographer Douglas Koch: When we were shooting these really emotional scenes between Sandra and Don, we were shooting over Sandra’s shoulder. She was off camera for all intents and purposes. With the camera on Don, tears would be pouring out of her eyes. She was totally giving it to the actor, Don, who was actually on screen. I’d heard of great actors doing that, but to see it was incredible. You realized this was an actor who does not stop.

The great Canadian director (and occasional actor) David Cronenberg was cast in a role that was to die for.

McKellar: I was representing Canada with the film, and it was set in Toronto. I always thought of David as representing this very contained Canadian personality type that had something dark going on behind. And, also, because of his own films, he represented something important to me about Canada.

Koch: We all enjoyed filming the death of Cronenberg’s character. We don’t see his death, but we do see the gory aftermath. I remember the camera above him as he was lying on this weird shag carpet in a huge pool of blood. We were all thinking, ‘We killed David Cronenberg – this is fantastic.’Open this photo in gallery:

Those who made Last Night recall a golden era of Canadian independent film.Handout

McKellar: At one point, I was seriously considering calling the film Whimper. I think I even had it on the script at one point until Cronenberg said to me, ‘You’re not seriously thinking of going with that, are you?’

The film was made for $2.3-million.

Rennie: I was still green. I was blown away working with David Cronenberg, Geneviève Bujold and Sandra Oh. There was the unity on set of doing a good thing on a shoestring budget.

Fichman: Actors always think the budgets are shoestring. Maybe they think there wasn’t enough water in their trailer. The budget wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t shoestring.

During the last hours of mankind, a radio DJ counts down his favourite 500 songs, including the Guess Who’s Glamour Boy, written by Burton Cummings.

McKellar: I love Glamour Boy. I was very pleased that when the Last Night soundtrack album was released, a British magazine trumpeted the song as the discovery of an unheralded glam-rock classic. I met Burton Cummings at a dinner and I told him how much I loved that song, but I felt he doubted my sincerity.

The film attracted a lot of notice at Cannes, where the now disgraced film producer Harvey Weinstein was given his own screening.

McKellar: While we were waiting for him to come out of the screening, his second-in-command turned to me and said, ‘If Harvey wants your film, can I tell you something? Don’t give it to him.�� I asked him why. He said, ‘Just trust me, you don’t want to work with this man. He’ll take your film and he may never release it. He just wants to own it.’ I thought it was very strange.

Those who made Last Night recall a golden era of Canadian independent film.

McKellar: At the time, we were still battling for cinemas. We felt an obligation to make films that Canadians would respond to at the box office. Now Canadian cinema has given up on that, and so has Telefilm.

Rennie: It was such a great time to be doing independent Canadian films. It was a graceful set with a lot of ease, and asking questions and getting answers. There were opportunities to experiment. I thought it would be that way forever, but it wasn’t.

#don mckellar #last night #callum keith rennie #such a good movie

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adafruit · 8 months

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Hackers 4k UHD arrived!

DISC ONE (4K UHD): NEW 4K Scan And Restoration Of The Original Camera Negative

DISC TWO (BLU-RAY): NEW 4K Scan And Restoration Of The Original Camera Negative "The Keyboard Cowboys: A Look Back At Hackers" Including Interviews With Director lain Softley: Cast Members Fisher Stevens, Matthew Lillard, And Penn Jillette; Costume Designer Roger Burton; Visual Effects Artist Peter Chiang; Hacker Consultants Nicholas Jarecki And Emmanuel Goldstein; And Film Critic Mark Kermode Original Trailer

#hackers #4k #hack the planet

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satoshi-mochida · 8 months

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Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion coming to PS5, Xbox Series, PS4, Xbox One, Switch, and PC on November 14

Gematsu Source

Nightdive Studios will release a remastered version of first-person shooter Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch, and PC via Steam on November 14, the developer announced.

Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion first launched for Nintendo 64 on September 6, 2000.

“The Turok series is one of the classic touchstones of gaming and being able to provide the newest and improved version of Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion is a great feeling,” said Nightdive Studios director of business development Larry Kuperman in a press release. “It makes full use of the latest version of our KEX engine, and we’re excited to share the game with players later this year.”

Here is an overview of the game, via Nightdive Studios:

About

Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion is a faithful restoration of the classic first-person shooter originally released in 2000 for the Nintendo 64, upgraded through Nightdive Studios’ proprietary KEX Engine for play on modern gaming devices with up to a 4K resolution at 120 frames per second. It joins Nightdive Studios, Universal Games, and Digital Platforms’ popular Turok and Turok 2: Seeds of Evil remasters, capping off the trilogy. Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion features upgraded gameplay, high-resolution textures, enhanced lighting and rendering, and support for console gamepads with platform-specific features. Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion is the first title from Nightdive Studios to use the latest version KEX engine, which utilizes an improved renderer to achieve a higher tier of visual fidelity across 3D models, textures, and graphical effects. In Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion, players choose between dual protagonists Joseph and Danielle Fireseed, siblings of Turok 2: Seeds of Evil protagonist Joshua Fireseed. Together, they must defeat the titular antagonist Oblivion and its followers, the Flesh Eaters, after the supposed demise of their brother at its hands.

Key Features

A remastered version of the 2000 classic, available for the first time since its Nintendo 64 release.

Up to 4K 120 frames per second performance on PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch, and PC.

Advanced rendering features, including anti-aliasing, bloom, ambient occlusion, dynamic shadows, and motion blur.

Remastered environment art, character models, and updated weapon models.

Optional motion / gyro controls for Switch and Gamepad rumble.

Trophies and Achievements on PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch, and PC (Steam).

Watch the announcement trailer below. View the first screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

youtube

#Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion #Turok 3 #Turok #Nightdive Studios #FPS #Gematsu #Youtube

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disappointingyet · 4 months

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This is my now traditional list of favourite movies of the year. These are all films that – as far as I can tell – were first commercially available either in cinemas or on streaming in the UK this year. So it doesn’t include eg, Hit Man or The Holdovers. Other than that, these are solely being judged on: did I like them?

As I did last year, I’ve also written about other stuff I have seen that you might be interested in – which this time turned out to be so long I split it into two: Broadly Mainstream & Documentaries and Arthouse & Indie.

2023, then, the year of Barbenheimer (I saw Barbie, didn’t see Oppenheimer). And the year of the great superhero box office crash. Meanwhile, there were two austere French courtroom dramas critics loved, two films about young women born in Korea but raised elsewhere trying to make sense of their identities that also got excited reviews plus an avalanche of movies featuring cast members of Chicago restaurant TV drama The Bear.

I saw plenty of films, and there weren’t many I think I missed out on. Ridley Scott’s Napoleon felt like a film to watch with friends but we couldn’t sort out a time. Eileen and Dream Scenario sounded interesting but non-essential, but BlackBerry I very much did want to see but couldn’t get round to. Saltburn generated a fair amount of debate, but by most accounts is precisely Ripley x Brideshead set in 2006 with tunes by Flo Rida and MGMT by the director of Promising Young Woman, and that’s a film I don’t need to see.

Some near misses from this list: The Innocent, Alcarrás and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem. Oh, yeah, and maybe the most fun I had in a cinema for what was officially a 2023 release was seeing the 4K etc restoration of Stop Making Sense, but a bit of a scrub-up does not equal an actual new movie. And on that note, here’s the list:

1. Kuolleet Lehdet (Fallen Leaves)

This is recommended cautiously – there are other films on this list I would steer most people towards before this one. But it is a movie I absolutely loved. I think it’s the 18th feature film made by director Aki Kaurismäki in a 40-year career, and easily in his five best. If you’ve never seen a Kaurismäki film, the easiest way to describe them is like Jim Jarmusch movies but Finnish. And if you haven’t even seen a Jarmusch film? Well, his movies are slow (but crucially short!). Most of the characters dress like they are living in the late 1950s or early ’60s and drink in bars that seem to come from that time too, but the films are set in the present day. The characters are usually somewhat on the margins of society and often somewhat lonely. There’s not a lot of dialogue. And, this is very important, they are funny as well as melancholy. In short, this is a very distinctive world that you’re likely to find either very appealing or pretty baffling.

Fallen Leaves is a simple story about a woman and a man who meet and have a series of misconnections while other stuff is happening in their lives. It’s very lovely but if you lose patience within the first 10 minutes, I get it, I really do. But I think it’s great.

Full review here

2. Past Lives

We open with someone speculating about the two men and a woman drinking together in a New York bar at 4am – who are they to each other? Then we are whisked back to Seoul a couple of decades earlier, and gradually make our way to that late night and learn who Na Young/Nora (Greta Lee), Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) and Arthur (John Magaro) are. Céline Song’s drama is about friendship and love but also very much about the trauma of (bourgeois) emigration – the sense that not only did you leave a place and its people behind, you left a version of yourself there.

It’s an elegant, restrained yet emotionally raw film. I was going to say it feels in places like a three-hander but would be to forget Hae Sung’s drinking buddies, who provide welcome comic relief. And when your quibbles are as nit-picky as ‘maybe one too many magic-hour shots’, then you’re talking a seriously good movie.

3. Rye Lane

Delightful romantic comedy that manages to both play by the rules of the genre and feel fresh. Girl meets boy at an art show and they spend a day and evening wandering around together and getting into low-stakes misadventures. Set and very tangibly filmed in places I know extremely well* and does so without triggering my ageing South Londoner’s prickly defensiveness. (*In my review, I say that the geography is all plausible. Recently I had dinner with friends who live locally and have seen the film, and they were not buying into the idea that you would buy hot food at Brixton Market and eat it in Brockwell Park – approx 15 minutes walk away. Which I guess makes them even more South London than me...)

Full review here

(Disney +)

4. Fremont

Afghan interpreter for the US military tries to get to grips with life in California. Gruelling social realist drama about trauma and exile? Uplifting/flag-waving account of the power of living free? Broad culture-clash comedy? No? How about ultra low-key indie, filmed in lovely black & white, in which Donya (Anaita Wali Zada) shuffles between her job making fortune cookies and her sessions with an eccentric psychiatrist (Gregg Turkington). The b&w, the gentle eccentricity of many of the characters, how little Donya says even though she is on-screen in almost every scene, have prompted comparisons with Jim Jarmusch, which I think are fair, although there’s much less of the fetish-of-cool stuff here (also, as it happens, in none of the Jarmusch films with a sole protagonist is that character female.) Very little happens, and I really liked it.

5. Anatomie d’un chute (Anatomy Of A Fall)

Bloke falls to his death out of the window of his house up in the snowy French mountains – question is: accident, suicide, murder? If murder, the only suspect seems to be his widow (Sandra Hüller), a writer who doesn’t much like living in France, especially not in the mountains, and also doesn’t feel confident expressing herself in French (the bulk of her dialogue is in English), attitudes that doesn’t seem likely to endear her to the local media or legal system. Because, yes, this is a courtroom drama, if very much not one in the manner of John Grisham. It’s an intense, relentless film, one almost without a score (what music there is – and it’s important to the plot and the film – is mostly diegetic, but there is a little cheating on that). Hüller is very good as the protagonist we’re not meant to be sure whether to root for (although I’m inherently sympathetic to anyone who would rather be in London than stuck up a mountain, however beautiful that mountain is). A few side thoughts: the kid made me think of The Omen, the prosecutor of reality TV judge Rob Rinder and I would have sworn blind that the defence lawyer was in some band that had an EP out on Creation Records in 1988, only the actor is about 15 years too young for that.

(It’s a very good film.)

6. Asteroid City

Wes Anderson’s latest comes with multiple levels of story within story that felt unnecessary the first time I saw it – on rewatch they made more sense. But the main narrative – of parents and their children fetched up in a sun-baked nowhere town in the 1950s – I found effective and very moving both times. Anderson’s films always have at least an undertone of sadness, but this is probably his most directly mournful picture since Moonrise Kingdom. As usual with Anderson, the cast is ridiculously stacked – Tom Hanks fits in surprisingly well – and there are actors (Ed Norton, Adrien Brody) who are vastly better in his films than they generally are in anyone else’s. I laughed, I cried – no, I really did, and I think this was the only film this year that made me do both.

7. Killers Of The Flower Moon

Is Killers Of The Flower Moon a masterful piece of film-making, a supreme example of Martin Scorsese’s novelistic ability to guide a camera to the details that bring a culture to life, featuring a luminous performance from Lily Gladstone and telling an important story? Yes. Is it a sadistically long* movie that runs you through the same incidents three and sometimes four times, one that inflicts on us many scenes of Bob De Niro and Leo DiCaprio doing that terrible Method-bore jutting lip/downturned mouth thing at each other? Yes, that too.

It tells an ugly tale from American history – we’re in the 1920s and oil is discovered on Osage land in Oklahoma, making that nation’s members all very rich. Inevitably, tragically, a lot of white folk aren’t having that, and start scheming about how they will get their hands on the wealth. What I wasn’t expecting is that along with the murder the film’s title previews, the plot involved lots of white guys marrying Osage women. It’s fascinating and horrible and Scorsese tells it with great images and some humour and there’s great casting. But it’s still unnecessarily long (think of the span of time covered in GoodFellas – and that came in at a respectable 2hrs 26mins).

*In the debate about whether there should be intermissions in this movie, some people were saying. ‘Who are you to presume to know more about films than Scorsese and his legendary editor Thelma Schoonmaker?’ Seems like a fair point… except: these are people who seemed to have thought Polar Expressing De Niro in The Irishman looked OK, so I’m saying their judgement isn’t what it was.

8. Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse

By and large, the critical response to Across The Spider-Verse was split between those who felt it was even better than Into The Spider-Verse and those who thought it was good but lacked the ‘blimey, look at everything they are managing to do and oh my god it makes so much more sense to do superhero movies as animation than clunky CGI’ shock-of-the-new of the first film. The latter is basically my position: this is a very good film but Into The Spider-Verse was a near-instant classic.* ATSV is not as funny, and suffers (for me) from the fact that much of it happens at a larger scale and there’s more multiverse stuff to get your head around etc, and it ends on a cliffhanger (boo!) But it’s still easily the best big budget/action film of the year for my money.

(*Although somehow only 7th on my films of 2018 list! In retrospect, I’d move it up, but still only to maybe 3rd – 2018 turns out to have been a great year for films I like.)

9. Reality

If you are phobic to excruciating small talk, you should probably avoid this film. The dialogue comes entirely from an FBI transcript, and the agents spend a very long time trying to put their suspect at ease before finally getting to the questions about what she allegedly did. So many awkward attempted bits of connection about pet ownership and going to the gym…

It starts with Reality Winner (yes, that is the name of a real person), played by Sydney Sweeney, driving home. Before she’s out of the car, two FBI agents have come up to her window. Almost all of film is them and her standing outside her bungalow doing the prelims for the questioning and then finally going inside to interrogate her. It feels like real time but it’s not quite that. The look of the film is quite raw, there’s no score, it feels very plain although there are a couple of welcome weird touches.

It’s an uncomfortable watch, but if you can stay with it, it’s an impressive and rewarding film.

10. All The Beauty And The Bloodshed

This documentary wants to tell you two important stories. One is about the campaign to get artistic institutions to distance themselves from the Sackler family, the generous donors who (alas) made their money from Valium and Oxycontin. The second is a history of assorted art movements and bohemian scenes of the late 20th-century US. The person whose life connects all this is the photographer Nan Goldin (the art world’s most influential figure, apparently). Goldin’s pictures are also a key part of this film’s visual appeal, and the director Laura Poitras is well of aware of that, and happy to give them the space they deserve. Quite a brutal watch, but worth it.

Full review here

11. Wham!

The angle this documentary takes gives us the story of Andrew Ridgeley and George Michael as a benign version of Single White Female with a touch of All About Eve crossed with Pygmalion. Here, the person who has had their look and career appropriated turns out to have been coaching the impersonator and at the end wishes them well as they soar off into superstardom.

That’s how I’ve long understood the Wham! story but this fills in the details and adds some ambiguity: Ridgeley enjoyed songwriting and being tagged the ‘talentless one’ clearly hurt him. The image choices that led some to assume George Michael was gay (many years before he came/was forced out) were actually made by his busily straight bandmate – we were right for the wrong reasons, which is to say wrong. But what I found fascinating is that once George* – who had been strong-armed by Andrew into a music career – started to understand how good he could be, he developed a Michael Jordan-esque competitive fury.

The voices of the two Wham! members provide the bulk of the narrative, added to by lots of excellent archive. The short span of Wham!’s career is a huge plus for a pop documentary - it avoids the usual problem of what to do about the later stuff only the subjects of the film care about. Just like the band, the documentary knows how to stop when the going is good.

*I can’t treat ‘Michael’ as a surname in this context.

(Netflix)

#films of the year #2023 movies #films of 2023 #films of the year 2023 #movies of 2023 #movies of the year 2023

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