#this is me with ziggy/nick. if they ended up together it goes against the story entirely

[emilyskinners]

I feel like we need to come to an agreement that people are allowed to like and enjoy certain ships but not want them to end up together because it doesn't fit the narrative and goes against the story it's trying to tell, but that's just me, personally

[jangofctts]

Really, Truly (Steven Grant (a hint of Marc Spector) x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, cum eating, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, slight praise kink, fucking in the workplace (lmk if I miss anything!)

a/n: im so sorry it’s not my best work um. anyway ENJOY ANYWAY

It’s been four months since you’ve first met Steven Grant.

Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but odd occurrences have a way of drawing people closer. You’d like to think so anyway. Your entire life is chockfull of oddities, far from normalcy—makes for interesting stories though. It’s only right that someone like Steven would wander into your peculiar state of life. 

No really, he did just…wander through your door one evening. Your fault for not locking it, but still. Spooked the fuck out of both of you, so much so that poor Steven thwacked his head into the door frame and nearly broke his nose. You baked him smiley face cupcakes that night, partially as an apology and as a shitty housewarming present. You’re a firm believer of neighbor solidarity, especially with places like this—tacky landlords and shitty amenities. It’s the least you could do for Steven. 

Sadly, you never were a stellar baker—half of them came out charred, and if they weren’t, the mess of melting frosting made the little cakes appear disgustingly malformed. It’s the thought that counts, right?  Steven didn’t seem too flabbergasted about the atrocities—sorta just teared up and mumbled his thanks. Poor guy.   

And that’s not the end of it. Turns out, you work at the same museum and at the same shitty gift shop. Made for an interesting bus ride—he accused you of stalking and tore out of the bus three stops early. Imagine his surprise upon finding you scanning crappy plastic Ennead dolls behind the counter an hour later. Dude nearly had a existential crisis right then and there.  

Things have settled since then. Sort of. Steven isn’t exactly the pinnacle of put together. Mismatched socks, wrinkled shirts and missing buttons, eye bags like two swatches of purple paint, odd nicks and bruises. Not that you’re any better—a scatterbrained insomniac, ex-grad student living paycheck to paycheck in an less than ideal apartment. Birds of a feather and all that, you suppose. He’s sweet though—never fails to give you a call each morning to ask if you’d like to walk together. Your only friend in these trying times.    

It’s why, when he goes missing every now and then, you don’t mind covering his shifts. Donna is none the wiser, or she doesn’t care, as long as someone’s manning the cash register.           

Which brings you to current time. Same as always, Steven calls you, you walk and take the bus to work. Very thrilling.  

As you both come to the top of the steps, you’re greeted by J.B.’s boots, propped up against the counter, engrossed in his phone as usual. Watching clips of otters dive for urchins and cracking them open with rocks, giggling each time they do so. Typical. Makes sense he’d like evil little creatures like that. “‘Ello, Ziggy,” he lifts his eyes, takes account of Steven and dips his head. “Scotty.” 

“Mate, it’s Steven,” he sighs, clearly distressed. You tug on his sleeve on pull him along. His head whips around, eyebrows furrowed as he throws up his hands. “I keep tellin’ everyone it’s Steven.”  

“J.B. still calls me Icky sometimes—or Sticky,” you pause and tap your chin. “That one makes sense though. I had jellybeans stuck in my hair that day.” 

A nickname’s nickname—all because you dressed like Ziggy Stardust once. You’d forgotten about your shift and had to rush to the museum from some upitty Oxford fuck’s halloween house party. You don’t know what’s worse—stuck behind the counter dressed as Ziggy Stardust or the giggling that followed from coworkers and guests alike. 

Whatever.             

“What on earth…why?” Steven exclaims, drawing you back into reality.  

“The jellybeans? Happens.” 

It’s just the way of things. Not the jellybeans thing…but J.B being J.B.. He’ll always be a dickwad and Donna will never bother to learn new hire’s names. It took her nearly a year to learn yours. As long as you get your paycheck, you’re all set. 

And so the shift goes on, dragging into the night and into inventory. You don’t mind this part so much—you don’t have to deal with screaming children and their exhausted parents forking over money for a plushie. Then again, Steven mostly does all the counting and scanning. You just sit on your stool, dig through the baskets and hand him the items—you’re not very good with numbers. It’s quicker this way. And it gives you an excuse to stare at with him without repercussion. 

God he’s fuckin’ gorgeous. Dark curls, tan skin, dreamy eyes and an adorable smile to boot.  

“Ziggy—”        

“Hm? Oh,” you straighten, gather a fistful of magnets and hand them to him. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Sorry—did you brush your hair today?” 

Steven’s brows furrow slightly. He’s gotten used to your out of pocket observations and the odd questions that follow. You don’t really know why you do it—the words just sorta form and roll off your tongue faster than you can process. Whack shit is what it is. “I think so? Oh dear, does it look that bad, Zig?”

You shake your head and sort through more of the magnets, crinkling the plastic wrap around them. “No, just—I dunno. You had gel in it the last time I saw you. Didn’t know if you were trying something new.” 

Steven scratches his head and flattens the dark curls using an open palm. He chuckles. “Silly—I saw you yesterday! I think I’d know if I gelled me hair.”

“Not true,” you quip, dragging over the box of plush scarab beetles. They are quite cute. “I saw you last night—you asked if I had any change for the payphone outside.” 

Steven’s face morphs into a twisted mask of confusion. “I did? Bloody hell, I don’t remember that, Ziggy. I’m awfully sorry.” 

You shrug. “You sleepwalk, I think. We talk most nights—you always bring me donut holes when you come back.” 

Steven frowns, lovely brown eyes dropping to the scanner. The brief silence is filled with slow, methodical beeps and plastic wrapping, pinched between fingers. You don’t really care if he’s trying to hide something, you know plenty of people who do weird things in their sleep. Like you for example—you don’t sleep at all. “Odd. Thought you didn’t fancy donuts.” 

“I don’t,” you say. “But I do like throwing them at the pigeons—they’re making a nest! Ungrateful buggers, they don’t even pay rent.”            

“You are,” Steven says, bumping your shoulder, “exceedingly strange.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scoff, throwing up your hands. You swat at his arm. “It’s war at this point—they keep pecking at my window with their weird little beaks. You ever see a baby pigeon? They look fucked up."   

“Maybe if you quit feeding them they’d leave, you nut.”

You purse your lips and hug a scarab to your chest. You’ve stolen about three of them, what’s another one? “Whatever. I hope your flat gets infested.” 

“I’d rather not have an infestation, thank you,” Steven sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes. He waves at another crate. “You mind fetching that one? One more and were done, yeah?” 

You groan and slide off your stool, wincing as your aching feet touch the ground. “Fine.” 

It’s far from fine, actually. 

Because, just as you plant your feet on the ground, you completely space on the mountain of boxes you haphazardly threw behind you earlier tonight. One step back and you’re fuckin’ done for. Your heel catches—you yelp as your stomach flips, succumbing to the mortifying feel of falling ass first. Steven—ever the sweetheart—startles and snatches your wrist. 

It’s too late though. The momentum takes him down with you.  

You wheeze as his weight smacks into you, crushing you against the linoleum tiles. Fuck, he’s heavier than he looks. Luckily, he’s slid his hand up to cradle the back of your head before it smacks against the floor, saving you a trip to the ER.

“Shit,” Steven breathes. He pushes himself up using his other hand, eyes quickly scanning your face for any injury. “You alright, yeah?”

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy person, or easily embarrassed. However, you’re not immune to the very attractive man atop of you, pressed close enough that you could easily tilt your head and kiss him. You could pretend to shrug your feelings off—pretend that you don’t know that his smile is always a bit crooked, how he likes his tea, sugary and blonde. Or how he holds his hands to his chest and wrings his hands together when he’s nervous—the little scar on his cheek and the freckle above his eyebrow. You should choose ignorance. Heat floods your cheeks as you blink and grasp at words that refuse to form. You hurriedly nod, but make no move to wiggle away.     

He leans onto his elbow still trapped under your head and sweeps a stray hair off your forehead. Your breath catches. “You sure, love?”

Well, that’s new.

Yes, there’s always been some light flirting. Not enough to garner attention but like a breath to simmering embers. Steven has a shy heart, softened and bruised like an overripe peach, and you’re not one to jump blindly into something that could be. But here you are. Steven has tossed you this scrap of kindling, unexpected. Maybe as half a joke, half of something else, and the way he looks at you now whispers possibility. A question.    

“Steven?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I have a crush on you,” it’s an exhilarating moment. A grandiose high that could be kicked into a higher gear or plummet so sharply that your heart shatters as a casualty. Pure relief floods your veins as Steven smiles, one that reaches his eyes and crinkles the skin around them. 

“Really?”

“Really, truly,” you assure, leaning into his fingertips that scrape almost reverently across your cheeks. Impatient, you shoot your hands up, grab him by his cheeks and drag him close. Your lips meet, and yeah, your teeth bump into his but everything fades into hazy bliss, slots together like a missing puzzle piece. Two chaotic halves meshing to create the perfect storm, and you’re at the eye of it. Maybe it’ll leave devastation in it’s wake—you both have the tendency to walk on the wrong side of the street onto oncoming traffic. The ebb to the shore and the hurricane to the sky. A war that can be tipped tot the side by a single breath. You both moan as he parts his lips, tender as honey exploring the taste of your tongue. It’s sweet and addicting— 

His hand tangles into your hair, dragging you so impossibly close, hips slotting between your legs that fall open for him. God, he’s fucking perfect—belongs here with you like this. You get dizzy, pull away and fuck—he’s wrecked. Messy curls, teased by your clawing fingers stick up at odd angles, a rosy flush over his skin. You cup his cheek and he leans into your touch and plants a fleeting kiss over your palm.

His eyes snap wide open, fear crackling over his face. “Oh, fuck me—the surveillance cameras! Donna is gonna kill us for snogging over the merchandise!”

Steven stumbles into a kneeling position, gripping his hair at the roots and muttering curses and wild fears. You snicker and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You touch your hand over his forearm and he stills. “I know a place we could go—if you wanna continue…”

Steven rolls his tongue over his lips, mulling over your words. His eyes flick to the cameras above the counter, then back to you. Nervousness still lingers in his stiff shoulders and worrying teeth tearing into his lip, but he still nods. Albeit slowly. “You positive we won’t get caught?”

You smile, nod and maneuver yourself to your feet. You take his hand in yours and help him up. You don’t mind that they’re a little clammy. “I promise—it’s where I hide my snacks.” 

It’s a small storage room, down the hall and off to the left. It’s where the extra uniforms and random event supplies is held—unused and always abandoned after the museum closes. No one will come looking. 

“Nice little place. Very cozy—” you don’t let Steven finish, the minute the door snicks shut, you jump his bones. Desperate kisses, clawing at his lose clothes—you feel as though he’s set aflame and he’s the only cure.

You both end up on the floor again with you straddling his lap, his back pressed against the wall. The space is filled by little groans and soft whimpers of your name as his hands traverse up your back, settle on your hips, then move back to your face. Your own hands have made a home over his chest, shirt billowing open by your greedy need to touch his bare skin. He’s a little hesitant to touch you—you know he’d prefer a bed than some crappy storage closet but fuck—you need him.            

And so does he. You can feel the firm bulge pressing between your legs and the way his hips subtly twitch into you. And as the kisses devolve into a wet, lazy pace, his stubble burning the sensate skin of your lips, the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. Your underwear is soaked through and no doubt ruined. Sparks of raw energy, crackles through your abdomen as Steven’s hands fall around your hips, coming you to grind harder onto him. His forehead, humid with perspiration, rests on yours breath fanning over your lips, as you take a breather. 

Steven’s hand drift over the swell of your ass, giving the rounded globes a solicitous squeeze. “You have a nice bum—never got around to telling you that.”

“So do you,” you laugh, dragging your clothed center over the rock solid bulge in his pants. That needs to be fixed immediately. And then a wicked, debased thought slithers into your head.

With a smirk you wiggle out of his grip, and shimmy out of your pants and undies. You’re back before Steven can pout. You resettle over his lap, lean back a little and slowly, enough that its catches his attention, down the line of your body. His eyes are glued to your movements as you dip your hand between your legs. Your fingers spread your lower lips, gliding down easily from your clit to your aching center. A quiet moan bubbles past your lips as your hips rock against the pressure, a gentle back and forth pace meant to coat the digits in your wet heat. You move to circle your clit, drinking in the rapid-fire endorphins singing through your blood. You jump to tease your entrance, clenching in frustration at the loss of contact on your clit. Steven’s hands twitch around your hips, pink tongue flashing out to wet his lips—his flushed cheeks deepen into a rosy brown as you sink two of your fingers, up to the last knuckle, into yourself. 

Steven’s hands clamp around your hips, digging into the little divots on your back, as your head rolls back onto your shoulder. “Shit—you’re stunning.”

Your lips tilt into a lopsided grin. “I know.” 

He huffs at that, still fixed on your fingers that curl in and out of your slick center. Your lower half seizes up as you pull your fingers free from your cunt, glistening and soaked. Steven mutters a curse under his breathe, as you lift your hand higher for him to see. You smile turns wicked. “Open your mouth.”

Steven’s eyes snap to yours. “W-what?” 

“I said,” you purr sweetly as your bring your two fingers to the seam of his plush lips. You touch the pads of them over his bottom lip, delighted in the way a string of your arousal connects to his pouting mouth. “Open your mouth, Steven.” 

His jaw drops without question. Your fingers slide into his willing mouth, slotting over his warm tongue and the soft palette on the roof of his mouth. His moan vibrates through your finger. You shift, grinding your center into the tented front of Steven’s pants. His hips stutter. “Suck.” 

Steven’s eyes flutter as his tongue jumps to action. Wild electricity thrums through your being, impressed how well Steven’s tongue laves and suckles your digits clean—starved for a taste of you. Your breath catches as his dexterous tongue weaves between your fingers, hollows his cheeks and tentatively sucks. Once satisfied, a quiet pop follows the departure of your fingers from his plush mouth. The back of his head bumps the wall, eyes shut tight. “God—I’m going to ruin my trousers if you keep that up, y-yeah?” 

“Hot,” you allow him no respite. You swoop down to kiss him, open-mouthed and syrupy-sweet.Your tongue slides over his, tasting yourself on him—you moan into his mouth. You draw back, lick over his bottom lip and replace it with the sting of your teeth—earning a sharp jolt of Steven’s hips. However, as much as you’d like to witness Steven Grant cumming into his pants, your mind is set upon other activities. 

Decisively, you reach around and pry one of Steven’s hands from your hip. You eyes meet his, irises blown wide with arousal, heavy lidded and bewitched by your very smile.You guide Steven’s hand by the wrist, palm up, to your soaked center. His eyes widen, chin snapping to his chest to catch a better look the moment the pads of his fingers touch the outsides of your folds. “Oh, bless—you’re dripping, Ziggy.”                

You lead his hand to slot against you, his palm a perfect fit cupping your pussy. You roughly grind into his catatonic fingers, eliminating the difficulty of where to start. Fuck, his hands are huge—warm and thick too—your cunt clenches tight, waves of need swelling in your abdomen. You drop your hand guiding his, and sling it around his neck, drawing your lips to his stubbled jaw. You nip at the skin here. “C’mon, Steven…touch me.”           

Steven startles. “Right, right—sorry.”

You feel his throat bob as he swallows. He mutters encouragement to himself and draws in a sharp breath. The first pass of his fingers through you slick folds is crippling. The tip of his thumb slots directly beneath the hood of your clit, and wether that had been dumb luck or an aimed attack, the effects remain the same. You keen and crumple—a feeling akin to a punch to your diaphragm. And it only gets worse—or better—depending on how you look at it. He’s a Grade A, tease. 

And he doesn’t even know it.  

Steven’s mouth parts in awe, breath humid and hot over your exposed chest. His forehead presses into your collarbone to watch his fingers disappear through your swollen folds and remerge drenched. The pad of his middle finger slides lower, pressing gently against the tight muscles of your entrance. He rubs just the slightest bit to test that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you, tentatively. You thighs twitch on their own volition, your teeth clenching together.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you hiss as he slides it in deeper. Your eyes roll back at the delicious pressure, tugging at his hair when his finger curls up, inspiring the surge of searing pleasure. Steven’s moan filters past his lips, jagged and wrecked as he very carefully moves the digit in and out. The raw sparks of heat threaten to catch flame and burn you alive as your core clenches around his thick finger.

“Yeah?” Steven pants. “Am I doing it proper?” 

You nod and bury your face into the crux of his neck. Your lips attach to the skin here, praising him with soft kisses and lazy passes of your tongue. He stiffens as you smirk and latch your teeth onto him. “More—please, Steven.”  

Steven readily agrees and eases a second finger inside you, letting you feel that delicious stretch as your cunt accommodates him. It’s tighter like this, a perfect angle that allows Steven’s fingers to catch the most sensitive part of you—that and the heel of his palm rocking against your clit. Fuck, you don’t have a chance—you can hear how wet you are for him in the tiny space, drenching his hand in your arousal.

Steven lifts his head, nuzzles into your neck, lips pressed sweetly against your ear. He nips the shell of cartilage and whimpers your name. Your high flares up bright behind your eyes, a hair-trigger reaction that makes everything from your toes and up tighten like a vice. One more thrust of his fingers and rock of his palm, and you’re done for—  

You cum onto his fingers with a choked cry, the edges of your vision fading into spotty blotches of black and white as your back arches. A network of open ended fuses exposed to a current and a body of water implode—sizzling and devastating. You nails harpoon into Steven’s shoulders as he continues to finger you through your orgasm, keeping you from toppling over as you jerk and shiver in his hold. 

You hear his disbelieving laugh above the fuzzy pleasure clouding your brain, marveling at the fact he’s just made you cum Your stomach drops as he pull his fingers free from you spasming hole, accidentally catching your hypersensitive clit. You flinch. “That was bloody wicked,” Steven praises, smoothing a hand up your spine. “Still with me, Ziggy?”

“Ahuh,” you wheeze, recollecting your scattered thoughts and whereabouts. You stamp lazy kisses up the line of his throat, over his check and eventually to his parted lips. You snake a hand between you, smirking as Steven’s breath catches in his chest when you grab at his covered cock. “Do you still want more?” 

“Fuck,” Steven stutters out, squeezing his eyes shut and then open as if to make sure this wasn’t just another one of his waking dreams. “I can never look at this broom closet the same.” 

You snicker and rolls his bottom lip between your teeth. “Our little secret now.” 

He laughs lowly and nods. “You are a terrible influence.” 

You plant a kiss on the corner of his and the touch of your palm slipping into his loose fitting pants. “I know.” 

Need bites at your insides, swells up sharper this time. It’s easy to convince Steven to tug his pants just far enough that his cock can be freed. Fuck, it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him—flushed a rosy brown, thick and leaking at the wide tip. Steven throws his head bank and clenches his jaw as your curious fingers wrap around his searing flesh. You make a mental note of taking him into your mouth later—fuck he’d look so pretty fucking your mouth—

“Ziggy,” Steven moans, lightly touching the hand that’s jerking him off—slow and methodical. No rush despite the borrowed time. “Please—”  

“Alright, alright,” you sigh, adjusting yourself higher up his lap. One of your hands moves to anchor on his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the back of his head. There’s a few tangles here—nothing that can’t be fixed by a simple comb through. You lift your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance. You both choke out a groan as you rock your wetness against his rigid length. Steven’s hands clamp down hard over your hips. And then, without much fuss, you bite his neck, reach for his cock to position him at your weeping entrance and slowly start to sink down on him.

A dark current of lust surges up your spine, wicked heat spilling forth and billowing past any comprehensive thought and turning it into mush. You shove your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock, pressing him up so far up inside that Steven chokes next to your ear.  Fuck, he feels so fucking good from this angle—stretching and filling you in the way your body has so desperately craved since meeting him. You suck in a harsh breath in through your nose and unlatch your teeth from his now bruised skin.  

Steven’s hand shoots up to tangle in your hair, holding your face into the crook of his neck while you right as roll your hips up and clamp down around his. His cock drags deliciously out of your pussy and fuck—your mind crackles as you drop back down onto his lap.

“Oh, Christ,” Steven whines, his other hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark.  “You f-feel fantastic.”

You whimper, biting the inside of your cheek head as the head of his cock is pushed up tight against the most sensitive part of you. Wildfire bursts in your lower belly and seeps through your cunt, your hips, and into your upper thighs. Fuckin’ shit—you roughly grind your hips into him as he pushes up, digging your nails into his arm and twisting it into his hair. 

“I wanted this to happen since forever,” you whisper, spiraling into madness from the aching bliss.  “That’s all I think about—fucking you.”

Steven holds you closer and snarls out a curse, his hips jerking up into yours with near bruising force.  “Shit—I—”

You keep going. 

“‘Specially over the counter—I get so bored here,” you moan, moving into his sharp thrusts.  The positioning doesn’t allow for him to do much besides roll his hips in short, stunted movements, but it’s just enough to build your pleasure until it’s bubbling to the top.  “Do you think about me, Stevie?”

“May-maybe,” he hiccups, but it’s way too embarrassed and worked up to be anything close to convincing.  “I-I shouldn’t. Not as much as I do.”

“And you never said anything?”  You pout, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.  You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Your pussy is slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him. “I’m not that scary.”

“Shit—you’re—” Steven stammers, tugging a fistful of your hair and fucking up into you as best as he can in this position.  “Donna said—said romantic involvements with coworkers are against policy.”

You nip his earlobe. “I’m your neighbor first—checkmate.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly, leading you into a brief kiss. 

Fuck, you like being on top of him like this—reckless and bold and skirting the edge of just plain stupid. Someone might come looking soon, but shit, you’re getting close again. You bite your lip, hips canting into a harder pace, delighted by his sweet moans and carnal need for you. He murmurs your name and you gasp, eyes squeezed shut and just trying to breathe through the flood of arousal that threatens too uproot your entire being.

“Shit, you feel good, Steven,” you say, carding your fingers through his hair. “S’good—keep going—that’s it.”

Steven makes a near pained, ragged gasp of a sound—one that sears right into your memory with no hope of ever shaking it. Everything pulls up hot and tight, settling low and as you start to grind down hard on him. Fuck, you’re almost there—

And then something shifts—you don’t know how to explain it really— a subtle change in the way he holds himself and draws his shoulders back. An air of confidence normally absent from Steven’s relatively meek nature. A wicked gleam that sparks behind those warm, brown eyes that always remind you of the countryside—endless summers and the honey-golden light of sunsets through one of those kaleidoscope sticks.      

You’re flipped so quickly that the world spins, leaving you dizzy and scrambling for a foothold. Damn your low iron. Your back slams into the tiled floor, his thick arms shoving up under your legs and positioning your hips over his thighs. And then he starts fucking you—really fucking you.

It’s fucking crippling. The new angle and brutal speed is like a chain reaction of powder kegs to a lighter. All you can do is dig your nails into his arms and sob for him, arching and blankly staring at the patchy cement ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as he fucks you down hard into the linoleum tiles—you’re gonna have bruises on your ass.

His mouth is at your neck as he mutters darkly against your throat, his clipped accent devolving into a near unfamiliar scrape. It could be a trick of the mind, and frankly you don’t care. You squeak as his hands dig into the flesh of your ass.  “Fuck, Ziggy—you like this?”

“I’m—” you gasp, eyes screwing up as your wrestle with words.  “Ye-yes.”

“You’re making me a fuckin’ mess, love,” he growls. “Did I make you this wet?”

He’s hard and throbbing, imbedding his claws into your very soul and dragging you though cloud nine. You’re ears start to ring—so fucking close to the edge and begging for him to finish you off. 

“You’re heaven,” he snarls. He drops to his elbow, shifting his weight so he can reach between your legs. You cry and jolt into his fingers as the slip between your lips and easily finds your swollen clit. 

Your lungs tighten to the point of limiting your breaths to patchy gasps.  “Steven—close.”

He murmurs your name and rubs tight circles over your clit, pounding directly where you need him too. Your eyes roll back, spine suddenly goes rigid.

“Fuck—I’m cumming,” you whine, frantic and rushed, breathless as you claw at his shirt and exposed chest.  Everything pulls up sharp and burning, your cunt squeezing around his cock like a vice.  “Steven—”

“Fuck, yes—” he gasps, “—shit, let me f-feel you—”

Steven keeps babbling, but it’s all fluff by this point. Your pulse roars in your ears, body locking down so fucking tight around him hat you’re afraid something might snap. Steven keeps fucking you as your orgasm rips through you with such force that your voice warbles, the blaze of white hot bliss picking you apart stitch by stitch. Steven rubs your clit, pines your hips with his own and pistons inside of you—throwing you to a raw plane of explosive pleasure. His head drops to your shoulder, muttering filthy praise you’d never think someone like Steven would ever think to say—

You cry his name, repeating it over and over like a mantra, breathlessly in time with his ruthless thrusts. One more roll of his hips and pass oof his fingers and you’re gone. Your hand clenches around his hair as sparks of blurry white alight behind your eyelids, back arching off the floor and into his chest. Steven fucks you through your orgasm, even as you squirm and shake in his firm hold. Ecstasy implodes behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. 

“Ziggy,” he breathes, “almost there—”

Three more rough, bruising thrusts, and he’s cumming inside you, painting your insides with his warm spend. His sweet, gravelly moan echoes in the small space and Jesus Christ—you’re dizzy. He pants against your neck as he leans his full weight over you, arms snaking under your back to hold you close. You can feel his heart like this, thrumming wildly in his chest. You thread your fingers through his hair, gently carding through the frazzled knots of your frantic pulling. The silence that follows swells with petrichor and flower petals that glow white in the pale light of moon—he smells like old books and Irish Spring—a new comfort.   

“Steven?” 

“Hm.”

“Can you hand me that bag of crisps—yeah, right by that shelf.”         

What’s better than this? Spicy crisps and orgasms. Though, hopefully next time you do this, it’s on a bed.  

[weekendwarriorblog]

The ThanksgivingWarrior 11/25/20 – THE CROODS: A NEW AGE, MA RAINEY’S BLACK BOTTOM, ZAPPA, HAPPIEST SEASON, STARDUST and More!

It’s Thanksgiving weekend, and usually I’d be struggling to figure out how much the new movies might make in what is normally one of the most unpredictable weekends at the year. Wait a second. I’m getting déjà vu here. Didn’t I say this exact same thing in the intro for last week’s column? Probably. Let’s face it, kids. I am absolutely losing my mind with how bored I am getting looking at my laptop screen all day long, even though I’ve now set up a pretty sweet new TV system to watch stuff on!

Anyway, there is one family movie coming to theatres this weekend, and in any other Thanksgiving weekend, I’d suggesting getting out and going to theaters, but at this point in the pandemic, with COVID numbers so bad that even I, “Mr. Reopen the Movie Theaters!” can’t recommend going to see a movie in theaters… well, except maybe in New York City, where they’re still closed. Sigh. 

We’re going to do things a little different this week, because I wasn’t able to get to as many movies as I wanted but didn’t want to delay the column to Thanksgiving Day. Instead, I’ll post what I have done on Wednesday, then check back here on Friday when hopefully I’ve added a few more reviews. Cool?

Fortunately, the new animated sequel from DreamWorks Animation and Universal Pictures, THE CROODS: A NEW AGE, is a lot of fun, and this is from someone who really enjoyed the first movie quite a bit. The sequel’s premise is as simple as you can get: caveman family The Croods (voiced by Nick Cage, Catherine Keener, Emma Stone, Clarke Duke and Cloris Leachman), along with Ryan Reynold’s Guy, are still trying to survive in the wilds until they encounter a beautiful oasis that turns out to be the home of the more-evolved Bettermans, Phil (Peter Dinklage), Hope (Leslie Mann) and Dawn (Kelly Marie Tran).

I really liked the original The Croods quite a bit, so I’ve  been waiting patiently for DreamWorks to figure things out for a sequel. My instincts were definitely spot-on, because even if the original premise sounded a lot like The Flintstones, putting those voice actors together, even if it’s just Ryan Reynolds and Emma Stone proved to be quite prescient. A big part of the sequel is the burgeoning romance between their characters, Guy and Eep, much to the brutish chagrin of Eep’s father Grug (really Cage at his finest). Then along comes the Bettermans, and then it changes into a movie that is constantly showing the differences between the two families in many funny ways.

I’ve long admired Emma Stone as an actress, since she’s no naturally funny, and that’s even more apparent by how much she brings to Eep with merely her voice. Some of the scenes between her and Tran’s Dawn are absolutely hilarious. Cloris Leachman’s Gran also has some absolutely LOL moments later in the film. In some ways, Reynolds while funny, especially when pit against Cage and Dinklage’s characters, takes a back seat to the ladies.

I was equally impressed with the film in terms of its animation and how gorgeous and colorful the whole thing is, but more than that, it thrusts in a zaniness that I’d usually expect from something like Ren and Stimpy or SpongeBob SquarePants. So as much as it’s a kid movie, there’s enough to entertain older kids and even old men like me.

Without having seen Pixar’s Soul yet (this weekend!), Croods: A New Age may be one of the most entertaining animated movies I’ve seen this year, and that’s because it leans so heavily on being so absolutely crazy and zany that you can’t help but have fun.

You can read more about the movie and how it was made in a feature I wrote for Below the Line.

Next up is MA RAINEY’s BLACK BOTTOM, George C. Wilson’s adaptation of the 1982 August Wilson play that preceded Fences, which Netflix will give a theatrical release this week before it goes to streaming in December. Like Fences, this once again stars that film’s Oscar winner, Viola Davis, in the title role of Ma Rainey, a legendary blues and jazz singer in the late ‘20s who has come to a recording studio in Chicago to make a record with her band.  The band’s hotshot trumpet player Levee (the late Chadwick Boseman) is more interested in breaking out on his own, and he does everything to grandstand and try to impress the label guy (Jonny Coyne) even if it means throwing the rest of the band under the bus.

Since I never saw Wilson’s play, I really didn’t know what to expect from this movie, although the fact that most of it takes place in a recording studio definitely had my interest piqued. In case, you’re wondering about that odd title, it’s actually a song in Ma Rainey’s repertoire that she wants to do one way, but her manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) wants to try Levee’s version of the song. Ma’s not having any of it, and a lot of the film involves her

There’s been quite a lot of chatter about Chadwick Boseman getting a posthumous Oscar nomination for his performance in this, and it’s probably well-deserved since he gives quite a showy performance as Levee, giving a couple moving monologues including one about his mother being sexually assaulted by white men.  It’s a very powerful performance indeed.

Rainey is certainly an interesting character for Viola Davis to play, even if she’s not necessarily likable with her obstinate demeanor and the way she gloms over her eye candy Dussie Mae, played by Taylour Paige, and dotes over her nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown). As interesting as those relationships are, I probably enjoyed the interaction between the musicians more, because Boseman is working with some greats like Colman Domingo, Michael Potts and Glynn Turman. It’s actually kind of interesting how it switches between Levee and the musicians and Ma dealing with Irving upstairs.  

As much as the Wilsons are exploring some interesting topics about race and the treatment of black people in the times, the movie frequently feels dated and it feels like some of the ideas are never fully revolved, even as it builds up to a fairly shocking climax.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect from Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, but it’s a perfectly fine dramatic piece, but I didn’t feel that it had the weight of other movies about race I’ve seen, including yes, Green Book (sorry, haters), and a lot of that probably has more to do with George Wilson’s direction than August Wilson’s writing.

Just want to quickly mention a couple movies I’ve already reviewed, which will hit the streamers this week, including Steve McQueen’s LOVERS ROCK on Amazon Prime Video, which I wrote about here, and Ron Howard’s HILLBILLY ELEGY, now on Netflix after a short theatrical release. I reviewed the latter here.

I’ve actually seen Lovers Rock a second time since the New York Film Festival, and I enjoyed it even more, as it’s really a well-crafted film even if it’s not as immediate maybe as Mangrove (now on Amazon Prime) and Red, White and Blue, which will be on Prime Video on December 4. I just love how Steve McQueen created a shorter piece that isn’t quite as deep as some of the others since Lovers Rock isn’t based on history but is just a nice young romance about two young people who meet and fall in love at a “Blues Night” party. It’s not as deep as the other movies I’ve seen, but is still good. Oh, and my interview with Steve McQueen is up at Below the Line finally, and I’m pretty proud of it, so check it out!

I don’t know if I have too much more to say about Hillbilly Elegy, but I hope people will give it a chance because even if it does have problems and isn’t perfect, it’s an interesting story, particularly for Glenn Close’s performance.

This week’s “Featured Flick” is Alex Winter’s doc, ZAPPA (Magnolia Pictures), an amazing film that takes a look at the life and career of the late Frank Zappa, best known for his quirky rock tunes but just at proficient at writing jazz and classical musical. I definitely went through a bit of a Zappa phase in my teens, and every once in a while, I would go back and see what had been released since his death in 1993, because his wife and widow Gail did a great job getting a lot of his unreleased music and live shows out there.

What shocked me when I saw Zappa was how little I really knew about the musician, because maybe he was a little bit of an enigma while he was still alive. I enjoyed the other doc, Eat That Question: Zappa In His Own Words, that came out a few years back, which was made up of public interviews Zappa gave, but it doesn’t really give as clear a picture of the man as Winter’s doc does.

For instance, Winter gets a lot of the musicians, including the amazing Ruth Underwood, who played with Zappa in the Mothers. You’d assume those musicians would presumably know the man best having toured with him for years, and yet, even they say that other than when they were rehearsing diligently or playing gigs, Zappa kept to himself. We also get a good sense of what a family man he was, since Winter was able to get Gail to talk to him before she herself passed way in 2015.

Zappa is an absolutely terrific doc that I hope music enthusiasts give a look even if they think they know what Zappa was about or maybe even those who didn’t care for his music. You might be pleasantly surprised by the tremendous amount of depth Winter brings to this talented musician and composer who still had a lot more to say. (And that’s an understatement!)

Incidentally, I’ll have an interview with Winter over at Below the Line very soon.

On the other end of the musical spectrum (more or less) is Gabriel Range’s STARDUST (IFC Films)  -- not to be confused with Matthew Vaughn’s far better Stardust – this one starring Johnny Flynn, who played a young Albert Einstein in Genius: Einstein, this time playing a young David Bowie. Years before breaking it big with his album Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, young David just can’t catch a break in the U.S., so he goes on a road trip in 1971 with his Ron Oberman (Marc Maron), the A&R guy from his U.S. label who hopes to get Bowie across to young American audiences.

I’m not quite sure how someone can screw up a movie about Bowie, one of my all-time favorite artists, but making a movie that a.) takes place in the most boring era of Bowie’s career and b.) Not actually being able to use any of Bowie’s beloved tracks, certainly doesn’t help matters. It also doesn’t help that the script just isn’t great, creating a fairly dull biopic that relies more on Maron’s personality basically playing the same character we’ve seen him play so many times before to stay even halfway entertaining.  I couldn’t even get excited by Jena Malone, an actress I generally appreciate, as David’s wife Angie, because she plays her to be such a despicable and unsympathetic character.

If Maron is decent than Johnny Flynn is just plain flaccid as Bowie, playing him so mopey and aloof that when he finally emerges from his chrysalis as Ziggy Stardust – also with little of the flamboyance in his stage shows -- you just don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. Oh, and a lot of the movie is based on the theory that the history of mental issues in his family is what haunts the singer.  Drab and dull, Stardust manages to make the most exciting rock star of the last half century seem like the most boring person on earth. It’s a flat-out failure as a biopic.

Joan Carr-Wiggins’ GETTING TO KNOW YOU (Gravitas Ventures) is a witty Canadian high-concept rom-com, starring Natasha Little and Rupert Penry-Jones as two strangers who have a chance encounter at a hotel in Northern Ontario. The latter plays New Yorker Luke Manning, who is back home for his high school reunion, but when his positively smashed high school girlfriend Kaila (Rachel Blanchard from Peepshow) shows up at the hotel hoping to rekindle their spark, he asks Little’s character Abby to pretend to be his wife.

I don’t have a lot to say about this movie which was a nice surprise and clearly a labor of love for the filmmaker. Honestly, my favorite part of the movie is how hilarious Rachel Blanchard is in it. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me that found her deliriously drunk nightmare of an ex to be kind of sexy, but maybe that’s just me. In fact, the movie might have been even funnier if the rest of the cast were able to keep up with Blanchard, but the connection between the two leads did grow on me as it went along. It definitely has some funnier moments like when Kaila’s bowling husband Kenny shows up, and then some of Luke’s other classmates pop in as well, but it does have to work very hard whenever Blanchard isn’t on screen.  (I also enjoyed watching the soap opera that seemed to be going on between the employees of the hotel, which was perpetually funny.) Otherwise, it does feel a little flat whenever Blanchard is on screen.

The filmmaker’s lack of experience is sometimes obvious, because there are things like the repetitive music that I wasn’t so crazy about. Otherwise, this is a light and quaint indie that’s a little off the beaten track, but you won’t have any regrets if you make the effort to go looking for it.

I’m thrilled to see actor Clea Duvall back behind the camera for her second film as a director, HAPPIEST SEASON, which was going to get a theatrical release through Sony’s TriStar Pictures at one point. Instead, it’s now going to be on Hulu starting Wednesday. (Today!) It’s a high-concept rom-com starring Mackenzie Davis and Kristen Stewart with Davis playing Harper, a woman who has not come out of her closet to her family, which makes it that much more awkward when she brings her girlfriend Abby (Stewart) home for the holidays.

As mentioned, this is a fairly high-concept comedy that uses the idea of someone coming out to their disapproving family we’ve seen in many movies, but does it in a way that can take it seriously but still allow for some funny moments. In fact, there are times when the comedy even goes into Meet the Parents territory in terms of the character humor.

I really enjoyed Duvall’s previous film, The Intervention, and once again, she has put together such as great cast to realize the script that she wrote with Mary Holland. In fact, Holland has a great role, playing Harper’s bubbly sister Jane, who steals so many scenes in terms of the humor that I was shocked that I only realized later she co-wrote the script with Duvall.

Mackenzie Davis continues to be every director’s secret weapon, because like in Jason Reitman’s Tully, she can literally deliver on every aspect of the movie, keeping the comedy aspects grounded but also deliver a really poignant performance. She also works really well with Kristen Stewart, maybe bringing out things in Stewart we just haven’t been able to see before.

Besides having Alison Brie play Harper’s older sister and Aubrey Plaza as an old flame, Duvall also had the foresight to get the amazing Dan Levy, recent multi-Emmy winner for Schitt’s Creek, to play Abby’s best friend, who is constantly there for her to kvetch and who shows up to pretend to be her boyfriend. (Oddly, there’s a lot of that sort of thing going on in movies this week.)

Happiest Season works as a perfectly fine albeit fairly traditional holiday rom-com in a similar way as The Family Stone. More than anything, Duvall continually proves her abilities as a filmmaker that can handle comedy and drama equally well.

Next up, is Alan Ball’s UNCLE FRANK (Amazon), the Oscar-winning writer of American Beauty, directing only his second movie after 2007’s Towelhead – you might remember his HBO shows Six Feet Under and True Blood. This one, set in the ‘70s, stars Paul Bettany as the title character with Sophia Lillis from It Chapter One and Two playing his niece Beth, a teen from Creekville, South Carolina who worships her New York-based professor uncle. When she goes to college in New York, she attends one of Frank’s parties with her pseudo-boyfriend and ends up learning that Frank’s “roommate” Wally (Peter Macdissi) is actually his boyfriend. When Frank and Beth return to South Carolina for his father’s funeral, he has to try to keep his sexuality and relationship with Wally a secret from his family. Yeah, this does sound a little like Happiest Season, doesn’t it? It is, but only to a point.

At first, Uncle Frank is a cute but not-particularly-deep coming-of-age story about Lillis’ character as a fish out of water in New York City. Once Wally is introduced, he seems to be there just to make jokes and lighten the mood as it turns into a road trip. From his previous work, I’ve grown to enjoy Ball’s unconventional storytelling, but by comparison, this movie is very by-the-books, so it never really grabs the viewer.

The biggest problem with Ball’s latest--and it’s one that I see in a lot of movies these days--is that it doesn’t know whether it should be a comedy or a drama, and because it isn’t particularly funny, you expect it to fare better as a drama and yet, it doesn’t.

Ball has such a great cast including Judy Greer, Margo Martindale, Stevens Root and Zahn, all playing the duo’s racist Southern family, but they disappear for long sections of the movie, and then don’t do much when they return for the more dramatic last act where it turns into such a maudlin melodrama once Frank and Beth get back to South Carolina.  As they mourn the dead patriarch, Frank keeps reflecting back on what drove him to New York in the first place, and we’re pummelled with so many flashbacks. Lillis’ character almost gets lost at this point, even this story is supposed to be told from her point of view.

Essentially, Uncle Frank falls somewhere quite literally between Hillbilly Elegy and Happiest Season but not being as good as either. It’s just disappointing that Ball didn’t have someone offering good advice on handling material that will constantly have you groaning, “What was the point?”

Screenwriter Matthew Michael Carnahan (The Kingdom, State of Play, 21 Bridges makes his directorial debut with MOSUL, which will debut on Netflix this Thursday. As you can figure out from the title, this takes place in Iraq in the fall of 2016 where an army of 100,000 Iraqi soldiers and militia men mobilize to liberate Iraq’s second largest city from ISIS along with the embedded journalist Ali Maula. Surprise, surprise, this is another movie from last year’s September festival season, too, and there also was a documentary from last year with the same name about the same story, too.

I’ve been a fan of some of the films Carnahan has written over the years, some mentioned above, but his directorial debut certainly sounds ambitious, since he’s working with an all-Arab cast. I look forward to watching and reviewing this one, hopefully before Friday.

Premiering on Disney+ this Friday after losing its theatrical release – this is becoming the norm for Disney, huh? – is Ashley Avis’ adaptation of Anna Sewell’s classic piece of literature, BLACK BEAUTY about a girl and her horse. The girl is played by Mackenzie Foy from Interstellar and The Conjuring, and Black Beauty the horse is voiced by Oscar-winning actress Kate Winslet. No, I did not make that up, and I can’t wait to watch this, to see how that works exactly. Look for my review later this week… hopefully.

On top of that, those Trixie Pixies at Disney+ have somehow managed to secretly pull together a Taylor Swift concert called folkore: the long pond studio sessions, which will premiere exclusively on Disney+ November 25. Oh, that’s today!

Debuting on Showtime this Sunday is Errol Morris’ new doc MY PSYCHEDELIC LOVE STORY, which takes a look at the Acid King Timothy Leary through the eyes of his lover, Joanna Harcourt-Smith, trying to figure out her part in his turn into a narc for the CIA. Another one I hope to get to soon because while I like Morris’ political films like The Fog of War and even the Steve Bannon doc American Dharma, this seems more in the vein of Tabloid, which I also enjoyed. Will try to watch this over the weekend and report back.

Also of note is that the doc She is the Ocean (Blue Fox Entertainment) will be hitting On Demand this week. I guess I never got around to reviewing it.

So, let’s see. We’ve had some good movies, we’ve had some not great movies, and we’ve had a few movies that I just didn’t get around to watching yet. What does that leave? How about two of the worst movies I’ve seen this year? Are you ready?

SUPERINTELLIGENCE (HBO Max) is the latest comedy from Melissa McCarthy and hubby director Ben Falcone, and boy, it won’t take you long to realize why New Line decided LONG before COVID not to give it a theatrical release, instead handing it over to its new streamer HBO Max. 

In this, McCarthy plays Carol Peters, an average Seattle woman, who – I mean, honestly, does it even matter what she does? It’s irrelevant. Carol encounters an artificial intelligence being with the voice of James Corden that has just achieved self-awareness and wants to study Carol in order to understand humanity. But what are its plans… to save humanity or destroy it? Only Carol has the power to keep the world from finding out. 

I honestly don’t even know where to begin except that I was a Melissa McCarthy stan for a long time before Bridesmaids;  Superintelligence makes it all-too-obvious that she needs to stop making movies with Falcone. It’s not that he’s an incapable director, but he just doesn’t give her the actual direction she needs. The movie is just all over the place, starting with the physical comedy McCarthy has done so much in her movies, but then turning into a romantic comedy as the AI tries to reunite Carol with her college boyfriend George, played by Bobby Cannavale. Apparently, making The Heat with Sandra Bullock has made Falcone think his wife could or should be Sandra Bullock. No, she can’t. Throwing her into a ridiculous concept like this one that isn’t very solid does little to endear McCarthy to the fans she keeps driving away with bad movies like this.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that I really hate James Corden and hearing his voice over the course of the movie while also acting very META by referencing the ACTUAL James Corden, Carpool Karaoke, etc. Just none of it is very funny. Oddly, this is written by the same guy who wrote the duo’s earlier movie, The Boss, which I didn’t think was that bad, but mainly because McCarthy was paired with Kristen Bell for a lot of the movie.

On top of that, Superintelligence wastes its entire supporting cast from Brian Tyree Henry to Sam Richardson (from Veep) but also has Karan Son from Deadpool playing the EXACT SAME CHARACTER he played in Like A Boss, but only for a few minutes then he’s gone. At least it had the forethought to cast Jean Smart as the President, but the fact that I didn’t even like Bobby Cannavale in this might be the biggest sign of how much I absolutely detested Superintelligence.

There are movies you might hate when you see them in theaters but later realize that they’re probably funny enough cable. That is Superintelligence, except for the funny part. What else can I say except that “Superintelligence” is not a term I'd use for whoever greenlit this piece of crap.

Also debuting on HBO Max this week is the new thriller series The Flight Attendant (HBO MAX), starring Kaley Cuoco, who really hasn’t been doing much outside The Big Bang Theory, so this should give her a chance to show how funny she is. She plays a woman who wakes up in the wrong hotel and wrong bed with a dead man, so it already sounds like a great premise right there. I guess the entire first season will debut on Thanksgiving.

And yet, believe it or not, Superintelligence isn’t even the worst movie of the week! Nope.

Apparently, Josh Duhamel’s new comedy, BUDDY GAMES (Saban Films/Paramount), played in some theaters over the weekend, but it’s now available on digital and On Demand. It’s Duhamel’s directorial debut, and it’s about as dude-bro as you can possibly get, as it has Duhamel, Dax Sheppard, Kevin Dillon, Nick Swardson, Jensen Ackles and Dan Bakkedahl as a group man-children friends who regroup five years after going their separate ways to bring back their “Buddy Games,” a series of obstacle and endurance tests that end up reviving ill feelings between a few of them.

I’m not sure how quickly I knew I was in trouble with this one, because at first, I thought that maybe Duhamel made a fun indie comedy about friendship ala the underrated A Good Old Fashioned Orgy. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was wrong as wrong could be, since by the halfway point it turned into something as innately immature as Jackass.

The general idea is that Duhamel plays Bob, the guy who found enormous success after splitting from his friends, marrying Olivia Munn’s Tiffany, but then he finds out that his old friend Shelly (Bakkedahl) has been put in rehab for a drug overdose. Turns out that at the last Buddy Game, Swardson’s character shot Shelly in the nuts with a BB gun, and he eventually lost his other testicle as well. That’s about the level of this low-brow comedy that rarely fails to grab the lowest hanging…um… fruit.

As it goes along, it just gets worse and worse to the point where there was one scene where the guys are at a bar while trying to get girls to buy them drinks that just got so disgusting, I almost turned it off. If I did, I would have missed the scene with a gila monster going after steaks strapped to the heads in another lame competition.

I can go on and on about how Buddy Games is but probably the worst infraction is that it does the most sexist thing possible by basically putting having women for a few moments and none that particularly advance anything.

Duhamel isn’t a bad director, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he got hired to direct another comedy someday soon, but this movie just very bad, very gross and almost excruciating to sit through at times. To call Buddy Games moronic, idiotic or even asinine, would be an insult to the morons, idiots or asses, who are likely to be the movie’s target audience.

On Friday, New York’s Metrograph is bringing back the 2017 4k restoration of Fruit Chan’s Made in Hong Kong as a ticketed screening running from Friday through December 3. You can also still catch Shalini Kantaya’s Coded Bias and the French New Wave anthology Six In Paris as ticketed screenings through December 3.

Up at New York’s Lincoln Center, you can catch its World of Wong Kar Wai with a couple films available this Wednesday, including his fantastic drama In the Mood for Love, but you can also get the 7-film Janus Bundle for $70 which is a saving over the individual movie cost of $12 apiece. Those seven films and five more will be shown over the course of December.

Other stuff out this week that I wasn’t able to get to include:

The Christmas Chronicles 2 (Netflix) Last Call (K Street Pictures) Faith (Vertical) Saul and Ruby’s Holocaust Survivor Band (Samuel Goldwyn) The Walrus and the Whistle Blower (Gravitas Ventures) Life in a Year (Amazon Prime) 32 Weeks

Have a great Thanksgiving, everyone!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!