#the blizzard film review

[jimsmovieworld]

WHITE BIRD IN A BLIZZARD- 2014 ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Kat's mother disappears suddenly without leaving a note for her or her dad. Initially she feels nothing, but soon Kat is haunted by dreams and cant stop replaying the events that led to her disappearance. Two years later, Kat returns home, on break from college and tries to unravel the mystery....

An interesting movie. Strong acting and some good dialogue. The dream sequences were creepy. Amusing twist at the end of the movie i didnt see coming at all. Very Gregg Araki.

Shailene Woodley, Eva Green, Sheryl Lee and Christopher Meloni star.

Set in the late 1980's.

Directed by Gregg Araki.

[wasjustred]

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you. 

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings. 

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen. 

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you. 

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew. 

She’s never been more beautiful to you. 

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore. 

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down. 

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck. 

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

[clapperboardtalk]

KNUCKLEBALL (2018)

Knuckleball (2018): A Chilling Ride Through Family Secrets and Blizzard-Blasting Terror ❄️

- Title: Knuckleball

- Genre: Horror/Thriller

- Runtime: 1h 29m

- Country: Canada

- Year: 2018

Plot: 12-year-old Henry's life gets flipped upside down faster than a pancake on a griddle when his creepy grandpa kicks the bucket. Stranded on an isolated farm during a blizzard, Henry finds himself targeted by their mysterious creepy neighbour with a penchant for lurking and, well, murder.

Cinematography: Bleak and beautiful. The snow-covered landscape is both desolate and eerie, perfectly capturing the isolation and dread Henry feels. Plus, some killer shots of the storm raging outside. ️

Memorable Scene: Henry, armed with a trusty shovel and a whole lot of grit, confronts the killer in a showdown that's both brutal and suspenseful. You'll be on the edge of your seat, gnawing your nails (if you haven't already eaten them from the nerve-wracking build-up).

Overall Review: I went into Knuckleball expecting a run-of-the-mill home invasion flick, but boy, was I surprised! This film is a chilling slow-burn that keeps you guessing until the very end. The performances are solid, the tension is palpable, and the story is surprisingly complex. Just one thing: I wish we got more backstory on the grandpa. That dude was a mystery wrapped in an enigma stuffed into a rocking chair.

Personal Rating: 3/5 stars. This film is a hidden gem for horror fans who like their scares served with a side of suspense and family drama. Just don't get caught alone in a blizzard afterwards. You might start seeing shadows...

Trivia Tidbit: Did you know that director Michael Peterson actually filmed the blizzard scenes in the middle of a real one? Talk about dedication (and maybe a touch of insanity)!

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: The Invisible Man (1933)

The Invisible Man (1933)

Approved by the Production Code Administration of the Motion Picture Producers & Distributors of America

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2023/10/review-invisible-man-1933.html>

Score: 3 out of 5

Having just moved to Boston, a natural destination for a horror fan like myself has been the city of Salem, Massachusetts about 40 minutes north. I have indeed, like a dirty tourist, partaken in many of the attractions that have made Salem famous, but one place I imagine will be a repeat destination for me is the Cinema Salem, a three-screen movie theater that not only hosts the annual Salem Horror Fest but also, this October, is running many classic Universal monster movies all month long. For my first movie there, I decided to check out The Invisible Man, the most famous adaptation of H. G. Wells' 1897 novel, and I was not expecting the movie I got. Don't get me wrong, it was a good movie, albeit an uneven one. But if your understanding of the Universal Monsters is that they're slow, dry, classy, and old-fashioned, you'll be as surprised as I was at just how wild and funny this movie can get. What would've been just a passable horror movie is elevated by Claude Rains as an outstanding villain who may be literally invisible but still finds a way to hog the screen at every opportunity, one who singlehandedly made this film a classic and part of the horror canon through his sheer presence. It has a lot of rough spots, but I still do not regret going out of my way to see this in a theater.

The film opens in an inn in the small English village of Iping, where Jack Griffin, a man clad head to toe in a trench coat, hat, gloves, bandages, and dark goggles, arrives in the middle of a blizzard. We soon find out that he is a scientist who performed a procedure on himself that turned him invisible, and shortly after that, we find out that this procedure drove him murderously insane as he came to realize that he could now commit any crime and get away with it because nobody will even know how to find him, let alone arrest him. Immediately, we get a sense of what kind of man Griffin is as he attacks the inn's owner for trying to get him to pay his rent, then leading the police on a merry chase when they step into try and evict him, his crimes only escalating from there.

Rains plays Griffin as a troll, somebody for whom the ultimate real-world anonymity has enabled him to let out his inner jerk, and he relishes it. He frequently drops one-liners as he harasses, assaults, and eventually outright murders the people who cross his path, and packs an evil laugh with the best of them. At times, the film veers almost into horror-comedy as it showcases the more mischievous side of Griffin's crime spree, such that I'm not surprised that some of the sequels to this that Universal made in the '40s would be straight-up comedies. That said, Rains still played Griffin as a fundamentally vile person, one who forces his former colleague Dr. Kemp to act as his accomplice knowing he can't do anything about it, kills scores of people in one of the highest body counts of any Universal monster movie, and clearly seems conflicted at points about his descent into villainy only for his power to seduce him back into it -- perhaps best demonstrated in a scene where he talks to his fiancée Flora about how he wishes to one day cure himself, only to slip into ranting about how he could then sell the secret of his invisibility to the world's armies, or perhaps even raise one such army himself and take over the world. The Invisible Man may be the most comedic of Universal's "classic" monsters, but the film never forgets that he's a monster. What's more, while the seams may now be visible on the special effects and chromakey that they used back in the day to create the effect of Griffin's invisibility, a lot of it still works surprisingly well. Already, as I dip my toes into the classic Universal horror movies, I've started to notice why the monsters have always been at the center of the nostalgia, discourse, and marketing surrounding them, and it's because they and the actors playing them are usually by far the most memorable parts of their movies.

It's fortunate, too, because I've also started to notice a recurring flaw in the Universal monster movies: that the parts not directly connected to the monster usually aren't nearly as memorable. I've barely even talked about Griffin's fellow scientists, and that's because they were only interesting insofar as they were connected to him, which made Kemp the most interesting non-villainous character in the film by default simply because of how Griffin uses and torments him. Flora, a character original to the movie who wasn't in the book, felt almost completely extraneous and had next to nothing to do in the plot, feeling like she was thrown in simply because the producers felt that there needed to be at least one token female presence and love story in the film. When the film was focused on Griffin, it was genuinely compelling, whether it was building tension (such as in the opening scenes at the inn, or Kemp's interactions with Griffin) or in the more madcap scenes of Griffin's mayhem. However, when the film diverted its attention from him to the scientists and police officers searching for him, it quickly started to drag. This was a pretty short movie at only 70 minutes, but it still felt like it had a lot of flab and pacing issues.

The Bottom Line

The monster is the reason why people remember this movie, and what a monster he is. Claude Rains and the effects team took what could've easily been a cheap and disposable adaptation and made something truly memorable out of it, even if the rest of the film doesn't entirely hold up today. I still think the 2020 version is a far better movie, but this was still an enjoyable, entertaining, and surprisingly wild time.

[alightinthelantern]

film reviews: Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa)

Synopsis: This anthology film, which draws on Japanese folklore and history, and themes of art and environmentalism, comprises eight segments, each based on a dream director Akira Kurosawa had in his life. In Sunshine Through the Rain, a young boy sneaks out from home during a sunshower to spy on a kitsune wedding, but is caught, enraging the foxes. In The Peach Orchard, a family is celebrating Hinamatsuri, or Doll Day. The young son follows a mysterious girl out of the house to the family's orchard, where he is confronted by the spirits of the peach trees cut down. In The Blizzard, four adventurers are caught in a blizzard while ascending a mountain, and fall asleep from exhaustion. One of the men wakes up to find a beautiful yuki-onna wrapping him in blankets of snow. In The Tunnel, an army commander returning home passes through a tunnel and is confronted by the ghosts of his dead regiment. In Crows, the only segment in English, an artist falls into the world of Van Gogh's paintings and ends up in 1880s France, where he meets Van Gogh himself. In Mount Fuji in Red, a nuclear power plant on the slopes of Mt. Fuji erupts, spelling toxic doom for everyone in the area. In The Weeping Oni, a young man in an apocalyptic wasteland meets a man with a horn growing out of his head in heavenly punishment for the sins he committed in his life. He shows the young man a gathering of demons, all with horns growing from their heads, howling in pain. In Village of the Watermills, the same young man arrives in a picturesque village whose inhabitants have eschewed modern conveniences for a more earthly, honest way of living, and witnesses a funeral parade celebrating the deceased's long life.

Review: I last saw this film many years ago so I wasn't sure how it would hold up, but on rewatching it I found it every bit as beautiful and moving as I did the first time. Kurosawa was a painter in his youth before he joined the film industry, and his color films made late in his life are bursting with color and imagery, every frame a master painting. Dreams, like Ran and Kagemusha, is visually stunning, and the film makes good use of makeup and costumes to achieve an ethereal, dreamlike effect in all of its segments. I can't recommend the film enough for lovers of Japanese culture and/or art films.

Additional comments: It's thought that the segment The Cherry Orchard was inspired by a sister of Kurosawa's who died young. In the segment Crows, Martin Scorsese plays Van Gogh. Village of the Watermills was filmed at a real location, Daio Wasabi Farm in Honshu, Japan. I love the way Mount Fuji in Red and The Weeping Oni are followed by Village of the Watermills, contrasting the apocalyptic worst-case scenarios for how modern society might end up with a vision of a better alternative. And I love the final shot of the film, of overflowing, bountiful nature overlaid with such melancholy, heartrending music. The music used is "In a Village" from Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov's "Caucasian Suite", although the arrangement removes the fast section and repeats the slow sections several times.

The film is on YouTube, and you can watch it here.

[moviereviews101web]

Centigrade (2020) Movie Review

Centigrade – ABC Film Challenge – Thriller – C – Centigrade – Movie Review Director: Brendan Walsh Writer: Daley Nixon, Brandan Walsh (Screenplay) Cast Genesis Rodriguez (Big Hero 6) Vincent Piazza (Boardwalk Empire) Plot: A married couple find themselves trapped in their frozen vehicle after a blizzard and struggle to survive amid plunging temperatures and unforeseen obstacles. Runtime: 1…

[jcmarchi]

The Casting Of Frank Stone Cover Story, Nobody Wants To Die, And Arranger | GI Show

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/the-casting-of-frank-stone-cover-story-nobody-wants-to-die-and-arranger-gi-show/

The Casting Of Frank Stone Cover Story, Nobody Wants To Die, And Arranger | GI Show

In this week’s episode of The Game Informer Show podcast, we unpack our latest cover story on The Casting of Frank Stone! After that, Marcus Stewart dives into his time playing the cyberpunk noir detective game Nobody Wants to Die. Charles Harte discusses his early impression of Arranger, and Kyle breaks down his review of Kunitsu-Gami: Path of the Goddess. Marcus also chats about his recent trip to Blizzard to play Diablo IV: Vessel of Hatred’s new Spiritborn class, and we round out the discussion with listener questions and a surprisingly long reflection on the 1995 film Powder. 

[embedded content]

Follow us on social media: Marcus Stewart (@MarcusStewart7), Kyle Hilliard (@KyleMHilliard), Charles Harte (@chuckduck365)

The Game Informer Show is a weekly gaming podcast covering the latest video game news, industry topics, exclusive reveals, and reviews. Join us every Thursday to chat about your favorite games – past and present – with Game Informer staff, developers, and special guests from around the industry. Listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or your favorite podcast app.

Matt Storm, the freelance audio editor for The Game Informer Show, edited this episode. Matt is an experienced podcast host and producer who’s been speaking into a microphone for over a decade. You should listen to Matt’s shows like the “Fun” And Games Podcast and Reignite, a BioWare-focused podcast. 

The Game Informer Show – Podcast Timestamps:

00:00:00 – Intro 00:04:02 – Cover Story: The Casting of Frank Stone 00:24:52 – Arranger: A Role-Puzzling Adventure 00:33:44 – Nobody Wants to Die 00:51:03 – Kunitsu-Gami: Path of the Goddess Review 01:01:30 – Charles’ Retro Console Corner 01:05:54 – Diablo IV Vessel of Hatred – Spiritborn Class Preview 01:14:56 – Housekeeping and Listener Questions

[themovieblogonline]

Downtown Owl Review: A Respectable Effort From Rabe And Linklater

Downtown Owl, the debut film from the duo Lily Rabe and Hamish Linklater, ventures into the delicate balancing act of comedy and drama against the stark backdrop of a small North Dakota town. Based on the 2008 novel by Chuck Klosterman, the movie attempts to weave together the disparate lives of its characters in the lead-up to a life-altering blizzard. While Rabe and Linklater’s ambition is palpable, and the production quality of the film under their joint direction, alongside producers Bettina Barrow and Rebecca Green, cannot be faulted, Downtown Owl ultimately struggles to fully encapsulate the depth and nuance of its source material. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4HGKpcOKAc The casting choices, with Rabe herself stepping in front of the camera as the new-in-town English teacher Julia Rabia, and support from Ed Harris as the reflective Horace Jones, are commendable. Newcomers and seasoned actors alike, including Vanessa Hudgens as Naomi, August Blanco Rosenstein as Mitch Hrlicka, Jack Dylan Grazer as Eli, Finn Wittrock, and Henry Golding in supporting roles, deliver performances that highlight their characters' individual quests for connection and meaning amidst the monotony of small-town life. The Bad: Where the film stumbles, however, is in its pacing and narrative execution. The attempt to juggle the significant emotional arcs of Julia, Horace, and Mitch often leads to a fragmented viewing experience. Each character’s story, rich with potential, is underserved by the necessity to shift focus, leaving their narratives feeling somewhat abbreviated. The richly detailed environment of Owl, meant to serve as a character in its own right, occasionally fades into the background rather than amplifying the stories unfolding within it. The Good: From a directorial standpoint, Rabe and Linklater's debut demonstrates their clear respect for Klosterman’s material. Their decision to remain faithful to the setting and time period is visually rewarding, with the cinematography capturing the bleak, frozen landscape that mirrors the isolation felt by many of Owl's inhabitants. Nevertheless, their transition from the intricacies of theater direction to the broader canvas of film seems to encounter a learning curve. At times, Downtown Owl could benefit from a tighter narrative structure and a more dynamic interplay between its central characters. The humor, though present, wavers in its effectiveness. The film aims to juxtapose the absurdity of daily life against the backdrop of impending doom brought by the blizzard. When it hits, it highlights the inherent irony and resilience of small-town living. The comedic elements clash with the film's poignant moments, undermining the emotional impact. Notably, the performances of Ed Harris and Lily Rabe stand out. Harris, as Horace, offers a grounded, introspective portrayal that anchors the film, providing a necessary counterbalance to the ensemble cast. Rabe brings authenticity and depth to her dual role as lead actress and co-director. The production design and costume departments deserve praise for their attention to period detail, transporting viewers to the 1980s. The immersive experience is sometimes hindered by a faithful yet unseamless script. Linklater’s screenplay manages to capture Klosterman’s voice, yet struggles to condense the novel’s broader themes into the film's limited runtime. In terms of thematic exploration, Downtown Owl makes commendable attempts to address the universal search for meaning against the forces of nature and societal expectation. The blizzard symbolizes life's uncontrollable aspects and the characters' challenges, highlighting nature's power and human fragility. The metaphor is powerful but lacks exploration of existential themes. Overall: Ultimately, Downtown Owl is a film of unfulfilled potential. It brings together a promising cast, an evocative setting, and a compelling premise. But, it fails to coalesce these elements into a fully satisfying narrative whole. For fans of Klosterman’s novel, the film offers a nostalgic return to the world of Owl. For newcomers, it may serve as an intriguing, albeit uneven, introduction to the themes and characters that populate Klosterman's work. As Rabe and Linklater's directorial debut, the film displays a genuine affection for storytelling and an earnestness in execution that is commendable. It represents a first step in what one hopes will be an evolving filmmaking journey for the pair. While Downtown Owl may not reach the heights it aspires to, it demonstrates the potential for growth and refinement in Rabe and Linklater’s directorial talents. https://youtu.be/yf4xdn2LUBk Read the full article

[movienation]

Movie Review: Watch out for the not-so-itsy-bitsy Spider's "Sting"

“Sting” is a solid no-big-stars B-picture thriller about an itsy bitsy spider who gets chatty, then awfully big as it tears through a New York apartment building in the middle of a blizzard. Naturally, it was filmed in Australia. The magic of the movies, amIright? A meteor shower that coincides with a storm is our “How this happened.” A child obsessed with sneaking through the airvents into…

[darshanan-blog]

Ordinary Angels - Movie Review

Directed by Jon Gunn from a script by Kelly Fremon Craig and Meg Tilly, the film “Ordinary Angels” focuses on real life story where the town of Louisville rallied around 4 year old Michelle Schmitt (Emily Michell) to help get her a liver transplant during a raging blizzard in January of 1994. LIttle Michelle who once came to be known as “snow baby of Louisville” may have just remained an ordinary…

[littlealeta]

Don Bluth's Thumbelina (1994) Review

I’ve been meaning to watch this film fully for my entire life, but I only watched bits and pieces of it. I remember thinking it was alright when I was younger and was confused by the negative reception of it. Since Saberspark also uploaded a reaction video to this, I decided to sit down and watch it. And now I finally understand why people didn’t like this movie and why I probably kinda liked it as a child.

Story

The main plot is basically random insects and animals coming out of nowhere to try to seduce our boring protagonist for no apparent reason whatsoever. No themes are apparent here. I heard that this was what the original story was like, but here’s the thing: This is not the 1800s anymore. People do not have the patience to watch flat protagonists reacting to random shit anymore. And the fact that the entire story just comes off as creepy, I don’t see how THAT was even appealing back then.

Thumbelina also falls deeply in love with a prince because well, he’s a prince, literally one minute after they meet. Freaking Thumbelina and Jacquimo have more chemistry than Thumbelina and Prince Charming.

And the ending, like A Troll In Central Park, is tied up in a neat little bow. Are all 90s Don Bluth films like this?

I also want to know the timespan of the movie. In the beginning of the film, people have regular clothes on, the animals are out, and it looks like a happy, sunny day. But then all of a sudden, winter comes. And everything becomes a blizzard. Was Thumbelina kidnapped for multiple months then?

There are inklings of a good story in there and I think it could’ve been a pretty neat twist on the love triangle trope. I think instead of focusing on Thumbelina meeting all these people that want to take advantage of her and trying to get home, focus more on a coming of story, her trying to fit into this new world as a rare species. Have all these people fight over Thumbelina as Thumbelina tries to figure out where she fits into all of this. Maybe one of them gets killed by a yandere, idk. And instead of having the Prince Charming be a boring cardboard, why not give him some attributes that could cause conflict with Thumbelina. Like make him into an asshole or something annoying like that. So, then it would give Thumbelina more conflict over finding a tiny human just like her, but he’s actually kind of an asshole. And then there’s all these ugly, weird creatures over there that are swooning over her, but probably have better personalities. And I know that people will probably find the interspecies relationship creepy, but this also takes place centuries ago, so that kind of stuff wouldn’t matter.

Characters

There aren't any great characters in this cast. I would say the liveliness of some of the side characters (Mr. Beedle, Jacquimo and the frog lady) are somewhat charming. And there are a couple of creative bits with the characters, like Jacquimo talking to two animals doing the cat and mouse, and a whole audience laughing to the beat of a song. But still, like the other characters, their mistreatment of Thumbelina just brings everything down. Mr. Beedle even calls her ugly for no reason (what, was she not dancing good enough or something, what the hell?) Prince Charming (I initially typed him as Prince Nothing here lol) is nothing more than a flat love interest. Jacqimo does jackshit as a supporting character. He merely exists to try to bring Thumbelina hope instead of fucking actually stepping in to HELP HER ASS. While the whole message about following your heart has some truth to it, it does nothing for the main character’s situation. Instead, the song could’ve been better used for Thumbelina’s coming of age arc in my rewritten idea instead of what it was. Following your heart, what you truly love makes more sense than being in the middle of nowhere, completely relying on your random instincts to guide you home. Other supporting characters like the bug kids that Jacquimo, for whatever stupid reason, decides to assign to Thumbelina ALSO do jackshit. Thumbelina is probably the worst character in all of this. Just a typical bland damsel-in-distress. She has virtually no personality or motives, it’s just 100% reaction and crying with her thumb up her ass about wanting to go home while she lets all these motherfuckers assault her.

I think the film suffers from having a bit too many characters as a lot of them don’t really do anything and/or merely exist for the same bs of trying to seduce Thumbalina (I can’t even say her name correctly anymore). For a love triangle story, a few characters would be fine, and maybe just have one character (Jacquimo) be the major supporting character instead of the kids. Give the characters different motives behind why they want Thumbelina and let the romantic tension come gradually. Frogs can teach her how to behave in a way that their species/race can agree with, Beedle can teach her how to dance the way he likes, and Mrs. Fieldmouse tries to matchmake her to the mole for whatever reason.

The dialogue can also be overly talky at times in a way that’s unnecessarily random and drawn out.

Animation/Music/Voice Acting

These were mostly the parts that drew me to the film as a child. The animation is really pretty to look at and the movements felt natural for the most part. There is some janky animation here and there, but it’s mostly competent. The character designs look good. I don’t like the mustache dog’s design for whatever reason. But Thumbelina has the beauty that fits that time period and Prince Charming is handsome, though he’s clearly made to look like the Disney princes.

Most of the music and singing sounds good, however, some of the songs within the context of the story are messed up. Like Follow Your Heart is a good theme by itself, but using it as a way of helping Thumbelina get home or uplifting her is insane. Marry the Mole and Yer Beautiful, Baby are songs that I find pleasant to listen to, but again, messed up. It’s yet another attempt at the movie trying to get our poor protagonist to marry someone she doesn’t truly love. Also, ngl, but Gilbert Gottifred’s nasally voice gets grating after a while. On the Road is just obnoxious visual noise. Let Me Be Your Wings is a try-hard version of A Whole New World. Soon and its reprise are weirdly enough, better than the I Want song from the other Thumbelina movie, but I think it’s just the singing that elevates it for me. I also do genuinely like Thumbelina!, it's fun to sing along to.

I would say the best part of the film is the voice acting though.They are all cast well and do an excellent job at making these characters come to life. You can tell how hard they are trying to make these characters appealing even if they kinda failed due to the horrible script. Jodi Benson, in particular, has excellent emotional range.

Overall

This film is basically 90s Disney at home. While the solid plot and energetic personalities make it slightly better than A Troll in Central Park, it still has many of the same problems that film has. Which makes me wonder if Bluth disliked this one, too. It follows the same beats of a controversial story that has aged extremely poorly. It contains a (harmful) message and story that the main character doesn't really learn from. And all the good guys are mostly useless. Like all this shit wouldn't have happened if Jacquimo actually got off his Pollyanna singing ass and helped Thumbelina.

Thumbelina gets 4.4 bells out of 10.

I can’t believe this, but this puts it below the other Thumbelina film that I watched and reviewed (which was the most frustrating thing I’ve seen in a long time). At least that one had a slightly better protagonist. But it makes it even sadder that it was clearly trying to copy a bad movie, which results in it having a lot of the same problems.

[falsebooles123]

Confessions of a Recovering Genre-Phobic 1/13/24

Hey Whores, This Week was the middle of a giant blizzard through most of central and southern oregon. Did I get any snow? No so fuck the weather too. Anyway heres some music I listened to.

Emoji Antique (2015) - Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox

Genre: Jazz Length: (12 Tracks)

Figured I'd start this week off on an easy peesey album. When I first made this list in 2019 I added a lot of what I would now consider twee music. I made a point to cull out the various Movie Soundtracks, Comedy Albums, and other 'novelty' music from the list before the new years. To underline my adoration for this style in my cabernet/jazz era I also include the solo albums for Casey Abram and Hailey Reinhart on my watchlist, (listenlist?).

I will say that album despite it coming out directly before the last PMJ album we reviewed is subsequental lesser.

But I feel the need as a reviewer to properly anaylsis my own discomfort with the work. I will say that my ira with this album is fully subtextual right? Objectively the jazz in this album are good. These are great singers and they do a great job but PMJ is not an original work, its a cover band which means that are approuch to listening to this music is colored by us actually knowing the original work and are feelings about the original music to begin with. I think its also important to recognize that PMJ works best as a a live band. My initial interest in the band was from watching there youtube videos which are filmed as a chamber set often with a central Chanteuse character drawing attention center stage. It very much is playing off of the performance style of these genres of music and it works incredible well. These people are hot, they sing well, and they have an incredible fantastic stage presence. It what makes this songs have a lasting impact in my opinion. Listening to a purely audio version of these songs is a detriment and honestly the tangible albums have also felt a little cashgrabby. I mean they released four albums in 2015. Four of them. its really doesn't feel like these were artistic attempts and putting together the creme de la creme of there chambe sessions it feels much more like a bunch of singles they ripped to cd so that they had something to sell at merch tables.

Bad Romance and Barbie Girl are both fantastic stage performances and its truly sad that you can't see Sarah Reich in her footwork with a literally cd of this.

I feel like my thoughts are all over the place so I'm gonna try my best to make my critiques cognent. Why not a numbered list.

Lyricism

Famarity

Production

Lyricism

The opener of this album is All About That Bass (feat. Morgan James, Haley Reinhart, Ariana Savalas & Casey Abrams). Its meant as this fun, feel-good, pop number and it is and so is the original. The issue for me is that I just don't like Trainers message in it. this review is too long to get to deep in the paint about it but Trainer centers who own love and self-accemptance exclusively on whether or not shes fuckable to men and theres also quite a bit of skinny shaming in it. with some very weak lip-service and yes this song came out way before much of the culteral conversation over body positivity and body nutrality and all that crap but It still sits in the pantheon of other girlboss songs like 'before he cheats' and 'you belong to me' that have a kind of toxic feminitiy to. It rubs me the wrong way.

This is the two edged sword of PMJ because on one hand the torch singing style there known for focuses on the lyricism and songs that really sing on this album Creep, Barbie Girl I Believe In A Thing Called Love, and Only One have fantastic lyrics. Its acts as an appreciation to the craft of songwriting. Contrary-wise it makes the weak lyricism of other songs that much more thread-bare. If 80% of your song and mixing is focused on the words they have to be good or at least they pale in comparision to the tent-poles of there work. The enthralling torch songs that made me first fall in love with there work.

Familarity

So heres the thing right. If you have a cover band you want to cover songs that people know right? Usually this isn't a problem they choose a lot of big, and I mean like huge, top 100 pop songs. Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars. Songs that would be immediately recognizable and beloved. For fucks sake this album ends with a pared-down solely recreation of Take Me To Church. They play crowd pleasers. So lets play a game name who sings these songs.

Such Great Heights

I Believe in A Thing Called Love

That was The Postal Service and The Darkness. Oh uh yes these were top 100 hits in there specific genres in 2003. On further research I have heard Such Great Heights. Mostly because I really love 2000s indie pop but the main issue with this is that I don't recognize the song from the arrangement. The arrangement is fantastic its a great song but its not recognizable the same experience. And I don't want to act like thats a bad thing that an adaptation is *too* tranformative. At the same time I feel like we should question what is the point of a cover band doing a cover that nobody recognizes?

Ok Round Two

Only One

Poison

That was Kanye West and Rita Ora!!!!

Ok so heres the vibe. These songs are both from around early 2015, and were fairly popular on the radio at that time. In fact, Rita Ora released her single only two weeks before PMJ covered it. Neither or these songs to the best of my understanding had any staying power, (I for one had never heard of them before despite me being in my peak listening to the radio era), they didn't even make the top 100 for that year. If your wondering all the other contemporary songs on this album are on there. Its hard not to see this as Scott Bradlee's hearing a critical acclaimed song on the radio and then immediately turning around and making an arrangement for it for the clicks. Which don't get me wrong that was 85% of the trending videos on youtube at the time but it still acts as a burr in my side when looking at this from a artistic perspective. Because once again these songs don't sound like the original which brings us to my third point.

Production

To keep this slightly brief lets discuss. Paper Planes - M.I.A. You know the one its the song with the hook that goes "bang bang bang cash register and takes your money". The production on the song is fantastic. The beat is dreamy and gauzy, her vocals are muted but lathegic like shes in another room. Its a sound that is distinctive it feels like walking down the street in a 90s action film. right with that very specific california sunny filter that makes everything piss yellow. thats what the song sounds like and its because of the mixing and sound production because pop music is pretty complicated to make these days. It tends to be a very layered sound that what a producer is.

Big Band music can also be incredible complex and layered. Theres a lot of feeling that can be created between harmony and melody and procussion. These are two bad bitches that shouldn't be pitted against each other.

The issue for me with this song is that the percussion fucking sucks. The Paper Planes Hook. The part of the song that is so goddamn iconic is replaced by a paltry stacccoto brass section. The fuck. That is not in the original spirit of the song. Its one thing to take a fast-past hiphop song and sing it slow and bluesey, its another to listen to well-produced beats and then shit your goddamn pants at the percussionist section.

If I was given the task to incorporate these non-diegetic sounds into a orchestial style there are ways to do it. Large Snare Sounds, stomping, or you could do what my highschool theater class did and band two 2x4 together. Trust me it sounds like shots fired. Also here me out you get a vintage cash register place in on the table front and center and have your procussionist literally just open it during the hook. It would be cute it would be fun, it is so entirely within the realm, style, and humor of PMJ that what we did get is honestly kinda insulting. I just don't like the production on this song and I think it shows a lack of polish in the arrangement.

Now that I have been alittle bitch for longer then should be allowed. I want to say that my criticism of this album is entirely intellectual. It was fine it was a perfectly fine album.

The reason why I am writing these blogs is to think more critically about music about writing and about criticism. So me being a little bitch is me practising being a little bitch for money!!!!! HIIIII give me moneyh!11 pelase. This is not intended as a serious review. This is a writing project so take it as a grain of salt.

3/5

Dream Your Life Away (2014) - Vance Joy

Genre: Indie Folk, Indie Pop Length 49:00 (13 Tracks)

If your famalier with Vance Joy its most likely through his break-out single 'Riptide', a folksy acoustic balad with esoteric lyrics. Also an absolutely fantastic music video, If Radley Mertzger saw it he would cum.

Looking at the rest of his set on this album you get a very similar energy. Hozier-esque Vance Joy uses this indie folk stylings to sing sad ballads about love.

It feels like the insecurties you have when you began to date a beautiful person, it feels like the cold blue light of an newly empty apartment, it feels like watching somebody you love sleep and wondering what you did to be so goddamn lucky.

Its a very meloncholic album, something you put on when your alone and lonely. Good Shit.

4/5

Hug Of Thunder (2017) - Broken Social Scene

Genre: Indie Rock, Baroque Pop Length: 52:19 (12 Tracks)

I first listened to BSS entirely because it was off-handedly mentioned by a bunch of hipsters in the webcomic Questionable Content. You know back when it was about Jeff Jacques self-insert being emotional abused by a big titty hot chick and not existential trans-humanist conversations and milfs with fat cow tits, (I refuse to explain).

Hug of Thunder is the Fifth Studio Album from Broken Social Scene, which is apparently a musical collective with a rather large member list. This album has 23 listed musicans on it if that tells you anything.

I'm not great at describing sounds but its layered, indie rock that creates an almost soundscape type quality. IDK its moody indie stuff I'm bad at this and thats ok.

4/5

Halloway EP (2016) - Tessa Violet

Genre: Dark Pop Length: 16:52 (5 Tracks)

I remember when I first heard this album. It was 2019 and I was going through a major depressive episode. I was cold, both emotional and physically, and suffering through the most incredible emo of heartbreak. bitch was going through it.

Tessa refers to this album as her 'dark pop' album and that is understable. Theres a lot of heartbreak in the album and while some songs like 'not over you' are a feel-good anthem there is a certain rawness to Haze and On my Own that I still come back to all these years later.

This is an important album to me and for how much its forgotten by others I still have no choice but to love it.

4/5

Primordial Archive (2023) - Elliot Lee

Genre: Alt Pop Length: 48 Minutes (16 Tracks)

Elliot Lee has been a name I feel like I have always been famalier with. While its easy to compare her to artists like Jasmin Bean and Melanie Martinez who also play with creepy cute imagery and discuss themes of obsession and mental illness. Lee's work to me has always felt much more connected to internet culture. She makes the type of pop music that you would draw animatics of your OCs to.

Her work is angry, confessional, spoken word at times and she layers it over an almost nightcore or glitchcore sound. Electronica that is destinctly 2000s in sound with distorted vocals that lend an almost bluesy sound to her words. Its a strong distinction from comparable artists in the Alt Pop scene.

Primordial Archive is a fix-up album from Photo Finish Records. Putting together a variety of her earlier songs with a new Single 'Funny Bunny'. I was original concerned with cohesion with this album but on relisten in gelled a lot more for me. Lee has spent the last who knows many years putting out singles so when it comes together it turns out OOPS all bangers. Theres some fantastic tracks on this album and I think it manages to show her range quite well.

Funny Bunny the signiture single on the album is equally fantastic. You have lee's signiture confessional lyrics that are .... a little too relatable if I'm being honest over what can only be described as a DDR dance beat. Its recognizable Elliot Lee and its a damn good pop song.

4/5

Anyway Whores I'm not sure what tomarrow brings but I have to imagine its more music.

[talkingfilmsnet]

"Society of the Snow": A Movie Review That Will Leave You Breathless (and Maybe Shivering)

J. A. Bayona's "Society of the Snow" isn't your typical survival tale. It's a plunge into the abyss of human experience, a heart-stopping descent into the frozen heart of the Andes where hope hangs by a thread, woven from desperation and sheer will. Buckle up, intrepid reader, because we're about to embark on a cinematic journey that will leave you breathless, shaken, and irrevocably changed.

Caught in the White Claw:

The film throws us headfirst into the nightmare of a plane crash, hurtling a Uruguayan rugby team into the unforgiving embrace of the Andes. From the first agonizing scream to the bone-chilling silence that follows, Bayona creates a visceral tableau of chaos and devastation. We feel the icy breath, the crushing weight of snow, the suffocating fear that constricts every heartbeat. It's a masterclass in immersion, placing us squarely alongside the survivors, lost and shivering in the white oblivion.

Facing the Unthinkable Abyss:

As days turn into weeks, the battle for survival takes on a chillingly pragmatic hue. Hunger gnaws at their bellies, hope dwindles with each passing sunrise, and the unthinkable becomes a grim necessity. Bayona doesn't shy away from the moral quagmire of cannibalism, portraying the excruciating internal struggle, the gut-wrenching guilt, and the desperate hope that lingers like a phantom limb. It's a testament to the film's honesty that it doesn't offer easy answers, instead forcing us to confront the primal, animalistic instincts that lurk beneath the veneer of civilization.

Where Humanity Flickers in the Frost:

But even in this frozen wasteland, humanity refuses to extinguish. Acts of courage bloom amidst the despair, unexpected leadership emerges, and the bonds of friendship become a life raft in the raging ocean of cold. We witness the quiet heroism of Nando, the resourceful ingenuity of Antonio, and the unwavering faith of Roberto, each a testament to the indomitable spirit that refuses to surrender. " society of the snow review" is a poignant reminder that even at the brink of annihilation, the embers of our shared humanity can flicker back to life, fueled by love, loyalty, and the stubborn will to live.

The Scars of Memory:

But the film doesn't romanticize survival. The survivors return from the mountains forever marked, bodies etched with the cruel inscriptions of the Andes and souls haunted by the ghosts of their actions. We see the nightmares that plague their sleep, the guilt that twists their smiles, and the constant struggle to reconcile the men they were with the men they have become. Bayona delves into the psychological depth of their ordeal, portraying the lasting trauma with unflinching honesty, reminding us that the price of survival is often etched not on skin, but on the soul.

Beyond the Andes: A Universal Echo:

While the setting and circumstances are unique, the story of "Society of the Snow" resonates far beyond the icy peaks of the Andes. It's a universal tale of resilience, a testament to the extraordinary capacity we possess to endure the unimaginable. It asks us to confront our own limitations, to contemplate the primal choices we might make in the face of annihilation, and to celebrate the strength we find within ourselves when all else seems lost.

A Visceral, Unforgettable Journey:

"Society of the Snow" is a film that will leave you breathless long after the credits roll. It's a harrowing, unforgettable journey into the darkest corners of human experience, but it's also a profound affirmation of the tenacity of the human spirit. It's a film that will make you shiver, that will make you question, that will ultimately leave you feeling raw, exposed, and profoundly moved.

So, dear reader, are you ready to face the blizzard head-on? Are you prepared to witness the extraordinary depths of human resilience in the face of insurmountable odds? If so, then embark on this cinematic expedition with "Society of the Snow." Just remember to pack your metaphorical warmth, for the journey will be as exhilarating as it is emotionally draining.

Now, tell me, dear reader, have you ventured into the whiteout of "Society of the Snow"? Did you confront the darkness or did you find the flicker of hope within? Share your thoughts, your fears, and your own stories of resilience in the comments below. Let's create a space where we can discuss the darkest nights and the glimmers of dawn that guide us through them.

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: Night Swim (2024)

 Night Swim (2024)

Rated PG-13 for terror, some violent content and language

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/01/review-night-swim-2024.html>

Score: 2 out of 5

Night Swim is the quintessential "fuck you, it's January" movie. Hollywood loves to ring in the new year by dumping into theaters the garbage they had no faith in at any other time of the year, because January is when kids are in school, theaters in half the country can get shut down by blizzards, there aren't many holidays offering extended three-week weekends (save for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, which isn't universally celebrated as a day off), and prestige films given limited release in the fall are expanding their theatrical runs in anticipation of the Oscars. And lately, a tradition has been to give the first weekend of the new year over to a low-budget horror movie. While Blumhouse struck rare gold last year with M3GAN, a sci-fi horror film that actually turned out to be far better than its release date suggested it would be, this year January returned to form with Night Swim, a ho-hum ghost story adapted from a 2014 short film where the worst thing about it is that it's not completely wretched. There were seeds of a good movie buried in here, with all-around solid acting and production values, some effective sequences, some cool cinematography, and a nifty central conceit behind its evil pool, and there was a brief moment when it finally started to get good. Unfortunately, as with many movies that were adapted from short films, there's not enough to carry it, resting on the most generic haunted house story possible (but with a haunted pool this time!) to stretch a four-minute short to feature length. It's not the worst January horror film ever made, or even in the Bottom Three (I assure you, the competition is stiff), but it's otherwise completely generic, disposable, and at times unintentionally funny #content that would've been thrown into the wasteland of the direct-to-VOD/streaming market if not for January.

Stop me if you've heard this one: a family called the Wallers, comprised of the father Ray, the mother Eve, the teenage daughter Izzy, and the adolescent son Elliot, has moved into a big, luxurious house whose price is too good to be true, only for them to soon learn why it was so cheap. Namely, it's haunted. Or rather, the swimming pool is. And much like every poor sucker who's ever lived in the Amityville house, the mother Eve and the kids Izzy and Elliot start experiencing supernatural forces when they come in contact with the pool, while the father Ray, a former Milwaukee Brewers player whose baseball career was tragically cut short by multiple sclerosis, sees his illness miraculously cured and starts behaving in increasingly erratic fashion.

If you've ever seen a movie about a family stuck in a haunted house, you've seen this movie. Virtually every plot beat was visible from a mile away, from each family member having their own encounter with the supernatural to the mother doing research on the pool's dark history to somebody getting possessed by the spirit causing all of this. There are random plot threads about the Wallers' neighbors perhaps knowing more about what's happening than they let on, and Izzy's hunky swimmer love interest Ronin being a devout Christian, but the film does nothing with them. Every single plot point here is standard haunted house movie boilerplate, like writer/director Bryce McGuire had a cool idea for a cool scene that he turned into a cool short but never thought about how to turn it into a 90-minute movie until Jason Blum and James Wan decided to give him a lot of money to do just that. The worst part is, once we find out what's actually going on with the haunted pool, a glimpse at a far more interesting movie is had, one focused on Ray as he grapples with how his illness destroyed his life and how whatever's in the pool seems to have given him a second chance -- but one that comes at a terrible cost. As it stood, however, while Wyatt Russell played his stock Horror Dad character well, he never had much of a chance to do anything more beyond play a stock Horror Dad, nor did anybody else in the cast have the opportunity to play the stock Horror Mom, Horror Teen, and Horror Kid. The film wanted me to care about the Wallers as a family, but they were such a thinly-written family that, even when they were in peril, the Eight Deadly Words were ringing in my head: I don't care what happens to these people.

(I will, however, give the film points for having a sense of humor enough to have Izzy's high school be named after Harold Holt, an Australian Prime Minister who infamously disappeared when he went out for a swim on the beach.)

The scares, too, don't really do much to excel. Using a swimming pool as a setting gave some fun opportunities for cool aquatic cinematography that the film readily took advantage of, meaning that, at the very least, this was a pretty nice-looking film. Any sense of originality stopped there, however, as what followed were all the scares you've seen in a dozen other haunted house movies: jump scares ahoy, characters seeing things that aren't there, you name it, all of it done in ways that have been done better before. Characters make stupid decisions constantly, especially the young son Elliot, and while I could at first justify it by saying that at least it was a dumb kid acting stupid around the pool, by the end he really should've known better than to even think about doing what he did. The teenage daughter Izzy had no real purpose beyond recreating the scene from the short film, because that featured a young woman who looked good in a bikini, which meant the movie had to have someone who fit that description. The design of the ghost is a bloated, half-rotted corpse that probably sounded good on paper, but its execution in the movie is almost laughable, leaving a lot to be desired and not coming across as scary in the slightest.

The Bottom Line

Night Swim isn't a movie I'd personally push into the pool, but if somebody did, I'd probably have a good laugh at its expense. It's competent, but beyond the idea of a haunted pool, everything about it is the sort of thing that's been done better before, and worst of all, I can easily see how a better movie could've been made out of the same material. I wouldn't even bother waiting for Netflix.

[lostlevelsclub]

2023 Wrap Up

Mike and Ting look back on 2023.

Contact us: @lostlevelsclub or mike.and.ting@lostlevels.club

Show Notes:

Year in Review

Undertale - Snowdin Remix (YouTube)

Russian invasion of Ukraine - Wikipedia

2023 Israel–Hamas war - Wikipedia

Mask-wearing no longer mandatory on public transport from Feb 13, as Singapore steps down COVID-19 restrictions - CNA

Trump administration cut pandemic early warning program in September | Coronavirus | The Guardian

AI can do your homework. Now what? (YouTube)

DALL·E 3

Super Mario Wonder

@Historiographos - I will never recover from this student email.

Starfield | Official Website | Bethesda.net

Diablo 4

Bethesda responding to negative Starfield reviews on Steam | Eurogamer.net

Report: Blizzard Wonders If You'll Pay $100 For Diablo IV DLC

#Gamelab2018 - Jon Blow's Design decisions on creating Jai a new language for game programmers (YouTube)

Resident Evil 4 - Metacritic

Metroid Prime Remastered - Metacritic

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Complete Edition - Metacritic

Your Only Move Is HUSTLE on Steam

Bungie Devs Say Atmosphere Is ‘Soul-Crushing’ Amid Layoffs, Cuts, and Fear of Total Sony Takeover - IGN

All the big tech layoffs of 2023

Unity U-turns on controversial runtime fee and begs forgiveness | TechCrunch

The Escapist veterans form Second Wind | GamesIndustry.biz

Call of Duty Fans Wave Goodbye to the Original Warzone, Which Shuts Down Forever Today

Modern Warfare 3 Is the Worst-Rated Game in Call of Duty History

PS5 Trophies Treat Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Like DLC For MW2

Is Lethal Company outselling CoD? - Dot Esports

‘Hogwarts Legacy’ Is Beating ‘Modern Warfare 3’ As The Best-Selling Game Of 2023

Death of a Game: Redfall (YouTube)

The Super Mario Bros. Movie (2023) - IMDb

Five Nights at Freddy's (2023) - IMDb

News Release : Nov. 8, 2023 "Development of a Live-Action Film of The Legend of Zelda to Start"

The BioShock Movie: Everything We Know About The Live-Action Netflix Adaptation

Everything We Know About the Fallout TV Series | Rotten Tomatoes

Tears of the Kingdom's new thing is actually pretty old (YouTube)

Can A Game Be Too Realistic? (YouTube)

No Take, Only Throw | Know Your Meme

Only Up! - Wikipedia

Suika Game - Wikipedia

You Should Play Outward Definitive Edition (YouTube)

The Cruelest Video Game (YouTube)

E3 is officially over forever - The Verge

The Game Awards 2023: All the game announcements and trailers - Polygon

If The Game Awards Is All About The Devs, Then Let Them Speak

The Game Awards Orchestra Performs Music from Game Of The Year 2023 Nominees at The Game Awards 2023 (YouTube)

How 'Dune' Composer Hans Zimmer Created the Oscar-Winning Score | Vanity Fair (YouTube)

Stats

Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom - Shrine Battle Remix (YouTube)

2023 Stats Spreadsheet

Cookie Clicker

The Talos Principle 2 | Launch Trailer (YouTube)

Grand Theft Auto VI Trailer 1 (YouTube)

Storyteller - Annapurna Interactive

The Password Game

Puzzmo

BattleBit Remastered

Lethal Company on Steam

You Cheated Not Only the Game, But Yourself | Know Your Meme

THE FINALS

Meaningless Awards - Best Multiplayer

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III (Ting)

Fortnite (Mike)

Meaningless Awards - Best Game

Baldur’s Gate 3 (Ting)

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (Mike)

Meaningless Awards - Missed in 2023

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (Ting)

Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon (Mike)

Meaningless Awards - Honourable Mention

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (Ting)

Baldur’s Gate 3 (Mike)

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