#ergo apple bobbing

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #25 intuition

White Pony Tattoo - Part Five (intuition)

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and John felt a wave of jealousy for the teacup that was embraced by this perfect cupid’s bow of Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock swallowed and John mirrored the movement subconsciously, fascinated by Sherlock’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

He’s far too beautiful to concentrate, John sighed internally, how will I even survive getting tattooed by him, with his hands all over me? Well, all over my arm at least. But he will be so close. I’ve never met a person who at the same time is such a seductive menace and an annoying dick. Seems like he’s just my type, dear me.

“So,” Sherlock stood up again, unable to contain his excited energy about explaining his deduction, “how did I know?”

“I’m all ears, oh great Meastro.”

Sherlock flashed John an amused smile.

“When I first saw you, you had pulled off your jumper and were looking with disdain at the Virgin Mary tattoo on your upper arm. It sports the face of a real woman, your ex-wife apparently because of the marks on your ringfinger where your wedding band had been. Ergo she left and betrayed you and you’ll be divorced soon and want to eradicate every memory of her.”

“Okay, I get this. But the soldier? Getting shot and surviving in Afghanistan?”

“Your whole stance and demeanour screamed ‘military’. You still cut your own hair in short military style. Scar tissue on your shoulder peeked out under your vest. You’re not shy about showing off your naked arms but hate the scar. I’ve done a lot of research on skin and also cover-ups. I know a gunshot wound when I see one, one that got severely infected by bacteria and you survived sepsis. The skin is badly healed, so a quick emergency job. There are tiny spots of sun damage on the skin of your neck, they are fading but still visible. Ergo, you’ve been in a hot country with a war going on and got shot not very long ago where the British have fought, so soldier in Afghanistan or Iraq.”

“Amazing!”

“You think so?”

“Sure. What about the doctor part? Intuition?”

Sherlock snorted. “No. I don’t deal in intuition. I knew you were a doctor already, even before we talked about achieving perfection in our respective trades.”

“How so?”

“The position of getting shot in your back while you were kneeling. Exit wound is on chest, causing an intermittant tremor in your hand. You hate the scar tissue on your shoulder, you conceal it as it insults your ideals as a doctor. Only a doctor would have scrutinized my frontroom for cleanliness like you did. You saw the flyers about proper hygiene and skin care after getting a tattoo. You appreciated the skin care products I sell in this shelf here, obviously acquainted with them and knowing they’re the best you can get.

Also, a doctor because it’s the only logical reason why you should have been kneeling and bent over in such an unusual angle, so helping a comrade wounded in action. You wouldn’t have been distracted otherwise and missed the shooter because you automatically scanned the shop for any possible dangers when you entered and subconsciously stand at attention when you have to face a perilous task…”

“Perilous task as in getting you to tattoo me?” John intterrupted with a grin.

“Obviously, do keep up, John! You loved being a soldier and wanted the happy memory erasing the one of your ex-wife. You’re attracted to dangerous situations and people, they make you feel alive. Final conclusion, you wanted a soldier in full combat gear for a cover-up.”

“Holy Christ, you’re spot-on.”

Sherlock beamed, not hiding being very satisfied with himself.

“And are you?” John continued.

“What?”

“Dangerous to me?”

“Of course, I am. Firstly, I’ll come at you with a loaded gun…”

“…a tattoo gun…”

“…that still can cause a lot of pain and damage to your skin if wielded incorrectly.”

“I’ll give you that. And secondly?” John asked and took a sip out of his cup.

“Secondly, you find me dangerously attractive.”

John spat some tea onto the coffee table.

+++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at @calaisreno

[lilflowerpot]

In honor of October I must ask, would Lotor like Halloween?

As with every part of alien culture, he’d find it intriguing at least (if a little silly with the way that people dress up as something scary… but it doesn’t have to be scary? And children are sent around to the houses of strangers at night to eat sweets even though throughout the rest of the year they are categorically taught to not accept sugary treats from people they do not know??).

The history of it would be of particular interest to him though. Halloween as most people think of it isn’t at all what it used to be, and has its roots in the Celtic festival of Samhain as a festival marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of a new year, with this night being one where the veil between the living and the dead is thin, so spirits and ghosts may return to the mortal plane (both to wreck havoc and pass on prophetic knowledge to the druidic priests). This shares similarities with several old Galra festivals (the bonfire to ward off ill-meaning spirits and protect the living, the animal sacrifices and wearing of animal heads/pelts, the blood magic, the fact that humans had druids that do not sound dissimilar to the Galra’s own), and indeed Lotor finds it fascinating that thousands of cultures from all across the universe share this same concept of having one particular point in their calendar when the dead can - in some form or another - interact with the living.

[sweetestlamb]

Starving

Summary: Mijeong finds release from her anger using other means.

Author's note: This has been on my mind since the first time Mi-jeong went over to Gu's house and that tease of a kiss only made me hungrier for these two. Ergo this filth was born.

The door slides open easily, as it always does- nothing ever happens in this small egg white town nothing that warrants locking of doors to ward off danger. Yet, it makes her blood boil that he's so unprotected slouched on the couch, bottles of soju surrounding him like a ritual.

She had text him. Another bad day at work, those harsh red lines marring her hard work she should have been immune to the humiliation but she wasn't, not yet. The desire to punch him right in his mouth growing larger each day that she had to spent in his unpleasant presence.

She yearned for liberation.

To utter the words: "I quit."

But one look at her bank account was enough to stifle that voice deep inside that whispered that she deserved better. No she didn't, she deserved this. Everything bad in her life was somehow her own doing. So she should take this suffering without complaint.

"You're here."

He's drunk, smiling with it and she hates how the beverage is able to lift his spirits in ways that she can't. Without a reply she flings her bag to the side and collapses beside him, snatching his bottle of soju and drinking start from it. Taking huge swallows and ignoring the burn as it slides down her throat.

He raises one eyebrow, amused.

He watches her gulp down the liquor, letting out a little sound of impress staring at the side of her face.

"Are you hungry?" Nobody besides her mother has ever cared this much if she's eaten, not even ex boyfriends. They would hardly text her much less offer to take her out and she accepted the excuses they would give her each time, not wanting to be a burden.

I'm too tired from work.

You live so far.

We'll go next time.

We don't need dates to prove our love.

She never pushed them for more, never fought or questioned them. Just nodded in agreement even as her heart clenched and they smiled thankful to have encountered a fool like her.

So his attentiveness still shocks her and makes her uneasy, despite her demanding this very attention.

Worship me.

But what she really meant was: treat me well, appreciate me, be kind to me, don't lie to me, like me, love me.

He starts moving, staggering only a little and instinctively she reaches out a hand to catch him. He catches himself on the couch arm extended above her head and her hand lands on his stomach, hidden muscles pressing against her palm.

She freezes at the contact but he's too drunk to care, smiling at her before he starts to move away easily body swaying like a weed in the field.

Running on impulse she grabs the thin worn cotton of his shirt, halting his retreating movement much to his shock- those dark eyes widening as she tugs him harder.

"I'm hungry."

He nods and tries to escape once more but she's faster, suddenly standing in his space almost knocking their heads together in her haste.

"Not for food." She fights off a blush even as he glances down at her lips, back to her eyes and then further down her body each inch of her skin burning under his penetrating gaze.

"You're angry." She is, burning with it.

Silently he peers at her, she fears that he'll send her home to sleep this off. She will toss and turn all night, imagining ways to murder and maim the object of her frustrations instead. That won't do.

Eyes locked on his, she tugs her dress shirt from its tight tuck into her wide legged outdated dress pants.

That gets his attention. Fire kindling in those cold eyes.

"Hmmm." He hums merely watching now, hands limp by his side as she pulls the shirt out completely.

They stare at each other, long and hard before he moves sitting down and slamming back another shot of soju. She stares at him, watching his Adam's apple bob with the swallow.

"This is exactly why I'm scared of you. When you look at me like that." He gestures towards her face and she stares back blankly before closing the distance between them and sitting on his lap, simultaneously pushing him flat on the couch straddling his hips.

A sharp gasp of breath leaves his lips as she presses her chest flush against his.

"Make me forget everything. Take away this anger." She demands without expectations of much, so when he flips their position in one fluid motion she releases an airy moan that makes his pupil dilate.

"How much am I allowed to worship?"

She doesn't truly understand what he's asking, but she's greedy with him, always so her reply is: "Everything."

And that's all it takes for him to unbutton her sensible pants and throw them over his shoulder. It knocks over an opened bottle of soju, but for once his entire focus is on her and nothing else she feels invincible.

"Did you plan this?" He chokes out on a weak chuckle and she knows it's because of her underwear, a small strip of material so miniscule it could barely be called clothes. She normally wore sensible cotton panties but as of late she had been investing in sexier options, a small act of worship for herself.

It was worth it to see the wave of lust race over that perpetually stoic face.

A look of genuine fear.

Her core grew wetter at the sight.

"Aren't you talking too much?" She quips back, impatiently squirming beneath him. He flashes a shark like grin at her before lowering his body, rubbing his nose against her belly before reaching the wet spot on her panties. She gasps as he inhales her, his breathe hitting her in her most intimate place.

"Do you want me to kill him?" She snaps her eyes open, unaware of when exactly she'd closed them. He looks deadly serious instead of playful as she'd expected as he stares waiting for her answer.

One moment of tense silence.

"Would you do it if I asked you to?"

He tugs hard, leaving her bare to the cool air and his starved gaze. Unlike her pants, he carefully tucks her panties away. Even folding them neatly.

"I'd do worst if you told me to."

He looks at her, hot breath landing on her bare skin with every exhale. He's waiting for something, maybe fear or disappointment but she feels neither.

She feels powerful.

To have this man, a wolf in sheep's clothing prostrating at her feet eager to please her.

"Just worship me."

He smiles slyly prying her legs open and licking at her slick opening with a stiff tongue.

She tries to twist away, pleasure too intense. Nobody has ever done this to her before, for her before.

But he grips her tighter, tugging her back onto his devastating onslaught pushing a finger inside to join his tongue and sucking at her until she can't remember her own name or the day of the week.

"I'll string him up by his intestines and make him regret the day he ever crossed paths with you."

She moans loudly, wrapping her legs around his head and thrusting down onto him chasing the pleasure soaring through her body.

"That turn you on?"

She rolls her hips eagerly, her anger fading into the background.

He chuckles into her wet folds, suckling at her clit while fingering at her hole with two thick digits.

"You're a scary woman."

He sounds delighted, devouring her as she writhes on his couch slick squelching sounds filling the air around them drowning out all the voices in her head, endorphins stunning every other chemical release in her body.

There is nothing but him and his tongue on her body.

Nothing else matters.

[aion-rsa]

Oscars 2021: Frontrunners and Predictions

https://ift.tt/3cGcIj1

This is weird, right? In a normal year this kind of article would have been written closer to New Year’s Day, and the awards season red carpets would’ve been rolled up weeks ago. But 2020 really was a weird experience, to put it mildly. And among other problems, it caused the Oscars race to bleed all the way into April. Indeed, it’s mid-March and the weekly Sunday night ceremonies have barely begun.

Nevertheless, and despite hand-wringing from this time last year about whether there would even be anything worthy of nomination in 2020, we’ve just come through a resilient and even hopeful period for quality cinema. Movie theaters remain largely closed throughout the U.S. and Europe, yet filmmakers have found a way to get their passion projects out via streaming, video-on-demand, and for a precious few in limited capacity movie theaters. Through it all, the industry endured and quality work found an eager audience anxious for the catharsis of shared art—or at least a good Borat joke.

Thus the weekend before Oscar nominations are officially announced, we are providing our final predictions of who’s leading the race for Best Picture, and where the frontrunners might also stand in other Academy Award categories. The movies below are ranked from most likely to get a Best Picture nod to least likely.

Nomadland

The obvious frontrunner has long been Chloé Zhao’s Nomadland. This held true months before the Searchlight Pictures release picked up Best Picture prizes at the Golden Globes and the Critics Choice Awards in the last two weeks… but those certainly helped.

As a beautiful and lyrical elegy to the people America has left behind, and the fascinating American Nomad culture that has flourished from these hardships, Nomadland struck us as a modern day Grapes of Wrath when we saw the film at TIFF last year. In fact, the movie won the coveted People’s Choice Award at that festival, a feat achieved by recent Best Picture frontrunners La La Land and Green Book, with the latter succeeding at winning the top prize.

More impressive than tea leaves derived from historical precedent though is that Nomadland is the rare major Hollywood release from a studio (Searchlight Pictures, which is the prestige arm of the now Disney-owned 20th Century Studios) that opened in theaters for a limited period of time before debuting on Hulu last month. That commitment to the theatrical experience—although not absurdly so—will play well to Academy voters who’ve long resisted awarding streaming originals the Best Picture over the last decade.

Read more

Movies

Nomadland Review: A Modern Day Grapes of Wrath

By David Crow

Movies

Nomadland: How Bob Wells’ Real Life Story Grounds a Quiet Depiction of Grief

By Kayti Burt

Additionally, Nomadland is an achievement wherein the line between narrative storytelling and documentary filmmaking is blurred. That unusual alchemy has become Zhao’s specialty, and in a year of acute self-consciousness, finally awarding the talented Chinese filmmaker with Best Picture and probably Best Director is a refreshing nigh inevitability. Also expect nominations for Best Actress thanks to the ever riveting Frances McDormand’s haunting turn, as well as nods in Adapted Screenplay, Cinematography, and other technical categories.

The Trial of the Chicago 7

The new old adage of “if it wasn’t a Netflix movie…” applies heavily to Aaron Sorkin’s otherwise Academy-friendly The Trial of the Chicago 7. A truly terrific drama that recounts a gross miscarriage of justice enacted against eight men deemed “radical” for protesting the Vietnam War by the Nixon administration, The Trial of the Chicago 7 is a life-affirming period piece about a subject near and dear to Baby Boomers’ hearts: the culture war of the 1960s. The fact Sorkin finds direct parallels between its story about civil unrest and social injustice during the Civil Rights movement and modern demands for social justice at the tail-end of the Trump Years makes it doubly potent.

Read more

Movies

The Trial of the Chicago 7: Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin Were the Martin and Lewis of the Radical Left

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Aaron Sorkin: Donald Trump Made The Trial of the Chicago 7 Movie Possible

By David Crow

(It probably also doesn’t hurt its chances that Yahya Abdul-Mateen II’s powerhouse performance as Black Panther Bobby Seale is supporting while Eddie Redmayne’s all-American embodiment of the New Left is the closest the film’s ensemble has to a lead). Sorkin’s ability to turn dialogue into spectacle has long appealed to the Academy, with his scripts previously earning him three Oscar nominations, and one win for The Social Network. We imagine though that he’ll again have the best chance to win in the Best Original Screenplay category, as Chicago 7’s Netflix status might just make it first runner-up, as Roma was to Green Book. However, don’t be surprised if Sacha Baron Cohen also pulls an upset in the Best Supporting Actor category for his resurrection of Abbie Hoffman’s ghost.

The movie is also a near lock for the Best Editing prize.

Minari

One of the best films of 2020, Minari has had a quiet ascent to the top. In actuality, the film has been cruelly misrepresented by other awards bodies. Categorized as a “foreign language film” by the Golden Globes’ Hollywood Foreign Press Association, as well as the Critics Choice Awards, this all-American story about Korean American immigrants attempting to make a go of it as Arkansas farmers is as American as Apple pie. And Lee Isaac Chung’s visibly semi-autobiographical portrait of his young family in the 1980s heartland, complete with a nuanced empathy for the plight of his parents and even his grandmother, make this one of the most beautiful triumphs about the human spirit committed to cinema this year.

The film was snubbed by the Globes from the Best Picture race, but the much more prescient Hollywood guilds, including the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), the Directors Guild of America (DGA), and the Producers Guild of America (PGA), have all recognized Minari’s brilliance. Indeed, Chung getting into the competitive DGA short-list speaks highly of its competitiveness. One year after Parasite shocked the world by winning Best Picture, here’s an American story that supported the theatrical experience thanks to A24, and whose inclusion speaks well about the future of American cinema. Putting it in its rightful place at the top of the ticket, as opposed to Best International Film, is also a very good look. Hopefully, nominations will also include Best Supporting Actress, Best Cinematography, and Best Original Score.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Perhaps showing the relative sparseness of this year’s cinematic offerings, I suspect we’re already past the point on this list where contenders have a sincere shot at winning Best Picture. However, a movie like Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom will surely be nominated. As a sledgehammer film about the pressures on Black artists in America, and the corrosive influence of white money used to appropriate that art, George C. Wolfe’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom hits like a ton of bricks.

Read more

Culture

Ma Rainey’s Life and Reign as the Mother of the Blues

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Ending Explained

By Tony Sokol

This is in no small part due to the harrowing performances of both the late great Chadwick Boseman and Viola Davis. Expect both to be nominated in the Leading performance categories, with Boseman as close to a lock as possible for winning the Best Actor prize with his final, heartbreaking performance. The movie should also do well in the Adapted Screenplay, Costume, Makeup, and Production Design categories. 

Mank

A personal favorite of mine from 2020, Mank is an admittedly acquired taste. A meticulously researched and authentic portrait of the creative process and the uglier side of Hollywood’s Golden Age, David Fincher’s Netflix production is less a love letter to the industry than an affectionate middle finger. That abrasiveness has rubbed some audiences the wrong way, as does its expectation you know about the the debate of authorial credit on Citizen Kane. Nonetheless, this is a swaggering triumph of presentation and performance.

Ergo expect a large amount of nominations for Best Director (Fincher), Best Actor (Gary Oldman), Best Supporting Actress (Amanda Seyfried), Best Original Screenplay (Jack Fincher), and multiple technical nominations including Cinematography, Editing, Score, Costumes, and Production Design. For above the line nominations though, the best shot at a win may be Seyfried’s enigmatic turn as Marion Davies. Although, given the chances of two performances below, she’s now the underdog in that race.

Promising Young Woman

One of the most original and talked about movies of 2020, Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman is a pitch black comedy/tragedy that’s as intentionally uncomfortable as it is bleakly amusing. A passion play for the post-#MeToo era that examines our culture’s treatment of women through the gaze of an avenging loner named Cassandra (Carey Mulligan), this soon-to-be millennial cult classic may honestly be too outside-the-box and ballsy (pardon the phrase) for the the typically more conventional, older sensibilities of Academy voters when considering the top prize.

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Still, expect Fennell to also get nominated for Best Director while also being the frontrunner to win the Best Original Screenplay Oscar over Sorkin. It is a long established tradition for the Academy to award the most challenging (and stylish) Best Picture contenders a Screenplay Oscar over Picture or Director. Meanwhile, Carey Mulligan is likewise the frontrunner in the Best Actress category—deservedly so.

One Night in Miami

Despite premiering on the globally accessible Amazon Prime, Regina King’s One Night in Miami feels like it’s fallen a bit under the radar for most folks. Which is a shame, because this is a superb directorial debut for King and one of the most thought-provoking movies of 2020. Another adaptation of a play about the intersection between the soft power of celebrity and the hard responsibility of Black art, we personally argue One Night in Miami is the more challenging and intriguing adaptation: one that imagines what words might’ve been said on a mysterious night shared by Cassius Clay (soon to be renamed Muhammad Ali), Malcolm X, Sam Cooke, and Jim Brown.

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With this being such an actor’s showcase, as well as one directed by a great actress herself, expect the Academy’s large thespian wing to power this into a Best Picture nomination. Leslie Odom Jr. also appears to likely be nominated for Best Supporting Actor due to his turn as Sam Cooke, as will Kemp Powers’ adaptation of his own play likely land him in the Best Adapted Screenplay race. However, after the DGA snub, I fear King will be ignored in the Best Director category.

Judas and the Black Messiah

At this point, we are examining films on the bubble of actually getting a Best Picture nomination. One contender that may yet squeeze in is Shaka King’s fearless depiction of the death of Black Panther Party Chairman Fred Hampton. Executed by police officers working on intelligence gathered by the FBI, the film of Hampton’s life is told from the vantage of William O’Neal, the man who betrayed Hampton to the feds.

A film with a more revolutionary heart than the similarly themed The Trial of the Chicago 7—in fact, Hampton is a supporting character in the Sorkin picture—Judas might be too zealous for more conservative Oscar voters; it also is a little narratively messier. It should be nominated for Best Picture, and its odds grew with a nod from the PGAs, which remains the best prognosticator for this category. However, it very well may wind up with only nominations for Daniel Kaluuya in the Best Supporting Actor category and a nod for Best Original Song.

On the plus side, Kaluuya is the clear and away frontrunner for Best Supporting Actor after winning in the same race at the Globes and CCAs.

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

Borat 2 is a legitimate Oscar contender. Brave new world, indeed. While I’m still skeptical about it actually getting into the Best Picture race, that idea doesn’t seem impossible after Borat Subsequent Moviefilm earned a dark horse nomination at the PGAs. Granted the producers guild is always more eager to shower love on successful audience entertainments than the Oscars, hence Deadpool and Wonder Woman also getting recent PGA nominations while being shut out by the Academy. But those movies didn’t have a scene where a fictional character unmasked Rudy Giuliani as a dishonest creeper with his hand down his pants. So…

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Either way, expect Borat 2 to pick up a Best Supporting Actress nomination for Maria Bakalova’s star-making turn as Borat’s daughter, Tutar. It’s a performance that demanded as much spontaneity and improvisation as Baron Cohen’s, with Bakalova arguably being even more impressive as she also creates a sincere heartbeat underneath the snark. The performance was snubbed from winning a category it should’ve been a shoo-in for at the Golden Globes—Best Actress in a Comedy/Musical—but Bakalova recovered momentum by winning in the more 1:1 Supporting Actress category at the Critics Choice. She faces steep competition from Olivia Colman in The Father and Amanda Seyfried in Mank, but neither of them embarrassed Donald Trump’s personal lawyer weeks ahead of the election he was trying to undermine.

The Father

As someone who has watched a loved one suffer from dementia and the effects of aging, I can attest that Florian Zeller’s The Father is an accurate, and arguably too devastating of a portrait of a mind in deterioration. For that depressing element, I suspect Zeller’s film will play too tragically for Academy voters, who tend to prefer life-affirming stories in the Best Picture category. But The Father has an outside shot for nomination. And it will definitely get nominations for Best Actor (Anthony Hopkins), Best Supporting Actress (Olivia Colman), and Best Adapted Screenplay. The odds makers similarly say Colman’s the frontrunner in her category (even though she’s lost the major awards thus far), although I still have my doubts about that too.

Sound of Metal

Darius Marder’s depiction of a punk rock drummer going through early hearing loss got a boost of confidence from the PGAs nominating it for Best Picture. I could also see it sneaking into a Best Picture slot over Judas and the Black Messiah and Borat 2, especially with its story of a man learning to live again. However, it will most likely walk away solely with a nomination for Riz Ahmed in the Best Actor category.

Da 5 Bloods

Spike Lee’s follow-up to BlacKkKlansman may be one Netflix film too many for Academy voters this year. Which is a shame since this is an underrated slice of cinema that merges Vietnam War dramas with Treasure of the Sierra Madre thriller elements, and Lee’s singular dreamlike stylizations. At the very least, Delroy Lindo should be nominated for Best Actor. However, I fear Da 5 Bloods will be shut out, save for perhaps a Best Cinematography nomination.

News of the World

An underrated Paul Greengrass Western starring Tom Hanks, this is old school moviemaking that I suspect would’ve found a larger audience in a normal year. Instead it opened to mostly closed theaters and has gone strangely overlooked. At the very least child actor Helena Zengel should be considered for Best Supporting Actress for her poignant turn as a child torn between two worlds. However, this may only end up nominated in a handful of technical categories, with its best chance at a nod being for James Newton Howard’s rousing score.

Soul

Pixar’s Soul is excellent and will almost certainly pick up Oscars for Best Animated Film and Best Original Score. That might also be the extent of its nominations.

The United States vs. Billie Holiday

Lee Daniels’ by the numbers musical biopic about one of the defining voices of jazz being hounded to her death by the federal government will not be nominated for Best Picture. Sadly, this is a movie that should’ve been much better. Still, Andra Day will definitely be nominated for Best Actress.

Pieces of a Woman

An interesting (if somewhat cold) piece of cinema, Kornél Mundruczó’s Pieces of a Woman was always a long-shot before allegations of abuse against star Shia LaBeouf took it entirely out of the Best Picture running. Yet you can expect Vanessa Kirby to be nominated in the fifth spot for Best Actress for her raw essay of a woman who’s lost her child. Ellen Burstyn also has a dark horse shot at getting in for Best Supporting Actress thanks to her ruthless depiction of a grandmother denied.

Academy Award nominations are announced on Monday morning, March 15.

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